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There is blood on Lan Xichen's hands when he returns to the Hanshi. The new Hanshi, only recently completed, a place of sharp edges that smells of varnish. The old Hanshi was worn smooth in places, on the floor and on the corners of the beams where one might sometimes lean as one read a particularly engaging text and forgot to maintain one's posture. The old Hanshi carried the scent of sandalwood and pines and smoky mountain tea, the warmth and memory of generations.
It is like stepping into a dollhouse, not a place where real human beings are meant to reside. But Lan Xichen is grateful. He suggested the Hanshi be of low priority in the rebuilding as he could reside amongst the disciples while they focused on replacing the parts of the Cloud Recesses that would be of greater use to the entire clan. And the entire clan had rebelled, insisting that Zewu-jun, their Zewu-jun, must be provided with all the comfort and luxury that is his due.
Lan Xichen would have preferred to be amongst his people, but he didn't say it. He will never say how cold and lonely and lifeless it is in the Hanshi that they laboured to recreate with such devotion. He is grateful, because it would not be fair to feel otherwise.
The blood is dry on his hands, beginning to flake off in russet-coloured pieces like autumn leaves. He takes a ewer of water and a cloth and he sits at the table and begins to wash away the stains.
Outside the air is thick with fog, the mountain buried in the eponymous clouds. When his hands are clean Lan Xichen lights several candles and then pushes the door to the Hanshi back open so he can step out into the mist and tip away the brown-tinged water. It soaks into the damp earth and disappears without a trace.
He cannot see further than a yard or so ahead, but instinct tells him someone is approaching long before the shape of another person appears through the fog.
He is expecting a disciple, come to check if he still intends to meditate until dinner, but the silhouette resolves into an unanticipated and yet more welcome figure.
Jin Guangyao's pace is slow, walking through the clouded air with great care with his hands held out very slightly from his sides for balance. Lan Xichen has not seen the sea often in his life but the sight makes him think of the curlews that pick their way through the waves, vulnerable and hungry and completely in their element.
"A-Yao," he says, like a sigh. Jin Guangyao's answering smile is small but his eyes shine with pleasure.
"Er-ge." He stops before Lan Xichen and sweeps into an impeccable bow, and Lan Xichen catches his arms as always. Lan Xichen makes no admonition, and they merely smile at each other for a long moment. Just the sight of him is a balm.
"This is an unexpected pleasure."
Jin Guangyao's eyes shine more brightly for an instant, but then he casts down his gaze.
"I apologise I didn't send word ahead. I have only a little time to spare, and I took the liberty of using..." His fingers curl around the jade token hanging at his belt. "I hope I haven't been too presumptuous."
"You may come and go as you please, A-Yao. That's why I gave it to you."
"Er-ge is more generous than this one deserves." Jin Guangyao's gaze travels over Lan Xichen's face and then down to his hands and the empty ewer set aside on the front steps of the Hanshi. "I know you must be busy; I came directly to the Hanshi only to make myself known to you. I can retire to the Yashi until it is convenient."
"It's convenient now," Lan Xichen assures him. "I intended only to meditate. Please, stay. You have no idea how good it is to see you."
Jin Guangyao's smile deepens, taking on the qualities of a self-satisfied smirk. Lan Xichen feels privileged to see such an honest expression. His heart is lighter as they go inside together, and the Hanshi feels less like a dollhouse as he fills the teapot and uses a fraction of spiritual energy to heat the water. Jin Guangyao sits at the other side of the table and removes his hat to brush away the fog-dew that has collected on the gauze before he carefully replaces it on his head.
"You are troubled," he says. Lan Xichen hesitates for only a moment before setting out the cups.
"We are all troubled. It has been a difficult time recently, all the more onerous because we hoped to leave such hardships behind us after the war."
Jin Guangyao makes a small noise of assent. The tip of his nose is red from the cold, and coupled with the vermilion mark on his forehead it looks a little comical. Lan Xichen would never laugh, but he smiles at the sight. The smile fades when Jin Guangyao gives him a searching look.
"Er-ge," he says. "Whose blood is that?"
Lan Xichen looks down at his hands, which are clean right down to the beds of his nails. Then he looks over at the bloodied cloth still lying on the side table at the other end of the room.
"Wangji's." He says the name in a whisper, seized by some irrational feeling that to mention his brother openly will disturb him where he lies fevered in his seclusion.
Jin Guangyao says nothing. His smile is gone and distress draws his brows together. He doesn't speak. The two of them do not always need words, and right now just his presence is a comfort. Jin Guangyao is under such pressure, and yet he has taken time he does not have to travel to the Cloud Recesses purely out of concern.
It's humbling.
"I told him," says Lan Xichen.
"Er-ge," says Jin Guangyao, very softly.
"He didn't say a word. He just..." Lan Xichen cannot finish. There are no words to describe the sound his brother made when he heard Wei Wuxian was dead. "I should have waited to tell him, but I couldn't lie to him. He tried to get up and it opened his back again. I think if he'd had the strength he would have fought me."
"I'm sure he wouldn't have."
"I don't know. Before, I would have said he'd never raise a hand to me. I thought I knew him. I would have sworn on my life there was nothing on this earth that could cause him to willingly attack the elders of his own clan."
There are likely many things Jin Guangyao could say in response to this, but with his usual unerring precision he focuses on the detail that is nearest to Lan Xichen's heart.
"You do know him, Er-ge. Of course you do. You say you didn't think anything could make him attack the Lan elders, but you know why he did it, don't you? You understand why Hanguang-jun would commit such a wrong and shameful act."
"Love," says Lan Xichen. His brother did it for love.
Jin Guangyao makes a quiet sound of agreement. Lan Xichen looks at him, the straight lines of his nose and his brows and his jaw, and the soft curve of his mouth that mitigates those edges and transforms him into the very image of polite and nonthreatening deference. But Lan Xichen knows him better than that. He knows what A-Yao is capable of.
"I should never have let things go this far."
"Don't blame yourself," says Jin Guangyao instantly.
"I knew how he felt. I should have taken it more seriously far sooner."
"It's not something anyone could have predicted." Jin Guangyao lowers his lashes. "But if you wish to assign blame then please also hold me responsible. My actions helped lead to this tragic outcome."
"A-Yao. You know that isn't true."
"My father is... was... invested in eradicating Yiling-laozu."
"Your family invited Wei Wuxian to Jin Ling's one-month celebration and it was Wei Wuxian who demonstrated that he could no longer be permitted to live when he murdered Jin Zixuan. Did you not say so yourself?"
"So you agree others should not be faulted for Yiling-laozu's own actions," says Jin Guangyao, and Lan Xichen hesitates, realising how neatly he has been caught. He ruefully returns Jin Guangyao's smile.
"Perhaps I am not responsible, but I hope you will permit me to feel accountable."
"I thank you for according me the authority, but I grant no such permission." Jin Guangyao smooths his hands over the skirt of his robes and looks at Lan Xichen directly. "You did everything you could."
"And it was not enough."
"No," Jin Guangyao agrees, voice soft again, and cool as the mist that still wraps the Hanshi. His eyes are huge and dark and sympathetic. "You were not enough."
And, strangely, hearing it acknowledged aloud by someone else makes Lan Xichen feel a little better. He does not have to keep a catalogue of his mistakes locked inside his head and wonder whether there is any truth to them because no one will ever tell him to his face that he is flawed.
"Thank you," he says with deep sincerity.
Jin Guangyao's eyes crinkle fondly and one hand begins to rise, as if he might reach out. Then it drops back into place against the buttery yellow of his robes. Neither of them speak as Lan Xichen pours the brewed tea, and they drink in synchronicity.
"I'm touched you thought of me," says Lan Xichen, hardly noticing the flavour of the tea. "I know how busy you are."
"You need me," says Jin Guangyao, then looks away, as if embarrassed. "I thought perhaps you would need someone."
Lan Xichen looks at him and gives serious consideration to telling this man how much he loves him. Instead he widens his smile.
"I always need you."
There is wariness in Jin Guangyao's eyes as he looks back at Lan Xichen. Wariness and hunger and—yes, love. Perhaps it doesn't matter if it goes unspoken, when they both say it in so many other ways.
"I would be always at your side, if I could." It's said with the sheepish lift of an eyebrow, an invitation for Lan Xichen to agree that such a scenario would be absurd. Which is true. It has been a very long time since Lan Xichen indulged himself imagining a world in which A-Yao is restored to the Nie, or commended into the Lan. Those dreams never had much substance, even when he found Meng Yao working for Nie Mingjue during Sunshot.
The deepest truth is that Lan Xichen has seen A-Yao as a rightful Jin from the moment his resourceful and gracious rescuer had admitted his parentage. Any other outcome would have been unsatisfactory. Unjust.
"I would be always with you too," says Lan Xichen. "If I could."
They sip more tea together and Lan Xichen's thoughts circle inexorably back to his brother. Wangji had been willing to throw away his sect, his principles, his family, all for Wei Wuxian, and it is impossible not to draw the comparison with their parents. But Wangji took a step even their father was not willing to take. He would have left and never come back.
Lan Xichen still doesn't know if a choice like that is the result of great strength or fatal weakness. All he knows is that it is a choice he cannot imagine making, as much as he has tried to understand.
"A-Yao," he says, tentative. Jin Guangyao makes a small noise of encouragement. "Is there anything you would leave your clan for?"
Jin Guangyao is startled by the question, if the sudden whiteness of his fingers against the teacup is anything to go by.
"It was difficult enough to gain admittance in the first place."
"I'm sorry. I know it's a sensitive subject."
"It's not that," Jin Guangyao assures him. "You don't need to apologise. It's only that it's not a question I've considered, but perhaps that itself is answer enough for you."
"I'm trying to imagine what it must be like, to love so deeply. I want to understand, and I don't think I do." Lan Xichen takes a thoughtful sip of tea. "Perhaps I'm not capable of that depth of feeling, and perhaps that's no bad thing."
A moment passes, in which Jin Guangyao's dimples disappear and his cheeks are smooth and curved as a priceless vase. He is truly perfect like this, as if some master sculptor shaped him from ivory and gold.
"Forgive me, Er-ge, but I believe there is an error in your reasoning."
"I am happy to accept correction."
Jin Guangyao does not blink. He still resembles an exquisite sculpture and his eyes are black cabochons.
"I believe Er-ge feels very deeply, and I do not believe Er-ge's impeccable conduct is evidence that his feelings are superficial or that he is not capable of deep and abiding love. Er-ge loves unselfishly. To mistake that unselfishness for indifference is unmerited."
Lan Xichen's pulse quickens.
"A-Yao also loves unselfishly, I think."
There is a long moment of silence. When Jin Guangyao finally speaks, his voice is low.
"Love is no less deeply felt simply because one chooses not to set aside duty in its pursuit."
"I have tried never to set aside my duty," acknowledges Lan Xichen after another pause. "My conduct, however, is not beyond reproach."
Others would rush to tell him that his bearing is faultless. Nie Mingjue certainly would, if he were here, though he might throw in an affectionate remark about how Xichen is too forgiving. But Jin Guangyao does not hurry to thoughtlessly praise him. It is obvious from his face that he disagrees and that he thinks Lan Xichen has just said something preposterous, but when he answers he speaks with great care.
"I would like to know when you think your conduct has been anything less than exemplary. So that I might fully understand."
"Countless times," says Lan Xichen with a smile. Jin Guangyao smiles back.
"Is Er-ge remembering his flight from the Cloud Recesses?"
"That was shameful, but it was not undutiful. I was thinking of the war."
"Ah," says Jin Guangyao. "But you were a hero in the war. A champion. A saviour."
"You know none of those things truly exist in war, A-Yao."
"But we've all heard the stories, Er-ge." Jin Guangyao's tone is not at all teasing. He speaks very gently, almost coaxing. "Zewu-jun appeared always when things seemed blackest, to save cultivators outnumbered or trapped by the Wen, or commoners whose homes were burnt and livelihoods gone."
"I did it by killing hundreds," says Lan Xichen. "Or more. I didn't keep count. I killed guards who had their backs to me, men and women who never had a chance to turn and fight me fairly. I garrotted them with guqin strings. Others I left to burn in their own flames as I led commoners to safety. I was cheered for it. I have never had the chance to return to those places to see if their restless spirits still linger. One of the Wen cultivators I killed was so young... she was still a junior. She took several hostages. She was desperate. I tried to reason with her, but she cut the throat of the first hostage and so I..."
He cannot finish. He isn't even sure why he is thinking of this now, when the war is over and what's done is done.
Jin Guangyao sets down his teacup and rises to his feet, walking around the table to sink to his knees beside Lan Xichen, who regards him with trepidation. Jin Guangyao leans closer, and for a split second Lan Xichen is certain he's about to kiss him. But then a slim hand lands on his shoulder and draws him sideways, down, as another hand comes up to rest on his back, stroking down over his spine and the fall of his hair.
Lan Xichen leans into Jin Guangyao's arms, shifting out of his perfect comportment to press his face into Jin Guangyao's shoulder. His hands find the front of Jin Guangyao's robes and curl around the edges of the silk. A-Yao smells of imported olibanum incense and beneath it himself, the velvety scent of bare skin and soft hair.
"I know," murmurs Jin Guangyao. "I know."
It has been so long since anyone held Lan Xichen. He does not remember how to do this with grace. He inhales deeply and shuts his eyes more tightly. For a moment he allows himself to relax in Jin Guangyao's arms.
"I let them whip my brother to a bloody ruin." There it is. The thing he really wanted to say. The words come free like barbs from a wound, tearing the flesh further.
Jin Guangyao is still stroking his back, slender fingers running through his hair.
"You had no choice."
"Yes. I had no choice. Thirty-three of our elders. Thirty-three, and Lan Hong and Lan Zhifan may need to live out the remainder of their lives in the sanatorium. I had no choice."
The pain in his chest is unbearable, and the only relief is Jin Guangyao's hand sliding up to the nape of his neck and cradling the back of his head.
"You told me he knew and accepted the consequences."
"That doesn't help," says Lan Xichen, and is shamed by the despair in his voice. He starts to raise his head. "I apologise. I didn't intend to burden you with this."
"It's no burden. Are we not brothers?" Jin Guangyao's other hand leaves Lan Xichen's shoulder and two fingertips come to rest on the point of his chin, tilting his head upwards. Their eyes meet. Their faces are inches apart and Lan Xichen's ribbon is askew on his forehead where it was pressed against Jin Guangyao's brocaded shoulder. There is a drop of colour in Jin Guangyao's cheeks, like ink spreading through water.
Lan Xichen is going to kiss him. He realises it the moment that Jin Guangyao's mouth curves upwards in a smile that is faint and devastatingly real. For once he is going to make a mistake he wants to make.
But then as he moves, as he leans forward and his own hand lands on Jin Guangyao's other shoulder, Jin Guangyao flinches. Lan Xichen releases him instantly.
"Did I hurt you?"
"Of course not, Er-ge." But there is a tightness around Jin Guangyao's eyes that betrays the lie. He lets his hands fall away from Lan Xichen and makes a half-hearted attempt to lean back as Lan Xichen reaches after him. Lan Xichen stops, but maintains eye contact.
"A-Yao. Please."
Jin Guangyao hesitates for so long that Lan Xichen fears he will refuse. But then he exhales, not quite a sigh, and moves from a kneeling to a fully seated position, so close they're almost touching. Lan Xichen straightens his forehead ribbon, then slides his fingers back under the collar of Jin Guangyao's robes, smoothing them where his hands had previously wrinkled the silk. He begins to undo each layer, pushing them aside one by one until there is enough give in the fabric to expose Jin Guangyao's chest and shoulder.
Colour still crests Jin Guangyao's cheeks, but there is no danger of anything untoward occurring. Lan Xichen is transfixed by the bruising that smothers his bare shoulder and extends down his chest. At the dusky epicentre of the bruising is a thick and clotted scab.
"Who did this to you?"
"It was merely an unfortunate incident," says Jin Guangyao. "I have full range of motion and it hardly hurts at all. Thank you for being so concerned on my behalf but there's really no need."
Lan Xichen answers this nonsense with a steady look, and ultimately Jin Guangyao lowers his eyes.
"Jin-furen."
Anger does not come easily to Lan Xichen. But there has been fury smouldering in his heart for a long time now, and this revelation is enough to set him aflame.
"Why would she do such a thing?"
"Because." Jin Guangyao shudders as Lan Xichen takes his wrist and feels his pulse, sending him a little spiritual energy. He would like to pour everything he can into Jin Guangyao, but he refrains because he knows it would hurt Jin Guangyao's pride even if he did accept the help.
"Because?" he prompts when Jin Guangyao does not continue, still struggling with his anger. He's holding Jin Guangyao's wrist too tightly and he makes himself relax his grip. He can't take his eyes off the bruise, deep and dark as ripe plums.
Jin Guangyao is looking down at the floor.
"Because I am alive and Jin Zixuan is not."
"But that's unreasonable," says Lan Xichen, as if he doesn't know how unreasonable people can be. And how cruel.
"She's grieving," says Jin Guangyao. Lan Xichen pauses, trying to think of justifications for Jin-furen, because it's true she's grieving, it's true she's married to a man of selfish appetites, but no matter what excuse he comes up with he can't think of anything convincing enough to make hurting Jin Guangyao understandable.
"Did she apologise?" he ventures.
Jin Guangyao keeps his eyes lowered as he shakes his head. He draws his inner robe back up over his shoulder. The bruising shows through the creamy silk like a shadow.
"She threw a tea-tray at me." His voice is a shamed whisper. "Yesterday, when I returned from the Burial Mounds and informed her that the man who killed her son had been killed in turn. She told me I should have died in Jin Zixuan's place. I could have dodged, but I think that would have ended the worse for me. It is not so painful, Er-ge, I promise. I'm a weak cultivator but I will still heal."
"I'm sorry, A-Yao." A thought occurs to Lan Xichen, and he lowers his own voice to match Jin Guangyao's whisper. "Does Jin-furen... this has not happened before, has it?"
Jin Guangyao answers by rising to his feet again and turning away. He adjusts his belt, tugging the rest of his robes back into place as best he may. When he looks back at Lan Xichen he is smiling. The smile stays in place as he returns to his seat on the opposite side of the table.
"Please don't be troubled."
"Are we not brothers?" Lan Xichen counters, and the disquiet that flickers across Jin Guangyao's placid mien hurts more than the sight of his bruises. Jin Guangyao should not be so surprised every time he is presented with evidence that someone might want to return the generous care he lavishes on others.
"You are too good, Er-ge."
"I thought we had just established that I am not so good as others would like to believe."
"I know," says Jin Guangyao. "You are a man and not a reputation." His smile haunts his mouth. "Still, you are too good."
"You're teasing," says Lan Xichen with relief. He hadn't even noticed how his shoulders had tensed, but now they relax again and he reaches for the teapot. "I will help you any way I can, you must know that."
"Then do not trouble yourself over the ways in which you cannot help me."
There is silence as Lan Xichen pours more tea. It's an unnecessary gesture because neither of them touch their cups. They only look at each other, and Lan Xichen instead drinks in Jin Guangyao's wide eyes, his expressive mouth and his soft throat leading down to the golden robes that are still just slightly askew. The twisted silk of his hat-cord lies against smooth skin the colour of crystallised honey and lustrous hair the colour of ground ink.
It is not fair that Lan Xichen has this when his brother is lying on his front in the dark with his back in ribbons and his heart in tatters. Lan Xichen has known since he was very small that the world is not a fair place, but he had hoped at least that he could take the brunt of that unfairness when required, to shield those he loves. He has failed.
Failure hurts, even when it is inevitable, and especially when it is unanticipated. Of everything Lan Xichen feared for Wangji, he did not imagine this. He has fallen short in so many ways.
He does not deserve the way Jin Guangyao is looking at him. He smiles back anyway.
"You can tell me anything, A-Yao."
"Anything?" Jin Guangyao's voice is deadly soft. The light from the candles shines in his eyes.
Lan Xichen doesn't hesitate.
"Anything."
"Then ask me," says Jin Guangyao. "Anything."
That isn't quite what Lan Xichen meant, and he isn't sure why the offer makes him feel so uncomfortable when on the surface it matches exactly what he just offered. He presses his lips together and thinks for a moment before he speaks.
"I won't ask you. I trust you to tell me what you need me to know."
"It's not about what I need you to know. It's about what you need to not know."
"I understand why you have secrets," says Lan Xichen. "That's not it. You don't need to share everything with me, but if it's just that you're afraid I won't understand... there's nothing for you to fear on that count."
"Er-ge, I don't fear you won't be able to understand it. I fear you won't be able to bear it."
"A-Yao." Lan Xichen leans forwards, looks into Jin Guangyao's shadowed eyes. "You never need to be afraid with me."
No one else, perhaps, would be able to discern the shakiness of Jin Guangyao's next breath. Lan Xichen sees it. He feels it as though it's dragged from his own lungs.
"I cannot discuss the private matters of the Jin sect with an outsider," says Jin Guangyao, stiff, formal. His eyes dart to the side. Lan Xichen hides his disappointment as best he can.
"Of course."
Jin Guangyao looks back at him again.
"I lost count of how many I killed under Wen Ruohan."
Lan Xichen chooses to say nothing and meet Jin Guangyao's eyes in accepting silence. After a moment Jin Guangyao's mouth curves into a deeper smile.
"Most of them begged for death in the end. Wen-zongzhu didn't like them to die before they asked for it. Torture is really not an effective method of interrogation, so once I had persuaded and tricked what information I could out of them they became fodder for his entertainment. He liked to watch, and he did not like to see the same thing twice. One man I flayed inch by inch over the course of days. His cultivation level was quite high and he healed very fast, but all it did was prolong his suffering. There was another, a Jiang disciple. I fed him his own fingers. After the news of Wen Chao it was the only thing that brought Wen-zongzhu any peace."
"Stop," says Lan Xichen. He doesn't even mean to say it. The word leaves him like another barb, blood pouring in its wake.
Jin Guangyao's face is a polite mask.
"You see, Er-ge?" he says into the dull quiet between them. "You cannot bear it."
"Nor can you," says Lan Xichen. And Jin Guangyao startles, his eyes widening just a fraction and his fingers flexing against the silk of his robes.
Lan Xichen waits for an answer. Eventually Jin Guangyao's smile wins out and he inclines his head.
"The trouble," he says, "is sometimes not what we cannot bear, but the knowledge of what we can bear. It is better not to know exactly how much humiliation and cruelty can be endured if necessary. I would spare you that."
Lan Xichen closes his eyes, defeated. Jin Guangyao has again caught him neatly in the net of his own logic, and he is tired. He is weak. He doesn't want to know.
"None of us can change the past," he says. "But I still believe we have the chance to make a better future."
"I want that too," says Jin Guangyao.
They leave the tea unfinished. Jin Guangyao teasingly questions Lan Xichen as to how he will atone for the unnecessary waste, and when Lan Xichen informs him that leftover tea is used for composting, Jin Guangyao wonders how much wasted tea is considered acceptable to be delivered to the compost heap before it is counted as profligacy. The sheer silliness of it all has Lan Xichen laughing as the sun finally burns through the fog to cast a few golden rays into the yard outside.
They stand together in the open doorway, Jin Guangyao narrowing his eyes against the light as he looks up at the sky.
"I should go," he says, and doesn't move.
"You're welcome to stay," says Lan Xichen, although he himself cannot spend the entire day in idleness. He should have been meditating and even with that overlooked he has other duties he must attend to before he returns to his brother to play for him and change the dressing on his wounds again.
Besides, he cannot put Jin Guangyao in an awkward position by asking him outright to stay. This is already more than he expected, so it must be enough. He is grateful for the time they have. He is grateful, because it would not be fair to feel otherwise.
Jin Guangyao shifts on his feet, and Lan Xichen reaches out to take hold of his arms before he has a chance to raise them in preparation for a bow. What it means, though, is that they are standing close again and he forgets to let go when Jin Guangyao tips his head back and looks up at him.
Lan Xichen does not see black gauze or red cinnabar or yellow silk. He sees the face of the man who saved him, who is still saving him.
He lowers his face toward Jin Guangyao's. He closes his eyes.
"I'm needed in Lanling." Jin Guangyao's voice cracks almost imperceptibly. Lan Xichen opens his eyes. Their faces are barely an inch apart and Jin Guangyao's sleeves are wrinkling beneath his fingers.
He stands up straight. He lets go.
They smile at each other.
"Please travel safely," says Lan Xichen. "Thank you for your thoughtful visit. You are a great comfort to me."
"It is of great satisfaction to know my humble efforts are appreciated," says Jin Guangyao, eyes lowered. Lan Xichen keeps smiling.
"I'm sure we'll see each other again soon."
"Er-ge," murmurs Jin Guangyao. He turns away without looking up again, and there is a rigidity to his shoulders as he makes his way down the steps. Because the fog has thinned it takes a little while before he disappears from Lan Xichen's sight, a neat figure now resembling not a foraging bird but some other wild creature making its way through grey undergrowth in fear of the hunter.
There is a hollow space in Lan Xichen's chest when he is gone, but there is nothing to be done about it. Instead he goes back into the Hanshi and disposes of the waiting bandages and the wasted tea. Then, one by one, he extinguishes the candles with his fingers.
He should seek out his uncle, or at the very least visit the elders who are still in recovery. It's more important now than ever that he shows himself to be respectful of the older generation. And yet he does not make his way to the medical pavilion where Lan Hong and Lan Zhifan lie in quietude, their eyes dull with the effects of painkilling medicine. He returns to the Jingshi instead.
The Jingshi is only half-finished, but Lan Wangji was taken there after his punishment because there was no better alternative. At the moment it is nothing but bare walls and a roof, free of decoration or any furnishing beyond the bed on which Lan Xichen lay his brother with his own hands. Wangji will be moved soon enough, when disturbing him will not be a risk to his life. He will be placed somewhere discreet and out of the way where he can recover and reflect, and Lan Xichen is only glad their uncle did not suggest the secluded house where the gentians grow.
"Wangji," he says through the gap in the door before he pushes it completely open. There is the smell of blood in the air. All is silent.
His brother is gone.