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Not a chunk of flesh. Not a torn fragment of robes. Not a bone. Not a frail wisp of a soul.
On his way back, Lan Wangji had bought a jug of Emperor’s Smile from Caiyi Town. Ambrosial, rich, not heavily spiced, and yet—
Bitter.
My throat burns. Everything does.
(Alcohol is prohibited)
It hurts.
The moon looks beautiful, more so than usual.
It startles him slightly. Has it always been this way?
He almost knows why. He pretends not to anyway.
(Maybe because you now reside there.)
There are many reasons why the moon may appear different.
“Get lost.”
It hurts.
Does it make you smile? Is that why you liked it?
I can’t seem to smile.
Ironic?
Pathetic.
I think I understand why you liked it. I think I know you.
It burns.
Burns all the way up to the rims of his eyes
and down into the depths of his heart.
It’s warmer here now.
No. Still cold. I won’t hold back tonight.
Would you have minded?
Fuck…
It hurts.
You’re right here. I know you are.
Rat-bastard.
Pathetic, frivolous, beautiful, rat-bastard.
See, you’re right here. In the bitterness covering my tongue. In the way my back burns. In the rabbits that nibbled the hem of my sleeve. In music... in music! Flute. Flute! Where’s your flute? You.. you can’t stay without it, right? You need it, don’t you? Stay here, I'll find it for you.
How do you lose something so precious?
Tch.
He smashed open an ancient room, rummaging through it frantically. Dust choked the air as he upended rotten relics that hadn’t felt a human touch in centuries.
They'd wronged him. All of it had.
It’s not here...
Someone has to do it. He has to. Needs to. History has enough; he won’t let it take this from him too.
The silence doesn’t swallow him. It doesn’t. It won’t.
But it's not here… not here… not here…
I’ll keep looking. Well, someone has to, considering how apathetic you seem to be. Imprudent.
“Wangji? Whatever has gotten into you—”
“Flute.”
“...Flute?”
“Flute!!!”
Why is he playing dumb? Did you not make a ruckus yet? Did you not tell anyone yet? Why not!?
Idiot.
Fine, I'll do it for you. Please take better care of your belongings.
Lan Xichen brought him a fine flute made of pure, white jade. It caught the moonlight, glistening under it.
“No!”
He hurls it aside, the flute shattering on impact (Do not succumb to rage). The splinters reminded him of how Caiyi Town waters looked at night. Did Lotus Pier sparkle the same way? He crushes the splinters further. (Clamour is prohibited. Do not grieve in excess) It’s not what he was looking for. Not what he wants. He’ll have to keep looking.
“Wangji, you’re the one who asked for a flute—”
“NO!”
It’s fine. You don’t want that.
I’ll keep looking.
Sorry… I shouldn't let my temper get the best of me, but he should really know better. As if it could ever be this. No. I think my brother is acting oblivious on purpose. So sorry about him. I’ll do it myself.
“Shufu, I think something is wrong with Wangji…”
“Leave him be.”
Wherever did you keep it? You should be more careful. (Frivolity is discouraged)
He stumbles upon gold.
Oh, look! So many precepts you copied, yet you remember not a single rule. You should do something about your memory.
He flips through the copies of messy handwriting he found, riddled with errors and smudges. He thinks it’s the most beautiful thing he’s seen. The ink is dry under the ridges of his finger. His throat feels dry too.
It burns.
_____________________________________________
“Wei Ying?”
“Whatever are you dawdling for? What, you sound like you’re in mourning! A-yuan has been nagging to see you, the boy just refuses to realise clamour is prohibited!”
You’re being sarcastic. You’re mocking me.
Nothing bad has happened.
“Get lost.”
Nothing bad has happened.
“Lan Zhan!”
“Mn.”
Wen Yuan clings to his leg. No dirt to bury him in the cloud recesses. He’ll grow organically without needing to be watered. Wei Ying is here. Nothing bad has happened.
Wen Ning lurks ominously. Someone should tell him he is allowed to exist.
“Wei Ying?”
“What's up?”
I just wanted to hear his voice. Nothing bad has happened. My throat doesn’t burn anymore.
“Earth to Lan Wangji?”
“Wei Wuxian!”
“Lan Wangji! Just who do you think you are!?”
Seems you found your flute. Keep it on your person from next time, okay?
“Tch. Calling my name and zoning out! Who’s the frivolous one now?”
It’s cold. The floors of the cloud recesses are cold. But amidst the frost, he is real.
He thinks Wei Ying touches him too casually.
“Diē-Diē”
“He’s not your father.”
A-yuan only clings harder. He seems to know something Lan Wangji does not.
Yet.
(Do not neglect young ones)
Your hand is warm in mine. I know they called you stone heart, but a heart of stone is also a heart, is it not?
“Nice song... What’s the name?”
Wen Yuan runs amok. Running is prohibited in the cloud recesses. Wen Qing scoops him up.
The sun feels too bright for this season. It burns.
Wei Ying’s hand is too warm.
“I love you”
My heart pounds.
“Mn.”
“Lan Zhan! Say it back!”
“I love you.”
“Get lost.”
“Wei Ying…”
“Get lost.”
Wangji kept speaking to him in a soft tone, and kept getting told to get lost.
Your smile burns.
My chest burns.
His robes are dishevelled, and his chest bears the same brand Wei Wuxian earned when they were 17.
Sometimes I go to sleep,
And I’m still 17,
You still live down my street,
You’re not mad at me.
“Get lost.”
His chest burns.
Your hands inside my ribs are gone.
I’m left with nothing.
I still feel them crushing my bones to ashes.
He hears crying. (Clamour is prohibited)
It’s not his.
How is it that every time you said my name, it felt like goodbye?
I’m left with nothing.
“I love you.”
But you were gone even before I said that.
“Get lost.”
Please take that as a eulogy.
The crying only amplifies.
It’s not his.
(Do not grieve in excess)
The crying is coming from his personal quarters.
_____________________________________________
“Diē-Diē!”
The cries are loud, unrestrained. Wen Yuan clings to his leg.
(Do not neglect young ones)
If I spend my life looking over you, would you spare me a glance? Would I see you again?
The crying subsides, yet Wen Yuan only clings tighter to his last source of warmth.
You don’t need a eulogy. You’re right here.
His chest hurts.
He ruffles Wen Yuan’s hair. Wei Yuan. Lan Yuan? He’ll figure it out later.
I’m not left with nothing.