Chapter Text
Chapter 1
One year before the events of The Untamed…
Lan Wangji was unable to sleep.
Every night was spent in meditation that did not work, and on attempts to try to shut his eyes. In the end he had decided to walk off the need for rest.
Ever since that fateful night when that Lan disciple had burst into the main hall, undignified in countenance, clutching the spirit-capture bag as if it her life depended on it, it was difficult to settle the restlessness humming through him.
He remembered it had been quite a stormy night; thunder seemingly emphasizing parts of his recount to his brother and their uncle, of what he and his apprentice-ward had encountered on their mission. His apprentice-ward had not jumped every time lighting flashed and thunder struck, but Wangji had felt tension in his apprentice-ward’s body. The grip he had upon him gentle, but firm.
Wangji did not understand why he was unable to sleep. While there were certain comforts to be had with a bed and room to stay in, as a cultivator, one should have been used to sleeping in any condition.
He had spent many, many long days during the Sunshot Campaign laying upon the ground; gnarled roots and branches as bedfellows. When he needed to sleep, his body obeyed, his mind emptied.
Yet, in the past, he never truly had to deal with his heart – until that fateful day.
And now, after years of quietude, of reflection, and of endless repetitions of Inquiry gone unanswered… It seemed that the walls to keep away the ache, had crumbled to nothingness with that one thing said that fateful night.
He had not only done the forbidden, he had defied his sect – his Elders – because of it. The thirty-three scars upon his back were proof; what he would carry for the rest of his life. Wangji thought he had reassembled his heart, but it was now apparent that he had not.
Wangji did not know how, or even why Chenqing was found now; fifteen years after Wei Ying’s death.
He did not sleep. He and his apprentice-ward, Sizhui, had remained at Cloud Recesses for a few days now.
Wangji had expected the two of them to be sent out after the news of Chenqing had been found in the middle of untamed former Qishan Wen territory. Fufeng Town, the disciple had fearfully stated. Yet, no such mission, task, or even assignment had been given.
“Sizhui needs to reflect upon the days of tranquility, as they are as important as the days of action,” was all his brother had stated to him.
Wangji understood his brother’s words; guidance as not just the Sect Leader, but also for a way for Wangji’s young apprentice-ward to rest and reflect. To meditate and understand.
Since he and the boy he had rescued long ago had begun this journey of master-apprentice in cultivation together, they had not been back at Cloud Recesses often. Wangji found the place too stifling at times; unable to keep himself from seeing Wei Ying in places that held strong memories.
Yet, he had not realized just how much he had torn Sizhui away from the home he had tried to give the boy – now growing into a young man – until his brother had stated those words. Even then, Wangji knew that there was plenty he and Sizhui could be doing, but he did not want to cause any further trouble for his brother.
Especially since it seemed that whatever his brother, their uncle, Elders, and other disciples were doing with Chenqing at the cleansing hall; it was difficult. Wangji had requested to participate in the ritual, but was firmly denied.
However, since that day Chenqing had been found, the days that he and his apprentice-ward remained at Cloud Recesses only made Wangji’s sleeplessness worse. He silently walked the grounds at night, the unresponsive question in Inquiry he played each night sinking deeper into his grief.
It was difficult not to court the memories of Wei Ying in familiar areas. Wangji tried to allow his grief, worry, and reopened heartache to be his companion and not his master – but it was challenging.
At present, Wangji found himself returned to Silence Room; the night was nearly upon its end. He hesitated. Wangji was not ready to return to his room and stare at the walls, nor did he want to accidentally disturb his apprentice-ward’s rest within the other room with his entrance.
“You are awake, Wangji.” Xichen stepped forward from the shadow of the awning that had partially concealed him.
Wangji openly stared at his brother; there was no hiding the tired countenance from his brother’s sharp gaze.
He did not want to discuss his heart with his brother. As much as he adored and loved his brother, he did not want to confide in him. His brother did not need to know of his feelings for Wei Ying; how close Wangji had been to violating more than just the rules of defiance when he had tried to stop thirty-three of their Elders.
“Walking allows me to find peace,” he stated. It was the truth, from a certain point of view, but not the whole truth.
“Wangji,” his brother began.
I am not ready to talk about this.
He knew his eyes conveyed it; his body practically screamed it, even though to anyone outside of the sect, it was still all quite unreadable. Wangji did not turn away, and instead, hoped that his brother would either leave, or—
“I have a mission for you.”
The short breath of relief Wangji let go was enough. “Thank you, brother.”
It was highly irregular, as such formality was usually given in the main hall. At a more reasonable time of day as well. But, these were unusual circumstances, and Wangji knew that he would not be receiving any further word on Chenqing – not until they were finished with whatever they were doing to Wei Ying’s instrument in the cleansing hall.
Soft footsteps behind him caused him to turn. The smell of bitter, rich tea filled his nostrils. It was a familiar scent and his favorite; the leaves a blend of smoked lotus leaves and wild mountain flower.
It is nearing dawn, he realized.
In the past few days since remaining here, Sizhui had taken to brewing him tea – bringing it to his room early in the morning. Wangji had gently discouraged him from doing so; not wanting Sizhui to wait upon him. However, Sizhui was quite stubborn and kept showing up.
Wangji was both touched and annoyed by the filial piety shown. Sizhui did not know the details, Wangji would never tell him; the boy’s memories of Burial Mounds burned away by fever.
Yet, Sizhui was also nineteen years of age; old enough to make an educated guess as to why this unexpected reappearance of Chenqing meant to him. Even from a young age, watching him grow up in the creche, Sizhui always seemed to sense the depths of Wangji’s sorrow, grief, and pain. Always tried to do something to hep, no matter how small.
Wangji sensed his apprentice-ward hesitating now, stopped near the entrance and not wanting to intrude.
“Please approach, Sizhui,” Wangji heard his brother kindly state.
Sizhui stepped out of the shadows; teapot upon the tray with a mug already filled. His expression was one of concern and worry.
Wangji caught his brother’s gaze upon him again; his brother knew the truth. The reason why he walked, the tea that Sizhui brought each morning; and the deeper meaning not just behind Chenqing , but its owner – deceased.
His brother had not bidden them to stay by denying them missions, tasks, or assignments. He had silently bidden them to stay for his – Wangji’s – own sake.
“I am not ready to let you leave, Wangji,” his brother began. “But, there is no other whom I may be able to send for this.”
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