Chapter Text
Lan Jingyi looks down at the child attached to his leg and wonders if he should try cutting its head off.
“Rich-gege, rich-gege, rich-gege,” it’s babbling non stop as it clutches and pulls at the ends of Jingyi’s robes.
If this is an illusion created by the spirit, then Lan Jingyi should definitely cut off the kid’s head. Break the illusion. Get back to the night hunt and, more importantly, get back to his friends.
The problem is just… well…
“Rich-gege came back!”
Awkwardly, Lan Jingyi clears his throat,
“I’m not—er, do I look like—”
“Rich-gege has toys?”
Lan Jingyi feels a sigh come from deep within. If this is an illusion, it is a pretty convincing one.
With a reluctant face, he bends down to take a knee in front of the excited boy.
If this is some elaborate trick conjured up by the spirit he had just been fighting, well, the last thing he should be doing is kneeling in front of this suspicious child.
He does it anyway.
“I’m sorry, I’m not your rich-gege,” he informs slowly. Mud from under his knees starts to soak into the fabric of his outer robe.
The boy looks alarmed now that he can see Jingyi’s face and it’s clearly not the one he had expected.
Abruptly, he lets go of the ends of Jingyi’s robes and takes a few steps back.
Lan Jingyi feels himself wince, he hadn’t meant to freak the kid out. But maybe it isn’t a kid? Forget illusions, for all he knows the spirit could’ve hit him hard and right on the head and now he is having a hyper-realistic fever dream.
Just moments ago, Lan Jingyi had been deep in the mountains of Gusu, fighting a spirit alongside Lan Sizhui, Ouyang Zizhen and Jin Ling. One minute he had been rushing at the spirit with his sword raised, the next he had inhaled a face full of resentful energy.
Now he is here.
The mud beneath his knee feels real soaking into his robes. The air that he breathes fills his lungs completely. The boy’s face in front of his looks awfully full of emotion.
If this is an illusion, it’s a pretty good one.
After a moment's hesitation and a scrutinizing look, the little boy finally opens his mouth to say,
“… It’s okay. It’s not your fault you’re not rich.”
It’s said with such sincerity, such resigned disappointment, that Lan Jingyi can’t help but coo at his little face.
“Awww really? You’ll forgive this lowly one for not being your rich-gege?”
As he says it, Lan Jingyi pokes lightly at the boy's side causing giggles to erupt with each gentle push.
“Yes! Yes! I already said it’s okay!” The little boy is screeching through his own laughs, and Jingyi can’t help the grin that takes over his face as well.
He almost momentarily forgets that he isn’t supposed to be wherever this is.
“Alright,” Jingyi acquiesces and stops poking at the boy, “well, can this one ask a question then?”
The boy seems to think on this for a second before graciously deeming it okay,
“I suppose that would be okay,” he says with a look on his little face that has Lan Jingyi fighting back a grin.
“Do you know where we are right now?”
Lan Jingyi hopes that wherever they may be, it isn't far from Gusu. Whatever kind of curse that spirit had put on him couldn’t have transported him too far, right?
“Yea! We’re on Luo Bo Mountain. How come gege doesn’t know that?”
Radish Mountain? Lan Jingyi has never heard of such a place.
Maybe the spirit really had gotten him good and this is nothing but a fever dream.
Shaking his head of such thoughts, Jingyi decides to keep moving forward,
“Hmm, this gege was just making sure you knew. I obviously know where we are.”
The look the little boy sends him is a mix between exasperated and suspicious. It is a look that Lan Jingyi gets the feeling has been directed at him before, but he just can’t place why it feels familiar.
And speaking of eerily familiar, this mountain looks like a place Lan Jingyi has been to before, and yet…
…what is he missing?
Why can’t he place what feels so wrong?
“Okay then little turnip, what should I call you?” Lan Jingyi asks instead of addressing his inner turmoil.
He finally stands up off of his knee as he says this, and brushes off the mud to the best of his ability. All he manages to do is smear the paste onto his fingers.
“They all call me A-Yuan!”
Lan Jingyi quirks a brow,
“Who’s they all?” He asks, both amused and hopeful.
The likelihood that they are now talking about adults is a good sign for Jingyi for figuring out how to get back to Gusu.
A-Yuan looks at him as if Jingyi has asked a dumb question, his little face is all scrunched up as if the older boy is being obtuse on purpose,
“My people!” The boy says, a little on the fierce side.
“Ahh, of course. I should’ve realized,” Jingyi tries so, so hard to keep the amusement out of his tone, “Will this young master then be magnanimous enough to show the way towards his people?”
Jingyi watches the little boy's mouth reshape the word ‘magnanimous’ under his breath. He looks to struggle under the weight of it. Jingyi waits with a crooked smile on his lips.
“Hmm… I guess I can introduce you to them…”
Lan Jingyi bows low and proper, arms folded out in front of him,
“Thanking this young master for his eternal generosity,” he says smirking.
A-Yuan absolutely delights in this, a big smile splits his face, and it looks as if he’s struggling to tamp it down now as well,
“No problem!” He’s basically bouncing on his toes as he turns around and grabs Lan Jingyi’s hand to lead him.
As he’s getting dragged along, Lan Jingyi gets barely a second to even think before A-Yuan is once again opening his mouth and saying,
“So, what is Poor-gege doing here?”
Lan Jingyi almost smacks into the ground with the way he trips over his feet.
“Uhm—! Excuse me?? Poor!”
“Stop being so clumsy, Poor-gege,” A-Yuan huffs as he impatiently tugs at Jingyi’s hand.
Lan Jingyi relents himself to being dragged again, however not without narrowing his eyes at the little boy.
“Just because I’m not your Rich-gege doesn’t mean I’m poor,” he mumbles under his breath.
A-Yuan gives a shrug and hums noncommittally,
“If Poor-gege says so.”
Lan Jingyi sighs displeased and keeps eyeing the kid, but eventually he relents,
“What am I doing here, you ask? Well, this super bad ass cultivator-gege was fighting a spirit with his friends.”
“A spirit on Luo Bo Mountain?” The boy asks, curious.
“No, no, that's the thing. We weren’t on Luo Bo Mountain…”
With the hand that’s not being held by the little boy, Jingyi scratches lightly at his head in confusion, “We were investigating a different forest because it was said people were going missing and then reappearing weeks later far, far away from the original forest.”
“Uh-huh?” A-Yuan says, struggling a little to keep up with the story.
“All of them, the victims I mean, would come back recounting crazy stories, talking about meeting their dead grandpa they had never had the chance to meet before.”
“My grandpa’s alive!” A-Yuan chimes in helpfully.
“And obviously they were crazy…” Jingyi is now mumbling more to himself than to A-Yuan, “And there’s no way that could’ve happened, however, now I find myself transported presumably far, far away from where I first started. None of my friends are in sight…”
He trails off lost in thought.
A-Yuan tilts a curious head in his direction.
Suddenly, Jingyi bursts out,
“So then where’s my dead grandpa, huh!”
A-Yuan jumps lightly.
“If this isn’t an illusion and the spirit really did send me far, far away, then why did everyone come back with crazy stories?
“Should I be preparing to go crazy any minute now, or is this just an elaborate fever dream?”
After another pause Jingyi adds on,
“Or an elaborate illusion, can’t forget that option…” he mumbles.
A-Yuan is blinking up at him as they’ve stopped walking to accommodate Jingyi’s thinking.
“Well,” the little boy says when it appears Jingyi is done talking out loud, “I already think poor-gege is crazy!”
He says this with a beaming smile, as if this is good news that is supposed to help Jingyi narrow down his options somehow.
Lan Jingyi blinks down at the boy for a few seconds before erupting into loud laughter.
“Thank you, A-Yuan, thank you.”
The boy doesn’t seem to understand what’s so funny, but he laughs along with Jingyi anyway.
After a few pats to his head, Jingyi sighs,
“… thanks little one, that really helps.”
He’s still smiling lightly as he says it, and Lan Jingyi decides that for now he will set his confusion to the side. Whatever happened to him, wherever he is now, the only course of action is to keep moving forward.
Taking a step forward to show A-Yuan they should continue on their path, Jingyi cuts an eye over towards the small boy,
“So, how many people do you have?”
It would be good to prepare himself for whatever Jingyi is about to walk into.
Should he be ready to meet a doting set of parents? Perhaps some siblings will be involved?
A-Yuan puts on a face that reveals deep concentration,
“Hmmmmm…” He says with his eyebrows all scrunched together,
“Maybe… one hundred!” The boy boasts, finally landing on a suitable number.
One hundred!?
Jingyi is well aware that children have a tendency to exaggerate, especially children who haven’t learned their numbers perfectly yet. But one hundred?? Is A-Yuan referring to the whole village he lives in?
“Oh..? Is that so?” Lan Jingyi tries to keep the disbelief out of his tone. He struggles immensely.
“Mm! Mm!” A-Yuan hums proudly, “There’s granny, and Qing-jiejie, and Xian-gege, and Ning-gege, and fourth Uncle, and—”
And frankly, Lan Jingyi stops paying attention right then.
These nicknames mean nothing to Jingyi, for all he knows these people could be the boy’s imaginary friends.
Occasionally, Lan Jingyi will hum along in agreement as the boy goes down his list of people, but for the most part his brain has gone into auto-mode.
“And sometimes we have rich-gege…”
Lan Jingyi hums a questioning sound at the one familiar nickname,
“Sometimes?” He prompts the little boy, interest piqued slightly.
A-Yuan hums agreeably from up ahead where he pulls Jingyi along by their interconnected hands,
“Rich-gege never stays. He comes with toys and makes Xian-gege smile. But then he leaves. He leaves the toys, and takes Xian-gege’s smile.”
It is said so matter of factly in only the way a child can make something so sad sound so practical.
“Your rich-gege… he’s of the Lan clan?”
A-Yuan tips his head to the side confused,
“Who?”
Lan Jingyi clears his throat,
“I mean, does he wear the robes I wear? Does he have a headband like mine?”
This is the only explanation Jingyi can think of for why he was mistaken for this ‘rich-gege.’
“Yea he does, but you are not rich like him.”
“Hey. Kid. I’m not, like, poor, okay?”
“You don’t bring light like him either.”
The second part A-Yuan seems to have added off-handedly, but it makes Jingyi falter in his steps.
“He brings… light?”
Lan Jingyi knows of only one Lan who has been described this way. Even if A-Yuan’s statement is just a childish misunderstanding of the title, there is still only one Lan who that could be.
A-Yuan hums,
“That’s what Qing-jiejie says!”
To learn that Hanguang-jun has been visiting Luo Bo Mountain is… comforting maybe?
This place must surely exist if Hanguang-jun has been visiting, however… Shouldn’t Lan Jingyi know if Hanguang-jun has been frequenting a mountain? Shouldn’t everyone?
What would he even be doing here? Why does he let strange little boys call him rich-gege and apparently give them toys?
The scales in Jingyi’s mind tip ever so slightly in favor of fever dream now.
Shaking his head as if to shake away his thoughts, Jingyi manages a reply,
“…that’s nice of him.”
And just like that, the boy is falling back into his jibber jabbering. He almost reminds Jingyi of Wei-qianbei in the way that he goes on and on. Gesticulating with his little arms, and lighting up as he’s reminded of new things to say.
Lan Jingyi is content to let the little boy ramble on, leading him to who only knows where and clutching tight to his hand.
There is no apparent direction in which A-Yuan is leading Jingyi, which is mildly concerning for sure. However, there is one certainty—
Wherever they are going, it is definitely deeper into the heart of Luo Bo Mountain.
—- —- —-
Jin Ling has never met someone that he couldn’t piss off before. In fact, it seems to come very naturally to him—Being combative and provoking ire in others.
Even Lan Sizhui, delicate as he is, has had to restrain eye rolls and talk through gritted teeth sometimes when Jin Ling says something he doesn’t particularly agree with.
This woman now, dressed in modest gold (with purple undertones?) is probably the first person to only ever be nothing but patient with Jin Ling.
“Uh, which spoon were you asking for?” He asks with his eyebrows furrowed.
Jin Ling’s question earns only a small smile and a soft hand pointing towards the container holding a bunch of kitchen utensils.
“Do you see that dark brown one, the one with a shallower base?”
Jin Ling nods once, fast and assured as he reaches for it, finally understanding what this woman wants from him.
“Here,” he says dutifully while he hands over the spoon.
His reward is a hand ruffling his hair slightly and a cooed, “Such a well-mannered young man!”
As the patient woman now uses the spoon Jin Ling handed over to stir her soup, she seemingly takes the silence as opportunity to ask a question,
“So, what’s a young boy like you doing in these stuffy kitchens, hm?”
And isn’t that the question of the hour?
Jin Ling, last he had been aware of, had been night-hunting with his three friends on a mountain in Gusu.
Him, Lan Sizhui, Lan Jingyi and Ouyang Zizhen had been hunting a spirit that was said to have been causing people to disappear for weeks on end, only for the victims to come back crazy and rambling about seeing dead people.
Weird, right, but nothing too strange.
And yet it had taken a turn for the bizarre after Jin Ling inhaled a puff of resentful energy that had sent him…back to Koi Tower?
One minute he had been swinging his sword toward the resentful spirit, the next he was unintentionally threatening the nice workers in a very familiar kitchen with a whisk in place of Suihua.
Somehow, (and don’t ask Jin Ling, because he certainly does not know how he ended up here) this had resulted in him playing assistant chef for the last 20 minutes now.
The nice chef lady, unaware of Jin Ling’s whirring thoughts, continues on cheerfully,
“You should be out running around with other kids your age, meeting girls, swimming in lakes. Instead, you storm in here with a whisk offering to help cook?”
Unprepared for the additional questions, Jin Ling can only continue his (apparently newly perfected) impression of a stone statue.
It is as if he can only stare and blink, trying to force words but too caught up in his racing thoughts to be successful,
“I, um…”
First of all, all of those activities are more suitable to Lotus Pier, not Koi Tower where fun consists of tying the most gold in your hair and kicking around anyone who fails to do so.
Second of all, even if those were popular activities with the people around Lanling, nobody would ever dare goof off around their Sect Leader.
Not knowing how to say this in a way that didn’t sound resentful towards his own sect , Jin Ling finally opens his mouth and decides to focus on the very first thing the woman had said.
“Stuffy kitchens?” He asks at long last, “You think it is too small in here?”
The woman heaves a sigh that speaks to heavy exhaustion as she dips a finger into the soup and samples her own progress,
“Well, I am new here so maybe I shouldn’t complain…However, I am just used to much bigger spaces to cook in.”
She’s new? Well, that would explain why Jin Ling doesn’t recognize her. He had assumed previously it was just because he really doesn’t know his staff that well.
Which, for the record, he had been meaning to change!
Of course he had been meaning to get to know the staff around Koi Tower… it was just…well, before the big mess at Guanyin Temple, he had really only been here for half the year anyway, and no one at Koi Tower ever seemed to like him that much.
Wei Wuxian of all people had been the one to inform him that his job as Sect Leader would now entail knowing and understanding his people better than anyone, but he’s been busy, okay?
He’d been meaning to get around to it, he just hadn’t… gotten around to it.
The woman is once again oblivious to Jin Ling’s inner thoughts, and is continuing on before he can get too lost.
“The Jin love ostentatiously decorated halls and grand, open places to show off their wealth, but when it comes to their servant’s quarters? To the places Sect Leader Jin never steps foot in?”
Following this statement she tuts quietly under her breath while shaking her head, “Who could care about servants?”
And woa , Jin Ling thinks, this woman is bold.
To say such thoughts out loud, let alone to your own Sect Leader’s face? It is unheard of.
If it was anyone else, Jin Ling probably would have been yelling already, never having been someone who takes questions about his decisions well. But now…
Feeling slightly chastised, Jin Ling speaks up awkwardly,
“I…” He clears his throat, “My intention was never, I mean—well, I shouldn’t say that. What I should say is—uhm—I-I hear you. I will… try my best to make the necessary changes upon your wise words.”
The woman glances away from her soup to look at the stuttering mess of her Sect Leader.
If she didn’t respect him before, there’s no way this display has helped, Jin Ling thinks a little woefully.
Her gaze softens, however, and unexpectedly she lets out a small laugh,
“Sweetie,” She says with a kind of amused sympathy Jin Ling has never been the recipient of before. Lightly, she taps Jin Ling’s chin until he is no longer making ashamed eye contact with the ground, but is instead looking her in the eye once again.
“What are you supposed to do about it?” She’s saying in between her quiet laughs, “Look at you worrying so much over this. You’re too young for this kind of stuff.”
Jin Ling… isn’t… huh?
“You know, I have two younger brothers and they are just like you. Thinking they can change the world, or thinking they have to change the world.
“But, what you don’t realize and what they don’t realize is that you shouldn’t waste your youth worrying over the things you can’t change. It’s not your responsibility, and it’s certainly not your fault. The adults need to let kids be kids, and we need to clean up our own messes, okay? Who would I be if I forced children to grow up and fix the things that I have more control over?”
The woman is stirring her soup very lightly now, and she’s looking at it with eyes that would probably mean something if Jin Ling could read emotions well.
Jin Ling blinks once. Blinks twice.
He thinks he feels offended?
Like, yea, sure Jin Ling’s young, the youngest Sect Leader in recorded history in fact. However, that doesn’t mean he can’t, like, try and get things done! He can stand up to his Sect elders… sometimes!
Opening his mouth to protest, Jin Ling finds he’s immediately cut off by the woman gesturing a small spoon in his direction. Her previous melancholic expression has been wiped clean off her face,
“But eough serious talk. Here, try this and let me know if it’s too salty.”
With literally no hesitation, Jin Ling allows the woman to bring the spoon up to his lips. All of his previous indignation slips from his shoulders and out of his mind.
When had he become so okay with being spoon-fed food? Jin Ling has no idea.
All he knows is that if someone else had tried to do this (i.e. His jiujiu, Wei Wuxian, Jingyi, Sizhui, Zizhen, etc.) Jin Ling would never have stood for it. Probably would’ve said something lik e “I’m not a baby, I can feed myself!”
To the woman, all he says is, “Mm, tastes good.”
His response provokes more soft laughs from the woman,
“Silly boy, it’s not supposed to be good yet! You flatter me too much.”
Her words are a reprimand, but her tone is light and playful.
“I haven’t even added anything yet, and this boy is talking about ‘it tastes good’, aiyah,” She’s mostly just mumbling to herself, but Jin Ling feels himself blush slightly.
He hadn’t been trying to overly flatter the woman when he had said that. Very genuinely the food had been good. Had she not said anything, Jin Ling would have assumed it was done.
“It was good…” He protests weakly, only to receive more delighted laughter in response.
“Ahh, just you wait then. If you think it’s good now, you’re really about to get your mind blown.”
The sentence implies that Jin Ling will be here when the soup is finished and, like, is that a bad idea? Probably. Should Jin Ling stop playing bad assistant chef and get back to his friends? Most definitely. Does Jin Ling care? Not really.
This woman, this moment, this kitchen… Jin Ling doesn’t know why, but it feels as if he’ll regret it forever if he doesn’t stay and try this soup.
Maybe this is the work of the resentful spirit he had been fighting back in Gusu. Perhaps this is why its victims weren’t seen for weeks after disappearing. If the resentful spirit is keeping people missing by sending them to nice, warm kitchens with alluring smells and kind, friendly people, then Jin Ling could understand wanting to stay.
“Yea, okay,” He forces himself to say, a little embarrassed still, “Can’t wait to try it.”
And besides, he’s in Koi Tower—familiar territory. It’s not as if the spirit sent him anywhere far and bizarre like all the other victims had recounted.
He’ll finish helping this woman with her soup, try it, sincerely thank her for her kind company, and then leave. He’ll go back to Gusu, find his friends, slay one resentful spirit, and perhaps share the story of how he got sent back home for a small detour. His friends will find it odd, but eventually they’ll all move on, and when Jin Ling gets back to Koi Tower, after all of that, he will look into how much it might cost to make some renovations.
It can’t be that much to expand the kitchen, and after that he will pay a visit to his staff’s rooms to see if improvements are needed there as well.
Koi Tower is already in need of some new renovations anyway, what would be a few more?
—- — —-
Lan Sizhui thinks that maybe all small towns kind of look the same.
This is the reasoning he will use in the future for when he will need to explain how he found himself so miserably lost.
All small towns kind of look the same, and the one he had been dropped in the middle of approximately ten minutes ago, is definitely not an exception.
Eleven minutes ago, Lan Sizhui had been in the middle of an intense battle with a resentful spirit haunting Gusu’s mountains. After opening his mouth with every intent to warn his friends not to inhale any of the resentful energy the spirit might throw at them, Lan Sizhui immediately and completely did just that.
And then he had found himself in this unnamed town.
Perhaps this is how the spirit has been causing its mass disappearances. Perhaps all it has to do is send its victims to quiet, unassuming towns, all while laughing at the amount of time it will take for the helpless people to find their way out and back home.
Whatever the case, Lan Sizhui’s new goal is only this—Find his way back to Gusu.
This would be an easier goal if only the townspeople here were more friendly and open to talking to cultivators.
“Sir, sorry to bother you, but I was just wondering if—“
The man Lan Sizhui is attempting to flag down only grunts and jerks away from his attention.
“—you could tell me where we are…”
By the end of his question, Lan Sizhui is just trailing off into an unheard whisper, the man already having walked halfway down the road and away from the perceived nuisance.
Lan Sizhui fights hard against a groan of frustration, and closes his eyes to prevent an eye roll from showing.
In his head, Lan Sizhui can almost hear Wei-qianbei’s laughter,
What have I always told you about getting information, my little radish?
Wei-qianbei has always said that people don’t want to talk to cultivators, they want to talk to friends.
How do you make friends in a small town easily?
You find the nearest place selling alcohol.
With his eyes still closed, Lan Sizhui lets out a small disappointed sigh. He should not be seeking out alcohol, he should not be trying to trick the people of this town.
But what he should do and what he needs to do are not corresponding with each other in this situation. What he needs is to get back to his friends, so what he ‘should do’ is thrown out the window.
With seemingly no other choice, Lan Sizhui finds himself on the hunt for alcohol for the very first time in his life. Taking his time walking through the unfamiliar streets, Sizhui ponders the merits of omitting this particular search from his future Night Hunt report.
‘Looked for local drinking spots,’ might actually send his Grand Uncle Qiren into an earlier qi deviation.
When Sizhui finally finds a shop that looks promising, he has yet to come to a conclusion. His internal debate, however, comes to a very abrupt stop when he sees two people verbally fighting outside the entrance of his desired destination.
One person appears to be the owner trying his best to throw someone out, the other person is a man dressed in familiar reds and blacks, trying his best to get past the owner.
The familiar color palette gives Sizhui brief pause—is that also a red ribbon in his hair?
“How many times do I have to tell you, I’m not the Yiling Patriarch, okay? I’m just one of his many impersonators!”
The man wearing red and black is practically whining, throwing his hands around and kicking up a storm. Certainly, he acts like the Yiling Patriarch.
“I don’t believe you! How am I supposed to tell impersonators apart from the real thing, huh? For all I know, you are Wei Wuxian himself!”
“I’m not! I pinky, pinky promise I’m not! Now, will you please let me in.”
But this man cannot be Wei-qianbei.
For one, Lan Sizhui is well aware that Wei-qianbei is supposed to be with Hanguang-jun in the jingshi, patiently awaiting their return to the Cloud Recesses. But more obvious than that, this man is too tall. His face structure too different, his eyes too round, his voice too deep.
This man looks nothing like Wei-qianbei, and well, Sizhui should know this better than anyone.
And so with that thought in mind, he finds himself stepping forward and in between the two quarreling men.
“Wha—!” The owner startles as he is forced a few steps back.
“Lan—! Oh…”
The impersonator is blinking strangely in his direction, and the sunny smile slips off of his face at the sight of Sizhui.
Lan Sizhui isn’t sure why—there should be no reason for this impersonator to recognize him? But perhaps it is not him the man recognizes, but his robes? His sect?
Whatever the reason, it pales in importance to the reason for his intervention. For now, Sizhui elects to place the issue to the side.
“I’m truly sorry to interrupt, but please allow me to settle your debate.”
With his slight introduction, Sizhui bends into a respectful bow aimed at both the shopkeeper and the impersonator.
“Sir,” He turns to look the shopkeeper in the eyes in what he hopes is a trustful way, “this is not the Yiling Patriarch. I can vouch for that on his behalf.”
Two simultaneous choruses of “ He’s not? ” and “ I’m not? ” follow his claim, and as politely as he can manage, Sizhui shakes his head.
“I have personally met the Yiling Patriarch and I can say with 100% certainty that this man isn’t him.”
“You have??” Comes from the impersonator behind Lan Sizhui, but he pays it no mind. His attention is instead completely focused on the shopkeeper who is examining him critically now.
“And why should I trust you? How do I know you’ve met the Yiling Patriarch?”
“Sir, I am of the Lan Cultivation Sect.”
This should, Lan Sizhui thinks, be all that is needed to convince the man. For it is common knowledge how close the Yiling Patriarch is with the Lan Sect. All Lans should be very familiar with the Yiling Patriarch’s face by now.
“That’s right!” The cheerful voice of the impersonator is piping up from behind him.
Suddenly, a red and black clad arm is being thrown over Sizhui’s shoulder, “The Lan Sect has over 3000 rules! Among which is that they are prohibited from lying.”
4000 rules, Sizhui corrects in his head, but the small details aren’t important.
Turning to look at the impersonator who still has his arm thrown over his shoulders, Lan Sizhui finds the man is sending him a blinding smile.
“Is that so…?”
The shopkeeper is looking between the two of them suspiciously.
Lan Sizhui confirms by inclining his head once again,
“Yes, we do not lie.”
The resulting outcome is an intense stare off that feels like it lasts hours, but probably only lasts seconds.
Finally, the shopkeeper grunts but says no more. He only steps back into his store with a relenting hand beckoning them both in. It sounds like he might be mumbling something under his breath, something along the lines of ‘whatever, I don’t even care anymore,’ but who could be sure?
Lan Sizhui slowly releases the anxious breath he had been holding. From the doorway, a tense looking young man is apologizing profusely on the shop owner’s behalf,
“We are so sorry for the mix-up, my father means no harm, really! Please allow us to treat you both with a free jug of alcohol to show our sincerest apologies!”
The arm around Sizhui stays in place while the impersonator turns his blinding smile towards the shop owner's son,
“Why, free alcohol! Who could ever turn down such a generous offer? Don’t worry about all that before, it’s water under the bridge now!”
And then the impersonator is steering both himself and Lan Sizhui into the store while unleashing an endless stream of chatter.
“Oh, it happens all the time, don’t worry!” He’s saying over the son’s continued apologies, “I should really stop dressing like this, but it makes so much money when you’re trying to sell talismans!”
Sizhui somehow finds himself seated at a table across from the curious impersonator who is still going on with the shop keeper’s son,
“You wouldn’t believe how effective it can be, but what were you saying about free alcohol?”
And it’s all very reminiscent of the real Yiling Patriarch. The chatting, the alcohol, the smile. It’s terribly uncanny. The only thing that’s not similar is the looks, and this causes Sizhui to feel a sense of cognitive dissonance whenever he sees the impersonator’s face.
Eventually, the owner’s son leaves them alone. He sets one jug of alcohol and two cups on the table. Bows one last time. Then scrambles away to go check on his grumpy father.
Out of politeness, Sizhui finds himself pouring a cup for his companion but leaving his own untouched.
“Ah, right. I forgot that you Lans don’t drink, huh?”
Lan Sizhui opens his mouth, but the stranger is faster,
“Don’t worry, don’t worry, I won’t go about pressuring you. More for me anyway. But I guess I need to thank you for doing this old man a solid, hm? I thought Lans don’t lie, but look at you go! You’re like a natural! So, thank you, oh kind young master.”
Lan Sizhui blinks once, twice, three times.
With each blink he can feel the furrow in his eyebrows deepening.
“Lie? I did not lie?”
The stranger pauses with his freshly poured drink halfway to his mouth,
“You didn’t?”
Lan Sizhui shakes his head bewildered.
“But you said you have seen the Yiling Patriarch?”
Lan Sizhui is nodding now, “Yes, I have.”
“And you said I am not him?”
“Well of course you’re not him?”
The stranger lets out a sound close to a squawk at this and looks even more bewildered,
“Do I not look like him??”
Lan Sizhui feels his confusion double now. Perhaps this man simply believes his impersonation to be top-tier?
“Well… your look is quite close of course but…”
“But…?” The man is prompting.
“But you are much too tall to be the Yiling Patriarch. Not to mention your face is just all wrong.”
“All wrong! All wrong? What is that supposed to mean? Have you been looking at those damn posters they keep drawing of him? I’ll have you know his face is renowned for its beauty. Women and men alike weep to see his face. At night I worry myself to sleep thinking about how many people he’s devastated, worried that one day—Why are you laughing?”
And Lan Sizhui is indeed laughing, he really can’t help it. This man, his antics, they feel too familiar.
This man may not be Wei-qianbei, but he certainly acts like him,
“I’m-I’m sorry,” It’s hard to speak in between laughs, but Sizhui is managing, “You just remind me of someone, sorry qianbei.”
The man looks at him appraisingly while Sizhui tries to contain his remaining laughter. After only a moment the other is huffing and saying,
“Aiyah, ‘qianbei, qianbei, ’ no need for such formalities. You can just call me… Yuandao, for now.”
“Okay, qian— Yuandao, this one is Lan Yuan, courtesy Sizhui.”
Yuandao clicks his tongue and downs his drink in one swift move,
“You Lans, still always so formal.”
On some instinct that Lan Sizhui has cultivated after hours of drinking (but not drinking) with Wei-qianbei, Sizhui is reaching forward and already refilling Yuandao’s cup.
“Speaking of,” The man says suddenly, “what is a Lan like you doing in a place like this?”
In an almost sheepish manner, Sizhui rubs at his neck embarrassed,
“Actually, I’ve found myself in a sort of predicament.”
Yuandao hums encouragingly while downing his drink once more.
“Well, I,” Lan Sizhui refills his senior’s cup once more, “I think I’m lost?”
Yuandao’s only response is a confused look, so Sizhui is barreling on again,
“I need to find my way back to Gusu, but I just don’t know where I am right now. Praying this senior will… enlighten me?”
As he finishes Lan Sizhui is cringing slightly. He knows he must sound stupid, crazy, like a lunatic. Who doesn’t know where they are? How could anyone end up in a place without knowing the means in which they did?
However, Yuandao’s confused look is shadowed quickly by his loud laughter.
“Oh!” He’s saying loudly and laughing at the same volume, “That’s all you need?”
Sizhui is smiling sheepishly still.
“A name and some directions? Ahh kid, you really are something odd.”
If Sizhui were someone like Jin Ling, he might take offense to this comment. Luckily he is not.
“I thought you might be in some real trouble! Wow, wow, okay!”
It is becoming harder and harder to understand him through his loud laughs, so Sizhui clears his throat quietly,
“If you are done laughing, please.”
Sizhui has no doubts that this man will tell him where they are, but after the frankly abysmal success he had gotten from the other people he asked, he is feeling as if getting the answer is of high importance.
Yuandao does calm himself down eventually. Shaking his head and taking now just a sip from his cup, the man lets out a big sigh and mumbles something that sounds vaguely like ‘kids these days. So serious.’
Finally, finally, he looks up and meets his eyes and Sizhui notes with astonishment that they are even gray like Wei-qianbei’s are,
“You’re in Yiling, kid. Right outside the Burial Mounds.”
— — —
Ouyang Zizhen, if asked later, will recount that he much preferred the second night hunt he attended tonight over the first one.
The first one was complicated, confusing, and (when looking at it technically) not actually completed yet.
The second one, however! The second one may not have had his friends, but it did have one badass cultivator to do all of the work in an artfully efficient manner that Ouyang Zizhen thinks will fuel his poems on heroism for weeks to come.
It was quick, entertaining, and easy. Everything a night hunt should be!
When Ouyang Zizhen had first appeared in this dark forest, all alone and suddenly whisked away from his friends, his first instinct had been to panic. However, it wasn’t long before a Jin cultivator had stumbled upon his forlorn, lost soul and had taken him under his wing.
“Are you night hunting as well?” He had asked, graciously pretending not to notice the tears on Zizhen’s face.
And then, without hesitation, he had offered to allow Zizhen to stick close. Citing there was safety in numbers and that they could figure out where Zizhen’s friends had gone after the threat in this forest had been eliminated.
The Jin cultivator is not someone Zizhen has met before, which is surprising because the way he had sliced through the resentful spirit so easily should speak to a high status amongst the Jin.
As soon as the other cultivator had successfully taken down the spirit (with very little help from him, Zizhen can admit that) the forest had immediately gotten lighter. Literally and figuratively. The resentful energy dissipated completely and the birds almost immediately began chirping again.
It was amazing!
It was like watching Hanguang-jun cleanse an area—Straightforward but unyieldingly powerful.
It also revealed that this forest is clearly not the one Zizhen had just been night hunting in with his friends.
Now, in the aftermath of banishing the spirit, Zizhen struggles with how he should be interpreting his current predicament.
Should he tell the Jin cultivator that he believes he hadn’t actually started in whatever forest this is? Would the cultivator immediately dismiss him as crazy?
No offense to Jin Ling or anything, but it’s not as if the cultivators of Lanling Jin are easy to get along with. In Zizhen’s experience, he has never really liked any of them and that feeling is definitely mutual.
Would this Jin cultivator be an exception just as Jin Ling had been?
“The spirit has been eliminated. Are, um, are you alright?”
Now that there is no imminent threat hanging over their heads, the man seems almost…awkward? Zizhen has to hold back a small laugh while the other seemingly struggles to maintain eye contact.
Even still, the Jin cultivator makes the effort to reach a perfunctory arm out and pat Zizhen’s arm in what looks to be an attempt at being reassuring.
Remembering how he had been found crying earlier, Zizhen thinks maybe this man has a justified reason for his current unbalanced attempt at comfort.
“No, no, don’t worry about me! I’m all good, Jin-qianbei!”
“Qianbei—!” The man looks startled at the address, and tilts his head upwards to look away in an embarrassed manner, “You don’t—there is no need to address me that way,” he practically huffs.
Zizhen wants to laugh at how much he is reminded of Jin Ling at that moment.
“But qianbei!” He rebuttals, eyes wide with adoration, “You were so cool fighting that spirit! How could I not look up to you now?”
The older man still looks faintly embarrassed, but with a resigned sigh he seems to let it go.
“Whatever, okay,” He mumbles, before getting back to his original point, “We should find your friends now, yes?”
“…Yea… they might be around here somewhere…”
It’s a truly vague answer, but Zizhen is still conflicted!
The differences between this forest and his original forest are small—almost unnoticeable if you aren’t someone who has an appreciation for nature—but, nonetheless, the differences exist. Zizhen can say with certainty that this is not that same mountainous forest of Gusu he had started in.
Unfortunately, Zizhen’s word is not going to be enough proof.
‘Jin-qianbei, I know that this sounds crazy but I think my friends aren’t actually in this forest?
‘Yes, yes, I did say earlier that we were all night hunting in a forest together, but you know, somehow I must have ended up very far away and I have no idea how. Please help me?’
Ouyang Zizhen looks at the familiar looking sword sheathed at the Jin cultivators side.
No, he certainly wouldn’t be believed. Not yet.
For now, he thinks his best move is gathering information. So, in the interest of that, Zizhen expertly side steps the topic of his friends with the grace of someone who has hung around Sect Leader Nie a lot ,
“Jin-qianbei, you didn’t come with anyone?”
Showcasing that he wants to walk and talk, Zizhen starts to walk back in the direction they had come from as he asks. It doesn’t take long for the Jin cultivator to fall into step with him.
“No,” he says, sounding like Hanguang-jun with an answer as clipped as that one.
It’s okay, Zizhen can wait.
Eventually, the cultivator is speaking up without further prompting.
“The Jin Sect does not prohibit night hunting alone as some Sects choose to do. Not to mention I… don’t have a lot of people to rely on.”
Wrong , Zizhen thinks.
Night hunting by one’s self had been prohibited in the Jin Sect during Jin Guangyao’s era of being Sect Leader. It is a rule that Jin Ling routinely breaks and therefore one of the only Jin rules that Zizhen actually knows.
“Oh,” Zizhen replies instead of saying any of this, his brain is working too fast to think of a better reply.
Cutting a glance over at the other cultivator, Zizhen tries to keep the conversation going,
“But, shouldn’t you bring friends to watch your back during a night hunt?”
The man now throws him a side eye, and Zizhen quickly realizes how rude that must have sounded,
“No, no! Not that you aren’t good enough to handle all of this ,” he gestures wildly to the forest around them, “by yourself. It’s just—“
Zizhen let’s his hands stop flying all about,
“—It’s just, I don’t know, nice to have people looking out for you. They don’t have to be your friends or anything, but…”
And he’s done talking. Should take a sewing needle to his lips and seal them shut forever with the way he probably just offended this man.
Before Zizhen can spiral into a deeper hole of self-reprimanding, however, the man speaks up,
“I used to have someone like that.”
Zizhen stops shoveling the hole in his mind that he had been digging to bury himself in,
“Oh?”
“Her name was Luo Qingyang. We used to be… friends, I hope.”
Zizhen decides to keep his mouth shut still and wait for the other to continue. He does eventually after about another ten steps forward,
“She left my sect, I don’t know where she is now.”
“Oh.”
“The only other options for companionship are my cousins, but they’re not, uh, perfect. So, I night hunt alone.”
Beneath their feet, a twig snaps weakly.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”
“It is fine.”
And then the two walk in silence for what feels like an eternity.
It provides a brief, welcome reprieve from Zizhen’s embarrassment, and makes space for his thinking.
Luo Qingyang .
That is a name Zizhen has heard in stories. Rarely mentioned for sure, and sometimes she is called MianMian for some reason, but still mentioned.
Breaking his thoughts though, the man speaks up hesitantly,
“Uhm. What about your… friends? Do you enjoy night hunting with them?”
Zizhen immediately perks up at the sort of subject change.
“Oh! Yes, my friends are my favorite people in the world.”
The Jin cultivator hums, sounding amused and signaling Zizhen to continue,
“We’re all from different sects mostly, so all we ever get to do is night hunt together.”
“That sounds nice. Intersect friendships are quite rare.”
Wrong again. It’s all wrong.
Intersect friendships are not rare. In fact, between all of the intersect marriages and sworn brotherhoods of the past, intersect friendships are quite common.
Ouyang Zizhen cuts another glance over to the man, and thinks that he should definitely do it. Should definitely say it.
All the signs are pointing in the direction that Zizhen’s theory is 100% correct.
First of all, this man seems to be extremely involved with Sect business. For him to act as knowledgeable as he seems, and not recognize Ouyang Zizhen or his aforementioned friends? It feels like that should be impossible.
He doesn’t want to brag or anything, but he and his three friends are literally some of the most promising cultivators of their generation. It is truly rare to meet someone who doesn’t recognize them from the stories and their descriptions that circulate.
And if one considers that point, the inverse must also be considered—Why does Zizhen have no candidates for who this Jin should be?
Even if he has never met him, he should have a name in mind. There aren’t any prominent Jins that Zizhen is not aware of as not only his position as Sect Heir demands he know the current key political players of their time, but also his position as one of Jin Ling’s closest friends demands he knows this as well.
It is also important that Zizhen considers the stories recounted by all the victims from his original night hunt. After coming back from disappearances that lasted weeks on end, all of them came back recounting stories of people who were known to have, well, passed away.
But honestly, all of this pales in comparison to the only piece of the puzzle Zizhen needs, the first thing that had clued him into something being very wrong—
—This man’s face (and sword, but mostly his face) are uncannily familiar.
That high brow, the regal nose, those eyes that he has most definitely seen before.
What kind of friend would Ouyang Zizhen be if he didn’t recognize his own friend’s face?
And so, it is with all of this in mind that Zizhen turns toward the Jin cultivator, takes a deep breath, and finally plays his cards,
“Actually, one of my friends is also a Jin.”
“Oh?”
The man is frowning now, probably trying to figure out who it could be.
“What is this boy’s name? Perhaps I know of him.”
Ouyang Zizhen stops walking.
“Jin Ling.”
The cultivator freezes up ahead.
Having not realized that his companion had stopped walking and is no longer following him, he is now quite a few paces in front of Zizhen.
Without turning around, but with an extremely stiff back, the Jin croaks out,
“…What did you just say?”
“My friend,” Ouyang Zizhen, feeling more fortified because of this reaction, barrels forward “Jin Ling, courtesy Rulan.”
Jerkily, Jin Zixuan turns to look at him. When they make eye contact his eyes are wide and horrified.
“Though, he doesn’t really like to use his courtesy name. Rulan. His uncle gave it to him and I think he doesn’t want to give Wei-qianbei the satisfaction.”
“How do you—we, we haven’t told anyone that yet—how do you—you, who are you!”
Jin Zixuan has a hand reaching for his sword’s hilt, but it is shaky and not closing the distance quickly.
Ouyang Zizhen closes his eyes and takes a deep shaky breath.
“Jin-gongzi, I need you to trust me and I need you to know I would never lie about something like this, okay?”
“Who. Are. You.” He is repeating, and this time it’s not a question.
Zizhen opens his eyes to find that Jin Zixuan, Jin Ling’s father, has finally gotten his hand wrapped around Suihua’s handle.
How ironic it would be if the man decided to kill him right now with his own friend’s sword.
What an interesting thought that Zizhen wishes to have not had.
“My name is Ouyang Zizhen, and I think I accidentally got stuck in the past.”