Wei Wuxian imagined a young Lan Wangji being held in his mother’s embrace, with his little snow-white face flushed pink. He laughed as well, but before their laughter dispersed, Lan Xichen continued his tale.
“But one day, shufu told us that we need not go anymore. Mother was gone.”
“How old was Lan Zhan at the time?” Wei Wuxian asked quietly.
“Six,” Lan Xichen replied. “He was too young to understand what ‘gone’ meant. No matter how much others consoled him or how shufu scolded him, he continued to come here every month and sit under the veranda, waiting for someone to open the door. Even when he grew older and came to understand that Mother would never come back, that no one would ever open the door again, he would still come.”
Lan Xichen stood up, his dark eyes staring directly at Wei Wuxian. “Wangji has always been very stubborn, ever since he was young.”
Leaves rustled. The congregation of gentians around the cottage swayed affectionately with the wind. Wei Wuxian’s gaze landed on the wooden veranda of the small cottage. He could almost see a young child in a forehead ribbon sitting all prim and proper in front of the house, waiting in silence for the door to open.
“Madam Lan must have been a very gentle woman,” he said.
“The mother in my memories was certainly so,” Lan Xichen said. “I do not know her reasons for having committed such a deed back then, and in fact, I…” He inhaled deeply and then confessed, “…I have no wish to know.”
After a long silence, Lan Xichen lowered his eyes and took out Liebing. A gust of night wind elicited a murmur from the xiao, low and heavy, like a sigh.
Wei Wuxian had heard Lan Xichen play Liebing before. The sound of the xiao was just like Zewu-jun himself, like spring breeze melting into rain—warm and gentle and refined. While the music was as exquisite as ever, it left a bitter taste in one’s mouth.
The night breeze gently caressed them. Lan Xichen’s black hair was already a little disheveled, and his forehead ribbon slightly askew, but the head of the Lan Clan of Gusu—who was always mindful of his deportment—took no notice. It was only when his song concluded that he put down Liebing.
“Playing music late at night is prohibited in the Cloud Recesses. I have stepped out of line and made a mockery of myself before Wei-gongzi many times tonight.”
“No big deal,” Wei Wuxian assured him. “Has Zewu-jun forgotten that the one who’s violated the most rules of all stands before you now…?”
Lan Xichen chuckled. “The Lan Clan of Gusu has never revealed my or Wangji’s past to the public. I should not have told you, but I had the urge to pour my heart out tonight and did so on impulse.”
“I’m not the gossipy sort,” Wei Wuxian stated. “So Zewu-jun, you can rest assured.”
“Nevertheless, I suppose Wangji would not hide anything from you either,” Lan Xichen idly observed.
“If he isn’t willing to say, I won’t ask,” Wei Wuxian said.
“But given Wangji’s personality, how will he say anything if you do not ask?” Lan Xichen pressed him. “And there are some things that he will not say even if you do.”
Wei Wuxian was about to reply when he heard the sound of footsteps behind him. He turned around and saw Lan Wangji walk over, bathed in moonlight. In his right hand were two round wine jugs with bright red seals.
Wei Wuxian’s eyes lit up. “Hanguang-jun, you’re too sweet!”
Lan Wangji approached and handed the jugs of Emperor’s Smile to him. Wei Wuxian pranced into the cottage with the jugs in his arms, and Lan Wangji shook his head at his retreating back, though his gaze was extremely gentle.
Lan Xichen glanced at him. “You brought them over from your room?”
Lan Wangji nodded.
“You…had best not touch alcohol,” Lan Xichen advised. “Be careful not to end up as you did back then.”
His eyes fell upon the fold of clothing near Lan Wangji’s collarbone. Lan Wangji lowered his head to glance at his chest.
“It will not happen again.”
Lan Xichen forced a smile, then heaved another sigh.
After Lan Xichen left, Lan Wangji entered the room and gently closed the door. As Wei Wuxian removed the seal on the wine jug, he mulled over the story of the founder of the Lan Clan of Gusu, Lan An, as well as that of Qingheng-jun.
The Lan Clan really is an enigmatic bunch. Although the founder was a monk and their family traditions are so rigid, they really breed some…die-hard romantics.
Now possessed of such hindsight, he couldn’t help but look at the other Lan descendant in the room.
Lan Wangji was reading a book with his head down. A paper lamp stood at the corner of his desk. The soft glow made his face all the more handsome, giving a tint of warmth to his cool, detached expression and light eyes. He was so dashing, so refined, that he seemed ethereal. Wei Wuxian was spellbound and mesmerized. He inched closer, unable to help himself.
Lan Wangji looked up. “What is it?”
Wei Wuxian swiftly returned to his senses. “Nothing. Your bookmark’s really pretty.”
Lan Wangji’s bookmark was a pale dried flower. It was extremely well preserved, the colors still vivid and the veins on its petals so delicately textured that it still looked alive. It gave off a sweet and subtle fragrance as it lay between the pages. Wei Wuxian picked up the bookmark.
“A peony?”
“Mn,” Lan Wangji answered in the affirmative.
Wei Wuxian fiddled with the bookmark a bit before returning it to him. “That was quite the blow your gege received.”
Lan Wangji carefully placed the peony back between the pages and closed the book. “Should he find evidence, he will not condone the crime.”
“Of course,” Wei Wuxian said. “He’s your gege after all.”