"Colourful fucking clouds in the morning," Xue Yang spat, as they walked toward the imposing city on the horizon, the thick morning mists that rose from the great river making the bottom of Xiao Xingchen's robes cling damply to his legs. He frowned helplessly – Xue Yang's mood had grown increasingly irritable over the last few days, and by now he was back to spitting poison at the slightest provocation – or without.
"Will you describe them to me?" he asked, because usually the familiar ritual would help ground the man's mood, as well as allowing himself to imagine the world beyond the reach of his remaining senses.
"They're clouds. They're colourful. If you want someone to wax poetic about it, ask your precious daoyou. I'm done with it - if I had a lump of silver for every time some pompous Jinlintai asshole asked me to recite poetry from this hellhole, I'd be richer than the Jin."
"The sun is rising," Zichen tonelessly interceded. "The clouds sweep like zhuque plumes, long brush strokes of vermillion and gold. The mist turns the hills into islands, like a wet ink painting."
Xiao Xingchen thanked him with a smile, trying to ignore Xue Yang's scornful scoff of contempt.
"It sounds beautiful. Thank you."
"He is quite the poet, our Song-daozhang! Perhaps we should just leave him here - like all the other unwanted exiles of the empire, writing wistful poetry for the rest of his dead life. He'd fit right in!"
Xue Yang's voice was sharp and cruel, a tone of voice that scraped roughly against his most hurting memories, and he had to turn away from it, shuddering with something other than the damp cold of morning mists.
"Let's not fight," he managed, felt Zichen calmly take a small step closer, his presence reassuring.
"Who's fighting?" Xue Yang hissed, serpent-like. "It was a compliment!"
There was a first faint tremour from Shuanghua, just a flutter of restless agitation against his senses, though he didn't need it to guess at Zichen's rising anger.
"Xue Yang," he said, tiredly, and he probably shouldn't let his hurt shine through, not when the man - monster, murderer, he must remember that - was like this, frenzied to bite. But his heart chafed itself sore under his ribs and he couldn't help it. "That's enough. Please."
The world held its breath for several long heartbeats, and he braced himself, unsure of whether to anticipate concession or a destructive explosion of utter venom. In the end the silence remained his only reply, and he supposed he should be grateful for getting even that much.
Once they started walking again he wordlessly reached out, a question, and instantly found a familiar hand against his, an answer. Shuanghua settled on his back, soothed, as he dragged a thumb over Zichen's knuckles, feeling some of his anger dissipate.
Vermillion, Zichen had described the dawn. He almost wished he didn't remember from another lifetime that it was just a prettier word for the colour of blood.
***
Kuizhou was much the same as it had when he had last come through, all those fateful years ago. Finally, finally picking up a trace of rumours here, after searching for so long. Old ones, a cool trail, but word nonetheless of a blind cultivator in white, carrying a wrapped-up sword on his back. Rumours that had spurred him on, dizzy with hope, to find his way to Yi City - and his death.
Song Lan glanced at the man walking at their side through the corner of his eye, the by now chokingly familiar resentment of bloodthirst making his hands twitch once; Xue Yang seemed feral, with unkempt hair sloppily twisted into a simple knot, his face locked in a rabid sneer with teeth bared and eyes narrowed to slits. He looked as though he'd like to sink those fangs into the throat of the world, ripping and tearing, never satisfied until the universe itself had bled out at his feet.
Xingchen walked in silence, a hand unconsciously held out to graze against his with every step, and it did help calm him. The crowd of the city was boisterous, even though they had chosen calmer back streets over the busier thoroughfares, and despite the blindfold hiding so much of his expression, he looked tense and weary.
"Do you need to stop and rest?" he asked, and Xingchen looked up, surprised, clearly torn from deep thoughts.
"Not in this part of town," Xue Yang hissed before Xingchen could answer, the first words he had volunteered since entering the city. "Not unless you want your worldly possessions gone by the time you wake up bruised and naked in a back alley."
"Ah, no," Xingchen said, weakly. "No, let's not do that. We can walk a bit further."
But he did let his hand linger on their next grazing touch, and without any words needed, he took it to help guide Xingchen ahead to spare his overwhelmed senses, squeezing once in reassurance. His heart gave an odd little almost-alive jolt when it was squeezed back, lightly but unmistakably.
They had to detour back toward the busier streets once or twice, when somewhat newer-looking buildings or dead ends blocked their path, Xue Yang glaring at the obstacles as though their very existence were an unacceptable affront.
"We need to cut across the main avenue and markets to get to the better parts of town," he finally stated, somehow managing to shape words despite the constantly half-bared teeth. "Think you can handle it, Daozhang?"
"Yes," Xingchen assured, nodding once, looking determined. "It's fine, as long as we don't walk too fast."
Xue Yang, unlike the two of them, seemed to at least have an inkling of what way to go, and so despite his instinctive discomfort Song Lan let him take the lead, following with one hand on Xingchen's and the other ready to draw Fuxue at any sign of trouble.
People pressed in all around once they left the calmer streets behind, and he tried to navigate the crowd at an angle to shield Xingchen from the worst of the throng. Possibly Xue Yang's perpetual snarl did help a bit, too – more than one person gave his murderous face a single look and stepped far out of their way.
Even so, the effort and vigilance was draining, and by the time they had finally crossed the crowded labyrinth of the marketplace and into a calmer back street beyond, Xingchen slumped a bit, looking exhausted. Turning to ask him again if he needed to rest, he was momentarily distracted, and didn't notice what was happening until it was already too late.
A small street urchin had darted up to them and tugged on Xue Yang's empty sleeve, a begging hand hopefully stretched out, and between one second and the next the child was in the gutter, slapped aside with a harsh backhand over the head.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Xue Yang roared, raising his hand threateningly, as though to strike out again. "Do you know what happens to little rats like you, traipsing up to random strangers to beg for money? You want to end up raped and gutted in an alley? Idiot! Get out of here before I rip your ears off and feed them to you!"
He gave a vicious little kick at the child, who was bawling with terror, darting away before the boot could connect and slinking off down the nearest street.
"What on earth is going on?" Xingchen exclaimed, finally breaking out of his momentary shock, even as Song Lan drew Fuxue in a jagged movement, itching to thrust it somewhere Xue Yang would really feel it.
"What are you doing?" Xingchen asked again, stepping forward, looking absolutely stricken. Xue Yang turned to him, and his sneer hadn't wavered for a moment, his whole posture oozing, being undiluted cruelty.
"Teaching lessons! These street fleas are less than dirt under people's shoes." He scoffed, casting a contemptuous glare in the direction the child had run off. "The sooner they learn, the better."
Song Lan felt the world go dark around the edges, his own teeth baring, the hand on Fuxue quivering with effort to hold himself back. But Xingchen looked like he would either explode into righteous anger or fold in on himself in utter distress beside him, and he knew that he needed him. With almost inhuman effort he fought the resentment down, forced it back, regained control.
"If you ever harm a child again," he told Xue Yang with icy clarity, "I will cut your head off where you stand."
Xue Yang just sneered at him down Fuxue's length, unrepentant.
Then Xingchen stepped forward, and he might imagine that the look on his face had Xue Yang's grin wavering for just a moment, going stiffer around the edges.
"That was unforgivable," Xingchen said, quietly, but with his lips curled in disgusted fury.
Confronted by them both, Xue Yang just hissed, face twisting into a vicious grimace more snarl than smile.
"So pat them on the head instead then, Daozhang - give them treats and money and tell them that the world is kind! You'll feel good about yourself all day, and no one would fault you the day they run up to the wrong stranger and get strangled for entertainment."
He straightened, eyes narrowed and lips cruel, even as Xingchen hesitated.
"A stray with judgment flawed enough to ask me for anything needed the lesson. They should be grateful they're still drawing breath!"
He would look good writhing on Fuxue's blade, the remaining hiss of resentment in Song Lan's ears sang, seductively. Xingchen stood quiet for a long time, face unreadable, then he shook his head, looking utterly defeated.
"Let's find somewhere to rest. I need to sit down."
Xue Yang's smile faded and he opened his mouth to speak, falling silent when the tip of the sword came to rest at his lips, drawing a single papercut line of blood across them. He gave a cold glare, but had the sense to keep his mouth closed, and so got to keep his ugly tongue for a while longer. He gave a jerky point, supposedly indicating the best direction to go from here, and disdainfully turning his back on him, Song Lan gently reached out for Xingchen's hand.
Thankfully, Xue Yang just followed them in expressive silence, and there were no further outbursts. Still, Song Lan held the sheathed Fuxue ready in hand all the way to cleaner and airier streets, Xingchen a silent, grieving presence beside him, the hand in his cold.
After all this time, it still baffled him that his compassionate soulmate would act so surprised and disappointed whenever Xue Yang showed his vile true colours. Hopefully this would be the final disclosure Xingchen needed, to be able to sever those hurtful past attachments once and for all.
Sometimes the rot of a putrefied wound needed to be cut clean away before true healing could begin – and Song Lan felt so very, very ready to start cutting.
***
The resident fierce corpse had dragged Xiao Xingchen along to a respectable tea house in the finer parts of town, down unfamiliar streets so far beyond the fishy, garbage stink of the docks it could be another place entirely - another town, another world, a place not Kuizhou.
Xue Yang could almost allow himself to believe that, as attentive waiters fussed with plentiful food and fragrant tea. Would gladly believe it, honestly, for just a moment's respite. But muscle memory hadn't gone as soft as the rest of him, remained taut and coiled and ready, aching for violence all the way up his locked jaws, a hand so tense the pain shot from once-broken fingers to his elbow.
He studiously picked up his teacup and emptied it, hand rock steady, not shaking or splashing a single drop, despite the effort of it making his fingers lock up in cramps. That'd teach them.
"I have been thinking." Xiao Xingchen finally said, quiet and serious, setting his empty bowl aside after a meal shared in tense silence.
Picking up his own teacup in both hands, the look on his face was so focused, so intense with resolve it made him look like something half-divine, glowing in his whites, something clean somehow misplaced in this awful underbelly of the world. Xue Yang was vaguely aware of Song Lan turning to that light, too, as unable to resist it as himself.
"I was always taught," Xiao Xingchen continued, "that to live with true purpose, to follow the great Dao, we must be compassionate and charitable, oppose that which corrupts and tend to that which is weak and helpless. To do good as we encounter those in need, to make the world a kinder place as we make our way through it."
Song Lan nodded in agreement, and Xue Yang was magnanimous enough to at least refrain from open mockery, though his lips twisted automatically into contempt.
"But it's not enough, is it?" said Xiao Xingchen, frowning slightly. "It's not enough to just haphazardly assist those we happen to stumble across, then claim we've made a difference. That's just... self-righteous. Selfish. It makes us feel better about what we've done, but it doesn't change anything."
They both stared at him, and he raised his head as though he could look back at them, a shadow of frustration just where his brows hid under the blindfold.
"You told me that, once," he said, and Xue Yang found himself locked in that eyeless gaze, shocked momentarily wordless. "You said the people you hate the most are those who claim to be righteous, virtuous - naive idiots who pretend they make the world better by doing a few good deeds. People like me, I guess."
"Xiao Xingchen-.." he finally managed to get out, or an attempt at it, after a short and ugly battle against his too-long clenched jaws. But Xiao Xingchen shook his head sharply, frowning deeper.
"You weren't wrong."
"Xingchen," Song Lan said in what might technically be Xiao Xingchen's name, but carried all the tone of "what the fuck?"
"I have thought about that for a long time. I can't stop thinking about it. I tried to think about it when helping that girl in Tanzhou, to do something more - that's why I suggested an apprenticeship, to make a difference that actually mattered, and not just hand over a pouch of money. Feeling pleased with myself for solving a problem one day that would be back the next. But it's still not enough."
"Wait," Xue Yang said, still reeling from the whiplash of emotions, torn out of one brooding subject and tossed headfirst into another, "Xiao Xingchen, wait, are you actually... No. Listen, that day - it wasn't some grand-... I was just trying to make you angry!"
The ghost of a conversation from over seven years ago that he really, really didn't want replaying in his head, not now, not here, not following that memory over and over to its soul-shattering conclusion.
"No, you weren't," Xiao Xingchen said, and Xue Yang's only small comfort was the still-bewildered look on Song Lan's face, unceremoniously dropped out of the conversation several awful sentences ago. "You were angry. And those words were maybe the truest you said to me that day."
He couldn't speak, crushed between the rock of remembering the last vicious words he'd thrown in Xiao Xingchen's face and the hard place of merciless Kuizhou, a city with teeth, gobbling up those stupid enough to be weak, to spit out their shattered finger bones.
"I'm trying to understand," Song Lan said, slowly, and it may be the first time in his life he was relieved at the coolly overbearing daoshi interrupting, steering a conversation between him and Xiao Xingchen off its current track. "What is it you want to do?"
Xiao Xingchen made a face somewhere between helplessness and dismay, one hand making an almost involuntary gesture.
"I don't know."
He shook his head, then tilted it up as though asking them for suggestions.
"I don't know, but I want to do something more. I need to do something more. I have been given this second chance at life, to atone for the things I've done – maybe we all have. I want to be able to tell children like the one in the street today that I do believe that the world can be kind – I want to make it kind for them."
Xue Yang stared at him, his open candid face, and the mocking laughter at the back of his throat felt alarmingly like something else entirely, and he bit it back.
"Xiao Xingchen," he said, and despite his best efforts at disdain, his voice came out choked so gentle he could only pray Kuizhou wasn't listening. "You can't change how the world works. This isn't some heavenly mountain, hidden in the clouds - it's the real world. It's cruel and vicious and eats the weak. That's what the world is."
Xiao Xingchen scowled at him, so stern and unyielding he almost shied back.
"I chose the world! I gave up everything to live in it, learn its ways, make it better. You don't get to tell me that I don't know how cruel the world can be."
And yes, that hurt, made his stomach clench hard under Shuanghua's scar.
Xiao Xingchen shook his head, turning his blind gaze half away, distant and thoughtful.
"I know it's not easy, to make real change. Maybe it's not even possible. But does that mean I should just accept that things are the way they are - cruel and vicious as you say? What else would I do with my life here, if not following my own purpose?"
Even Song Lan looked like he was struggling with what to say, and not only because of the talisman coin still rattling loose in his dead mouth. Need to get that silver thread, Xue Yang dazedly made a mental note of, then promptly forgot.
"I agree with you. Of course I do. But the Way is to act according to the here and now, not build lofty distant goals. All great things have their origins in that which is small – and that simple compassion, that seed in the empty ground is what we are, what we always have been. What else is it you want to do?"
Xiao Xingchen gave odd, quirky smile.
"Change is inevitable, the natural state of the universe - why couldn't it be a change for the better? The teachings never said not to be that change, direct it - the yielding touch of water blunts even the most jagged rock. We can carve channels."
Something very nearly resembling a fond smile shifted Song Lan's haughty, frost-cold face for a moment, and then vanished, replaced by efficiency.
"I'm not disagreeing with you. But we have little but our determination. Where should we start? We can stay here, if you want, pick our old dream up again. Take on those children as disciples. Is that what you want?"
Stay here, Xue Yang heard, the world gone pitch black and ice cold like death, his throat clenching shut. Xiao Xingchen, staying forever in Kuizhou, the one thing he couldn't be without in the one place he couldn't be.
He was distantly aware that Xiao Xingchen looked up in surprise, smiling, the faintest flush on his face.
"I thought you had forgotten."
No. No, no, no, Xue Yang thought, and fuck the pretentious tea house for serving overpriced food that was so clearly rotten, trying to crawl its way back up his guts like something week-old scraped out of a back alley trash heap. There are a thousand reasons you can't stay here, and I'll tell you each and every one as soon as I think the lies up. You can't. I don't want you to.
"It was my dream, too," Song Lan said, that ugly unbearable almost-smile on his face again, the sound of it echoing clear through the talisman, making Xiao Xingchen's smile ever warmer. "It still is."
"There are countless temples and several sects based in this town already," Xue Yang sneered, and the universe spared its last whiff of mercy on making his voice steady and unaffected. "But of course, yours would make all the difference! You'll take on several dozen disciples, no doubt - making a real dent! I'm dying to hear how you'll choose the ones whose lives you'll save – the brightest? The weakest? A game of chance, perhaps – you always were lucky drawing straws, Xiao Xingchen."
Whatever moment the two daoshi had been sharing was thankfully shattered, and they both turned to him, one hesitant, one furious. He laughed, ignoring the desperate edge to it - let it sound like madness, all the better.
"You can sit on your doorstep and toss crumbs to the unfortunate ones, like all the other good-hearted monks. Those already strong enough to fight and steal will lounge around gaping for a free meal, and those too weak to challenge them will still starve out of sight. But you'll stack up your three thousand good deeds in no time, achieving saintly immortality and feeling so very pleased with yourselves!"
Xiao Xingchen's brief look of uncertainty at his interruption had vanished, replaced by something he couldn't interpret until he spoke, and once he did, he swore internally.
"I'm happy that you're getting so invested. I would love to hear your constructive suggestions."
A fucking challenge. The bastard.
"What, petitioning the city officials to leave more warm dung heaps around in winter, more unlocked garden sheds, things like that?"
"Warm, safe shelters," Xiao Xingchen calmly nodded, as though the taunts had been in any way meant as contributions, and he hissed at him. "That's a good point. Safe places for those who have nowhere to go. Places to rest, eat, recover. Perhaps offering medical and spiritual care."
"Why not have them built out of jade and gold while you're at it!" Xue Yang growled. "Jade and gold palaces of luxury for the destitute in every last city of the empire!"
Unforgivably, Xiao Xingchen's lips twitched, amused.
"Something like that. Shelters, at least. The jade and gold may have to wait."
Song Lan shot him a look that was exasperated, but surprisingly not entirely disagreeing, before turning back to Xiao Xingchen, forehead furrowed.
"An undertaking like that... It would demand vast amounts of resources, administration, political authority. It's a noble goal, but I'm not sure I can see how we could make it a reality."
Xiao Xingchen frowned slightly, holding a sweeping sleeve aside to pick up his teacup again, to sip at the forgotten lukewarm liquid.
"I know. Perhaps we can write petitions, like Xue Yang said, letters asking for support. People like Wang-daifu and Wu-daifu still remembered us, the legends of us. Maybe we could use that reputation, that standing, to gain influence enough to get started."
Xue Yang wanted very much to point out that he had been sarcastic, and that appeals for charity written to the mighty could just as well be delivered straight to the nearest trash heap, saving it the detour past some inflated official's table on its inevitable way there. But some small thought had begun gnawing at the back of his mind, no matter how he stabbed at it to keep it down.
"The great sects are jealous and quarrelsome," Song Lan pointed out, almost making sense for once. "Disinterested in helping anyone out of charity, but all too glad to go on the offensive if they feel attacked or slighted. There was a reason we wanted to remain free of them. Getting involved in their business is dangerous."
"The rich and powerful want people humble and suffering," Xue Yang said, almost automatically, distracted. "Stepping on others is how they became rich and powerful, and how they stay that way."
He could see pieces locking together in his mind, like cogs and wheels clicking into place in a spirit compass, the brushstrokes of a talisman aligning and blazing alive, like watching the tallest tree in a thunderstorm and knowing where lightning would strike next.
Xiao Xingchen hung his head at the lack of support, unacceptable dejection on his face.
There were a thousand, a hundred thousand reasons why it was the worst idea imaginable, a risk far too great, a course of action lined with endless potential for disaster.
"There has to be something we can do," Xiao Xingchen said, defeated.
And that really sealed their fate, didn't it, as simple as that. Because there was.
"Fuck," said Xue Yang, heartfelt. And committed.
***
"I have a friend," Xue Yang said, face gone serious, dark eyes flashing as though he wanted to bite the words bloody on their way out of his mouth. "Who could make that stupid, ridiculous dream of yours a reality."
Song Lan stared at the delinquent, Xingchen raising his head sharply in surprise at his side.
"What?"
Xue Yang's lips twitched habitually, smile-like, but there was no amusement whatsoever in his eyes.
"You want to change the world, you have to know who holds it in his hand. Bypass the quarreling sects and clans, appeal to the highest power. And oh, would he love this! He'd eat it right up! A charity scheme proposed by the legendary Bright Moon and Gentle Breeze, the... Snow-something-whatever it is you are - an excuse to magnanimously reach out and soothe the suffering of the poor and needy..? Fuck. He'd get off on it. Like his glorified Watch Tower project, but even more sickeningly altruistic."
"The Chief Cultivator?" Song Lan asked, the erratically tossed-around pieces finally snapping together in his mind.
"Yeah," Xue Yang said, reaching to take a swig of his tea only to seemingly realize his cup was long since empty, settled for spinning it round and round his fingertip against the table instead, unconsciously, restless. "Lianfang-zun. Jin-zongzhu, Jin Guangyao. Old friend of mine."
"The same Lianfang-zun who keeps heads for souvenirs," Song Lan found himself asking, sharply, because he hadn't connected those particular pieces – "Chief Cultivator" and Xue Yang's "talented friend" - at the time, that day in Yi City. Understandable, it had been a very overwhelming day, but it was still a disturbing insight.
Xue Yang laughed, but again there was no amusement in it.
"Mm, yes. That's the the one. Ah, fuck. That means I'll have to write him and say sorry for ratting him out, doesn't it? A very, very pretty letter with lots and lots of pretty apologies. That man nurses grudges more lovingly than anyone I know, myself included."
"And you say that this person... You think he would help us?" Xingchen interjected, weakly.
"I'm not saying it's a good idea," Xue Yang said, flatly, and for the first time he could remember, Song Lan briefly agreed with him. "But the nasty part is it would probably work. He loves to feel needed, loves to feel that he's helping those most unfortunate in the world, basking in their grateful adoration. And you said it yourself, you are legends. For you to reach out and suggest a joint project like that – especially now that righteous Hanguang-jun's found out about his dirty little secret in Yi City..."
He sighed, rubbing one-handed at his eyes in annoyance.
"Story writes itself, doesn't it? His chance at distracting people from those nasty accusations with a grand act of gracious benevolence. Your one big shot at making that change you want. It could just work."
Song Lan stared at the demonic cultivator, searching the ratty face for signs of betrayal and ulterior schemes, while knowing perfectly well that a master manipulator like Xue Yang would never let anyone see anything but what he wanted them to see. Apparently what he wanted them to see now was jittery frustration, which was admittedly odd.
"It sounds like a great risk," he said, warningly, glancing at Xingchen, whose face was furrowed in deep thought.
"You said you killed Chifeng-zun together," Xingchen said, haltingly. "Didn't you? That headless body hidden underneath the... Our-... That place was our home!"
The last aside sounded entirely involuntary, suddenly sharply offended, and Xue Yang actually flinched back, opened his mouth as to say something, but Xingchen shook his head in annoyance as to clear it. Plunging ahead, almost visibly forcing himself to focus on the goal at hand, no doubt trying to justify unsavoury means with worthwhile ends.
"If the Chief Cultivator stands accused of murder, how would he be able to help us?" he finally said, voice tight. "Why would he want to?"
"No, see, that's why he will," Xue Yang argued, and unfortunately Song Lan knew that made a lot of sense.
That's exactly what politics were, and the reason he had never been able to stomach the games of the great sects in the first place.
"It'll run right off him like water off a goose, everything always does - and once the air is cleared and some poor asshole somewhere has taken the blame and the fall, Lianfang-zun will surely be the very dearest friend to anyone who stood by his side in these trying times. Perfect, isn't it?"
There was a long while of silence as they thought it all over, only broken by the grating noise of the small thimble teacup twirling against the table again, round and round and round.
"You think it would work?" Xingchen said finally, quietly, as though asking something crucial of someone trusted, expecting honestly.
"Yes," said Xue Yang back, reluctantly, rolling his eyes but sounding just as serious. "It is a great risk, maybe too great. I can't make any guarantees – he's a friend of sorts, but he still has the power to snuff us all out at a whim should he feel like it, for whatever reason. But if he agrees... Yes. I think it'll work. I wouldn't have suggested it otherwise."
Song Lan very much wanted to intervene, protest, remind Xingchen of why they had so adamantly chosen to stay out of the clans' politics a long time ago. But with it all lined up like this, it did sound like a once in a lifetime chance. Once in two lifetimes, he supposed.
An opportunity to make something worthwhile come out of all their suffering, forcing the powers of corruption to assist in planting seeds of good for once.
After another long silence of deliberation, Xingchen finally nodded, his face setting in those too-familiar lines of determination, and Song Lan knew then with hopeless resignation and equally helpless affection that nothing would be able to change his mind now.
"Then we'll try."
"We'll need to write letters," Xue Yang said, looking vaguely pained. "The most flowery, sycophantic letters imaginable. Heap on the titles and inflated flattery, sketch up your ideas in grand terms of sentimental charity. If we send messages fast-track down the river they'll reach Jinlintai well in time for the big Cultivation Conference in a couple weeks – the perfect time for a scheme like this to be presented to the dazzled cultivator world, making them think of anything else but murder. And once it is, he can't well back out."
Xingchen nodded.
"Zichen, will you please do the writing? I haven't practiced my calligraphy in a long time."
He very nearly automatically answered that he was sure it would be fine either way before he caught the joke, and then only because Xue Yang finally gave an undignified snort of genuine laughter, losing his grip enough to send the spinning teacup clattering to the floor.
When the waiters hurried over to clean up the shards, Xingchen apologized and blessed them with his most resplendent smile, asked for ink and paper, and another pot of tea.
One pot of tea eventually turned into many, daylight fading and lanterns and candles being lit all around to chase the shadows away, the room increasingly devoid of other guests. The combined pile of notes, roughly sketched maps and discarded first drafts of letters grew steadily, until it avalanched off the table and onto the surrounding floor.
At one point, in between arguing that medical care for those too poor to see a doctor was a non-negotiable part of his vision, and looking childishly sullen because both of them informed him that the people in power wouldn't care just because they should, and that offering up solid materialistic benefits would be necessary to sell in the concept, Xingchen asked the staff to have a room prepared for them for the night.
At this rate, they clearly weren't going anywhere any time soon.
Bestowing the occasional scathing but annoyingly well-informed contribution, Xue Yang was committing left-handed writing again, the painstakingly drawn characters still looking more like the scribbles of an untaught child than anything fit for the peony court. Presumably drafting his own private letter to their hopefully-to-be benefactor.
Song Lan mentally concluded with fierce determination that they wouldn't let him send anything to anyone without thoroughly checking it for signs of filthiest betrayal first.
But Xingchen was smiling, absolutely radiant, more excited than he had seen him since before Baixue and the Celestial Mountain, before all the long years of pain. Come alive, gesturing and talking fast, chasing one thought at the tail of another, like they had under starlit nights so long ago. Building a dream together. Song Lan felt his heart sting, with regrets and dangerous reawakened hope, and love, more than anything else, that.
Disturbingly, he knew that if he glanced up now he would see that far too familiar look, a dark cracked mirror of those same feelings, echoed on Xue Yang's face, and so resolutely kept his eyes on the piece of paper in front of him.
"I think this covers everything. We can go over it a few more times, but filling a bowl past the brim only makes it spill."
"Let me see that," the cutthroat killer across the table said, and snatched the letter up to read it. Only slightly raising a scolding eyebrow at him, Song Lan calmly claimed his private letter in return, to scan it for horrible schemes of murder. He was almost disappointed when it appeared to be just the saccharine apologetic letter of blame-deflecting that Xue Yang had claimed to write.
"Well?" Xingchen asked, eagerly.
"Looks good enough," Xue Yang said, eyes darting back and forth over the text. "A-Yao is so very clever, he won't need any long-winded drivel to help connect the dots. Flattery and titles enough to act as bait, useful potential enough to set the hook - he'll figure out three dozen ways to use this the moment he opens it. What he chooses to do with it is another thing..."
He lowered the letter and narrowed his eyes, while Song Lan still felt too deeply disturbed by the 'a-Yao' to offer any commentary.
"Actually. You know what? You know what. We should definitely send a copy off to Gusu as well. The Lans are so very righteous, they would be delighted to be a part of this. Zewu-jun is a friend of the Chief Cultivator's too – he'll be so happy to learn you're alive and well and working with Lianfang-zun toward such a noble goal. He would be a great ally."
Song Lan could tell there was a deeper meaning to the words, but couldn't decipher what. Just watched in vague frustration as Xue Yang took his ugly shaky handwriting to his own perfect calligraphy, striking out certain characters and adding a few others.
"There. Good to go. Write it up nice and clean again, will you."
Xingchen's smile widened even more, however, something almost childish about his sheer enthusiasm and delight.
"I'll go get us some more tea while you finish," he said, rising gracefully. They both automatically smiled after him, but the moment he was out of earshot, Xue Yang instantly stopped smiling and leaned in, far too close for comfort.
"Whatever happens after this, never trust Jin Guangyao around him," he said, voice low and grim, acerbic like smoke. "Given half a chance he'll thread his neck and hands with strings and dance him like a puppet."
Song Lan narrowed his eyes, forced himself not to back down or flinch.
"You said he was a friend."
Xue Yang didn't even smile, just held his gaze, uncomfortably raw.
"'Friend' is a loose term. He's a politician. He uses people - and he would absolutely love to use him. You know how Xiao Xingchen is, he'll offer himself up to be taken advantage of in a heartbeat if he thinks it'll help people. Danced to destruction."
"Like you did?"
He couldn't hold back the damning bitterness, and the smile instantly slid back on Xue Yang's face, a shield of deceit over what he belatedly realized had been honesty.
"Yes! You won't let that happen again, will you, Song-daozhang? You already abandoned him once. Don't let the evils of the world destroy him again while you keep your sulking back turned."
That hurt and was also true, and he did finally recoil under the guise of straightening to give a cold look down his nose, just to be able to put some distance between himself and the vile creature. Xue Yang just smiled knowingly up at him, every bit as bitter.
"I think we have all earned this," Xingchen said, breaking the moment, laughter on his voice as he came sweeping back to their table with a large plate in his hands.
Song Lan only caught what happened to Xue Yang because he was still looking so closely at him, the stab of absolute shock and revulsion and something very, very close to horror flashing across his face.
Then he shot to his feet with a feral snarl, his features twisted into a mask of fury, loudly knocking another wave of loose papers off the table and to the floor.
"Do you think this is funny?" he hissed, something so demonic that Xingchen stumbled a stunned step back, almost dropping the plate of assorted pastries he was carrying. "Trying to patch every wrong in the world up tonight? Tossing treats to your faithful dog?"
They were all frozen for a moment, Song Lan too startled to move, Xingchen looking as though he had been physically slapped, Xue Yang literally snarling.
Then he whipped around on his heel and stormed off, growling, in the direction of the room they had been assigned.
Xingchen slowly sank to his knees by the table as though all air had been knocked out of him, groping blindly for an empty enough surface to deposit the plate from his unsteady hands. Song Lan quickly took it away and set it aside, caught one of those shaking hands in his own.
"Are you all right?"
"Did I do something wrong?" Xingchen asked, voice thin, still clearly reeling. After leaving his resentment to rest all evening, suspiciously but pleasantly surprised at Xue Yang's brief foray into manners almost bearable, Song Lan was back to concluding that no, actually, the man really needed a sword to the guts.
"You didn't. He's clearly been itching for a fight all day. I suppose the delinquent of Kuizhou isn't all that comfortable back on old home turf."
Xingchen just stared at him, wordless, so stunned he couldn't help but wonder if he had done something wrong.
"Kuizhou. Xue Yang is from Kuizhou. I... I had forgotten. Chengmei wasn-..."
His shocked expression shifted into one of remorseful dismay.
"Oh. Oh no. I think I may have done something horribly cruel."
***
Only silence answered when Xiao Xingchen knocked on the door, and for a dreadful moment he worried that Xue Yang had left, really left, gone to take his murderous venom out on anything alive on the streets of Kuizhou.
He knocked again, then opened the door, suddenly desperately having to make sure.
"Xue Yang..?"
Still only silence, but he could make out harsh breathing, furious and uneven. He took a few hesitant steps into the room, relief that Xue Yang was here replaced by apprehension that Xue Yang was, in fact, here, having to be dealt with.
"Are you all right?" he asked. Chengmei had never been good with apologies, never willingly giving, graceless at receiving. But he was good at grudges, and he didn't want that, not now, not when they had come so close to... he wasn't sure what. Sharing something. A familiar companionship, impossibly, woven between all three of them for a few hours while the world looked away.
Still only silence answered him.
"I'm sorry," he said, because he was. "I was thoughtless. I didn't mean to hurt you."
There was a bitter laugh at that that almost had him recoiling, but underneath the viciousness it sounded profoundly unhappy.
Street-fleas, dirt under people's shoes, children and their fingers so very expendable.
"Xue Yang," he tried again, softly, but was cut off by a throaty snarl.
"Don't." Another few ragged breaths. "Don't talk to me right now. I will hurt you if you do, and I don't want to."
"Then I won't," he said, strangely relieved because this was honestly improvement. He took a step back. "We can talk later. I just wanted to make sure you were all right."
Only silence again.
"I'll go down and help finish things up – it will probably take a while. We'll try not to disturb you if you're asleep when we come back. Is there anything you need?"
"For you to leave."
A quiet hiss, and stupidly it made him have to fight back an unforgivable smile, the response so predictable it made his heart twinge. Not wholly a stranger after all, no matter how much he sometimes wanted to think so.
He nodded instead and stepped back outside, ready to close the door.
"About today... What you offered, what we've all started building together... It means everything to me. Thank you."
There was a hitch to the suddenly shaky breathing, something terrifyingly fragile.
He closed the door, then, knowing all too well how easily any glimpsed weakness would slide into threats and violence with this man.
Leaning his forehead against the door for a dizzy moment, he decided that surely, surely, after today he was allowed the sting of grieving affection in his heart, despite everything.
"Good night, Xue Yang," he breathed and turned to leave.
Wanting to make the world a kinder place for the sake of that once-broken child, too.
Song Lan sat still in the dark, eyes closed but senses awake. Xingchen was a warm presence resting up against him, and by now it was hard to remember a time that he wouldn't – he'd lie down at an entirely appropriate distance, and then slumping up against him, curling into him as soon as he was asleep.
In the dark, he felt his lips twitch into a smile.
A sense of wonder, still sending head and heart spinning, remembering the touch against those lips only hours earlier.
Xingchen had come back downstairs after being gone only a few moments, a deeply thoughtful look on his face, and his own instant reaction had been vast relief. He had been deeply adverse to the idea of him going to face a murderous Xue Yang alone, but was forced to admit that coming along probably wouldn't help settle any ruffled feathers. Reluctantly trusting Xingchen's judgment in this.
Xingchen sat down, still pensive, and Song Lan poured him a cup of tea, then one for himself.
"Are you all right?"
"Yes. It's fine. I think."
"You shouldn't have had to apologize," he couldn't help but state, disapproving - not of the gesture but the mere idea that it was demanded in the first place. "You did nothing wrong."
Xingchen smiled sadly and accepted his cup, taking a sip.
"Sometimes you hurt people even when you don't mean to. It doesn't make the hurt less real. I was thoughtless and inadvertently tore at an old pain, shared in confidence. Of course I should apologize for that."
Song Lan remembered dark haze half lifting as one of the nails in his skull was ripped out, watching Xue Yang - wearing Xingchen's face - play the wounded victim to perfection. Easily gaining the trust and sympathy of Wei Wuxian and the young masters of the various clans, knowing exactly how to play his act to get right to their hearts. Up against any performance like that, a soft, vulnerable heart like Xingchen's never stood a chance.
He chose not to speak his thoughts out loud, however, knowing it would only upset him. Only doubled down for the hundredth time on his own silent wow to keep wary vigil for them both.
"I finished the letters," he said instead, guiding Xingchen's hand to the neat pile of papers. The look on his face as he lightly traced them with his fingers was so radiant it almost felt like a second death to watch, heart aching and breath stolen – an expression full of soft awe, hope, happiness.
"This... Zichen, if this works..."
Xingchen laughed, slightly breathless, and Song Lan couldn't hold back a smile at his unbridled enthusiasm.
"A change for the better. We'll carve channels."
Somehow Xingchen's face softened into something sweeter still.
"Oh, Zichen. Yes."
Song Lan lifted his own hand to rest it on Xingchen's upon the letters. A new dream, or perhaps the same old one, only given different form. A beginning, here, on the other side of what he thought would be the end.
Xingchen laid his other hand on top of his, giving that light squeeze that never failed to make his heart jump. He was still smiling, but there was something fragile on his face, close to tears.
"I am so grateful," he said, voice strangled soft with emotion. "So grateful to get to have this. All of this. I never thought I could... I wandered alone for so long. Thought I had lost all joy forever. But you're here now. We're all here now, building this together."
He bristled briefly at the 'all', but surely Xingchen had meant 'both', nothing else.
"We're here now, together," he assured. "I will never leave you again."
"Zichen," Xingchen said again, so softly, making his name a blessing, something precious in his mouth. "You. Most of all, I'm grateful for you. I was so lost without you. Whenever I lose my bearings, it is the thought of you I turn to, your simplicity, patience, compassion. I see the truths of the Universe in you."
It was the artless honesty that broke him, and suddenly there were tears stinging his eyes. He would never deserve that simple reverence in a thousand lifetimes, but would strive to be worthy of it in each and every one.
The tea room was empty and silent at this late hour, a few candles and lanterns left at their table the only faint light, and it was really the easiest thing in the world to lean in and be met halfway for the softest of kisses. Just a brief brush of lips, and they pulled away, breathless.
Xingchen's face was flushed pink, and he looked almost bashful yet utterly pleased.
"We should get some sleep," Song Lan weakly managed after far too long of trying to catch the breath he technically didn't need, certain for a dizzying moment that Xingchen was about to lean back in again, kicking himself for withdrawing but desperately needing the space. Suddenly acutely aware of the coin wedged in his tongueless mouth, aware of being something dead.
Hesitant, for more reasons than ever, to touch or be touched.
"We've had a long day."
Xingchen laughed at him, could probably guess at least part of what he was thinking, but it was so warm and fond he was not the least bit offended.
"We have! We've certainly earned our rest."
The moment was broken, and smiling Xingchen untangled their hands and began collecting the discarded papers off the floor. Better not leave such things around for just anyone to read, supposedly - though whose eyes could possibly be more untrustworthy than Xue Yang's could be debated.
Still somewhat dazed, Song Lan gathered the final versions of their letters in his hands, something precious, a dream given first solid form.
Xingchen stood up beside him, and he conscientiously blew out the candles, then picked up the remaining lantern in his other hand and followed him up the stairs to their room.
Xue Yang had claimed the day bed by the window, tensely curled up with his back turned and breathing in a way he'd grown to recognize in Tanzhou as not actually asleep but refusing to talk to you, which suited him just fine. Ignoring him, he set the lantern down at a low table and bolted the door.
Xingchen was gracefully shedding his outer robes, neatly folding and draping them over a footstool, then stepping out of his boots to sit down on the bed. For a moment Song Lan's mind went blank, which was ridiculous, they had slept in the same bed a hundred times in the past. But his lips still tingled and he suddenly hesitated, wondered if that meant things were different now, somehow.
Xingchen smiled up at him, so softly.
"Will you watch over me while I sleep?" he asked, echoing the words he had assured so many times on the road leading here, and his hesitation instantly slunk away, chastised.
"Always," he replied, seriously, walking around the bed to sit down on the other side of it, cross-legged and straight-backed. A guardian in the night, to keep any evil thing at a safe distance. Including - and perhaps particularly - the serpent sharing the room with them.
Xingchen smiled at him again and settled down, curling up in a blanket, his breathing soon deep and even.
Less than half an incense stick later he had rolled over in his sleep, resting his head against his thigh, giving little soft and entirely human snores. The lantern finally flickered and went out.
And in the dark, something hollowed out and filled to the brim at once, Song Lan couldn't help but smile.
***
Xue Yang must have slept in the end, he figured, if only because he woke to washed-out dawn light with a too-familiar start, trying to listen over the thunder of his hammering heart for the sound of Xiao Xingchen breathing.
It had been several weeks since the man had stepped from his coffin back into the world of the living, and still Xue Yang flinched awake several times a night with the same gut-clenching dread, having to make sure, make sure it wasn't all just another of a thousand cruel dreams, to be torn out of his grasp the moment he opened his eyes.
Quiet, undignified snores could be heard from the direction of the bed, however, and his heart clenched again, for entirely different reasons. Idiot Xiao Xingchen, who would as often as not shove his head face-down into the bedding in his sleep, half choking on blankets or his own hair. He would be warm and limp, he knew, hair muddled and blindfold tilted slightly askew... Never more human, less moonlight than after a night asleep.
Xue Yang kept his eyes closed for a long while and let his own ragged breathing fall in tune, just listening, remembering, aching with longing. Unable to resist he finally sat up and turned to look, found Xiao Xingchen sprawled just as he'd known he would, face down in a mess of scrunched up blankets and pillows. Unfortunately also found Song Lan staring coldly at him, sitting cross legged on the bed at Xiao Xingchen's side, and at once every last particle of him roared in hatred, howled to kill.
He had no right to be here, be a part of this picture - should have stayed mindless and dead, should never have shown his ugly face in Yi City in the first place!
Xiao Xingchen's limp arm was draped across one of his ankles.
If Xue Yang hadn't known himself to be utterly heartless, the sight of it could have killed him.
Snarling low in his chest, he stood and jerkily tugged on his overcoat, far clumsier one-armed than he liked to be in front of anyone, but Song Lan in particular. He stomped his feet into his boots and kept stomping onward, heading for the door, suddenly needing desperately to be anywhere but here, faced with those contemptuous eyes, Xiao Xingchen's delicate hand resting in that undeserving lap. Someone was bound to die, horribly, messily, soon, if he stayed.
"Where are you going."
Maybe someone was bound to die anyway, he decided, itching for a good, gory murder to vent his rage.
"The outhouse," he sneered, honey and poison. "I didn't realize I needed your permission to go piss."
Song Lan didn't reply, just let his aloof face scrunch up further in contempt and mistrust, looking as though he was about to forbid him from going off anywhere alone. He was welcome to try.
"I can stay," he intercepted, sweetly, gifting the presumptuous daoshi his vilest grin. "I can go right here, if you feel like offering up your boots for buckets..?"
"Please don't," Xiao Xingchen said, voice still slurred and sleepy, raising his head from the bed, because of course he had woken up just in time to hear that.
With a wordless guttural sound of frustration Xue Yang snatched the bolt aside and kicked the door open, before the sight of that tousled black hair draping over Song Lan's thigh made him scream.
"We'll meet you downstairs for breakfast in a moment..?" Xiao Xingchen called after him, voice still throaty with sleep, and the sound of it filled him with another wave of rage, surely absolutely rage, only it made his eyelids sting uncomfortably, probably from the lack of proper sleep.
Deliberately taking a wrong turn through the kitchens on his way to the courtyard, he swiftly appropriated a collection of small but sharp knives before a waiter vaguely familiar from the day before spotted him and hurried over to helpfully point him on his way.
He still throbbed with the hunger to kill, itched with it, knew with single-minded ravenous hunger how very much better he would feel carving quivering flesh from bone to the soothing counterpoint of death rattles. Needed it to the deepest marrow of his own bones, the lazy thump of heartbeats in the servant's throat in the kitchen behind him deafening, an outright mockery.
But Xiao Xingchen had asked him, made him promise not to kill needlessly - he laughed at that, the hilarity of it, expecting vicious barks of madness and winced at the near-whimpers that emerged instead. Had said wanted to believe that promise, the hopeless naive idiot.
The idiot who had spoken so softly the night before, said unforgivable things like I'm sorry and I didn't mean to hurt you and I wanted to make sure you were all right and Is there anything you need?
As though he still cared, as though something could still be salvaged from the ashes of the life Xue Yang hadn't even realized he couldn't be without until it had already gone down in roaring flames.
You, he wanted to whimper and beg like the most pitiful of street dogs, You, you, you, I need you, I need you back, I need it all back!
His chest constricted and suddenly he couldn't breathe, the pathetic seven-year old deep down wanting just to wail and scream as though he hadn't learned that crying over the world's injustices only got you whiplashes and cart wheels, kicks to push your inconveniently broken body out of people's way.
In the end, with an effort so great his vision swam with it, he swallowed down his bloodthirst unsated, tucked the knives away in his qiankun sleeve and settled for methodically wringing the necks of every stupid fat chicken in the courtyard instead. It didn't really help much.
He stood quiet for a long while, once everything around him was dead, fingers sticky with blood and feathers. Focused on the breath burning in and out of his lungs until he felt in control enough to be able to pass the kitchens again without ripping anyone's throat out with his teeth.
Washing the blood and feathers off his hand, he finally went to make use of the outhouse while absolutely pettily imagining that the bucket was in fact a certain dead man's stinky boots.
And then he went back inside to join Xiao Xingchen and his hideous pet corpse for breakfast.
***
Xiao Xingchen sipped his almost too-hot tea, and it was the most delicious tea in the world. Even this early in the morning other patrons were talking softly all around, and by marvelous coincidence, the murmur was the most pleasant sound in the world, too.
Zichen was at his side, and a short while later another familiar presence approached and carelessly threw himself down to sit at their table, and everything really was right with the world. He smiled.
"We haven't ordered breakfast yet – we weren't sure what you wanted."
There was a brief silence that could be hesitation, or maybe just a shrug.
"Doesn't matter. Let's go with chicken. I heard they have a sudden surplus they need to get rid of."
There was a short, heated debate on the tenets forbidding meat-eating at that statement, but he wasn't really listening, just let the cherished voices wash over him, still smiling.
He had a purpose, a new dream, already half given form. Hope, genuine, for the first time in the longest time. Given to him as a precious gift by the other two, both.
And Zichen had kissed him.
He felt almost giddy at the thought, had to hide the flushed, widening smile in his teacup for a moment.
He had kissed Zichen and Zichen had kissed him, with the same serious, thoughtful air he did everything else, and lightning-struck with the memory he had to fight down the most undignified urge of his life to decisively straddle his companion's lap and kiss and kiss and kiss him again until neither one of them drew breath.
It was all too easy to imagine the muffled noise of scandalized shock Zichen would make at such antics - in public! - and he almost choked into his tea, masked laughter with a discreet cough.
"You're in high spirits today, Daozhang..?"
Xue Yang's voice, and he wasn't entirely sure if it was accusing or amused, only that it lilted into something like a question at the end.
"I am," he admitted with a smile. "Of course I am. I have many things to be glad and grateful for today."
There was a short silence, and then, to his surprise, Xue Yang spoke again in that odd choked-soft voice even Chengmei had rarely sported, almost uncertain.
"That's good. It's... good to see you happy."
Suddenly Xiao Xingchen's heart ached, sharply, a cut of relief so deep his hollowed-out eyes stung with it.
He had been crushed under the weight of impossible duty ever since his first reborn breaths in that coffin in Yi City, knowing with excruciating certainty that the only possible course of action left to him was to eventually speak a death sentence he just couldn't.
But yesterday the world had tilted and changed, as the flow of the Universe sometimes would, gently suggesting another path - Xue Yang had freely offered his aid in helping them make the world better, kinder. Out of selfishness, he knew - despite everything he wasn't that naive – but that still meant his life would be a stronger force for good than his death. And that meant that he himself wouldn't have to make that awful, agonizing, impossible choice after all.
He smiled back, putting all his warmth into it - there was hurt there, still, of course, endless hurt and bitter anger, but at least he didn't have to lie to himself anymore about the obstinate affection still scorching his heart, even after everything.
"Let's eat," he said, lightly. "We can go over the letters one last time and then head out to send them on their way."
"Yeah. Sure," Xue Yang agreed, sounding very distant, almost faint. "We'll do that. Courier boats, down at the river."
"Should we stay here in Kuizhou until we receive a response?" Zichen said. "Or do we make our way east to Jinlintai?"
"Absolutely not," Xue Yang said, immediately sounding far more like his usual sharp, abrasive self. "We're not going anywhere near Jinlintai until we have three promises in writing that we're officially invited, as honoured guests, safety guaranteed."
Xiao Xingchen felt himself frown, suddenly ill at ease.
"Are you saying we would be in danger going there?" Zichen asked, voice hard.
There was a slight sigh, but not the exaggeratedly patronizing one he had been faced with on occasion, just something somewhat tired and annoyed.
"I told you last night, Lianfang-zun holds magnificent grudges. He'll still be very upset with me for saying too much to the wrong people, and losing that corpse of ours - and he gets pernicious when he's feeling petty. And even without all that, the whole place is a scorpion's den. We're not going near it until we know the letters got there and our new friend's protection has officially been oh-so-graciously extended."
Not quite as straightforward a path as he had expected, or hoped for, Xiao Xingchen thought and felt somewhat deflated, putting his teacup down.
"Ahh, don't look so dejected, Daozhang! He'll bite, the bait's too tasty for him not to. We just need to be patient for a while! Your big dream's worth waiting for, isn't it?"
Helplessly he found himself smiling again at that wheedling, teasing tone, something so familiar his lips had twitched before he stopped to think about it.
"Of course. Every journey begins with a first step. We'll send the letters today, scattering seeds. The future will show us what will grow from it."
"Mm," Zichen said, sounding somewhat grim even in the one humming syllable. "We'll be cautious and move with discretion for now. And if this is you leading us into a trap..."
Xue Yang snorted, sharply, in what could be amusement, offense or somehow both.
"Yes, yes, yes, I know, horrible death and all that. I'm not in a rush to lose my head either. So let's go north, take the long way around. We'll be on the right side of the river, and once it's time to veer east, we'll go through Qinghe. Place is safe, the clan leader's an incompetent idiot. Much better than sitting around here, or splashing through the mud of Yunmeng. Sound good, Daozhang?"
Xiao Xingchen smiled weakly and spread his hands in a shrug.
"I wouldn't know. It's been a long time. If you think it's the best way, we'll take it."
"When I came from up north," Zichen stated, and he could all but hear the thoughtful frown, "The former Wen territory was still half a no-man's land, sliced up and scattered between petty clans. Easy enough to move through without any of the greater sects making trouble. It was a long time ago, though. I don't know what it's like now."
"Pretty much the same," Xue Yang agreed. "Not quite as lawless as of late. Plenty of those fancy Watch Towers all over - enough to glare the petty local lords into submission, knowing someone's always watching. All nice and happy, thanks to our dear friend-to-be. He's very good at keeping the peace."
"Then we go north for now, and make our way from there," Zichen concluded, and Xiao Xingchen nodded his agreement.
They went over the letters a few more times over breakfast, and a small childish part of him he'd all but forgotten fluttered with the same exhilarated dread-and-joy he'd felt when he had first turned his back on the Mountain to descend into the mythical world below, half a lifetime ago. The first steps taken on a new, life-defining journey.
At least this time, he thought, heart brimming with fondness, he wasn't walking into the future alone.
***
"Traveling a thousand fucking li in one single day," Xue Yang sighed as the courier boat cast off, gaining speed as it navigated past the throng of crafts on the great river. "No taking that back now."
Past ten thousand mountains, Song Lan mentally filled in, looking after the swift craft and the momentous message it carried, not sure if he should feel elated or troubled. But Xingchen was smiling, animated with rekindled enthusiasm, and so he laid his doubts to rest for the time being. The future would arrive either way, whatever it held. Little point in worrying about it now.
"Can we get out of here now?" Xue Yang said, sounding exaggeratedly bored, which - according to the internal encyclopedia Song Lan's mind had begun piecing together in Tanzhou, much to his own chagrin - meant that he was probably uneasy. "I hate this place."
Xingchen nodded.
"We'll stock up on supplies while we have the opportunity, but then there's no reason to linger."
"Well, we're in the right place! Dock market's the best place to pick things up for cheap. Just don't ask who the vendors stole it off and you'll be fine."
There was something nasty about Xue Yang's knifeslash smile, but Xingchen just shook his head in mild exasperation, still smiling, allowing the delinquent to lead the way ahead.
Song Lan had almost managed to make himself believe they might get through the market without incident, tucking the acquired food rations and medical supplies away in his qiankun bag, when Xue Yang paused at a stall and thoughtfully narrowed his eyes.
"Oi. This pure silver?"
The hawker was a small man, all limbs, somehow managing to look even rattier than Xue Yang himself. Perking up at the attention he quickly held several spools of pale metal thread up for closer inspection, sweeping calculating eyes over the three of them and flashing an oily grin, missing half his teeth.
"Sure, of course, worthy daoshi! Only purest silver for our noble followers of the Path! I know you care little for such worldly matters as money, but gimme a blessing or two and you'll get my best price, yeah?"
Xue Yang scoffed and narrowed his eyes further, picking one of the spools up, unwinding a few loops of thread with his thumb. He did something, Song Lan wasn't sure what, but there was a strange smell as the thread suddenly burned red-hot, then crumbled black, white, into ash.
Xue Yang's eyes widened along with his smile, both suddenly flashing an alarming amount of white.
"Oh, my friend, oh no," he said, almost singing the words, voice soft as smoothest silk, "Are you really trying to swindle me..?"
The hawker's sputtered complaints at the casual demolition of his wares shifted into weak protests at the words, only to abruptly cut off as Xue Yang leaned in closer, his fanged grin deranged. Song Lan laid his hand on Fuxue with a soundless sigh, getting ready to intervene if things took a turn for the uglier.
"Do you know what you just did..? Lying to me? Do you know who I am?" Xue Yang breathed, and the vendor seemed utterly transfixed by those flashing eyes a hair's breadth from his own, barely gathering the wits to shake his head, a mouse trapped in the serpent's gaze.
"I'm the man who'll gouge your eyes out and stuff your testicles in the empty sockets for trying to sell me dirty tin alloy as silver!" Xue Yang informed him, voice alight with laughter, promising death. The hawker made a high-pitched, keening noise, dropping the spools of thread he still held. Song Lan was fairly certain the man had just soiled himself.
"I have a knife!" the hawker managed after a few false starts, fumbling at his belt and drawing out a rather big and ugly-looking knife, jagged edge rusty with a friendly promise of gangrene. Xue Yang just laughed, madly, delighted, and leaned in further, crowding the terrified man ever further back.
"And you still have your testicles, too! Let's see which you lose first!"
"That's enough," Song Lan told him. He was no more fond of fraudulent peddlers than anyone, but he wasn't going to let Xue Yang actually hurt people. Unbelievably, Xingchen stood serenely at his side and almost looked as though he was trying not to smile.
Xue Yang didn't acknowledge he'd heard him, but he did rock back marginally on his heels, letting the ratty man exhale.
"I could go to another stall," Xue Yang said pleasantly, rhythmically flicking his nails at the quivering knife in front of his face with a dull ringing sound. "And start this whole thing all over again, but then this will have been a waste of my time. I don't like it when people waste my time. So if I asked you once more for real silver, you wouldn't waste my time again – would you?"
The hawker quickly shook his head, looking ready to faint, groping blindly for something on a lower shelf behind the stall and all but tossing a handful of spools and loops onto the counter. Xue Yang gave him a friendly smile and picked a few up, studied them with a matter-of-fact air and finally thumbed another one open, making the thin strand between his fingers glow red-hot. This time it retained its shape and shine once the glow faded, and he nodded, seemingly satisfied.
"See, that wasn't so hard, was it?"
His victim briefly closed his eyes, then opened them again with one final pained look, clearly eager to cut his losses, anything to get Xue Yang out of his face. Which was, overall, an understandable sentiment.
"A... A gift for the worthy masters. This humble one's so sorry to have wasted your time."
Xue Yang smiled, a devilish child's smile of self-satisfied delight, and then Xingchen stepped forward and delicately placed a nugget of copper on the pile of discarded threads.
"We couldn't possibly accept it - please. Good fortunes to you and your business, my friend."
"Daozhang," Xue Yang complained, snapping around and rolling his eyes. "We've talked about this! Don't butt in on my haggling. It's rude!"
"Let's just leave," Song Lan sighed, knowing that only the other two could hear him. "The poor man's terrified, and we don't want to draw the wrong kind of attention."
"Ingrate," Xue Yang muttered, tossing him the spool of silver thread, and he caught it on startled instinct. "Carry it yourself. It'll work best if it's attuned to your energies by the time we stitch your flesh with it, anyway."
He had almost forgotten what the thread was for, and couldn't hold back a shudder at the thought of putting anything that Xue Yang had held into his mouth. Unconsciously wiping it at his sleeve, he put the spool away into one of his pockets.
Somehow they actually did manage to make the rest of their way through the market and onto the main thoroughfare without further disasters. Hopefully that meant Xue Yang had had his fun for one day and would keep himself in line at least until they left the city - and its abundance of innocent bystanders - safely behind.
***
"Xiao Xingchen."
Torn from his thoughts, Xiao Xingchen raised his head and listened in the direction of the voice - no one said his name quite like Xue Yang did, the lilt and drawn out last syllable, amicably needling and familiar.
"Yes?"
"Won't you tell a story."
If he had still had his eyes, he would have blinked.
"Now?"
It was hard enough to navigate the crowded street in focused silence, with Zichen's hand on his. He didn't feel at all like doing it while making conversation.
"Yes."
"You hate my stories," he pointed out, still nonplussed.
"It's been a long time. Maybe you've gotten better at it."
He very nearly snapped what, while being dead? but the request itself was so unexpected that he held his tongue, tried to sift the words for some deeper meaning. In his hesitation he failed to pay attention, and a passerby walked into his arm, just the lightest push, and he was already apologizing when there was a snarl and a sound of scuffling and stumbling.
"Get out of the way, idiot!" Xue Yang growled, moving as though to follow up whatever had made the person stumble with further violence.
"Don't," Zichen said, warningly, and the hand holding his stiffened, angry. "If you threaten one more person today, we'll drag you out of the city in chains."
The low growl turned into a loud hiss of sheer fury, and he had fought alongside Xue Yang's past self on enough Night Hunts to know that gory bloodshed was the next step, one very, very small step away.
"Please," he hurried to intercept, unconsciously stroking his thumb over the knuckles of the hand in his, soothing. "Please, let's not fight. There will be no threats, no chains. Let's just focus on getting out of the city. I can tell a story if you both help me keep track of where I'm going."
He held out his free hand, and despite the ceaseless noise of the crowd, he had a feeling the world held its breath.
"Okay," Xue Yang finally said, after a long silence, and his voice was strange, choked. "Okay."
It wasn't until the gloved hand slid into his, uncharacteristically hesitant, that he remembered he wasn't really supposed to touch, invite that touch. But the hand slotted into his was tense, cold and clammy underneath the rough edges of leather, and he frowned.
Wished he could just ask what was amiss, but knew better.
"Once there were two friends," he started, and let the two hands guide him forward. It was easier to walk while letting them lead and shield him, not constantly having to sweep his senses ahead with so many people milling around. "Soulmates, who trusted each other in everything."
The rest of the world faded somewhat, became something more distant, reduced to just the hands he held, how right it felt to hold each of them in his own.
"But one of them dreamed of accomplishing great things, beyond human reach. She sought forbidden powers, a dangerous and questionable path. Though they talked of it often, and her friend tried to dissuade her, she couldn't let go of her ambitious dream. Her friend could only watch in growing despair as the desire for that forbidden power consumed her soulmate."
"Careful," Zichen said, gently nudging him slightly to the side. "We're approaching the city gate. It's crowded here."
Startled back to the present he could feel it, hear it, the bustle of people converging up ahead, footsteps and shouting, the loud clattering of hooves and creaks of wheels. The northern gate, on the road to Yueyang...
A Chang clan leader must have come through here on his way home, all those long years ago. A bothersome child lashed aside, to end up under the wheels of his cart.
Oh, he thought, understood and wished he hadn't. It suddenly hurt a bit to breathe.
"They were both hurt, in the end," he said, hoping his voice was steadier than it sounded to his own ears. The gloved hand in his was locked into a frozen claw, and if he allowed himself to pay attention to it, he knew the remaining fingers were slightly crooked, bones uneven where they hadn't healed quite right.
"The two friends clashed one last time. One tried to stand her ground to prevent the disaster, the other met her blade to blade. In the end she went to claim the forbidden power, but was unable to control it. She gave her life, spending the rest of her spiritual existence in exile to contain the evil she had awoken, to keep it hidden and the world safe. Her soulmate retreated to the mountains, and left the world behind forever. They never met again."
"You tell shit stories, Daozhang," Xue Yang said, and his voice was caustic and dark, every bit as awful and cruel as the last time they had spoken in Yi City, just before the pain of death. But the hand he held was cramped, holding onto his like a man drowning.
He forced himself to smile, or at least stretch his lips into something like one.
"I'm sorry. I guess I haven't gotten better at it, after all."
The crowd was pressing in all around, an echo against his senses as they were funneled through the gates.
"It was Baoshan Sanren, wasn't it..?" Zichen asked. "Who was her friend?"
"Lan Yi. The infamous lady sect leader of the Gusu Lan. She was brilliant, but her hunger and curiosity brought disaster on herself - and hers and my master's friendship."
"And the power she sought?"
"Yin Iron," Xue Yang said, without hesitation. "The eastern piece. She contained it, but with the seal broken, it started reaching out for the others. It took a long time for them all to wake up, but that was what started it, generations ago."
"Yes," Xiao Xingchen nodded, vaguely surprised. "How did you know?"
The echoes around them subsided, and suddenly he could feel the wind on his face, carrying the smell of water and green open wilderness.
Xue Yang laughed, strangely softly. The hand in his was still tense, but the grip slowly turned gentler, more a friendly squeeze than clenched vice.
"Lucky guess? Let's just say I know a thing or two about Yin Iron."
The din of Kuizhou slowly receded behind them, fading into little more than a memory, or a bad dream.
On the road the overwhelming crowd thinned out, and having finished his story he didn't really need the guiding hands anymore.
Stubbornly, selfishly, he chose not to let go.