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The silence in the jingshi was like the mist: heavy, winding, filling every little space with oppressive white.
Lan Zhan focussed on the tiny sounds which tinted the blank canvass of his narrow world. The soft rustle of the leaves, the pulse of his heart, the gentle sigh of the breath in his chest. At first, the hours had burned into him like a brand, each more horrific than the last. Now, he barely felt the weight of the days which had become months and then perhaps years.
He heard a tap at the screen door, delicate fingers seeking permission to enter his chosen place of exile. “Wangji?”
“Mhm,” he said.
I have heard you.
There was nothing more to say.
The screen door opened gently and he opened his eyes, blinking slowly in the bright light. It seemed that the sun had come up again.
Lan Xichen stepped over the threshold. Every line of his face, every movement, and every drape of cloth was perfectly settled but Lan Zhan could see the worry which bubbled brightly behind those deep and placid eyes. He didn’t like it.
“You are meditating again,” Lan Xichen observed.
This did not require a reply.
Lan Zhan put two fingers on his wrist and felt the pulse thrumming there. A little thing which reminded him that somehow his body had not yet turned to stone.
Xichen came closer, tentative steps as if he were afraid that Lan Zhan would bolt away like a scared rabbit. There was no need to be concerned. He was not going anywhere.
Elegant fingers fished in Xichen’s sleeve and brought out a small jar. “I brought a salve for your back,” he said, a warm smile fading just before it reached his eyes.
“There is no need,” Lan Zhan said. His voice rasped in his chest. When had he last spoken? It didn’t matter. A long time.
Xichen smiled at him sadly, “You have received your punishment, there is no need to suffer more than is required.”
Lan Zhan finally met his gaze. Xichen flinched.
Lan Zhan did not like to make his brother worry but he would not bend. He needed the pain. He wanted the scars to stay red and raw. To weep and ache and burn. He wanted it to last forever.
“Wangji,” Xichen said.
“I am fine,” Lan Zhan said. And it was true. He was perfectly calm. Perfectly at ease, because the heart in his chest may beat, but it had long since died. In its place, there was a blessed emptiness. A vast whiteness like the silence, which he had to tend, had to feed. He couldn’t waste his time with meaningless conversations. He had to focus to keep the rising tide at bay. He needed the silence, just like he needed the pain.
The pain was the only thing that was real.
It was the only thing that was left.
Xichen floated through the room like a butterfly. Finally, he alighted upon a cushion by the table, holding his sleeve to place the jar down gently.
Lan Zhan glared at the jar. He had said that he did not want it.
Xichen smiled apologetically, “Just in case,” he said.
Lan Zhan took a slow, steadying breath and closed his eyes.
“Wangji…”
With a twitch of annoyance, he opened his eyes again. Why could they not leave him to his silence? To his beautiful burning pain. To the one thing which reminded him that he existed in the world. That he was a man and not just a loose collection of emotions that writhed when he tried to grapple with them, squirming wickedly against his grasp.
“Yes?” he asked. Perhaps if he listened then Xichen would leave.
“Lan Sizhui is growing so tall now. You should come and see him.”
A flare burned in his chest. A bright heat of emotion welling up, surging to find any tiny crack, any fault to weaken, to burst free. He focussed on his fingers pressing into his wrist. The little flutter of blood, of life, under his skin.
“He nearly comes up to my shoulder now, Wangji. You should hear him talking with the other disciples!” Xichen’s voice rose, a thin note of enthusiasm wavering as it soared then fluttered to the floor on broken wings. “He’s always looking out for them and herding them out of trouble. He wants to play but he’s too dutiful. He reminds me of you,” those knowing eyes pierced his soul and he felt resentful. He did not want to be seen. “He needs someone who understands him. He needs you.”
“He does not,” Lan Zhan said. No one needed him. Not like this. He fulfilled no function. There was nothing to do but wait. Only time could kill the last bits of the person he was when he stood beside Wei Ying. Thankfully, time was all he had.
“Wasn’t he your hope… your wish, Wangji? A child of…” Xichen trailed off and looked at him with eyes filled with pain. He must be very worried to say something like that. He never mentioned the past anymore. The jingshi had become a place where time did not exist.
Lan Zhan thought of the boy with huge, dark eyes. Of the smile on his face as he clutched the paper crane which Wei Ying had made for him. He’d told A-Yuan that if he made a thousand cranes, his wish could come true.
The heat in his chest flared so brightly that he thought he might just burst into flames. He wanted to see the boy. He wanted to see his wish. It would be alright. The pain would come with him. It would be with him every step of the way.
He moved his legs slowly, returning circulation and sharp cramp thrumming through him in a tingling rush.
Xichen leapt to his feet. “Carefully, Wangji…” he said, reaching out his hands to help Lan Zhan rise, slowly and awkwardly, to his feet.
Lan Zhan held Xichen’s arm to steady himself. The world tripped and turned around him in a dizzying spin. Slowly, it wheeled to a stop.
“I am alright now,” he said. Xichen still held him tight.
The smile on his brother’s face was warm and bright.
“I am alright now,” he repeated.
Slowly, they walked side by side out of the jingshi. Somehow the seasons had turned again. Autumn colours had bled into bare branches but now, the sweetness of spring stirred in the air.
Lan Xichen still held the crook of his elbow. Feeling his qi beginning to circulate with more vigour, he twitched his arm and said firmly, “I am alright now.”
Xichen finally let go.
In the distance, he could hear children’s voices. The quiet babble of supressed merriment murmuring and humming on the breeze.
Or perhaps, I will be.
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