One rode the donkey while the other walked alongside. Wei Wuxian sat on Little Apple’s back, smiling so widely his eyes curved into crescents.
“What?” Lan Wangji asked.
“Nothing,” Wei Wuxian answered.
He was a bit smug, like he had done something naughty.
Although he did not remember much from his childhood, there was a scene that had made a vague but indelible imprint in his mind. A path. A small donkey. Three people. A man in black gently lifting a woman in white onto the back of the donkey, then lifting a little child high into the air and onto his shoulders.
Wei Wuxian had been that child. He was so short, he barely reached the thighs of the black-clad man, but sitting on the man’s shoulders, he suddenly became very, very tall and mighty. One moment he was grabbing the man’s hair, the next moment rubbing his cheeks, his legs flailing around, his mouth babbling. The woman in white sat on the donkey, rocking with its stride as she watched them, seeming to smile. The man remained silent throughout it all—he never talked much, it seemed—and merely held him, supporting him so he could stand even taller and steadier. With his other hand, he picked up the donkey’s reins. The trio moved close together and slowly made their way along the path.
It was one of the few memories he had of his mom and dad.
“Lan Zhan. Hold the reins, will you?”
“Why?” Lan Wangji asked.
Little Apple was very intelligent. It wasn’t like it didn’t know how to follow someone without being guided.
“Humor me, won’t you?” Wei Wuxian pleaded. “C’mon, hold them.”
Although still puzzled as to why Wei Wuxian’s smile was so dazzling, Lan Wangji did as he was asked and picked up Little Apple’s reins.
Wei Wuxian voiced his thoughts aloud. “Mm-hmm. All that’s left now is a little one.”
“What?”
Reveling in his secret delight, Wei Wuxian said, “Nothing. Lan Zhan, you’re such a good person.”
Their future was uncertain on this trip to Yiling, and fraught with grim possibilities. But as he rode the donkey with Lan Wangji leading the way, reins in hand, Wei Wuxian was not nervous at all. He was floating on a cloud, so free of cares he was practically walking on air. Even if a whole bunch of sects came barreling out from the trees along the roadside, he wouldn’t be bothered at all—well, other than being bothered by them being eyesores and killjoys.
He was even in the mood to appreciate the moonlit wild paddy fields that rolled around them. Pulling the bamboo flute from his waist, he began to play a melody, as naturally as ever.
The sound of the flute was clear and melodious. Lan Wangji’s footsteps faltered for a fleeting moment. Wei Wuxian, on the other hand, suddenly had a flash of realization.
“Hey, Lan Zhan! I’ve got a question. What was the name of the song you sang to me back then, at the Xuanwu of Slaughter’s cave in Mount Muxi?”
Lan Wangji regarded him. “What made you think to ask that so suddenly?”
“Just tell me! What’s it called? I think I might’ve guessed how you recognized me!”
By some curious coincidence, the song that he’d played that night at Mount Dafan happened to be the same one Lan Wangji had softly hummed to him when he was delirious with fever in the Xuanwu of Slaughter’s cave on Mount Muxi!
Lan Wangji kept his mouth shut, refusing to say a word.
“Tell me, what’s the song?” Wei Wuxian pressed. “Who composed it?”
“I did,” Lan Wangji replied.
“You?!”
“Mn.”
Wei Wuxian had thought it was a secret song of the Lan Clan of Gusu, one not meant to be taught to outsiders. He had never expected this to be the case instead! He was both surprised and delighted. There was no need to explain what he was surprised by—that was obvious enough—but he couldn’t exactly say why he was delighted.
He ventured, “If that was how you recognized me, does that mean you’ve never let anyone else hear it?”
“Never.”
Wei Wuxian was so happy, he accidentally kicked Little Apple. Little Apple brayed furiously, as if thinking of kicking its own hind legs to buck him off. Sharp-eyed Lan Wangji deftly tugged the reins tight, and Wei Wuxian wrapped his arms around Little Apple’s neck.
“It’s fine, it’s fine. That’s just its temper, it’ll only fuss a little. Let’s keep talking. So, what exactly did you name it?”
“What do you think?”
“What do you mean, what do I think? Does it have a name or not?” Wei Wuxian grumbled inwardly, Lan Zhan’s taste in names couldn’t be the same as Jiang Cheng’s, could it? No way! Aloud, he said, “Are you asking my opinion? If you ask me, why not call it…”
After Lan Zhan rejected over eighty carefully chosen names, Wei Wuxian’s interest finally waned.
To avoid running into cultivators searching along the main roads, they chose remote countryside paths. After walking for a day, Wei Wuxian was tired and thirsty. Coincidentally, it was right around then that they spied a farmhouse by the roadside, so Lan Wangji tugged at Little Apple’s reins to stop it in its tracks.
No one answered when they knocked. Unexpectedly, the door opened by itself when they pushed it. A handmade wooden table stood in the middle of the courtyard, with a tray of partially peeled beans on it. Straw was piled high by the earthen wall, and a rake was stuck into the pile. Chicks ran all over the ground, chirping as they pecked away at rice.
Wei Wuxian saw a few melons piled at the corner of the courtyard and went over to pick one up. “The owner isn’t here. Hanguang-jun, let’s just help ourselves to these,” he said in all seriousness.
Lan Wangji was about to take out some money to put on the table when the sound of footsteps echoed from beyond the wall. Two sets, one in front and one behind—presumably the owners returning home. The moment Wei Wuxian heard the footsteps, he immediately pounced on Lan Wangji and pushed him into the pile of straw for some reason.