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Two months had passed since Wei Ying departed from Gusu. Three weeks since Lan Wangji received any word from him. A letter had arrived earlier in the day, addressed in Wei Ying’s familiar scrawl. Lan Wangji opened it, scanned it quickly to ascertain that Wei Ying was in no danger, and forced himself to complete the day’s work before properly reading the letter. 

He opened it again when he returned to the jingshi for dinner. Next to the envelope sat the pouch of silver that he had sent to Wei Ying’s last location. It felt no lighter than when he sent it away. 

Lan Zhan,

Little Apple made me return your silver. She says that her back will break if she carries both me and it on her back. I can’t use it anyway. If I pull out such a fat pouch, won’t I get robbed as soon as I step outside? Hanguang-jun doesn’t need to be afraid of robbers, but someone as frail as I am has to think about these things. 

Don’t worry about me. I’m still in Anhui, but I’ve gone west and I’ve stayed at this village for a while to pick up supplies and have a few baths. The people here recognized me before I even opened my mouth. But they didn’t run me out of town, so I offered to work while I’m here. I get food, wine, and a bed at the inn because I make warming talismans for the innkeeper. 

A whole stack hardly lasts a week: warm up the food, heat up the baths, dry some sheets, and that’s a dozen of them gone already. Not many cultivators pass through here, so the villagers find these trifles more impressive than they really are. I played around with other domestic talisman ideas when I lived in the Burial Mounds - I ought to show them something even better. There’s a talisman for pinning enemies to the ground. I’ve modified it to last longer and resist rain, so we can use it to stop roof thatching from flying away in a storm. Here’s the design. What do you think?

They aren’t so scared of me anymore. Sometimes Liu-laoban gives me an extra mantou at breakfast. But there are lots of other things I want to try, lots of places I want to see. Learning is a lifelong endeavor! I’m sure Lan-xiansheng would agree. 

It’s time for me to try something I’ve never done before. I’ll write another letter when I decide what that is.

Wei Wuxian

Lan Wangji traced his fingers over Wei Ying’s signature. As reassuring as it was that the villagers accepted his presence, Lan Wangji wondered how many of them would still hurt him if the opportunity arose. 

-

The next letter came in high summer. Lan Jingyi brought it and stood for a moment, waiting in ill-disguised anticipation, before a pointed look sent him scurrying back to his studies. 

Lan Zhan,

I herd a flock of sheep in Henan now. In the morning I drive them out to pasture; during the day I make sure wolves don’t eat them; at night I bring them back to their farm. It’s so hot that I can’t wear my black robes! All I can wear is a pair of linen pants and a linen tunic. Sometimes not even that. So you see I don’t have any pockets, and I had to send back your silver. 

It’s slander to compare easily-led people to sheep. Some of these wooly annoyances are more stubborn than Little Apple! I don’t think she likes the sheep. They don’t respect her at all. Sometimes they bump her with their horns. 

Maybe you wonder how I can herd sheep without using a dog. I play my dizi for them. They like the songs from Yunmeng, the ones we would sing when we shelled lotus seeds or rowed a boat together. Do you believe that Chenqing can sound sweet? These days it only shrills when I have to scare off wolves. Thankfully that’s only happened once. 

Lan Zhan, I live in Yao sect territory now. Isn’t it funny that they have lakes here, and lotuses too? Sect Leader Yao had them planted because Jiang-shushu saved his life during the Sunshot Campaign. Funny how some people show gratitude. I know Jiang Cheng never got a single coin from him to rebuild Lotus Pier. (How do I know? If he’d given so much as a scrap, he’d never shut up about it.) 

I don’t know if Sect Leader Yao loves or hates me these days, but he’ll certainly never find me in a sheep pasture. If you have business with him before the summer ends, though, maybe you will.

Wei Wuxian

Lan Wangji blinked. Then he tucked the letter carefully into his sleeve and began drafting a reply to Sect Leader Yao’s latest demand, which he had fully planned to ignore. 

Whenever he could tear himself away from their interminable meetings—the issue really had been too trivial for him to personally address—he took long flights across the countryside. He kept his eyes open for lakes and his ears open for a dizi. He found both in abundance. 

Eventually his ear caught a song on the wind, but not a Yunmeng ditty. Lan Wangji had composed this one himself. He alighted in the grassy pasture.

He was prepared for Wei Ying’s cheerful “Hanguang-jun!”, but he nearly choked on his own breath when he looked up. Wei Ying smiled at him from atop Little Apple, across the pasture. He wore a broad-brimmed straw hat, coarse white pants hiked to his knees, and nothing else. He had developed a lovely tan. Freckles dotted his nose and trailed down his chest. Lan Wangji wanted to count them by pressing his lips against each one. 

He didn’t realize, before he saw Wei Ying again, that there had been a tight knot of fear in his chest. A piece of him that saw Wei Ying walking away down the mountain and believed that he would never return.

“Forgive my undress, Lan Zhan, but it’s so hot today that I’ll faint if I wear any more.” Wei Ying’s eyes raked over Lan Wangji’s body, wrapped as it was in all six layers. Lan Wangji realized that it was hot indeed. Now that he had stopped flying, he could feel himself sweating. 

Wei Ying’s smile became smaller, and a little secretive. “Ah, but you’ve always been above mortal suffering, haven’t you?” He swung himself off of Little Apple to stride over to Lan Wangji, his bare feet rustling in the grass. Lan Wangji thought he himself might faint. He was certainly becoming short of breath. Wei Ying walked with a carefree saunter that Lan Wangji hadn’t seen in years—had forgotten entirely, until just now. 

I’ll split the wine with you and you’ll say you never saw me, how does that sound? 

The amused fondness with which Wei Ying peered at him from under the straw hat did not help at all. In their youth Wei Ying had pursued him with impertinence. Wei Ying’s regard was no less intense now, but its sharp heat had subdued into warmth. He stopped an arms-length away from Lan Wangji. 

“Still, if I knew you were coming I’d have put something on.” Wei Ying rolled his shoulders back. He had tied up his hair, but a curl of it escaped and clung to his damp neck. “This is no way to greet the chief cultivator. Sometimes I bring a shirt if I expect to run into impressionable maidens, but most days it’s just me and Little Apple.” 

Wei Ying sighed, patting his own pockets. “I can’t even invite you to sit or pour you a cup of tea.” 

Lan Wangji untied his outer robe and spread it on the grass. Wei Ying’s eyebrows shot up. “Lan Zhan! I certainly wouldn’t dare.” So Lan Wangji sat on the robe himself, leaving plenty of space, and took a qiankun bag out of his sleeve. He offered it to Wei Ying, who plopped himself onto the robe after all. “Oh, these smell so good.” 

Lan Wangji did not have to wait for long. “They’re delicious!” Wei Ying exclaimed. “And so fresh! Lan er-gege, did you make these shaomai yourself?” He had not. He had, however, gone to the most crowded stall in Gusu, queued for an hour, and sealed the bag with one of Wei Ying’s preservative talismans. 

“These are from Yangzhou,” Lan Wangji said. 

Wei Ying grinned around his mouthful of rice. “All these years I’ve maligned Gusu cuisine so unfairly. It turns out that only the dwellers of Cloud Recesses hate seasoning their food, hmm?” The afternoon sun turned Wei Ying’s eyes amber. They were so gently warm, yet they tugged insistently at something buried in Lan Wangji. Something that wanted to unfurl. 

“If you return,” Lan Wangji said quietly, “I will show you.” They sat close enough that Lan Wangji could shift a little and touch Wei Ying’s hand. A younger Wei Ying wouldn’t hesitate to close the distance—throw an arm around him, or even—

For a moment, Wei Ying chewed his shaomai without speaking. His expression remained gentle. “I get up early now, did you know? There’s a rooster who wakes me up in the morning. Shijie used to say I’d never get up before noon if nobody dragged me out of bed. But I like this.” He stuffed the remaining piece into his mouth, and fell silent again. 

(Lan Wangji had dreamed, sometimes, about companionable silences. Dreamed that he could glance up and see that Wei Ying had been there all along.)

As Wei Ying chose his next words, Lan Wangji drank in the sight of him: lanky, yet well-fed; his cheeks looked markedly less gaunt than they had when Wei Ying left Gusu. The dark circles under his eyes had nearly faded. 

“I think,” Wei Ying said, “it’s because I wake up and only the sheep need something from me.” 

Yes, Lan Wangji understood. Yet there was something sweet, as well, in being needed. 

Wei Ying sighed. “Aiya, Lan Zhan, I didn’t mean…” He covered Lan Wangji’s hand with his own. Squeezed it once, like a promise that couldn’t be spoken aloud. “I’ll stay here for another few weeks. When the heat fades a little, I’ll go south. Wherever that is, I’ll send you another letter when I get there.”

-

Lan Zhan, 

I have quite the story for you. I only meant to pass through Yunmeng, but I dropped by my favorite wonton stand and the owner, Tang-furen, keeled over right in front of me! Before I could even react, her son shoved me into an apron and told me to watch the stand while they went to find a healer. She already folded all the wontons for the day. I didn’t have to do anything except boil them and mix seasoning. 

It was a little strange. I don’t think Mo Xuanyu spoke Yunmeng dialect, so his mouth doesn’t know how to make all the sounds. A few people asked whether I was the owner’s nephew from Qishan. Anyway, I did such a good job that the owner’s family wanted me to keep helping out while she recovers! It pays pretty well if you remember that I can eat as many wontons as I want. And I can keep an eye on things around here. 

The town around Lotus Pier hasn’t changed much. The Wens never burned any of it during the war. Old man Zheng still runs the inn where I’ve been staying. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

It’s easy work. I can sit down most of the time while I’m folding wontons, and people usually don’t mind telling me a bit of gossip. (I’m the owner’s nephew after all!) I close up the stand at sunset. Usually I have some leftovers, so I cook those for the kids that come around asking for something to eat. 

I had a good system going. Until a few days ago, when Jiang Cheng paid me a visit. I was pretty sure he wouldn’t recognize me. I was wearing my big straw hat. Nobody could see my face when I kept my head down! Especially not in the wonton stand. 

Anyway, he ordered a bowl of spicy wontons. I gave him a discount for being the sect leader. Then he ate a couple of them and asked for his money back! I asked why. He said his bowl had too much sesame oil. I lost my temper and said that’s bullshit, he always loved sesame oil! 

So that’s how he caught me. 

He asked what I was doing running a wonton stall. Well, aren’t I a grown man who needs to support himself? How much face would I lose, mooching on others my whole life? So he said that I was born to mooch anyway and that I never had a problem with it before. That was pretty funny, so I ladled out another bowl and said, here, Sect Leader Jiang, for your troubles. He made me eat it with him.

He told me Uncle Zheng spilled the beans on where I’d been staying. I never thought anybody would recognize me around here. Lotus Pier gets enough merchants coming in and out that a weird accent doesn’t stick out much. But I guess it makes sense that he’d want to know if I showed up in town. I made sure he knew I wasn’t up to any funny business. I was just passing through. 

I don’t know, Lan Zhan. It’s hard to explain on paper. Jiang Cheng made me move out of the inn and into one of his guest rooms. It’s kind of funny to get dressed in a Jiang disciple’s room, walk all the way into town, work, and then walk all the way back. I eat dinner with the sect. I think they think I’m a rogue cultivator. It’s not like I can ask Jiang Cheng what to say, so I just go with it and tell them about some of my adventures on the road. I tell them about a white-robed cultivator who joined me sometimes, who’s righteous and brave in helping the downtrodden. 

You saw Lan Wangji? They’d ask. But no, he’s too busy these days. Nobody has seen him on a night hunt since Guanyin Temple. I just smile and don’t say anything. Lan Zhan ah, don’t work yourself too hard. I hope you aren’t sorting out petty squabbles day and night… I hope you’re spending time with the rabbits, and Sizhui, and all the kids. 

Tang-furen is recovering quickly. I guess I’ll be out of a job soon. Jiang Cheng said that the next time I pass through here, I should come right to Lotus Pier and he’ll make me ashamed that I ever tried to sell these wontons for money. 

I don’t really know where I’ll go next. But I’ll write again when I get there.

Wei Ying

-

Wei Ying’s next letter came some months later, tied to a little cloth pouch. Three wooden figurines tumbled into Lan Wangji’s palm. Two roosters, nearly identical, carved from red cherry wood and polished to a dull gleam. The third figurine was more intricate. A beetle with articulated joints, so dark that it was nearly black. 

Lan Zhan,

I’m riding north now, through Henan, while it’s still not too cold yet. Maybe I’ll go all the way to Qinghe! Nie Huaisang owes me a drink, wouldn’t you say? But I’m in no hurry. Little Apple can’t be hurried anyway, so I’ve learned a new trade to keep myself entertained on the road. 

Jiang Cheng gave me a good paring knife when I left. You should see the deformities I whittled out of wood bits! When I got a little better, I bought sandpaper to smooth my little creations. When I finished doing that, I bought wax and wood stain to finish them. I carved anything I felt like. Ants, dogs, cats, houses… they were pretty good, if I do say so myself! I couldn’t hold onto them. I’d walk into an inn, pull one out to start working, and I’d get a crowd of kids looking at me. So of course I gave them all away. 

I took a bit more time with these ones I sent you. A pair of roosters to keep you company when you get up before dawn. You gave me two chickens, so now I’m returning the favor! Yours were flesh and blood, fat as could be; fit for a bride’s dowry. Pardon that these are only scraps of wood, Hanguang-jun. 

The beetle is for Sizhui. He loved playing with bugs when he was smaller. Do you remember you bought him a grass butterfly that day in Yiling? He took such good care of it. I thought it wouldn’t last longer than a few days, but I saw him play with it for at least a month. He’d ask me why butterflies had antennae sticking out of their heads. Or ask Wen Ning why they had six legs. He had plenty of real bugs to play with, but he loved that butterfly. He’d always ask me when you were coming back. Why do you want gege to come back, I asked, and he said maybe this time gege will buy me a beetle.

I bet he doesn’t even remember, but it’s alright. I’m sure he wasn’t such a mischievous child to continue playing with bugs in the Cloud Recesses, like some of us might have been. You can give him the beetle if you think he won’t mind it too much. Or whatever you like. 

As long as the story makes you smile, I’m happy. 

Wei Ying

Lan Wangji rolled the beetle’s torso between his fingers. It was heavier than it looked. As a matter of fact, Sizhui never did stop asking about insects. He stopped asking for his Xian-gege when he realized that it was no use, but lately the questions had started again. Had Wei-qianbei really studied at the Cloud Recesses when he was young? (Yes.) What was he like? (Rowdy. Curious. Kind.) Is he all right? (Yes.) When might he come back?

Lan Wangji could not answer this question any more than he could the last time it was posed. 

When he is ready, he said.

-

Lan Zhan,

I found another job! It got lonely on the road, so I stopped at the Golden Phoenix inn in Lanling and got myself hired as a waiter. The name sounds grand, but this is really a small place in the outskirts. Just how I like it. Enough customers to keep things interesting, but not so many that I’ll get recognized every day. Sometimes I play my dizi for them too, if they ask for a song. 

You wouldn’t believe how many bowls I can carry in one hand. It’s hard work! The gossip I hear makes up for my sore arms. Jin Ling’s not doing so badly as sect leader. Jiang Cheng doesn’t visit him as much as before. I know that can’t be helped. They used to say I shouldn’t spend so much time around Jiang Cheng, or else nobody would believe that he could do something without me. Ah, the time passes… I was younger than Jin Ling is now, but he still seems like such a kid. 

Lan Zhan, I hear you worked out a tricky settlement about what to do with Chifeng-zun and Jin Guangyao’s remains. Zewu-jun came out of seclusion to help, didn’t he? I know it can’t have been easy for him, or for you. Everyone is calling it a good compromise for Zewu-jun to personally visit Yunping so he can lay them to rest. I know nobody can surpass him in musical cultivation, and that you’ll be there if it gets out of hand. You’ve changed too, Lan Zhan. I think there was a time when you would have chosen differently.

If you come to Lanling sometime, I’ll treat you to a meal. I’ll make sure they use fresh vegetables for you! 

Wei Ying

Lan Wangji realized that he did have business in Lanling after all. 

A pair of ginkgo trees sheltered the Golden Phoenix, their green leaves beginning to turn yellow in the autumn sun. Lan Wangji walked in. The dining room was crowded and chatty—just the kind of place Wei Ying enjoyed—and Lan Wangji seated himself at a table in the corner. 

He did not need to wait for long. “Coming through!” Wei Ying’s voice could be heard from across the room. “More wine for you, gongzi, and here’s the fish you ordered.” He burst out of the throng at Lan Wangji’s side, flushed, beaming. “Hanguang-jun! What an honor! Can I bring you anything?” 

Lan Wangji felt as though he had swallowed his tongue. Wei Ying was so close that Lan Wangji could feel his warm breath where he leaned in, nearly at Lan Wangji’s shoulder, to speak. “Some tea,” Lan Wangji said.

“I’ll get you the tofu soup too,” Wei Ying said. He turned to go, and the strings on his apron fluttered behind him. Lan Wangji wanted to grab them, wanted to yank him back. But he had waited this long; he could wait a little longer.

Wei Ying returned with a pot of chrysanthemum tea. “How far did you travel today?” He asked, filling Lan Wangji’s cup with the deft elegance that he once saved for his bow. “Did you come to see Jin Ling?”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji said, his gaze drawn to Wei Ying’s sparkling eyes, “Will you drink a cup with me?”

Wei Ying laughed loud and bright. “I would, Lan Zhan, but with a crowd like this! Yang-laoban will have my skin if she hears I’m idling with handsome cultivators instead of carrying plates.” He passed the cup of tea to Lan Wangji, their fingertips brushing for a short instant. 

Lan Wangji suppressed a shiver. Wei Ying smiled until his eyes crinkled. “I’ll bring your soup out when it’s ready.”

Lan Wangji knew how to wait. His eyes followed Wei Ying to and from the kitchen: he stopped to chat with a table of merchants, then to joke with a family and sneak candy to a child, then to some farmers returning from market—“I’ve grown radishes in my time, you know—” always moving, always talking, always glowing. 

So much radiance diffused among so many. Perhaps no one person ought to keep it all.

Lan Wangji’s longing tugged at him, sharp, biting.

Gradually, over the course of a shichen, the crowd thinned. He sipped his soup. Wei Ying came to his table more and more often, picking up their conversation exactly where he had left it off. 

“Sizhui loved your gift,” Lan Wangji said. “He asked me about you.”

Wei Ying sighed, though he couldn’t conceal his pleased grin or the uncertainty in his too-quick reply. “What a good boy! And so generous for a little trifle. Your influence, Hanguang-jun, no doubt. Did you tell him how much I annoyed you?”

“Yes,” Lan Wangji said, feeling a smile tug at his own lips. “I told him also that you are the most worthy cultivator of our generation.”

Wei Ying stared at him, dumbstruck, a lovely pink flush coloring his cheeks. “Lan Zhan,” he finally murmured, “I—”

“Fire! Fire!” The cry rang out.

Wei Ying flew to the kitchen, which was engulfed in alarming clouds of black smoke. “I’ll put it out,” Wei Ying shouted over his shoulder, a talisman ready in his hand. “Get everyone else out of here, all right?” 

Lan Wangji looked over the few remaining patrons, most of whom were frozen with panic. “This way,” he said, sweeping out an arc of spiritual energy to clear their path. They shuffled to the back door. He gestured to the kitchen staff to follow.

One of them hesitated. A short man, but stout and strong. “Xiao-Wei’s in there,” he said, fiddling with his cook’s apron. “Leaving him like this—”

“Take them outside,” Lan Wangji said. “Nothing will harm Wei Ying while I am here.”

The man nodded once, then hurried to herd everyone out. 

Lan Wangji found Wei Ying soot-blackened from forehead to chest, the fire extinguished under three charred talismans, coughing over the washbasin. His eyes widened when Lan Wangji burst in. “There’s smoke, Lan Zhan, don’t come in—”

Lan Wangji seized Wei Ying by the shoulders and crushed their lips together. Acrid smoke tinged the warm slide of their mouths, Wei Ying’s quiet gasp—alive, alive, alive—Wei Ying’s arms came up to wrap around his waist. When they finally separated, Lan Wangji rested his forehead against Wei Ying’s. One breath. Two.

“Will you always treat your own life so recklessly?” Lan Wangji asked. They were so close that he could feel Wei Ying’s pounding heart. “Is it worth so little?”

Wei Ying gave a little laugh, and the sweet sound wrenched Lan Wangji’s heart. “Of all the people in the world, you should understand better than anyone.” He rested a hand on Lan Wangji’s chest to push him back and look up at him. “Does Hanguang-jun go where the chaos is because he’s reckless? Because his life isn’t worth anything?”

Lan Wangji wrapped his hand around Wei Ying’s, holding it to his heart. What sublime sorrow it was to be known, and loved; loved for being known too well. 

“Let me stay,” he said.

Wei Ying laughed in earnest. “Here? My tiny room isn’t fit for any guest, much less the chief cultivator.” His eyes curved into happy crescents. “Go back to Gusu, Lan Zhan. I’ll come find you.”

-

Lan Wangji had never written so many letters, nor traveled to so many meetings, nor received so many complaints, but his work was done. There would be no chief cultivator from this week forward. Let every sect settle its own business. The sects would continue cooperating on beneficial undertakings, but they would have no leader.

He landed at the door of a humble inn on the outskirts of Lanling. 

“Xiao-Wei?” The owner asked quizzically. “Yes, a hardworking young man, but he quit not three days ago. Said he’d earned enough to get married. He was heading east, I think, up to Gusu was it?”

Lan Wangji hardly heard a single word as he gave his thanks. Blood roared in his ears. His thoughts swirled too quickly to make sense the whole flight back to the Cloud Recesses. Up the stairs—past two surprised junior disciples at the gates—through the courtyard—through the jingshi door—

Wei Ying propped himself up on one elbow on Lan Wangji’s bed, dressed only in his sheer red underrobe, his collar open down to his navel. He was beaming. “Lan Zhan,” he said, “I don’t have much of a dowry, but if you’ll take this unworthy one anyway,”

He never had a chance to finish. Yes, Lan Wangji said silently, as he pushed Wei Ying down onto the bed and sucked marks all down his neck; yes, always, at last, of course, forever.