[ No spirits, then. Acceptable. And the instruction Wei Ying learned, little different than the one transmitted to Lan Wangji — though the source is one and same. They will want more further accounts, will need to keep records.
If this is sorcery, they must learn to reason and replicate it, before they can think to cure it, if ever it is thrust upon them again. And yet, some part of him had thought he knew the nature of the sickness, before Wei Ying need disclose it: ]
...the dying wish of the slaughtered?
[ Children, pained to the last moment, slaughtered without sedative or an executioner's axe, ready to cull in instants. Would they have known what awaited their flesh, beyond its cutting? Would they have been told? Whispered their last blessing unto those who partook of their misery? ]
[His expression turned dark and he couldn't help but look away. The cries still haunted him, but not particularly worse than all the other things that haunted him.]
[ Too much, too soon. And Wei Ying, too feeble to be thrust in the eye of a tumult even Lan Wangji shudders to face.
He stills, for a moment, paralysed by fear that his next instinct will only prevail to deepen Wei Ying's hurts. Silence has been so long dormant between them that he hears now the start of draft as a breeze, the echoing clamour of footsteps in the distance. Other... guests of the castle's keep. Other living, breathing creatures, devoid of the death that buries its way under Wei Ying's skin in borrowed memory.
He leans in, gently, to collect the flower — to break its token bridge to the culling of the day before. ]
Wei Ying. [ Soft, calm, easy. ] We will put them to rest. They will have rites.
[And here he had decided to preserve it! Lan Wangji, always taking back what he offers.]
I'm sure their souls have already gone on.
[He had already learned that rites mean little. Only those wronged by lack of them and linger gain anything from them. But, perhaps the gesture will be appreciated somewhere.]
[ No interest in the rites, no merit in revenge. If Lan Wangji wishes to put wrongs to a right, Wei Ying fails to arm or direct him, to set him on his proper course. What options persist before them?
Go back. Unwind the coils of tension that corset Wei Ying's mind. Start there, with one man's hurt, with Lan Wangji settling down again to tap the mosaic of coarse stone and bid Wei Ying by him. Cat-like again. Let him find peace where there is warmth. ]
What do you require? [ Drink, if antecedent is to be believe, though Lan Wangji questions the long-term draws of poison. Song, but not clarity. Words of kindness, though Lan Wangji's diplomacy seems too often egregious or misplaced. ] You. On your behalf. Alone.
[ You drink to excess. And Lan Wangji ennobles and enables the habit, supplies to surpass the demand. Finds himself rising even now, creak of the door staggered behind him, when the pressure of his back is relieved of it.
Quantity he can guarantee more than quality, for all he's short even the volumes. There is no... system of attendance in the castle, no natural hierarchy that will entitle Lan Wangji to a servant's attention. The wine isn't his to commandeer, but the kitchens won't miss all of their supplies. No thievery, if he asks permission or offers trade in kind.
And what can a society gentleman achieve in the kitchens? Glare the rice down to simmer, perhaps. ]
[ He startles, less for Wei Ying's tone than the implication that to seek out his cure is to contravene any of the tacit pacts between them. What will wine cost Lan Wangji? The meandering trip down the castle keep. Another man's coin.
And his welfare, questioned on that account. His brows lift, gaze level when he measures Wei Ying, still stranded on the floor. ]
Better than you.
[ Therefore, equipped to meet the request as Wei Ying made it. Lan Wangji survived the Hunt without scar or battle, the feast without vines. His days, dragging in futile exploration, have left him filthied, but unwounded.
What is that suppose to mean? I have never been better.
[A lie, but he assumes Lan Wangji has no reason to know that. Or, he would like to fake that his corruption wasn’t as obvious. Of course, he was thrown off again by the next question. No one had asked him that... no really....
But he had not the words to say, or the self confidence to share.]
[ No. No more of the game. He stands before Wei Ying, and in one swing names himself — unsheathing Bichen to reveal the silvered glint of her in a clean, sharp arc that presents the bland.
Never to injure Wei Ying, though the sword's tip dances before the man's knees, tempts scratches on the ground, lifts itself with a smear of pale light at the last moment. If there is... a natural concern that he is not whom he claims to be, as Lan Wangji himself nurtures over the corpse alive, Nie Mingjue, then — may his sword, unsealed, reveal him. ]
About me.
[ Countless times already, he has been — disputed, found wanting like a knife imbalanced, pulled too quickly off the forge. Embittered, he nearly means to ask if perhaps it isn't Wei Ying's hand that misuses him. ]
[Lan Wangji had his full attention now, he wasn’t quite sure what to do with such a pointed demand. So much concern... but less anger and storming off....
He sighed. Fine. He would just say it.]
You’re too nice.
[Too patient, too willing to do whatever for him!]
You haven’t lectured me once about being on the demonic path, you even offered to get me wine, which is something have always chastised before. You don’t argue, you don’t get mad, you seem overly concerned, but I don’t know why. It feels like you know something you aren’t telling me.
[ He is hollowed like every cleansing bowl, before the incense and the salts and the holy water are added, to start purification. Indented, exorcised of himself, voice borrowed. He hears it and mean to correct his own diction —
Lifts Bichen in a lazy crescent instead. ]
I am no longer inclined to treat him kindly.
[ No more than Wei Ying wanted. No less than he tacitly required. Perhaps there is scope for peace between them, Bichen eased beneath Wei Ying's chin, nudging it higher. Like a toy, unarmed. A study subject, displayed. ]
Up.
[ Bare that pale throat Lan Wangji should have snapped sixteen years ago. The tender expanse where Jin Guangyao should have left the marks of his garrote in a thin, narrow line that Wangji was too distracted to seek out the night before. ]
[This was so frustrating! Nack and forth up and down, what was wrong with Lan Zhan!?]
No longer inclined? Just like that? And to think you called us friends just a night ago! Your whims make no sense!
[He got up, but it was not because Lan Wangji was forcing him, it was because he was getting fed up!]
What do you want Lan Zhan!? What is it!? It's not like you have to spend time with me as the only other person you know, your brother is here, you can focus on him! Dont bother with me, I'm fine! I'm the feared Yiling Laozu after all, what could possibly happen to me?
[ Afterwards, he will wonder how many of the tragic years of his training conspired to steady his grasp in this one moment. How Bichen lends herself, prone and roaring, waiting direction — an extension of a body he thinks he forgets to move, until the sword trails the long line of Wei Ying, lifted: down from his neck, where no garrote marks sit, and gliding further, to catch on the collar of Wei Ying's robes.
Sharp collarbone and breathless chest and gaunt belly, barren of strength Jiang Cheng stole without intention.
Too many truths align, in one heartbeat. Zewu-Jun's words. The haunting of Nie Mingjue. Wei Ying's manner. Lan Zhan's invitation. The wretched finality of his resort to that name, the Yiling Patriarch.
This is. This shouldn't be.
Wangji, sect Lan, is a fool, cheated. Shouldn't be, either. He sobs once, quiet. Muted, but for air that inundates his lungs. Sweat chases chills down his spine.
In his other hand, the girl's red flower crumples like preserved silk between salted fingers. He catches most petals before they slip down. ]
You could die as great of a fool as you've lived.
[ Again. (Again.)
Bichen slides down, finally. He finds that he looks at it, a tool unseen before, raised against a man he knew too long ago. Returns it to hits sheath and his belt fastenings, and thinks, there is an end to this, now. It is here. Writ in Wei Ying's eyes. Sickly with bile. ]
[He practically screamed back. He had fought too hard to be dismissed, to be coddled and assumed he would lose.
He crawled his way out of the burial mounds, three months of agonizing horor, not even a core to help protect him, but he had survived. He had found Wen Chao and made him pay in blood. Wen Zhuliu had followed shortly after. He had gone through the Sunshot Campaign destroying his enemies and pulling himself forward. And when those he owed a debt to and were innocent needed help? He took that weight as well and stepped forward.
How dare Lan Wangji suggest he woukd die foolishly!
And without anything further he turned into his room and slammed the door.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[ No spirits, then. Acceptable. And the instruction Wei Ying learned, little different than the one transmitted to Lan Wangji — though the source is one and same. They will want more further accounts, will need to keep records.
If this is sorcery, they must learn to reason and replicate it, before they can think to cure it, if ever it is thrust upon them again. And yet, some part of him had thought he knew the nature of the sickness, before Wei Ying need disclose it: ]
...the dying wish of the slaughtered?
[ Children, pained to the last moment, slaughtered without sedative or an executioner's axe, ready to cull in instants. Would they have known what awaited their flesh, beyond its cutting? Would they have been told? Whispered their last blessing unto those who partook of their misery? ]
no subject
I don't know... it was just too much pain....
no subject
He stills, for a moment, paralysed by fear that his next instinct will only prevail to deepen Wei Ying's hurts. Silence has been so long dormant between them that he hears now the start of draft as a breeze, the echoing clamour of footsteps in the distance. Other... guests of the castle's keep. Other living, breathing creatures, devoid of the death that buries its way under Wei Ying's skin in borrowed memory.
He leans in, gently, to collect the flower — to break its token bridge to the culling of the day before. ]
Wei Ying. [ Soft, calm, easy. ] We will put them to rest. They will have rites.
[ And the scant peace that can deliver them. ]
I pledge.
no subject
I'm sure their souls have already gone on.
[He had already learned that rites mean little. Only those wronged by lack of them and linger gain anything from them. But, perhaps the gesture will be appreciated somewhere.]
no subject
Go back. Unwind the coils of tension that corset Wei Ying's mind. Start there, with one man's hurt, with Lan Wangji settling down again to tap the mosaic of coarse stone and bid Wei Ying by him. Cat-like again. Let him find peace where there is warmth. ]
What do you require? [ Drink, if antecedent is to be believe, though Lan Wangji questions the long-term draws of poison. Song, but not clarity. Words of kindness, though Lan Wangji's diplomacy seems too often egregious or misplaced. ] You. On your behalf. Alone.
no subject
Instead, he thought about the question. What did he require? Nothing he could really think about....]
A good wine would be nice.
[Of course that was the first thing he said.]
no subject
Quantity he can guarantee more than quality, for all he's short even the volumes. There is no... system of attendance in the castle, no natural hierarchy that will entitle Lan Wangji to a servant's attention. The wine isn't his to commandeer, but the kitchens won't miss all of their supplies. No thievery, if he asks permission or offers trade in kind.
And what can a society gentleman achieve in the kitchens? Glare the rice down to simmer, perhaps. ]
You will have it.
no subject
Lan Zhan, are you well?
no subject
And his welfare, questioned on that account. His brows lift, gaze level when he measures Wei Ying, still stranded on the floor. ]
Better than you.
[ Therefore, equipped to meet the request as Wei Ying made it. Lan Wangji survived the Hunt without scar or battle, the feast without vines. His days, dragging in futile exploration, have left him filthied, but unwounded.
He cannot complain. ]
What troubles you?
no subject
[A lie, but he assumes Lan Wangji has no reason to know that. Or, he would like to fake that his corruption wasn’t as obvious. Of course, he was thrown off again by the next question. No one had asked him that... no really....
But he had not the words to say, or the self confidence to share.]
I have no troubles, other than being here.
no subject
Never to injure Wei Ying, though the sword's tip dances before the man's knees, tempts scratches on the ground, lifts itself with a smear of pale light at the last moment. If there is... a natural concern that he is not whom he claims to be, as Lan Wangji himself nurtures over the corpse alive, Nie Mingjue, then — may his sword, unsealed, reveal him. ]
About me.
[ Countless times already, he has been — disputed, found wanting like a knife imbalanced, pulled too quickly off the forge. Embittered, he nearly means to ask if perhaps it isn't Wei Ying's hand that misuses him. ]
What troubles you?
no subject
He sighed. Fine. He would just say it.]
You’re too nice.
[Too patient, too willing to do whatever for him!]
You haven’t lectured me once about being on the demonic path, you even offered to get me wine, which is something have always chastised before. You don’t argue, you don’t get mad, you seem overly concerned, but I don’t know why. It feels like you know something you aren’t telling me.
no subject
[ He is hollowed like every cleansing bowl, before the incense and the salts and the holy water are added, to start purification. Indented, exorcised of himself, voice borrowed. He hears it and mean to correct his own diction —
Lifts Bichen in a lazy crescent instead. ]
I am no longer inclined to treat him kindly.
[ No more than Wei Ying wanted. No less than he tacitly required. Perhaps there is scope for peace between them, Bichen eased beneath Wei Ying's chin, nudging it higher. Like a toy, unarmed. A study subject, displayed. ]
Up.
[ Bare that pale throat Lan Wangji should have snapped sixteen years ago. The tender expanse where Jin Guangyao should have left the marks of his garrote in a thin, narrow line that Wangji was too distracted to seek out the night before. ]
no subject
No longer inclined? Just like that? And to think you called us friends just a night ago! Your whims make no sense!
[He got up, but it was not because Lan Wangji was forcing him, it was because he was getting fed up!]
What do you want Lan Zhan!? What is it!? It's not like you have to spend time with me as the only other person you know, your brother is here, you can focus on him! Dont bother with me, I'm fine! I'm the feared Yiling Laozu after all, what could possibly happen to me?
no subject
Sharp collarbone and breathless chest and gaunt belly, barren of strength Jiang Cheng stole without intention.
Too many truths align, in one heartbeat. Zewu-Jun's words. The haunting of Nie Mingjue. Wei Ying's manner. Lan Zhan's invitation. The wretched finality of his resort to that name, the Yiling Patriarch.
This is. This shouldn't be.
Wangji, sect Lan, is a fool, cheated. Shouldn't be, either. He sobs once, quiet. Muted, but for air that inundates his lungs. Sweat chases chills down his spine.
In his other hand, the girl's red flower crumples like preserved silk between salted fingers. He catches most petals before they slip down. ]
You could die as great of a fool as you've lived.
[ Again. (Again.)
Bichen slides down, finally. He finds that he looks at it, a tool unseen before, raised against a man he knew too long ago. Returns it to hits sheath and his belt fastenings, and thinks, there is an end to this, now. It is here. Writ in Wei Ying's eyes. Sickly with bile. ]
Sleep well.
no subject
[He practically screamed back. He had fought too hard to be dismissed, to be coddled and assumed he would lose.
He crawled his way out of the burial mounds, three months of agonizing horor, not even a core to help protect him, but he had survived. He had found Wen Chao and made him pay in blood. Wen Zhuliu had followed shortly after. He had gone through the Sunshot Campaign destroying his enemies and pulling himself forward. And when those he owed a debt to and were innocent needed help? He took that weight as well and stepped forward.
How dare Lan Wangji suggest he woukd die foolishly!
And without anything further he turned into his room and slammed the door.]