Chapter Text
The good rain knows its season,
When spring arrives, it brings life.
Du Fu (c.760)
*
Wei Ying gasped.
He did not know what was more shocking: the sharp sound of his breath in the resounding silence or the movement as his lungs drew in air and his ribs expanded. For a long time. Such a long time, everything had been still and silent.
The breath he had gasped in shuddered back out wetly. Then another inhale that drew pain in with it. His ribs protested. His lungs gurgled and spasmed. He coughed. Another unexpected movement: hands (his hands?) planted in front of him, holding him up. He retched up a gout of blood and breathed again.
He held himself still, his heart hammering (his heart!), and tried to slow his breaths. They still rasped too fast and insistent in his head. He tried to open his eyes. Everything was blurry. Too bright. White light.
Slowly his breath settled and his vision began to swim hazily into focus. His hands in front of him, braced on the floor, on startling white tile, cold and hard, splattered with blood. He coughed experimentally. Nothing more seemed forthcoming. He still felt very off-kilter, but what did he know? When was the last time he’d been well?
Wei Ying tipped himself back onto his haunches and looked around. A small room, oddly white and bright. Around him, as well as the splatters of blood he’d just coughed up, the tile was smeared with the remains of an array of some kind. Lines and sigils in cinnabar, or possibly more blood, and all pock-marked with a rain of ash and smuts, fragments of burnt talisman paper.
Had he… but no, these characters were not in his hand. Clumsily drawn and many of them unfamiliar or incorrect somehow. A summoning of some kind. So strangely done he was amazed it had worked. Looking around further, he saw some cabinets and shelves across one side of the room. The cabinets, if that’s what they were, were all lacquered the same cold, glossy white. The shelves carried a range of unfamiliar objects, brightly coloured like flowers but also somehow dirty. A stuffed mattress lent upright against the wall, a tangle of grubby fabric at its foot. It must have been moved to create the floor space for the array.
An array he was in the centre of. His brain was creaking back into life. You don’t sit in the centre of an unfamiliar array for longer than you can help. Wei Ying dragged himself over to the wall, smearing the lines of the array further. That was probably for the best, though he wanted to study it again. Its familiar-unfamiliar characters were nagging at him. His head was still swimming, though. The lighting talisman in the ceiling was unrelenting in the harsh, white light it threw on the small, messy room.
What was he doing here? He listened, but could sense no movement, only a distant murmuring of discordant voices. The room smelt bad. First of spilled blood but also something unpleasant and astringent that made his nose itch. He ached all over, like after a beating or extreme cold. Why was this happening? He had died. It had been over. He remembered distinctly; the moment of ending, the release of it. Not like the Burial Mounds the first time, where he had been supposed to die but had instead fallen into pain. The last time he had let go as everything flew apart and there had been a ferocious noise and then silence. Nothing. And now… there was this?
Wei Ying’s attention was drawn to his hands where they rested on his knees, drawn up in front of him. Prominent wrist bones and slender fingers with broad pads to the fingertips. Not his hands? He looked at them. He wiggled his fingers. Emphatically, they were his hands in terms of motor control. But they were not his own hands. They were dry and cracked, with reddened fingers. But still more delicate than his own hands had ever been. There were no sword calluses and no scars across the knuckles like he had had, only a single white crescent at the base of the left thumb.
On his left arm were two deep weals with blackened edges. Curse marks, seeping darkly and beginning to turn the veins beneath his skin black. He poked at one and hissed with the sharp pain. He had been cursed, but the marks were fresh, the curse not far advanced. He had time to deal with them later. He looked further, down the boney arms, when he extended them. Almost naked except for a soft, short-sleeved shirt, fashioned without seams or fastenings. His legs were bare to the upper thigh. Pale and unmuscled. Almost hairless, not like his legs at all. There were old bruises and odd round burn scars, but nothing that explained the whole-body ache. Internal injuries?
It was not his body. Wei Ying was forced to the only possible conclusion: he was inhabiting a body that was not his own. Had he… had he stolen someone’s body? But it wasn’t his array. And he hadn’t wanted… hadn’t intended to come back.
He leaned back against the wall. Someone must have a plan. He didn’t have one. But then again, other people’s plans were, in his experience, frequently terrible. He should… do something. Seeing if he could even stand would probably be useful. Independent locomotion was nearly always an asset, wasn’t it?
Wei Ying slowly levered himself to his feet and stood up. He felt very wobbly, so he braced one hand against the wall. He took a few faltering steps along the wall. In the corner, as far outside the array as it was possible to get in the small room, was a pile of things. They seemed neatly set aside, compared to the disorder of the upended bed and the detritus gathered in the other corners.
He put out his hand, sensing first for energy, but there was no indication that the objects had been infused with power. There was a shiny black tablet, surprisingly heavy for its size, which was about that of his hand. It had a slick, black lacquered surface that felt like glass. There were notches down its side and a series of round glass beads set in the surface on one side. It didn’t appear to do anything.
Beside it was a small painting. He picked it up. It wasn’t a painting at all. More like a reflection captured in water. What a clever spell! There was a sheen to it, a clear varnish, but it still bent like paper and one corner was torn away. It was an image of a woman and a child. The woman had thick dark hair, standing out from her head, short and unkempt. But she wore eyeglasses, so she must have been very wealthy. The child was naked, apart from a wrap around its loins and both the woman and the child looked up out of the picture, smiling. A charming image and Wei Ying found himself smiling back in response.
Next there was a very small book, that turned out to be some sort of pouch containing small…was it a sort of flexible ivory or some sort of bone? Wei Ying examined the little plaques. They were small, palm-sized, maybe playing tiles though there were only a few of them. They were marked with text in a strange script. A couple also had thumb-nailed sized images of a man’s face, seemingly the same man. He was young, with widely spaced eyes, that stared blankly from each tiny visage.
The other item was heavy, black fabric, though when Wei Ying unfolded it he found nothing inside. A bifurcated garment that by length could only be intended for the legs, though extremely oddly proportioned. Wei Ying was not at all sure he would fit, but it was worth a try not to face whatever he was going to face next in nothing more than short underwear.
With some tugging the under-trousers could be made to fit as there was a seemingly inexhaustible amount of give to the fabric they were made of, despite its thickness. It was soft too, but most remarkable of all was the mechanism of little metal teeth with which the garment was fastened. Wei Ying spent an unknown number of minutes sliding the toggle up and down which allowed the teeth to lock together and then unlock.
It was hard to examine properly, positioned as it was over his own crotch. For a minute he considered taking the garment off again to look properly at the mechanism that fed the teeth together. A sound from beyond the room reminded him that he had more important things to consider. He still wasn’t thinking very clearly.
Someone had summoned his spirit here and then… just left? Someone had called him back to enact a vengeance on him that they had not been able to enact in his life? Possible and unappealing. Or someone had summoned the Grand Master of Demonic Cultivation back from the dead, hoping to control him, to use him as a weapon? He didn’t appear to be under any compulsion at present though. Anyone who sought to control him through two tiny curse-marks would shortly find they had bitten off more than they could chew. Had whoever it was realized this, lost their nerve and run away?
Probably it would be better if he too made himself scarce before they or someone else came back. There was a small window high in the wall, though it had not caught his eye before because it was dark outside. There must be a strong charm in place because there was no smell of the outside or movement of air to indicate an opening. He slipped the smaller items he’d examined into the pockets sewn onto the outside of the under-trousers. Surely extremely inaccessible when you were wearing outer robes? But maybe that was the point.
There was a strange chair beneath the window. White ceramic and the centre of the seat set with a basin of evil-smelling blue water. His nose itched again. The seat had a hinged cover to it and he closed the basin and climbed up onto the seat to look out of the window.
He had thought it would be just large enough to scramble through, but the opening was blocked, not by a talisman but a panel of glass, thick like ice. He couldn’t see through it clearly. Wei Ying clambered down from the seat and grabbed some of the fabric from a red basket that stood on one of the cabinets. He wrapped it around his fist and got back up.
He punched the glass. Ow! He swore. What kind of glass was this and how weak was this body? Irritated by the pain and the whole confusing situation, Wei Ying drew back his arm and punched again putting more force into it. Pain shot up his arm, but that was not what made him lose his balance on the seat and fall backwards to sprawl on the floor again.
His mind was still foggy, disorientated by the summoning and the acclimation to a new body. And he had forgotten. He had forgotten himself and on instinct reached for his golden core to power the strike. And he had felt a flicker in response. It was weak and had obviously done nothing to break the glass, but it had been there. A golden core in place of the sickening void he had got used to. That cold hollow, filled only with the slick slide of resentful energy.
He had a new body now. He had a golden core again.
Through his haze he heard a woman’s voice shouting. Her accent was thick, but the tone of anger was unmistakable. It nonetheless had the flavour of a scolding over that of an immediate threat to life. The general impression being that he was expected to shut up and stop crashing about.
His mind leapt to Wang Lingjiao, though it was not, of course, the same woman. There was something petty and tyrannical in the voice, not the genuine tone of command. Had whoever summoned him left him in the hands of his woman while he… what? Nothing made any sense. Wei Ying’s hand ached, as did the curse marks on his arm and his back and hips from where he had hit the floor.
He lay there trying to muster the wherewithal to get up again. He reached again, this time holding his breath, for his new golden core. It was so small. Like trying to warm your hands at a candle flame. But it was there. Slowly he tried to circulate it, but his meridians were in a state, some blocked and some so slender as to be barely formed. He gave up.
He sat up again and gazed at the window and around the room, trying to figure out how to break it. Then he noticed the handle at the bottom. Could he just… open it? He climbed back onto the seat and pushed and pulled at the handle until a small movement revealed that it could be revolved upwards. The window still didn’t open though. He waggled the handle with increasing force until, in an effort to take a firmer grip, his thumb depressed the boss at the base of the handle and the window cover clicked and gave outwards a little.
He pushed and cold air rushed in, tainted with an unwholesome, burnt oily smell. The window was stiff and did not open far. Any question of whether he could wriggle through was soon forestalled when he peered out and saw the sheer drop below. He was in a tower, some sort of stone fortress, monstrously high up.
It was not just a tower, but part of an enormous complex. His view out was to some small courtyard, the bottom of which was in darkness and the surrounding walls equally tall and punctuated with similar glass window covers of different sizes, some illuminated and some in darkness. It was hard to see upwards around the slant of the window cover, but there was a glimpse of the night sky above, strangely starless and the colour of burnt brick. Where in all the courts of hell was he?
What sort of necromancer had called him here? Was it a prison? Was each of those rectangles another cell? Wei Ying did not want to stay around and find out. Exit from the window was impossible, though. There were no hand holds or toe holds in the wall surface that he could see until the shallow window ledge of the window of the floor below. Even with a rope there was little to indicate he would be better off dangling high in the air in the faint hopes that another cell would be more hospitable. Also it was very cold.
Wei Ying shut the window and retreated. Did he know the door was locked? He had assumed he was a prisoner, but… He approached the door. It had, on closer examination, a similar waggle-handle and hinge instead of the usual sliding mechanism. He depressed the handle experimentally and the door clicked open. Well, how about that?
He peered down a short, dim corridor. There were two closed doors, similar in appearance to the blank white panel of the door he’d just opened, illuminated by the spill of light from his own room. At the end of the corridor another door stood ajar. Yellowish light as well as noise emanated from this door. There was distant, rapid speech he couldn’t follow, as well as the sound of movement and machinery, but filtered somehow. Distorted. Could the door let onto access down to another courtyard, the sounds travelling up from below?
Wei Ying crept forward to the door. Through the crack he could see a room, larger than the one he’d woken in, but by no means a hall. It was hard to make sense of. The furnishings were all strange. He edged a little closer and the motion caused the door to swing silently a little wider.
He froze, but there was no sign of his having been noticed. His wider view confirmed the limited scope of the room. It was seemingly empty apart from the back of a woman’s head, visible from where she was presumably seated on a large cushioned throne. Her attention appeared fixed on a seeing-device opposite her, a spelled mirror of some sort, that showed a view of tiny people, whose voices and actions were the sounds he had heard before.
The woman must have been controlling the device somehow, because the view switched to show different scenes and sometimes closer views of individuals' faces. It appeared to be able to access the inner sanctums of the imperial palace, entirely unseen by the people there. Though the woman seemed to be primarily interested in the doings of the concubine court, judging by the youth and prettiness of the women she focussed the device on.
Wei Ying was just concluding that the room offered him no hope of egress and that he would have to try the other doors in the corridor, when something must have alerted the woman to Wei Ying’s presence. She glanced around, jumped and screamed in surprise and anger.
“Junyue!” she yelled. Her dialect was absolutely impenetrable, though he thought he could maybe catch a few words. Wei Ying standing there was clearly infuriating her further and she flung a bowl she must have been holding in her lap at him. He flinched, though the bowl was not well-aimed and smashed against the wall some distance from him, the pale earthenware breaking into shards.
The woman continued to scream at him unintelligibly and Wei Ying backed back into the corridor, his hands raised placatingly. The woman, at least, did not seem inclined to rise from her chair to pursue him, though her strident voice followed him down the corridor.
He was just deciding which door to try next when one of them burst open and a large, young man, wearing only scant undergarments such as Wei Ying had awoken in, strode out. Wei Ying was only able to register this much before he was struck hard around the head and crashed into the opposite wall. On instinct, Wei Ying crouched, curled up tight, shielding himself with his knees and arms.
The man was yelling, equally unintelligibly, though Wei Ying caught a word here and there. ‘Bastard’ was one of them. The man kicked him a few times, but the kicks were offhand, irritable rather than murderous, and backed with no spiritual power. The then man grabbed Wei Ying by the hair and dragged him a few steps before throwing him back into the summoning room.
Wei Ying crashed to the floor, hands slipping through the still-wet blood of the array. The man seemed to become even more angry when he looked into the room, because there was more yelling and outraged gestures and unrecognisable slurs. At least the man appeared too disgusted by the blood to want to come in and hit him some more. He slammed the door shut and Wei Ying heard a click he assumed was a lock.
From the sound of it, the man had then stomped up the corridor to go and yell at the woman and she, in turn, began screaming back at him. Wei Ying listened for a bit, but there didn’t appear to be any outcome or escalation, just a row.
Well, okay then. His head was still ringing and he sat up, dragging himself over to the wall again. He had to stop doing this. That floor was hard. He didn’t feel at all well. Upon some reflection it occurred to him that this feeling was not altogether unfamiliar and perhaps this body was hungry or thirsty. The blood on the floor probably hadn’t helped with its overall wellbeing. He wondered if there was anything in this room he could safely consume. It certainly didn’t smell particularly promising.
There were some bottles on the far side, but despite the pictures of fruit on the outside the liquid inside was viscous and smelled… medicinal? He dabbed some on his finger and tasted it and it was indeed disgusting. There was a large metal basin or cauldron set into a workbench. There was a cup standing by it, but no water pitcher. The large silver handle over the basin let slip some drops of water when he waggled it. He fiddled around until suddenly a flow of water appeared. What a remarkable contraption.
He tasted the water. It tasted pretty bad, but not as bad as the green liquid in the bottle. Just wetting his lips had his body craving water and so he decided to just drink a bit. It didn’t have any immediate ill-effects at least. His stomach gurgled in a manner all too familiar to Wei Ying. A stomach that needed food.
He searched through everything until, in a recess of a cupboard behind a large box of a white powder that was most definitely not flour and fizzed unpleasantly on the tongue, he found a stash of books. Alongside the books was a shiny red packet – was it waxed paper of some sort? – and inside some round dried cakes. The cakes were brown and broke into sharp crumbs, but they smelled like food and not, or only a little bit, like the rest of the necromancer’s strange powders and potions. Wei Ying ate them.
The books, when he opened them were, of all things, Spring books, though with a curious compression of multiple images. Wei Ying could only read a few words of the text, but the drawing style was very clever and he laughed to himself as he flicked through, munching through the old, dry cakes. They were at least sweet, though very, very dry.
He drank some more water as the previous drink didn’t seem to have done him any harm. It struck him as funny then that he was at such pains to preserve this body. He hadn’t asked to be brought back. He’d been fine being dead. Well, he hadn’t really been aware of it because of the nothingness, but he was, or had been, fine with that. He could just force that window open and fall to his death again, couldn’t he? The idea was not immediately appealing.
Also irresponsible. This was someone’s body. Some poor soul had presumably been booted out of it. It hadn’t been a dead body, Wei Ying was reasonably sure. It wasn’t in great nick, but it had been alive and showed no signs, at least, of a mortal injury. Unless it had been throttled. Wei Ying felt around his throat for tenderness, but found nothing. Not dead. If he didn’t want it, the responsible thing would be to give it back.
It was not so surprising really, Wei Ying supposed. He had seen so many people clinging to life even when they had lost everything. It was an ingrained habit of most living things. And maybe there was something in it. It had been too much before. He had been in pain for so long and trapped in an impossible situation. The power he wielded had been too great for the sects to ever let him be or let him rest. Nearly everyone he loved had died and he had failed them all, had been failing them everyday, the living and the dead. Had he remained it would only have got worse.
But now? He had a new body. He was someone else, somewhere else. If he slipped away he might just make it. He might just be free to… just live? A new life. A little life. His new core was weak, but maybe he didn’t need it? He could find some work, carrying bricks or in the fields. This body could get stronger. Maybe he could be a farmer? Or make enough to buy himself a dizi and then he could be a travelling musician. That would be good. He hoped this body had a pretty face. You got better tips that way.
Maybe, if he became a really famous musician, maybe if he played in the best tea houses across the kingdom, one day he might see the revered Hanguang Jun seated at a table? Or perhaps a local dignitary, seeking to curry favour, would hire him to play for the great Hanguang Jun, known lover of music? Perhaps, one day, he could make his way to Caiyi Town, just to catch a glimpse of him in the distance?
Lan Zhan wouldn’t know it was Wei Ying, of course, wouldn’t recognise him in this new body, but Wei Ying would see him again and that would be worth… worth not just leaping from this tower now. Things weren’t really too bad just now. He was sore and his head ached, but he’d been through worse. Maybe it was the dry cakes, but he was feeling sort of okay. Hardly grounds for unalloyed optimism, but there you were.
Something in him felt a little more settled. He did still need to get out of here. There was still yelling going on down the corridor, but it was petering out into disgruntled sniping back and forth and the banging of pots and pans. Was that the smell of onions? If he could just get the door unlocked perhaps they would be distracted enough for him to slip away?
He tried the door, it was locked. He tried to send spiritual energy to spring the lock, but his grip on it was too weak and faltering. He would need to use resentful energy. He was reluctant to damage his new golden core, puny as it was. It would be such a shame for it to be burnt away by resentment. He would use just the smallest amount possible, he decided. He wouldn’t kill the man and the woman unless he had to.
He whistled quietly through his teeth and felt out into his environment. There was nothing. Nothing at all. Diddly squat. That was strange. The still-rowing couple had shown no signs of being cultivators. Had the area recently been cleansed of resentful energy prior to summoning him? That would have been a sensible precaution, but did not explain why whoever had thought of it had now disappeared. Had the necromancer who summoned him used such a great store of resentment that it was drained completely dry?
Feeling further afield, Wei Ying became aware of a thrum of some other energy. Not resentful nor spiritual, at least, not to any marked degree. He groped for it. It was… what was it? Sort of… not unlike the ambient energy of simple life, the kind shared by people, animals and plants without any real spiritual power. But magnified somehow?
Why was it so palpable here? He couldn’t get it to respond to his song, couldn’t gather it up, but it was definitely there. And, as he mulled it over, he noticed something else, another current of energy. This was… He teased after it, shifting his song, his eyes falling shut. Again strange, but reminiscent of something? Something akin to the hot, charged air before a storm, when low clouds rolled at speed across the lake towards Yunmeng turning the sky dark purple. But this wasn’t coming from the heavens. It was all around him, in every direction he turned. Could he, maybe…?
There was an enormous crash and a high scream from beyond the door. A scream of terror, rather than anger, and more crashes. Had the man…?
“Mama!” He heard the man’s voice, equally high and terrified, cut off in a gurgle as the noise grew closer. Wei Ying had just lept back from the door when it was stoved in by the now-dead body of the man thrown through it. A large yaoguai, not monstrous, but large enough to throw a grown man, stood in the gap and snarled when it saw Wei Ying. It had greenish flesh, bulging red eyes and smelled like the meat market in summer.
Wei Ying whistled again on instinct, reaching out for the souls of the recently dead. Both the man and woman responded, their spirits in turmoil with the fear and violence of their last moments. Not very strong, but beggars could not be choosers. The remains of the man staggered upright and barrelled into the yaoguai’s stomach. Running feet and the woman leapt on his back.
It was just enough of a distraction for Wei Ying to dart away from the yaoguai and out through the hole in the door it had made. The new corpses wouldn’t last long and there was nothing to feed them with. Wei Ying tugged open the next door in the corridor, but a glance showed him just another small room. The yaoguai was close behind him now and he only just evaded its lunge to dash on down the corridor.
He already knew the room at the end was a dead end, but the creature was too close behind. Of all the humiliations of his life, or lives, to die to a common yaoguai! Wei Ying skidded into the big room. He leaped over the large workbench, seeking to put something more solid between him and the yaoguai. He smelled burnt food and saw a pan, smoking to one side. He grabbed it by the handle and swung it, the hot base of the pan connecting with the gui’s face. Snorting and bellowing, the gui took a step back.
Wei Ying spied a cleaver, laying among some chopped cabbage and carrots. He snatched it up and hacked at the yaoguai as he danced backwards out of its flailing reach. The male corpse had only one arm now and the woman, still hanging on the creature’s back, was not that great an encumbrance. There must be some resentment, somewhere! Wei Ying whistled as loud as he could, all thought of preserving his newly acquired golden core thrust aside. There must be something, out in the darkness of that copper-skied night he could see glittering with strange lights beyond the large windows? There must be something that had died a violent death, that he could call to come and save him from his own.
Wei Ying drew with all his will. No spirits answered and he began to laugh. What a way for the Yiling Patriarch to go. The yaoguai lurched towards him but caught up short. It was not the black, putrid smoke of resentment. Something else had seeped from the edges of the room, crackling with blue light, to catch around the yaoguai’s ankles.
Zidian! Wei Ying thought. That’s what it felt like. If he had Chenqing, he might… but he didn’t. His song was wrong, he knew it, but something was working. If he could just… It was not enough, though. The yaoguai took another lurching step towards him, flinging the rag of the man’s body aside. Wei Ying raised the cleaver, considering if he could make a dash for one of the large windows.
There was a percussive boom and the outside wall of the room burst asunder. Wei Ying ducked behind the throne as chunks of stone and glass flew across the room. He looked up through the dust and sudden inrush of cold, sour air to see a figure in black engage the yaoguai. The figure was totally silent, a whirl of black robes and the scything sound of chains through the air. Before the dust had even settled the body of the yaoguai lay crumpled on the floor beside the two other corpses.
Wei Ying slowly straightened, cautiously gathering up the spilled resentful energy of the yaoguai as its body dissolved, uncertain of the demeanour of his rescuer. Was this the necromancer, returned to take control of his summoned spirit? The black-clothed figure turned and a funny, tentative smile twisted his otherwise blank face.
“Hello, Wei-gongzi,” Wen Ning said.
The world tilted sideways and for the fourth time that night, Wei Ying found himself on the floor.
*
The good rain knows its season.
When spring arrives it brings life.
It follows the wind secretly into the night
And moistens all things softly, soundlessly.
On the country road the clouds are all black,
On a river boat a single fire bright.
At dawn you see this place red and wet:
The flowers are heavy in Brocade City.
Chapter Text
Lan Wangji sat up in bed with a start. His ears were ringing as if with a shout. What had he heard? He strained his ears but there was only the distant noise of the city. Had he shouted? His chest ached and it felt like his heart was lodged in his throat, trying to force its way out. He thought suddenly that he might throw up and leaned over the side of the bed, but apart from a few dry retches, nothing happened.
Slowly the pressure in his chest began to subside so that it no longer felt like his heart was trying to force its way out through his throat. The room around him remained silent apart from his own panting breaths. He swung his legs around to sit on the edge of the bed, absently massaging his sore chest. Had it been a nightmare? If so, he could recall nothing of it. Not a single image. Had a curse breached his wards?
Lan Wangji felt out around him but could sense no trace of resentful energy. He got a little shakily to his feet and checked the talismans on the walls and door, which were all undamaged. He sat down on the bed again. It was half past eleven. He’d only been in bed for a few hours.
He felt strange, wound up tight. He slowly circulated his qi, checking for blockages in his meridians, but everything was flowing smoothly. Still, he couldn’t completely shift the tightness in his chest. There was no injury that he could detect, only a sense of hollowness and echo of something. Something like grief. What had he been dreaming of?
He was tired. Usually those few hours between nine and midnight was enough if he supplemented with meditation through the day, but perhaps he needed a break? Now was not a good time for it though. There had been a fresh leak of a spirit-lure design, close enough to accurate to be worrying. The post had been taken down almost at once, but it had reached enough eyes that some of them would be smart enough to figure out what needed to be altered to get it to work. And stupid enough to try.
He was too awake now to fall back asleep and, anyway, he would need to leave in half an hour. Perhaps he should not go out tonight? Stay home and rest. But Wang Chun had warned that the lure design was still circulating on VPNs. It would be a busy night. Another busy night. He would meditate for half an hour and hope this strange awakening did not signify anything more than a stress reaction. He needed to find out who was leaking these designs and cut it off at the source.
*
The eastern sky was just beginning to grow dawn-pale as Lan Wangji ran lightly across the last few roofs and dropped back down into the courtyard of the Siheyuan he lived in. He slid the eastern courtyard door open quietly, so as not to wake the neighbour’s dog, which had a tendency to bark. Stepping over the wooden sill, he winced slightly. Yu Xiaohong had lost her footing and in turning to catch her he had taken a slash across his leg that he would need to look at. He had not been fast enough. Perhaps he should not have come out tonight after all.
First he checked his main wards to ensure the house had remained secure. It had. His Compass of Evil showed nothing in his immediate vicinity. He took off his boots and hung his coat and scarf on the hook by the door. Then he made his way along the narrow corridor to his own rooms, checking the incursion talismans along the way.
In the bathroom he washed his hands and turned to examine his leg. He felt a pang of frustration. As he had suspected from the ache, the protections on the silk lining of his trousers had not been enough. Two of the claws had gone deep enough to leave ugly, ragged wounds, starting to discolour with poison. This second gui hadn’t even bothered with a human disguise, appearing at once in its true form with wild spiders-web hair, barbed spindle-fingers and a mouth full of pointed teeth.
It had been significantly stronger than the first, meaning it must have fed before it attacked them, maybe more than once. Certainly there was no trace of whoever might have originally summoned it. Probably they were all dead. Lan Wangji breathed out slowly through his nose, with the familiar self-exhortation to equilibrium. Balance. It had to matter every time he wasn’t fast enough to reach an unauthorized summoning. That was what he was here for. But it couldn’t matter too much or cut too deep when he failed or it would eventually overwhelm him.
Yu Xiaohong and Ma Guoqing were skilled and they knew the city well. Better than he did. They had grown up in the hutongs. But they were not properly trained and their equipment was paultry. If he had a dozen senior Lan disciples with him, even a couple, he would be able to… Lan Wangji cut off that familiar line of thought. It was not fruitful, he reminded himself, to dwell on empty wishes.
Practicalities needed to be seen to. He would get undressed and shower now, because once he dressed his wound he would not be able to get it wet. It was fortunate that he was accustomed to the cold springs of Gusu. It was minus ten outside and the building’s antiquated utilities did not produce hot water unless the boiler was lit, which would not be for another hour.
He showered briskly. It was good to be clean. Ma Guoqing had panicked when she had seen him take the hit and unleashed no less than three compression talisman at the gui. The thing had exploded messily. The Lan charms on his clothes kept the filth of battle from touching him, but the impression of ichor still clung to the back of his throat.
Lan Wangji tamped down on the small flare of offense that she had really imagined he might be in some danger from a single gui. So much so that she had used her closely guarded stock of high-level talismans. He would have to make her some as replacements when things quieted down. A sweep of Bichen would have reduced the gui to a rain of greasy ash, easily dispersed on the wind. But very few cultivators had access to real spiritual weapons these days, or knew how to use them. He had had to learn to tolerate a less clinical dispatch.
After his shower he spent some time cleaning out the wounds and applying salves from his medical kit. Without easy access to cultivation healers it was important to take even minor wounds seriously. When he was done he braced his hands on the sides of the sink for a minute, hanging his head. In the bathroom, with the door locked, the house empty and warded, he could allow himself this momentary weakness.
He must be more tired than he realised. He had made a mistake, misjudged the speed of the gui, not reacted fast enough. He had elected not to use a transportation taliman to cross back across the city. He thought he would conserve his energy that way. With hindsight this was probably a false economy too. Managing the poison spread while he ran had been draining.
He would take one of the qi replenishing pastille his brother had given him and then meditate. It was likely he would need to meditate for most of the day, if he was going to meet up with Yu Xiaohong and Ma Guoqing again tonight. He had been hoping to follow up on a rumour of a new sale of demonic manuscripts during the day. He could not do both. Small errors led to bigger ones.
He was only one man. He had learnt during his first year in Beijing that, whilst he could keep going in a constant state of healing, without eating or sleeping, if he had to, there would be a price to pay in the end. And if he cut things too fine he would not be able to control who paid that price and when. So he had rules. Frustrating as it sometimes was, no night hunting whilst injured was one of them. So he had to choose between pursuing the investigation today and night hunting tonight.
Lan Wangji sat cross legged on the floor by his bed, where the dawn light pooled through the roof window. He tried to set the frustration aside. It was always the way. Immediate needs competing with long term goals. He needed a calm mind to allow his qi to work, to expel the poison and knit closed the wound.
Had that second gui been part of the original summoning or just attracted by the surge of resentment? It was so much stronger than the first. Not a new manifestation, certainly. Had it been sent or summoned with intent? Had the information that led them to the original summoning been a trap and or, otherwise, how had someone known they would be there? Who would have known they would be there? Where was the weak link?
His work here necessarily relied on intelligence, but he was not by nature or training well equipped to manage such a network. It would be frustrating, at this juncture, to pull back to only his most trusted contacts, when it felt like a breakthrough was so close. But something was off about that summoning and that was another one of his rules. He was confident in his ability to deal with a spear thrust to his chest, but not an arrow in the back. There was no one in the city who he really trusted to both watch his back and be strong enough to stop the arrow.
And now he was circling back around to the consideration of how much easier it would be if he had some disciples with him. Perhaps he could ask his brother again? But Grandfather would never allow it.
Lan Wangji took a deep breath. He was distracted. If he didn’t rein in his thoughts and focus it would be just like his teachers always said, the clamour and distractions of the city were antithetical to the pursuit of peace. An excuse to wash their hands of a tricky problem. Peace in the city was difficult, certainly, but not impossible.
Lan Wangji silenced his mind with a will and sunk inwards. He used the sounds of the city: his waking neighbours and their yappy little dog; the clatter of the early morning footfalls and bicycles as the residents of the hutong headed to work. He drifted on the distant roar of traffic from the main roads that droned day and night like the wind in the trees.
He seated himself in his core, feeling the golden pulse of its power in his lower dantian. He breathed. In and out, tracing the current of that power as it ran from one meridian to the next, cycling around his body like a river, sluicing away the debris of his thoughts.
When he was settled, he directed his qi towards the wounds in his leg, circulating each pulse of golden energy to neutralise a little more of the poison, slow and steady, healing the flesh and cleansing the blood. Deep in his meditation, he followed his qi around his meridians, his blood around his body and the pearl in his core.
None of the doctors at Gusu had been able to make sense of it. Only the strongest of them had even been able to make out its presence. In the end they had determined that it didn’t seem harmful in any way and advised him just to ignore it. It had been there as long as he could remember. It was strangely comforting, familiar, the little pearl around which his core had formed, something that should not be there but always had been.
He could remember asking his mother if it was bad. He had been maybe four or five then. She had asked him if it felt like it was bad. He had thought about it and said no. It felt like something he was keeping. Something that was only his.
“Not like it might hurt you?” she had asked.
“No, mama. It is like my rabbit stone and the dragon gege drew me and the bead you gave me with a bug in it. Something special I keep so I can look at it again. So it is safe.”
“Then that sounds fine, A-Zhan,” she had said. And he had not worried about it any more.
How funny he was remembering that conversation now. Perhaps the dream had been about her, the dream he could not remember?
By midday his leg was strong enough to walk on without any core supplementation and he found he was itching to go outside. Perhaps it was the bright blue sky he could see through the high window, enticing after weeks of grey. It could be as simple as that, after all—his body responding to the lure of sunlight on his face. Perhaps he was low on vitamin D.
He should eat something anyway. Something more nourishing than the thin soup he usually made. He would go out and buy something to eat. If he went to the old jiabing stall, he could stop by Granny’s Fruit and Veg shop and check for messages. Then, perhaps, he would make the most of the weather and head on to Sanlihe Park and meditate there for a few hours.
Lan Wangji put on his coat and reset the wards. The air outside was biting and fresh, the alley he lived up was so narrow that the sun only hit the decorative tiles along the tops of the walls in winter. Even after a few turns, when he reached the broader hutong, it was so cold that the sun on his face had no warmth to it.
There were a few more people about here. People like him, seeking lunch, and tourists exploring the quaint flagged streets and old houses, peering rudely into people’s yards where the gates stood open. He realised he was scanning the crowds, looking for someone, he didn’t know who. Perhaps it made sense he was on edge after last night.
Tall as he was and in his long, white wool coat he stood out against the grey, muffled crowds. He had tried to blend in when he first arrived in Beijing, buying regular streetwear and trainers. It hadn’t really worked in terms of conjuring an air of anonymity. Maybe he had shopped at the wrong shops? Also, it felt uncomfortably like dressing up every day. In the end, he had returned to wearing what he was comfortable in, though he’d kept the white hightops, which were really rather good in terms of grip. He had allowed himself a moment of petty satisfaction, imagining the reactions of the elders, as he placed the Lan spells of protection on them.
People generally kept out of his way in the city, even in crowds, and he had got used to the furtive staring and not-so-furtive filming of him on phone cameras. He queued for jiabing, ignoring the giggling group of girls behind him. It tasted really good. It always tasted good from here, but today his body rejoiced at the arrival of fats and salts. Perhaps he had lost more blood than he thought. He should buy a bottle of water as well.
There was always a crowd at the fruit shop. The produce was very good, but it also appeared that few people could pass without the overwhelming urge to purchase something. There had always been a fruit shop on this corner, since the city was founded, the shopkeeper had told him. Looking at her wizened winter-apple face, it was entirely plausible that it had also always been run by her.
“Ji’er!” the shopkeeper bustled over to him.
“Madam Granny Fruit,” Lan Wangji said bowing. When they first met she had told him that everyone called her Granny Fruit, but he had never been one for informality. Especially when he could also sense the aura of power coming off her. She batted his elbow in admonishment, as she always did. He got the distinct impression that she would have pinched his cheek, if she wouldn’t have needed a step stool to do so.
“Here,” she said and he followed her dutifully around the shop as she handed him, variously, two apricots carefully selected for their blush, three letters with talisman seals that had been secreted between some boxes of nectarines and a quarter of a winter melon wrapped in cling film. “Single person,” Granny Fruit said, which Lan Wangji chose to take as a pronouncement on the portion size of the melon, not on his relationship status. Though, on reflection, it was almost certainly both.
“Melon and pork rib soup,” Granny Fruit said with a significantly raised eyebrow. For someone who exclusively retailed fruit and vegetables, she had pronounced opinions on the healthfulness of vegetarianism.
“Melon and tofu,” Lan Wangji countered.
Granny Fruit snorted derisively.
“And beancurd and mushrooms,” Lan Wangji raised his offer.
Granny Fruit sniffed, only slightly mollified, then she peered at him closely. “Blood deficiency,” she pronounced and proceeded to hand him a fennel bulb, two beetroot and a bunch of chives.
“Thank you,” Lan Wangji said. He knew that attempting to pay for any of this would make Granny Fruit furious, so he also selected some of the more expensive berries, an avocados and a ruby pomelo because Granny’s pomelos were the best. He was grudgingly allowed to pay for produce he selected himself.
Lan Wangji stored his shopping in his qiankun pouch. No one ever noticed you doing that in Granny’s shop. Granny then ushered him out into the yard to pay his respects to the Apple Tree Spirit. The tree stood in the centre of the courtyard behind the shop, with the living quarters of Granny and her family on the other three sides. It was gnarled, with three of its lowest boughs supported off the ground by crutches. The bark was speckled and peeling, though it was still in full leaf even in midwinter.
One of Granny’s daughters, or possibly a granddaughter or, indeed, great granddaughter was sitting at the base of a tree, ladling something from a steaming pot onto the ground at the foot of the tree. It smelt like beef broth. She looked up and smiled as they entered the courtyard and then placed one of her hands on the trunk of the tree, bending towards it, like someone telling an elderly relative that they had a visitor.
Lan Wangji clasped his hands and bowed three times to the Apple Tree Spirit. When he stood, a single pink and white apple blossom fell loose from one of the topmost branches and drifted to land at his feet. Granny bent and picked it up, examining it closely.
“Hmm,” she said, looking at him speculatively. “Maybe one of these days you’ll need half a melon.” She reached up to tuck the blossom through a buttonhole in his lapel.
“Thank you, Granny,” Lan Wangji said automatically, though he was not really following. Had the spirit suggested he would be receiving visitors?
“And maybe walnuts too,” Granny said, patting his arm.
“Granny!” her maybe-granddaughter scolded.
The impish glee on Granny’s face was the only clue Lan Wangji had that the allusion was somehow sexual and sighed inwardly. “Thank you, Madam Granny Fruit,” he said, trying to sound discouraging. Probably to no effect, because Granny elbowed him in the side, still giggling to herself as they returned to the shop.
Granny was very fond of sexual innuendo and working in a fruit and vegetable shop gave her ample fodder. Lan Wangji tried to let it all wash over him and maintain a dignified detachment. When he had first visited the shop, on his arrival in Beijing, something about his purchase of aubergines had made Granny so incoherently hysterical that her teenage probably-great-granddaughter had fled in embarrassment into the backroom of the shop.
Before leaving the shop, Lan Wangji took the opportunity to look over the letters he had received. He would wait to open them at home, but he could see from the seals there was one from Mr Mo, one from Professor Zhang and one from Yu Xiaohong, presumably about tonight. He would have to send a message butterfly if he was not going to be able to meet her.
He could see from the telltale border that Mr Mo had persisted in his habit of using the headed paper of the biggest commercial bookshop chain in the city for his clandestine communications. Presumably the rationale was that if the communique was intercepted and any retaliatory steps were taken, it would be something of a silver lining. Lan Wangji did not approve, of course, of putting innocents in the line of fire, but he had to admire the bookseller's petty spite.
He tucked the letters away in a second sealed qiankun pouch and headed out to walk over to the Sanlihe Park. It was only a small park, but this made it, at least in winter, comparatively quiet. He liked the paths along the river and the geese and other birds that gathered there.
It was pretty, as he had expected it would be on a sunny winter afternoon. The trees and water rushes were rimed in frost, which glittered in the sun. The wind in the trees and the trickle of the still-flowing river, between the banks of ice, reminded him just enough of Gusu for it to feel homely.
He used a burst of lightness to cross to one of the small ornamental islands, where he could sit and meditate undisturbed. The public couldn’t reach him there, even if they stopped and looked it didn’t really bother him at a distance. They would probably just assume he was filming a Douyin, but in his experience most people just didn’t notice him at all when he sat still enough.
He needed to circulate his qi a little more vigorously to counteract the chill, but it was worth it for the added peace the place lent him, finally quieting the unease he’d felt since waking early last night. He was confident now that he would be strong enough to head out with Yu Xiaohong. That was good. There had been too many set-backs over the last few years.
It was starting to feel like a game of chess against a more competent opponent. Every time he seemed to get closer to finding out something tangible, threats multiplied until he was forced into a retreat. But then the threat would recede again, leaving him to painstakingly reclaim the ceded territory. Either whoever it was did not see him as a significant enough threat to pursue and eradicate or they were not sure that they could succeed without giving away too much. Though, of course, it was also possible that it was all his imagination and the threats were not coordinated at all.
If they thought they could simply wear him down and wait him out, they had another thing coming. Lan Wangji had never just walked away from a game he was losing. He played until he lost and then he played again. He really didn’t like losing. His teachers had commended his perseverance. Until he was doing something they didn’t like, then they condemned his stubbornness.
‘You are only one man’, his grandfather’s words had dogged his heels for his five years in Beijing. The implication was, of course, that he could not hope to make a difference. That, therefore, he was being stubborn and delusional, as well as unfilial. That he should remain at home among the clouds, guarding the remnants of a once great store of knowledge, not ‘throw his life away’.
Throw his life away like she had.
Even his grandfather had not dared to voice that thought out loud. Perhaps he recognised that to do so would be to snap the last thread of the bond that stretched fine and taut between them. Though it was equally possible that he believed his own scathing condemnation of the plan ought to be enough. The word of the Sect Leader.
It was not enough, of course. Not when people with no ability to defend themselves were dying. A city of 22 million people, with only a handful of local people and rogue cultivators working with scrounged-up knowledge and homemade tools to protect them.
The Lan were a righteous sect. Their ways, their laws and their knowledge existed so that they might maintain themselves pure in mind and body and strong in cultivation. But it wasn’t an end unto itself. It was, it had to be, to a purpose: protecting the innocent and resisting the forces of chaos and destruction.
Lan Wangji had argued furiously with his grandfather, like they had never argued before, because he knew he was right. His favourite teachers had been sent, one by one, to reason with him, to implore him to be rational about things, accept the course of pragmatism, not to be so romantic in his idealism, perhaps he could go when he was older, etc. etc.
Each carefully calculated intercession made him more angry and more determined. Each hint that he should think about what he owed his grandfather, each reminder that his brother relied on him, chilled him. The final straw was the obliquely-worded injunction to consider what his going would do to his father. His father who had lost so much already and who surely couldn’t take a similar blow a second time.
Lan Wangji did not see that his father, a man who had succeeded in passing all the responsibilities of parenting his children back to his own father, all the responsibilities of sect heir to his eldest son and all the responsibilities of a husband to no one at all, should be so particularly considered. He had refused to agree that a man who had failed so conclusively as a son, a father and as a husband, should be accounted of more worth than any one of the 22 million lives in Beijing.
Only Shichun had declined to argue with him. At times Lan Wangji suspected that, had his brother had any hope at all of being able to sway him, he would have tried. But he would not have succeeded. Lan Wangji knew that and, it appeared, Shichun did as well. Instead Shichun had, as was his wont, mediated between Lan Wangji and the elders. He did so with such persuasive skill that in the end Lan Wangji had left with his jade token rather than without it, even if he left alone.
When Lan Wangji had left, Shichun had pressed a communication talisman on him at the gate. “If you need help, Wangji,” he had said, “use this. I will come.”
‘He’ would come, not ‘we’. But he would come. Of this, Lan Wangji had no doubt. He hadn’t really understood at the time, but he’d seen later, the way Shichun had been wracked that he had not left to help his mother when he realised no one else was going to. Even though he had only been twelve and would likely have fallen exhausted from his sword before he got anywhere near Shanghai.
Lan Wangji hoped that his brother no longer blamed his twelve-year-old self. Even so, it was inconceivable that Shichun would fail to answer his call, if he ever sent it. It was easy to see how his brother was marked by the past: the striving to take the pressure on himself, so that no one else snapped under the strain. No one else left like their mother or broke like their father.
He wondered if Shichun saw such marks on him and what form they might take. It was, no doubt, easier to recognise in someone else than it was to see in yourself. Would he have been different? Would he have been quicker to smile and to laugh, if she had lived? Would he have found it easier to make friends, to be liked and to like other people? It was theoretically possible, but it felt rather improbable.
He was the way that he was. The death of your mother was unlikely to dramatically affect your ability to get other people’s jokes. He had been very young, so it was hard to be sure, but he felt like he had always been this way. Even before she died he had been uncertain in so much his peers took for granted. Solemn. He had known, somehow, how ephemeral happiness was. When she died, it only confirmed what he already knew.
Perhaps that was one of the reasons it had been impossible for him to forgive his father. The double crime of not going when the call for aid first came and then just, to all intents and purposes, ceasing to exist, when the news came that his wife was dead. How could he not know what Lan Wangji, a six-year-old, knew? You would lose what you love and have to live with it.
It had, ironically, been the foundation of his bond with his grandfather. Grandfather had been unable, or possibly simply made no effort, to hide his disdain for his son’s weakness. It had been a relief to Lan Wangji, when everyone else spoke to him in strained, placating tones, about how he needed to be patient and how his baba still loved him, even though he did none of the things that someone who loved you should do.
Chun-ge washed his face at night and helped him with the ties on his clothes. Auntie Li made him food and walked with him to the first class and waited for him after fifth class to walk him home. Grandfather showed him how to mend his kite when it was broken and told him well done when he came top of his class and gifted him his first sword and all the things that other people’s fathers had done.
Other people had cared for him, loved him even, and he had a clear path to follow. Memorization had always come easily to him. Physical skills and spiritual exercises became increasingly easy with practice and there was always a new goal to aim for. He had never found it hard to apply himself. He needed, always, to have a focus. What else would he do with the white-heat clamour of his heartache? The bellows to the furnace of his core.
Training was a controlled release until circumstances shifted. It started with classroom discussions, teenagers asking questions, teachers proposing thought experiments. The problem of the cities. How can we just let people die? ‘It is unfortunate’. ‘The current times’. ‘It is more complicated than that’. ‘That is just how things are. That is how people are.’ And it was all of those things. But, it also wasn’t right.
And Lan Wangji was twenty, at the end of his training and the strongest cultivator in his generation, probably the ones above also. He had lived up to his weighty moniker. He was an ornament to his sect. He had no interest in being ornamental. The response of his grandfather and the elders to his plan had distilled his heartache into rage, though it was possible that that was what it had been all along. ‘You are only one man.’ It was supposed to dissuade him, but it only stoked the fire. He was only one man and he would do what was right and die, when his hour came, with no regrets.
Lan Wangji shifted at the familiar surge of cold fury in his chest. He breathed and folded it down in the molten heart of his core as he had done for so many years. He sighed and his breath misted on the cold air. He was forced to acknowledge that his meditation was going even more badly this afternoon. His mind strayed again and again back to the world. To his past, to this evening, even to the honk of geese flying overhead or the chatter of people strolling the opposite bank.
He was not used to his thoughts scattering like this, flitting and flickering, evading his grip. Something in him was alert to the sounds and movement around him and prevented him from sinking into stillness. He was plagued by a niggling sensation, like there was something he’d forgotten to do that he would be annoyed about later. But there wasn’t anything like that. The sun had sunk behind the trees an hour or two ago, though that was mainly because of the shortness of the days. Lan Wangji decided to head home.
As shadows fell fully across the city, Lan Wangji felt the familiar melancholy of winter settle around his shoulders. Strangers who had, earlier in the day, lifted their faces to the imagined warmth of the sun now sank their chins to their chests and tucked scarfs and hats around themselves as shields.
Everyone was brisk now, hoping to arrive as quickly as possible wherever they were going. People returning to homes or out to meet friends for a meal. Off to late shifts or classes. Tourists staring perplexed at their phones, trying to orientate themselves in the gloom.
Lan Wangji returned to his rooms in the hutong, nodding to those of his neighbours he passed in the alley. He would make his soup and read the latest messages, sleep for a few hours and then, again, head out into the city to night hunt.
*
Do not till too big a field
Or weeds will ramp it.
Do not love a distant man,
Or heart’s pain will chafe you.
Do not till too big a field,
Or weeds will top it.
Do not love a distant man,
Or heart’s pain will fret you.
The Book of Songs
(c. 600 BCE)
Notes:
Lan Wangji's brother's name: Lan Shichun
So, I'm only a beginner at Mandarin Chinese, but I worked off the logic as I understand it of classical Chinese names often having not just the meaning of the characters themselves (Xichen = Xi 曦 - morning sunlight; Chen 臣- chancellor, minister) but a further level of meaning/associations from being derived often from celebrated verse. According to what I have learnt here the two characters are drawn from a phrase of poetry that adds further depth (check out the link, it is very cool).
Anyway, in an excess of hubris, when devising a new Lan name (because I take my Lans very seriously) I have tried to do the same.
Shichun - 始春 - It means the start of spring or early spring and is drawn from a short poem by Tao Yuanming (365–427).癸卯嵗始春懷古田舍 - tr. In the year of guimao (the hare), at the beginning of spring, I think (reminisce) about the old village house.
Tao Yuanming quit government service in disgust in the middle of his life and went to live as a recluse in the country, where he wrote his poetry in a pastoral vein. I like the idea of the layering of the name: early spring being about new life, but the poem itself being about how this burst of new life has the poet's mind casting back into the past and into memory, maybe even nostalgia. The Lans in 2025 are struggling to cast their eyes forward into the future. Even new life has them harking back to a better time. (Why yes, now that you ask, I am a pretentious nerd.)
Chapter 3
Notes:
My continued thanks to @keriarentikai, @snoutbeetle, @cypressey and @auntieiroh for beta and general encouragement. <3
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Drink this, Wei-gongzi,” a familiar voice murmured.
Who was it, again?
Where was this?
An arm around his shoulder helped Wei Ying gently into a seated position. He felt a cup bump against his lips and the cool slosh of water against them.
Water, that was good. Wei Ying drank thirstily.
“Not too fast, Wei-gongzi.”
Wei Ying pouted. Drink. Don’t drink. There was no pleasing some people. His head felt fuzzy and he ached all over. The cup was taken away for a few moments and then returned. Wei Ying drank rapidly, too rapidly, choked and coughed and the cup was taken away.
When Wei Ying was done coughing he blinked his watery eyes and looked around. The man sitting on the edge of the bed was peering at him. Large, anxious eyes in a pale oval face.
“Wen Ning?” Wei Ying rasped.
Wen Ning bobbed his head in a little nod. He looked… the same. Not exactly as he had last seen him, marked by the still resignation of a man escorting his sister to their deaths, as Wei Ying had wept and railed at them, incapacitated by Wen Qing’s needles. But he was the same as in the Burial Mounds, the glossy darkness of his eyes and his manner of tilting his head making him somehow birdlike, despite his height and strength. Wen Ning was here?
“Where?”
“This is my room,” Wen Ning said. “I live here.”
“What?” Wei Ying squeezed his eyes shut. His brain felt scrambled. Wen Ning was dead. Dead a second and final time. His ashes had been scattered. Then he remembered that strange, bright room. He had been dead too. He had come back. Been called back. The people there. The yaoguai. He had…
Wei Ying felt about himself for resentful energy. Unlike before, he felt a little store at his fingertips. That must be the yaoguai that he absorbed earlier. But also? He felt a little deeper and his heart dipped and swooped. There was that little flicker of a core. His now. Or, what had the woman called him? Junyue’s, if he gave it back. If he even could give it back.
“What happened?” Wei Ying asked again. “I don’t understand.”
“You called, Wei-gongzi,” Wen Ning said. “I heard you. Then you… you fainted,” he said apologetically. “I brought you here.”
“Okay,” Wei Ying said. “But why?”
“I didn’t know where else to take you.”
“No, I mean, why am I here? I don’t mean here in your room. I mean here here. Not dead. Also you? Not dead. What’s going on?” He hated being disorientated like this. Not being able to make sense of things. If he didn’t understand what pieces were in motion how was he supposed to keep everyone safe?
“I don’t know,” Wen Ning said, simply.
“How long have you been… not dead?” There had to be a way of orienting himself.
“I am dead,” Wen Ning said.
Wei Ying squeezed his eyes shut again. “I mean… you left. With Qing-jie. You… they burnt you.”
“They did not,” Wen Ning said quietly. “They did not burn me.”
“Qing-jie. They?” Wei Ying whispered, feeling the iron band of grief tighten into its familiar place around this new chest.
Wen Ning’s eyelids twitched in a momentary tremor and he gave an abbreviated nod.
Wei Ying breathed out harshly, like he’d been punched. New-old pain. And, blooming out from it, all the others. “They are all…?”
Wen Ning nodded.
“Granny, Uncle-four? Even,” Wei Ying’s voice caught, “A-Yuan?”
He read the sadness in Wen Ning’s blank eyes. He had failed them all, in the end, like the whispering dead had told him he would. “I’m so sorry,” he choked out. “I tried, but…”
“Wei-gongzi,” Wen Ning said, breaking in, infinitely gentle. “Even if you had… they would all be dead by now. Everyone is dead. It has been…”, he blinked rapidly, “about fifteen hundred years.”
“What?” Wei Ying’s mind stuttered, drawing an absolute blank. Fifteen hundred years. That was longer than even the most advanced cultivators lived, unless they ascended to immortality or retreated into a spirit-life like Lan Yi.
“It was a long time ago,” Wen Ning said.
Wei Ying looked around. Nothing Wen Ning was saying made any sense. “What?” he said again.
“You have been gone, dead, for hundreds of years. I’m sorry, Wei-gongzi.”
“But,” Wei Ying said. “Why? Why am I back now? Why are you back?”
“I am not back. I have been here. I have just been here all the time. I don’t know why you…” Wen Ning said.
Wei Ying inhaled, but his breath ratchetted, almost a sob.
“I am sorry,” Wen Ning said.
Wei Ying flopped back down on his back. It was true, he had been dead. Dead for hundreds of years. And now, for some unknown reason, he was back. Not reincarnated, but summoned. For some unknown purpose.
A purpose he instinctively rejected. There was no way anyone wanted him back for something good. Not now everyone who knew him was dead. And probably not even back then, to be honest. Could he be controlled? He should check for further curse marks. He couldn’t just lie here!
Wei Ying sat up and swung his legs off the narrow bench he’d been lying on. Before he could even begin to undress he noticed the pair of curse marks on his arm were gone.
“Huh?” he said out loud and noticed Wen Ning looking at him, confused.
“There were two curse marks here. They’re gone. I didn’t do anything. Did you?”
Wen Ning shook his head.
“Huh,” Wei Ying said again. “I must have, in some way, fulfilled the terms of the curse, I suppose. Unless there is another curse mark.”
He stood up and began to undress. Wen Ning hurriedly turned his back.
“Sorry, A-Ning, I need you to check my back.” Wei Ying stripped down to the odd short under-trousers he had woken in. He examined his chest and legs and then Wen Ning examined his back.
Wei Ying briefly pulled the under-trousers down too, but Wen Ning assured him there was nothing there. Wei Ying peeked down the front, just to be sure.
“That’s strange,” Wei Ying sat down on the bed again, absently putting the clothes back on. No surviving curse mark. No compulsion. Could it be that he was just here, alive again, with no tether? “I’d like to take another look at the array. Can we head back to where you found me?”
Wen Ning shook his head. “I don’t think that would be a good idea. It will be a crime scene and it could cause a lot of trouble.”
“What sect territory are we in?” Wei Ying asked.
“No sect,” Wen Ning said. “The yamen. They are called the People's Police now.”
“The yamen?” Wei Ying asked, perplexed. “Surely, non-cultivators can’t…”
“There is a Special Police Unit which deals specifically in spirit world and cultivation malefactors. I would really rather not…” he tailed off.
“Special police unit,” Wei Ying repeated slowly.
“Things are very different now, Wei-gongzi,” Wen Ning said apologetically. “I don’t think we should go anywhere until you have… until you are more… Cultivation was illegal for a long time.”
“The emperor outlawed cultivation?” Wei Ying exclaimed.
“No. There isn’t an emperor anymore. We are the People’s Republic of China,” Wen Ning said.
“Ordinary people outlawed cultivation?” Wei Ying boggled. “But how does that even work?”
“It was…” Wen Ning started, then ground to a halt looking troubled. “There is so much to explain. I am not sure I can, really. Many cultivators were already dead. There were wars. Lots of wars. And then there were ordinary people who did not like cultivators. They did not like people who had knowledge they didn’t have, inherited power, old books, treasures and grand residences,” Wen Ning shrugged. “They closed the temples too. But it is allowed again. Sort of. Only, there is not so much left.”
“Fuck,” Wei Ying said.
“Nothing is like it was,” Wen Ning said. “There is not supposed to be cultivation activity within the city. Gui and yaoguai and,” he made a little gesture indicating himself, “are not allowed in Beijing.”
“But the array?” Wei Ying said.
“It will probably be gone, even if we did go back,” Wen Ning said. “It is better to just keep a low profile.”
“That yaoguai wasn’t keeping a low profile!”
“That is how it is,” Wen Ning said. “Beijing is a big city. I don’t think you can really imagine until you have seen it. Small disturbances can be ignored, but we should not draw unnecessary attention.”
“Huh,” Wei Ying sat in silence again, thinking. Well, trying to think, but mostly the inside of his head was a swirl of words that were failing to cohere into anything meaningful. Trying to imagine something he’d been told he couldn’t imagine. Trying to understand something that didn’t appear to have any meaning to it. His eyes meandered sightlessly over the small room. Stone walls. A high window. A cupboard. A shelf with various oddments.
With no particular aim, Wei Ying got up and wandered over to the shelf. There were a few books, which he flicked through, only to find the same odd, incorrect characters. “Can you read this? What language is it?”
“It’s Mandarin,” Wen Ning explained, coming over. “They changed the characters a little while ago. To make them simpler.”
“Huh,” Wei Ying said. He was feeling confused and stupid again and he very much did not like the sensation. He swung away from the shelf in irritation. His head swam and he had to put out a hand to steady himself.
Wen Ning made a little sound of concern.
“I’m fine,” Wei Ying said, unwilling to add ‘weak’ to ‘confused and stupid’.
Wen Ning had a worried pucker in his brow.
Wei Ying's stomach cramped sharply and he rubbed it absently.
Wen Ning’s brow cleared. “Food, Wei-gongzi! Perhaps you have not eaten for a long time?”
“Oh, yeah. Well, I found some dried up cakes. Last night? I suppose it was. But, I guess…”
“I will go and get you some food,” Wen Ning was smiling now, or at least had the small upticks at the side of his mouth that was as far to a smile as his face got.
Another thought occurred to Wei Ying, now that he was paying attention to his new body, rather than his swirling thoughts. “I kind of need to pee as well.”
“Oh,” Wen Ning’s small smile fell. “Um. Well. I don’t have a bathroom, on account of not… We can ask Mrs Yue if you can use her bathroom.”
“Okay,” Wei Ying said.
“I live with Mrs Yue,” Wen Ning explained as they left the small room and made their way down a narrow corridor. “Mrs Yue is blind. She doesn’t mind…me. I help with things.”
At the end of the corridor a door was standing ajar with sunlight filtering in around it. Wen Ning pushed the door open and was just saying something about how he thought Wei Ying should stay inside, but there was daylight and a blast of cold air and Wei Ying wrapped his arms around himself and stepped outside.
They were in an alley between high stone walls, but the sky above was a piercing blue and probably the most beautiful thing Wei Ying had ever seen. He laughed quietly to himself, staring up at the sky.
“Mrs Yue said it is fine to use her bathroom,” Wen Ning said.
Wei Ying blinked and looked at Wen Ning and the elderly lady who sat on a stool against the wall with two cats laying at her feet. They were all catching the slant of the sunlight as it filtered into the alley.
“Thank you, Yue-furen,” Wei Ying said bowing.
The old lady laughed at him, which was a bit strange, rocking on her stool and disturbing one of the cats who stalked off, disgruntled. She said something else to Wen Ning and Wen Ning responded, speaking that dialect that Wei Ying couldn’t follow. Wei Ying noticed a third cat twining around Wen Ning’s ankles.
Wen Ning gestured Wei Ying back inside. Wei Ying was reluctant to go back into the darkness of the house, but he did need to pee and it was really cold.
“It is this way,” Wen Ning said. He showed him the latrine, pointing out where Wei Ying was supposed to piss and where there was a basin with one of those spouts that dispensed water to wash his hands after, which was very neat.
“You could also wash your face,” Wen Ning suggested diffidently too.
There was also a mirror over the basin and Wei Ying caught his reflection. “Fuck,” he yelped.
The face there – he supposed it was his face now – stared back at him wide-eyed. There was a mass of dark paint smudged around his eyes, a reddish-brown colour beneath his cheekbones, on either side of his nose and under his chin. There was also something pale and luminous, almost sparkly, across the top of his cheeks and drawn in a line down the middle of his nose.
The whole of his face was tracked with steaks of the black stuff which must have run down his cheeks, though he could not remember crying. “What the fuck?” Wei Ying said.
“I think,” Wen Ning said, tipping his head to one side, “I think it's called contouring. But, it is not supposed to look like that.”
“I look like a hanged ghost,” Wei Ying said. “I can’t believe you let me go out looking like this.”
“Mrs Yue is blind,” Wen Ning said, not unreasonably, and left Wei Ying in the bathroom.
Having a piss was great. Probably the best piss of his life, Wei Ying thought. Washing his face was less great. The stuff just did not come off. He rubbed his wet face vigorously, succeeding only in creating a more uniform gray colour, in smears across his whole face.
“Wen Ning,” Wei Ying called.
“Yes, Wei-gongzi?” Wen Ning said from outside the door.
“I can’t get this stuff off my face.”
Wen Ning came in and they both looked in perplexity at Wei Ying’s new face in the mirror.
“Did you use soap?”
“There isn’t any,” Wei Ying said, looking around for a dish again in case he’d missed it.
“It’s in this.” Wen Ning demonstrated with a small white flask that if you depressed the spout it disgorged a small amount of pearlescent, funny smelling, viscous liquid.
Wei Ying took the flask and pressed the spout again. “Hah!” he said, delighted, “how does it work?”
“I don’t know. The soap is inside and there is a straw that goes down from the top and when you press…”
Wei Ying tried to pull the top off.
“No, it unscrews,” Wen Ning said quickly. “The middle bit, the collar.”
“Huh,” Wei Ying said again.
“I will go and buy some food for you,” Wen Ning said. “And more soap for Mrs Yue,” he added, as Wei Ying got the top off and the soap stuff ran down the integrated straw and over his hands.
Wei Ying but didn’t look up because he was examining the lid mechanism of the soap flask. By the time Wen Ning reappeared he had a much clearer idea of how the soap dispenser worked. It was really very clever.
“It uses displacement!” Wei Ying told him. “When you depress the spout it expels air or whatever is in the spout, see!” He held the spout, still detached from the flask, up to Wen Ning’s cheek and pressed the spout mechanism a few times. “Sorry!” The spout had not been completely empty and so spluttered some droplets of soapy water across Wen Ning’s cheek. “But you can feel the air, right? And then…”
“I think you should come and eat,” Wen Ning said.
“Oh, yeah!” Wei Ying agreed, his attention caught by a very savoury smell coming from the white sack Wen Ning was carrying. “I’m starving!”
“Wash your face?”
“Oh, yeah!”
The food Wen Ning brought him was amazing. Wei Ying didn’t know when he had last eaten something so good. It was a wrap of some eggy pastry, filled with meat, chilli and pickles. It must have been when he had last tasted shijie’s cooking? Years and years ago. That was on top of the fifteen hundred years when he hadn’t eaten anything at all.
Now he felt upset again, so he decided to concentrate on the flavours and textures in his mouth instead. “It’s got crunchy bits,” he told Wen Ning, indistinctly.
“I asked them for extra chilli,” Wen Ning said. “I’m glad you like it.”
“I can’t really deal with this, A-Ning,” Wei Ying said when the food failed to hold his attention, despite his efforts.
“I’m sorry,” Wen Ning said.
“It’s not your fault.”
“I know, but,” Wen Ning faltered. “I feel bad. Because this is very difficult for you and… and I’m just very glad to see you.”
“Me?”
Wen Ning nodded. “You were my first friend. I’d never had a friend before and it’s been a long time.”
“It sure fucking has,” Wei Ying said, still trying to process this.
“I’m sorry you find it difficult to be alive again,” Wen Ning said, in his earnest way. “It is difficult. I think… well, you are much cleverer than me. But, I think you should just take it slowly.”
“Slowly?”
“You said there is no curse mark and I cannot sense any strong resentful energy on you. So, I think,” Wen Ning ducked his head diffidently, “I think that means, probably, there is no binding on you.”
“No, yeah, you are right.” Wei Ying reached for the small store of resentful energy inside him, turning it over and over. It was definitely only the remains of the gui that Wen Ning had dispatched last night. Could there be any power over him he could not trace? He concentrated again, running his thoughts over his meridians and checking himself over in any way he could think of. “No curse that I can find,” he confirmed.
“There was no one alive, where I found you. No one followed us. I don’t think anyone knows where you are, even if they know you are back.”
“So I’m just…” Wei Ying tried out the thought. “Just here?”
“If you stay quietly here, we can see if anyone shows up looking for you? I can ask a few people to let me know if they hear anything,” Wen Ning said.
Wei Ying nodded slowly. He certainly didn’t have any better ideas. Though the idea that he was just here. No one after him. No threats. No duties. Was just…
“I don’t think you should go out very much,” Wen Ning said. He spoke with some trepidation, like he was expecting to get shouted down. “Not on your own.” He immediately capitulated at Wei Ying’s slight frown. “It’s just, you sound strange to people. You… you don’t know how anything works. It will be noticed and it would be better if, well, if you were not noticed. While we figure out what is going on?”
Before, Wei Ying would have pooh-poohed such an idea. He would have known he could slip out and assume the right attitude to pass among crowds, in markets and tea houses, harboughs and grand estates. He could pretend to be an apprentice, a servant, a young scholar, even a spoilt noble and he could listen and pick up information. But here, he didn’t understand most of what everyone said. He didn’t even know how to piss. Wen Ning had showed him a button that sluiced water mechanically through the bowl.
“Just for a few weeks,” Wen Ning said. “Please, Wei-gongzi.”
Wei Ying gave a big sigh and rolled his eyes, like he thought it was a ridiculous idea. Like he was just humouring his friend who was an old worry-wart and not at all like he was afraid of being in this foreign body, in a foreign city in a time that bore no resemblance to anything he’d ever known.
And then, because he’d never really seen a boundary he didn’t immediately push at, even self-imposed ones, he asked, “But can we go and sit outside again? Just a bit. In the sun. I won’t talk to anyone.”
Wen Ning frowned.
“Please, A-Ning. I haven’t sat in the sun for fifteen hundred years,” Wei Ying wheedled.
Wen Ning looked conflicted, but then, as Wei Ying expected, he capitulated. “It is nearly feeding time anyway.”
“What’s feeding time?” Wei Ying said, immediately dispensing with his woebegone expression.
Wen Ning ducked his head and Wei Ying formed the impression that if he could blush he would be blushing.
“Mrs Yue and I, we feed the cats,” he said. “There are lots of them. They have no home, but they live in the hutongs.”
“Just cats? No dogs?” Wei Ying asked quickly.
“Just cats. Dogs frighten the cats away and Mrs Yue likes cats. She was feeding them before I got here. I help. There are a lot of them now. Because I can also pay for feed. Mrs Yue’s pension is not very big.”
“Sounds great! Let’s go then,” Wei Ying said, bouncing up.
“You need a coat,” Wen Ning said. “You can borrow my coat. I only wear it to look normal.”
When Wei Ying put on the coat it became clear that it would not serve the same function for Wei Ying. It pooled in dark folds at his feet.
“Wow, I’m really short now.”
“You are not short,” Wen Ning said, stoutly. “But you are shorter than me. Um.”
In the end, Wei Ying layered up in a series of Wen Ning’s garments, none of which had ties, but just stretched and pulled over his head, which Wei Ying thought was neat. The top-most layer had an integrated hood, which Wei Ying particularly liked.
All of Wen Ning’s clothes were black, which Wei Ying approved of. When he commented on it Wen Ning explained that when he wore all black he didn’t need to worry about his pale skin or people catching glimpses of the curse-marks that covered most of his body.
“They just think it is part of the aesthetic,” Wen Ning said.
“Oh,” Wei Ying said, “well, that’s handy.”
Wen Ning then fetched a stack of small bowls from the shelf and, as they left the room, picked up a large sack that Wei Ying had not previously noticed in the corridor. When they emerged onto the hutong alley again there were already five cats sitting expectantly on the flagstones.
When Wen Ning stepped outside, three more leapt lightly down from the eaves. Wei Ying could see another pair trotting at a clip down the alley. Wei Ying crouched down on his haunches, but Wen Ning had warned him not to try to pet any of the cats, so he just watched as Wen Ning filled all the bowls one by one and set them down on the flags. He gave one bowl to Mrs Yue, so she could set it down at her feet and the cats settled around the bowls with only a few hisses and swipes to establish the pecking order.
There were so many! Maybe twenty now, and Wei Ying felt a sort of giddy glee at the sunshine and the bite of cold air on his face and the absurdity of there suddenly being so many cats. He’d never paid attention to cats before. There were always a few cats about, in the towns and down by the docks at Yunmeng, hoping for scraps or the opportunity for theft among the baskets of fish brought in by the fisherfolk. They would dart out of his way as he walked.
Now, though, he held still in anticipation as one of the first cats finished its meal and meandered towards him, patches of orange and dusty white. The cat rubbed its body against his knees, bumping him with its head surprisingly hard, so that Wei Ying laughed and the cat scampered a few steps away, affronted, and sat down with its back to him.
“I’m sorry, cat-cat!” Wei Ying called, but he was roundly ignored. Not so Wen Ning, who was bending down to distribute head-pats to four or five cats that twined around his feet. One of them even leapt, scrambling up his coat, to drape over his shoulder. Wei Ying let out another bark of laughter and a small black cat that had been coming over to explore in his direction skittered away and went to join the group sprawled at Mrs Yue’s feet.
A large, shaggy grey cat that had solo-commandeered one of the food bowls sauntered past him once its bowl was empty, giving him a dismissive glance, and threw itself down to sprawl on the stones nearby. He had one torn ear and looked lazily over his shoulder at Wei Ying as if to say ‘oh, you’re still here’.
“Hello, big boy,” Wei Ying said, beginning to extend a hand.
“Be careful. Da-ge bites,” Wen Ning warned him.
People were passing up and down the hutong, some of them greeting Mrs Yue and Wen Ning as they passed or stopping to chat. Wei Ying was still struggling with the dialect, but the friendly neighbourhood chat context made it easier. One old man’s knees were bothering him. It felt like a small victory to be able to follow the exchange.
He stayed tucked to one side, mindful that he was supposed to be keeping a low profile, just offering a small smile if eye contact was made. ‘A-Ning’s friend’ he thought he heard Mrs Yue say, but then it occurred to him that he couldn’t introduce himself. He didn’t know what name he should go by. Would anyone even recognise the name Wei Ying these days? Was Junyue his name now? It might be good to have a new name, be someone else entirely.
He distracted himself by rolling small pebbles at Da-ge, which the cat variously ignored or batted away, depending on how good Wei Ying’s aim was. Da-ge was very judgy. There were lots of people now, passing back and forth. They were all wearing the same strange clothes. Under-trousers and no robes. Big padded coats like eiderdowns. They nearly all had short hair apart from a couple of young girls. A number had eye glasses, so Wei Ying thought maybe they were not so expensive these days. Some of them had eyeglasses with blacked out lenses. Smoked glass maybe, which was a neat idea.
Wei Ying was startled into losing his balance by something whooshing past. It was almost as fast as a galloping horse, but nearly silent, a whirring, clicking noise the only warning of its approach. He formed a momentary impression of knees pumping, a single figure riding on wheeled contraption. Wei Ying scrambled to his feet. The rush and the shouts of people as the thing swerved around them caused most of the cats to scatter. They leap to the top of the wall or streak away to melt into open yard gates.
Wei Ying stared after the retreating contraption, his heart thumping, trying to figure out what it was. “What’s that, A-Ning? What’s that?” he gasped. It had two wheels in tandem, not parallel. How did it stay upright? Top-heavy. Must be the momentum. How was it driven? Was it a spell? No, because then you wouldn’t need to move your legs and, anyway, spellwork was not allowed in the city, was it? Before it turned the corner the man riding it had stood, like a plainsman standing in his stirrups as his horse galloped, swift and silent.
Wen Ning had said something. “What?” Wei Ying asked again.
Wen Ning said something, words, a name Wei Ying had never heard.
“What?”
“That’s what it’s called,” Wen Ning said. “You pedal and…”
“But how does it work?” Wei Ying asked urgently, not sure why it was suddenly so important to understand.
“I think,” Wen Ning faltered, “you pedal and there’s a chain. It drives the… Wei-gongzi, it’s alright. Did it frighten you?”
“What? No,” Wei Ying said. His vision was blurring. Oh, he was crying. The sun had sunk low enough that the alley was now in shadow. He rubbed the sleeve of Wen Ning’s hooded tunic across his eyes.
“It’s alright,” Wen Ning said. Softly and gently, like the way he had spoken to Wei Ying as he held him, screaming, during the core removal. And when the voices of the dead became too much. Like all the times he’d sat beside him in the still night while Wei Ying cried and wrestled with ghosts.
“I’m fine,” Wei Ying said, or tried to say. What came out was a whooping sort of sob. He tried to muffle his face in his folded arms, lost his balance and ended up sitting on the flagstones hunched up against the wall. He couldn’t seem to stop crying. He was aware of Wen Ning, sat silently beside him, with one hand resting on Wei Ying’s heaving shoulders. He was aware, from within the dark folds of the hooded tunic, that people were still passing back and forth.
Wen Ning had some low-voiced exchange with Mrs Yue. Wei Ying knew he should be embarrassed at breaking down like this, in the street no less, but he couldn’t seem to find the energy to care. He was nobody here. He didn’t even have a name. He didn’t have anything or anybody, except for Wen Ning, and Wen Ning had seen him in a worse state than this.
He was startled into choking off his sob when something furry inserted itself under the cradle of his arms where he rested his head on his knees. He jerked back slightly and in response felt the sharp prick of claws into his thighs. He looked down and saw Da-ge’s scruffy back and Da-ge pointedly not looking at him.
“Don’t pet him,” Wen Ning said quickly. “He will sit on your lap when the stones get cold, but he still doesn’t like petting.”
“So this is all I am to you?” Wei Ying complained wetly to the cat, holding very still. His inhale still juddered with the aftershocks of crying. “A bum warmer?”
“The stones are cold,” Wen Ning said. “We should also go inside.”
“I can’t,” Wei Ying pouted. “He’s attached to me with knives.”
Wen Ning stood up and flapped his coat at Da-ge. “Off! Off you go!”
Da-ge sprang away, though soon slowed down to an insouciant stroll.
“Off you go,” Wei Ying called, “your nameless bum-warmer will be here tomorrow. Have fun with all the lady cats!”
“He will not,” Wen Ning said. “All the cats Mrs Yue and I look after have been doctored by the veterinarian. There are too many strays.”
“Da-ge is a eunuch?” Wei Ying gasped. As he started to lever himself to his feet the fabric of his trousers dragged over the scratches Da-ge had made. “Ow, mangy cat! At least I have my balls,” Wei Ying shouted after Da-ge’s disappearing form. “Or, someone’s balls anyway.” Then he started giggling so hard he slipped back down onto the stones.
Wen Ning eventually got him inside, though the giggling, or possibly the giggling and crying combination, had turned into hiccups.
“I’m sorry, A-Ning. I’m such a mess,” he said as Wen Ning gave him a glass of water. He started shivering and Wen Ning made him get into the bed again.
“I don’t think there is a non-messy way to suddenly be somewhere you do not recognise and where everything is strange and difficult to understand,” Wen Ning said. “I think you need to be… more kind to yourself.”
“I’m just…” Wei Ying started.
“You do not need to understand everything today,” Wen Ning said.
“But, I want to.”
Wen Ning gave him a stern look that called to mind another face Wei Ying hadn’t seen for a very, very long time. The resemblance was only fleeting before it was replaced by Wen Ning’s more familiar worried expression.
“I have to go to work this evening,” Wen Ning said. “I will bring you some more food and Mrs Yue said you can use her bathroom if you need to.”
Wei Ying had to fight down the surge of panic he felt at the thought of Wen Ning leaving. “You’ll come back, won’t you?”
“I’ll come back in the early morning. You have to promise you will not leave this room. I want you to stay here, please, Wei-gongzi.”
“I… okay, A-Ning.” Wei Ying tried to pretend to himself that he was giving in to Wen Ning’s worry, not his own.
“I am going to see if I can borrow a heater and another blanket from one of the neighbours. I don’t have… lots of things that you will need.”
“I’ll be fine,” Wei Ying said reflexively.
“You will be fine,” Wen Ning said, which was not what Wei Ying had meant. “I know you. You will soon pick up the way people talk now, all the slang. You will like lots of it, even bicycles. Maybe especially bicycles or maybe…” Wen Ning tailed off, looking anxious again.
“What is it?” Wei Ying’s own anxiety ratcheted up in response.
“Oh, no,” Wen Ning said, reassuring, “I was just thinking that maybe I should not tell you about motorcycles. But you will find them anyway. They are bicycles with engines.”
Wei Ying looked blank.
“Um, fire machines that mean you don’t need to pedal. Faster than flying on a sword. Very dangerous. I am afraid you will like them,” but he was smiling. “And this, you will like this.”
Wen Ning went over to his shelf, to a small grey box and fiddled with it. Suddenly the small room filled with music. It wasn’t like any music Wei Ying had ever heard. He couldn’t work out what the instruments were, percussive strings and a breathy female voice, but music was music. He strained to understand the lyrics. It was about love, like most songs, and he found himself rocking gently to the rhythm.
“I’ll be back soon,” Wen Ning said, smiling as broadly as his undead face allowed. Wei Ying gave him a nodded acknowledgement, but only a fraction of his attention.
There were more songs and occasionally a man spoke, rapidly listing the names of the musicians and songs and mostly talking too fast for Wei Ying to follow. Wen Ning came back with what he called a portable heater, which was like a brazier in function but a white box in form that spat hot air out of the grill at the front, with no smoke, just a bit of a funny smell.
He also had a blanket and a bowl of chicken congee that Mrs Yue had made him as well as a hairy wool vest that had apparently been Mr Yue’s. Even with Wei Ying’s limited grasp of modern dress he could see it was an ugly garment, but he put it on over the hooded top because the room had become very cold now the sun had gone down.
“You will stay here,” Wen Ning cautioned him again.
“I will, I promise.”
Wen Ning showed him how to twist a knob on the thing he called a radio to get different music if he wanted. “But try to sleep,” he said.
*
When Wen Ning came back the light in the small high window had passed from the browny-black of the nights here to a watery dawn light. Wei Ying’s eyes were more itchy than dead Mr Yue’s wool vest.
“You haven’t slept, have you, Wei-gongzi?”
“Want to hold your hand. Want to kiss your forehead. I’ve been silent for too long,” Wei Ying crooned.
Wen Ning took away the radio.
*
The bright moon rises close above the sea,
we watch it from different corners of the world.
Lovers resent the long sleepless nights,
thinking of one another all night long.
The moonlight floods the house.
It is no darker though I blow out my candle.
It is no warmer though I put on my coat.
I wish I could gift you the beautiful moon,
perhaps we shall meet in my dreams.
“Looking at the Moon and Thinking of One Far Away" By Zhang Jiuling (673-740)
Notes:
The eagle-eyed among you may spot that I've changed the reference to gui in chapter one to yaoguai here (and retrofitted this change in chapter one). The thing I described was more of a monster and less of a ghost/wraith type thing, which is how I understand these two terms broadly functioning (though I'm happy to be corrected by anyone who cares to). In line with the urban fantasy and casefic tags, the story really isn't going to get too metaphysically involved. Monster-of-the-week rather than a cosmological chain of being that really stands up to scrutiny.
*
Fun Fact: @Keriarentikai pointed out to me that cats were not domesticated in China until around 600CE. So, give or take a hundred years, only just around the time MDZS is loosely set. This means WWX would not be familiar with cats around the place, as they were likely only rich people's pets at first. BUT, I know I'm asking you guys to absorb a bunch of world-building for this story. Like, a lot. I decided WWX has never seen a cat before, alongside all the OTHER SHIT WWX has not seen, was a beat too far. Hence, in this universe, cats are in the same category as potatoes. But I still thought it was a cool fact, that I did not know. Here's a page Keri sent me where you can learn more :D
Chapter Text
“You doing okay, Hanguang-Jun?” Yu Xiaohong asked, pushing herself upright from where she was lounging against the wall. She was a short woman, stocky and pugnacious. Probably not exactly what her parents had been thinking of when they had named her ‘Dawn Rainbow’, but she was one of the strongest street cultivators Lan Wangji had met in Beijing.
She was looking particularly surly tonight. Probably, Lan Wangji thought, because of feeling bad about her slip yesterday. “I am well,” he said.
Ma Guoqing melted out of the shadows beside her. He was remarkably good at doing that for someone with no cultivation. Presumably something he had learned in police training. Or possibly not. Lan Wangji had come to realise, in his years in Beijing, that the division between cultivators and non-cultivators was not as crisp as the tenets of the Gusu Lan had led him to believe.
There had been no mention of the naturally gifted. The people whose abilities exceeded the regular scope, whether it was in physical attributes like Ma Guoqing, or highly developed empathy, recall or sensitivity to the presence of evil. Perhaps in the past, these children would have been sent by their families to seek to join a cultivation sect as outer disciples?
Ma Guoqing gave him an interrogative eyebrow raise when he said he was fine, so Lan Wangji confirmed. “One hundred percent.”
Ma Guoqing nodded and headed off. It was through a conversation with Ma Guoqing that Lan Wangji had established his rule regarding night hunting while carrying an injury. It was in the weeks after they had lost Hu Yue. They had all been shaken up by what had happened. Though they had all variously assured one another that there was ‘nothing they could have done’, Lan Wangji had privately not been completely convinced.
Ma Guoqing had asked to meet with him outside of a team briefing and they had walked around and around the lotus pond at Lianhuachi Park. “The thing is,” Ma Guoqing had said, “this will become a problem.”
“I am…” Lan Wangji had started.
“I don’t mean now,” Ma Guoqing interrupted. “I mean going forward. There will always be ‘what ifs’. If I had gone back and pushed for more intelligence before we moved out. If Xiaohong had been faster, or not being positioned so far off. If you had been able to be in two places at once. If, if, if. But that’s what happens. Shit goes down. And sometimes, the worst times, you lose people. The thing is, you are always on point. You are our point man, back-up, our big guns, everything. That’s a hell of a strain. Properly speaking, you ought to be rotated out after ten operations, only we don’t have anyone else to rotate in. How many have we worked together?”
“We have night hunted perhaps thirty or forty times now,” Lan Wangji said. He refused to adopt Ma Guoqing’s pseudo-military vocabulary and Ma Guoqing equally refused to drop it. Lan Wangji understood the necessity in a way. They each armoured themselves mentally in a context they understood, in their training.
Lan Wangji had also refused to adopt what Ma Guoqing called a call-sign for use on night hunts and reports. But then the Old Community had taken to calling him ‘Hanguang-Jun’, after his namesake, and so they had compromised on that. Yu Xiaohong had already been calling Ma Guoqing ‘Red Leader’ when they met, which Lan Wangji had come to understand was part of some long-running of piss-take. She had also, through their first ten or fifteen night hunts together, still been insisting on changing her call-sign each time.
Ma Guoqing had dealt with it stoically, calling her whatever name she had elected, ‘Tornado’, ‘Tiger’, ‘Generalissimo’. In the end, due to her propensity towards the use (overuse, Lan Wangji privately thought) of explosive talismans, it was ‘Flashbang’ that had stuck.
In that conversation, as they walked around the lotus pond, Ma Guoqing had explained the concept of burn-out and PTSD. “I know you have your own training,” Ma Guoqing said. “And ways of maintaining mental resilience, like meditation and stuff.”
Lan Wangji had blinked. He meditated to circulate his qi, strengthen his core and balance his mind. But, yes, perhaps also ‘maintaining mental resilience.’ He had inclined his head in acknowledgement.
“You’re good. I know you know that,” Ma Guoqing said. “The Super said that the Special had never worked with a civilian resource as strong as you in all the years he’d been there.”
Lan Wangji had mostly understood what Ma Guoqing was talking about by this point. It had taken him quite a lot of context clues to figure out that ‘The Super’ was not another call-sign but simply an abbreviation of Superintendent. ‘Special’ referred to the Special Policing Unit Ma Guoqing was part of, which dealt, largely inadequately, with yaoguai and gui and similar threats to public security. Lan Wangji and Yu Xiaohong were both ‘civilian resources’, i.e. actual cultivators with anything like the real skills to tackle such threats.
Lan Wangji had surmised that there must be at least some cultivators within the unit because Ma Guoqing wore body armour on night hunts charged with active protective charms. He also carried a police baton that must also have been imbued with spiritual power in some way to have the effect Lan Wangji had seen it have. Ma Guoqing had not been willing to let him examine it.
“Hanguang-Jun,” Yu Xiaohong had laughed, “you don’t just ask another man to show you his wand. Unless you are like that,” and she had raised her eyebrows significantly. “And anyway, you can’t ask Ma Guoqing because he’d be thrown out of the unit.”
Ma Guoqing had just rolled his eyes. Sometimes Lan Wangji privately speculated that if Yu Xiaohong ever succeeded in getting Ma Guoqing to properly lose his temper she would lose what seemed to be her one joy in life and they would never see her again. Fortunately for the solidity of their team, Ma Guoqing had so far proved to be inexhaustibly phlegmatic.
As well as explaining about ‘mental resilience’ as they made their third circuit of the lake, Ma Guoqing had explained the principle of ‘operational protocols’. The idea, as Lan Wangji understood it, was not dissimilar to the Lan rules, though necessarily somewhat more concise. If you established a set of optimal principles of conduct, determined to the best of your ability and subject to regular review and reflection, and if you stuck to these rules religiously, then when ‘shit went down’, as Ma Guoqing put it, you had a counterweight to the guilt. You would know that you had acted in accordance with your best understanding of doing what was right.
They had talked it through then and Lan Wangji had additionally thought about it a great deal afterward. He was the strongest member of the unit when night hunting and they needed him to be, therefore he had established it as an ‘operational protocol’ or rule that he needed to always be in the best condition possible. Hence his rule about not night hunting whilst carrying an injury.
There was a trickier rule about protecting the team versus the protection of innocent people. Ma Guoqing had conceded that that one was a bastard. “We’re all in this to protect people. That’s the whole point of all of it. But we work most effectively as a team. We do more. We make more of a difference as a team and we can only keep doing that if, you know, we are not dead or on sick leave. Our success rates are way above any other team in the field. And that means we are saving a lot of people.”
Lan Wangji had nodded. This was true.
“The way I think of it is a numbers game,” Ma Guoqing said. “In the last quarter we have eliminated fifteen category 8s and five category 4s as well as all the low level stuff and that, uh, thing we haven’t assigned an operational category to yet. So an 8 typically exacts a casualty count between thirty and eighty people. Fifteen times, let’s say fifty-five on average, is 825, and that’s just one category. Basically, I would need to be looking at mass casualties in the thousands before it would make sense to prioritise individual civilian safety over my team in any given operation. We save more lives alive.”
Lan Wangji had thought for a while. “What about children.”
“Fuck,” Ma Guoqing had said with a grimace. “Okay, except children. With children, well, I reckon there’s a good chance of ending up too fucked in the head to be able to keep working anyway.”
“Mn,” Lan Wangji had agreed.
He had talked to Yu Xiaohong about it too. For her it was not a numbers game.
“Well,” Yu Xiaohong had said, “fortunately, I don’t feel the need to outsource my personal morality to a police procedural manual.”
“I don’t think it necessarily means that Ma Guoqing does not care,” Lan Wangji had said carefully.
“His heart’s in the right place. It’s not his fault he’s brainwashed. His father and his grandfather were in the police. I think maybe his mum’s dad too? Anyway, he’s dyed in the wool Security Bureau.”
“You do not think it is a sound moral principle to put team safety first?”
“Nah, that’s not what I meant. He just thinks about it in a stupid way,” Yu Xiaohong had said. “Look, before they decriminalised cultivation, not that long ago, my family were still doing what they do. What they’ve always done. Using the skills we have to protect our neighbourhoods. It wasn’t about ‘maintaining operational robustness’, or whatever bullshit Guoqing has told you. It’s about fighting alongside your uncle or your brother. It’s about not wanting to go home and tell your granny someone’s not coming home.”
Lan Wangji had nodded. That also made sense. When he night hunted with junior disciples it had been inconceivable that he would not bring them all back safe and sound.
“Anyway, I have no problem with running away if I’m out-classed. And I can accept treating you and even Guoqing as brothers if I have to choose between you and some random people. No promises, though, if it’s someone I care about. That’s just how it is. I’m with you on the kids thing, though.”
Lan Wangji had nodded again. “That seems fair.”
“And I’ll appreciate the hell out of it when either of you save my life. Regardless of whether you did it based on some mathematical calculation or a belief in the sanctity of life or because I make the best puns.”
“You do make the best puns,” Lan Wangji had acknowledged. “Except in the fruits and vegetables category.”
Yu Xiaohong had nodded sagely. “Granny Fruit knocks it out of the park every time. Did you hear what she said to Jing Yuejin about button mushrooms?”
*
Lan Wangji followed Ma Guoqing and Yu Xiaohong through the darkness towards the address SPU intelligence had relayed to them. Ma Guoqing had received the call about forty five minutes ago and called them both. It was on the east side of the city, but fortunately Lan Wangji had already been night hunting in the centre. It had only been a short Didi ride to the rendezvous. Shichun sent him charged transportation talismans regularly, but he preferred to keep those in reserve.
The address was in a residential neighbourhood of slightly older, low rise apartment buildings. Not as glamorous as the brand new towers they could see glittering across the main road, but in a generally good state of repair. Security gates and plantings of shrubs around the block entrances.
As had presumably been arranged by Ma Guoqing’s police colleagues, they were met at the entrance to one of the blocks by a janitor who let them in. At one in the morning, the building was almost completely dark, just the night-time porch lights and one or two windows higher up gently glowing. The janitor’s pyjama bottoms showed under his coat. On Ma Guoqing’s instruction, the janitor shut off the electricity to the stairwell, so the stairwell lights would not be activated as they made their way up. Lan Wangji checked his compass of evil one last time to confirm that there was not due cause to evacuate the building.
“Do you want me to come up and let you into the flat?” the janitor asked. He seemed torn between fear and excitement at having been called from his bed in the middle of the night. His eyes darted between the three of them as he tried to make sense of Ma Guoqing in a tactical vest and carrying a badge, Yu Xiaohong’s more haphazard army surplus and stuffed utility belt and Lan Wangji’s own long white coat.
“Key,” Ma Guoqing said, holding out his hand. “It is late. You’ll be wanting to go back to bed.”
“I’m not…” the man stuttered, “I’m not supposed to give those keys to anyone. I’m supposed to accompany…”
“Believe me, sir. You’ll be better off in bed,” Ma Guoqing said.
The man glanced anxiously between the three of them, his eyes coming to rest on Lan Wangji as the ultimate authority figure, presumably because he had the nicest coat. Lan Wangji gave him an affirmative nod. It was indeed the case that he would be better off in bed and they were in a hurry. The janitor handed over the keys and left them in the stairwell, still muttering under his breath about getting a receipt for it, but not quite having the courage to insist.
“IP and mobile account data triangulates here,” Ma Guoqing said as they headed towards the stairs. “Let’s hope we get something this time.”
The address was on the fifth floor and they made their way swiftly and silently up past apartment doors decorated with New Year paper cuts and blessings. Past assorted shoes stacked outside, folded buggies and wheeled shopping bags. Ma Guoqing wore night vision goggles. Lan Wangji and Yu Xiaohong could rely on their cultivation to enhance their senses. There was only one pair of shoes outside the door Ma Guoqing indicated, clean white sneakers.
They readied themselves. A lot of what they hunted did not reliably wear shoes. Ma Guoqing opened the door and Lan Wangji entered the apartment first with Bichen in hand. As soon as he was inside the smell told him that the owner of the shoes would likely not be any sort of direct threat. The air was heavy with the miasma of spilled blood and spilled guts.
The hallway of the flat was empty. Lan Wangji moved from room to room making a sweep, but the flat was, as the compass had indicated, free from fierce corpses or demonic spirits of any sort. “Clear,” he called in a low voice over his shoulder.
He stood in the main kitchen-living room of the apartment surveying the increasingly familiar scene. A young man, or what remained of him, was splayed out on the floor. They were nearly always young men. A seemingly inexhaustible supply of ambitious, incautious, greedy or desperate, lone young men.
There were no obvious trappings of demonic cultivation in the room. Lan Wangji didn’t know which was worse: the rooms with black painted walls and half-understood, inexpertly drawn arrays—or this, the mundane apartment and once-blue jeans. Had the man had any idea of the world he was stepping into?
Ma Guoqing came in behind him, swore and flipped on the lights. He made them all put on plastic booties and gloves before they explored the scene more carefully. Lan Wangji did not object to this. The Lan Clan charms were good, but they were less reliable when it came to smells and Lan Wangji had, more than once, had to throw away an otherwise pristine pair of hightops.
It had been immediately obvious that there would be no forensic trace of a human assailant. At least, not directly. The general state of the remains and the deep gouges made by talons, straight through bone, linoleum and into the floorboards below were clear indications of a yao attack.
There was a laptop and a mobile phone lying next to a half-drunk cup of tea on the kitchen table. That was the thing with yao. Even if you could control them, you could not give them complex instructions, like to destroy communications equipment. The laptop and phone would be collected by the SPU crime scene team. More often than not, though, they would both have been slagged by malware contained in the final communications sent to them. Ma Guoqing checked both devices were powered off, popping out the batteries, which was all they could do at this stage.
The other side of the table was clear, apart from the remains of a roll of brown paper and another of bubble wrap, scissors and packing tape in a heavy dispenser. An otherwise empty corner of the room, where you might expect a sofa to be, contained a litter of empty archive boxes. Most of them were fairly modern, from the 1980s or 90s at least, and bore shelfmark numbers indicating a cataloguing system. Probably from the stores of a museum or municipal archive. This would be checked against files of reported thefts and break-ins, though it was always possible that the archive in question hadn’t even noticed the boxes were missing.
Lan Wangji’s attention was drawn to a couple of wooden boxes lying to one side. These were not the usual acid-free cardboard archive boxes. The wood was varnished a deep brown, with neat dovetailed joinery in the corners, and lined with green felt. Small brass plates were tacked onto what were presumably the front side of each box, into which cards with index numbers were slipped. They were indexed in roman numerals and letters, but in a slanting cursive in now-faint pencil. They were clearly older than the other museum boxes and intended in some way to be attractive rather than purely utilitarian.
He took out his phone and took a series of photographs of the boxes. He would show them to Professor Zhang. All the boxes were empty, of course. It would probably be the usual story: the stealthy dispersal over the dark web of a haul of stolen manuscripts, perhaps talismans or other amulets. Some of the manuscript material could be sold multiple times as photographs or transcriptions to would-be scholars of the demonic arts.
There was always a cachet attached to the originals though. There had probably been an online auction and the now-dead young man had possibly done no more than take receipt of the stolen goods and package them up to courier to the final winners. It might be possible for the unit to trace the final destination of some of the parcels, but that would at most lead to confiscation and minor criminal charges.
They just needed to get to one of these scenes while it was still live, but they always seemed to be just a beat too late. Next to him, Lan Wangji heard Ma Guoqing snort in frustration as he rose from where he had also been crouching, examining the boxes.
“Anything?” Ma Guoqing asked Yu Xiaohong.
Yu Xiaohong had been going over the apartment with a UV torch. It had been in the last year or so that some bright spark had discovered that talismans could be written in UV ink. It was less powerful than cinnabar and a lot less powerful than blood, but it had obvious advantages when it came to setting traps. They had been fortunate that Ma Guoqing had spotted an array with his goggles, making them among the first in the know about this latest development.
“Nothing obvious,” Yu Xiaohong said, still working her way over both sides of each cupboard door in the kitchen.
“Going to check his coat and shoes,” Ma Guoqing said, heading into the hall.
Lan Wangji heard something. Perhaps it was a knock or a creak from one of the rooms he knew he’d previously checked. Before he had even really registering the sound, he was striding out of the room after Ma Guoqing. With each step, his perception of demonic qi increased. The taint of the restless dead.
“Down,” Lan Wangji barked and, without hesitation, Ma Guoqing ducked and rolled to one side, coming up with his back to the wall and his baton extended. This swiftness meant the area was clear for Lan Wangji to swing Bichen and decapitate the gui that had seeped through the wall behind Ma Guoqing.
The opposite wall Ma Guoqing now had his back against was a good defensive position in relation to living assailants, but not so useful when it came to the dead. A second pair of arms, spindly and pale, thrust through the wall clawing for Ma Guoqing’s neck. Ma Guoqing got his baton up in time to keep his throat from being clawed out as Lan Wangji ran into the adjoining room and dispatched the second gui.
Ma Guoqing nodded to confirm he was okay when Lan Wangji rejoined him in the hall. There was a scratch down his cheek and a red bruise blooming on his throat where his baton had been jerked across it. Without saying anything further, Ma Guoqing turned to the jacket hanging in the hall, going through the pockets.
He drew out a wallet, thick with a wad of notes. Pulling his goggles back on, Ma Guoqing scanned the wallet, then pulled out the cash. About halfway through the sheaf he must have encountered his first marked note. Ma Guoqing handed it to Lan Wangji, who didn’t bother to check it, just held it out, dropped it and bisected it with Bichen. The two halves of the note fluttered harmlessly to the floor. Ma Guoqing was already holding out the next marked note.
It was beautifully simple in a way. Once you had no further use for the one of the people you used you paid him off in notes invisibly marked with spirit lures and he walked away with a target on his back, or rather in his pocket. It wouldn’t be long before something showed up to finish him off. And if a few of these marked notes entered general circulation, the people who did this did not care. The shoes outside the door had looked new. Had they been bought today? Was there a shop till downtown with a spirit lure in it? A deposit box with the days’ takings around which dark things were massing? Was it already tucked in someone else’s pocket?
“Found it!” Yu Xiaohong called from the main room.
Ma Guoqing and Lan Wangji headed back in and saw Yu Xiaohong crouching by the body, which she had turned over. Her latex gloves were red to the wrists. She grimaced and flapped a bloody, folded 100 RMB note, which she had presumably extracted from the back pocket of the jeans. In her torch beam the traces of UV ink were visible through the blood.
Wordlessly, Lan Wangji took it and disposed of it like the others.
“You alright?” Yu Xiaohong asked Ma Guoqing, noticing the trickle of blood drying on his cheek.
Ma Guoqing ignored her, already on his phone, the wallet open on the table in front of him with various cards pulled out. They could hear him calling in a description of the dead man and asking for details to be pulled in on the accounts and IDs indicated by the cards; requesting CCTV of the block and surrounding streets and uniforms to do a door-to-door in the morning.
“What was it out there?” Yu Xiaohong asked Lan Wangji.
“Two low-level gui,” Lan Wangji answered. “Just responding to the spirit lure, I think.”
“The yao is long gone,” Yu Xiaohong said. “Do you think it was also drawn by the lure?”
“It left immediately after it fed,” Lan Wangji replied.
“Great. So the options are either some big yao under the control of a demonic cultivator or a wild yao with enough strength and intelligence to shrug off a spirit lure attraction after it has fed. Not loving it.”
“No,” Lan Wangji agreed.
“Body was almost still warm when I turned it over,” Yu Xiaohong said. “We were so fucking close to getting here in time. Fuck!”
“Mn.” It was galling. It was that same irksome sense of being always one step behind. Always a beat too late. It was difficult not to let it get to you. Ma Guoqing, in particular, with his eyes on targets and, no doubt, superiors breathing down his neck, was starting to show the strain.
Still, there was nothing to be done except follow the steps that needed to be taken. Lan Wangji turned away from the body and surrounding splatter to a clear bit of floor and folded into a sitting position. He summoned Wangji and cleared his mind before plucking out the opening lines of Inquiry.
His grandfather had given him Wangji on his fifteenth birthday. Grandfather had always disapproved of the name he had been given, thinking it signalled an immodest degree of ambition. But he had named Shichun and custom dictated that his parents be allowed to choose the name of their second son. It had been his mother who had chosen his name. She had told him she dreamt it while he was still in her tummy. That she knew he was someone special. Auntie Li said he had an old soul. But that was just because he had an archaic name and didn’t laugh as much as the other children.
When his grandfather gave him Wangji it was an acknowledgement of sorts that the name was truly his. And he’d been allowed to claim Bichen from the Sword Hall the following year. Everyone had been very proud. People talked of the Lan Sect coming back into its own and taking its place in the world again. Only, as it turned out, they had mostly been meaning him looking imposing, standing behind his grandfather, at the new Cultivation Conferences that were just starting up again, not any place in the real world.
There had been some muttering about forbidding Lan Wangji from taking his cultivation tools with him when he left the sect. But, in the end, no one had had the courage to actually do so. They would have been of no use on the racks of the Sword Hall or in the Music Pavilion because they did not answer to anyone else’s hand.
They answered to him though. When he had first set his fingers to the strings of Wangji he had almost felt the instrument stir beneath his fingers, like the shiver along the flanks of a horse when it was mounted. He supposed that was what happened when you played a spiritual instrument of the top class.
He sent out Inquiry and the pure notes seemed to cut through the unpleasant odours and lingering resentment on the air. Almost instantly a discordant screech of notes was issued in reply, the fear and confusion of the new spirit.
Ma Guoqing swore and strode out of the room, phone still clamped to one ear and his palm pressed over the other. Yu Xiaohong crouched down though, a respectful distance away, to watch and listen as she always did, with her notebook out.
“What is your name?” Lan Wangji asked.
Again, the reply was just panicked noise. Lan Wangji asked again, this time dropping in some notes of Clarity, seeking to calm the spirit.
“Xu Kaiyue,” the spirit was finally able to answer. “Help, help!”
“Nothing can hurt you, Xu Kaiyue,” Lan Wangji replied through the qin, while murmuring the man’s name to Yu Xiaohong to note down.
“I want to go home,” Xu Kaiyue said.
“Answer my questions and I will send you on, Xu Kaiyue,” Lan Wangji played, still keeping the notes infused with Clarity. “Who sent you the boxes?”
“He was called Ni Xianlin.”
Lan Wangji relayed the name. “Where did you meet him?”
“He was another player on the Lucky Lucky Wheel site? He said he knew how I could make back my losses. He said all I needed to do was store the things for a few days. But it was more than that,” the spirit ended sadly.
Lan Zhan already knew there was very little of use they could get out of the spirit. Most of the names people used were pseudonyms. Spirits could also not reliably identify people from images. They could identify people in person if they knew them well, but that meant pulling in suspects, which would tip everyone off. Ma Guoqing’s supervisors were also quite firm on there being minimal contact between the public and the activities of this particular Special Unit. It was not ethical to trap a spirit until you were ready to pull in suspects. And anyway, none of the testimony was admissible in court.
“Was there anything among the things you saw in the boxes to tell you where it came from?” Lan Wangji asked.
The spirit thought for a minute. “Some of the labels inside said Suzhou Museum. I went there on a Spring break with school, once, when I was a kid.”
“Thank you,” Lan Wangji said. “Is there anything else you remember, names or identifying marks from among the objects?”
There was a longer pause. “There was a little metal thing. It was almost shaped like a person, but not. It was weird. It was… it felt wet, when it wasn’t. I didn’t like it. I’m tired.”
Lan Wangji infused his playing with more power. “Anything else?”
“The things in the boxes, the green boxes. They had stuck-on labels with the number but also a thing. Not a character. Western letters, but not like normal. All together. I didn’t like it. The thing in the box. I’m cold. There was a… a thing. It came through the wall. I want to go home.”
The spirit was becoming incoherent and Lan Wangji knew they would not get anything reliable if he pushed. “Is there anything else you want to tell me? Any messages you have before you pass on to your rest?”
“I…? No. I don’t know. Granny’s dead, so… Am I dead?”
“Yes, Xu Kaiyue,” Lan Wangji played back.
“Oh. Shit.”
Lan Wangji waited to see if the spirit had anything more to say, but nothing was forthcoming and he shifted into Rest. With a spirit as weak as this it didn’t take long for the song to break its hold on the world and carry what was left off into silence.
When Lan Wangji laid his hands on the strings to cease the song he and Yu Xiaohong both bowed their heads.
“Have you finished all of…” Ma Guoqing stomped back in, gesturing vaguely at them with a flap of his hand presumably supposed to convey musical cultivation or talking with the dead. He had probably been hanging about in the hallway waiting for them to finish. Ma Guoqing did not like this aspect of Lan Wangji’s practice.
He had initially been a bit twitchy about Bichen. It was definitely against the law to carry a sword, but it hadn’t taken many encounters like those with the gui in the corridor to encourage him to reframe his perspective. Now, Lan Wangji suspected, Ma Guoqing had mostly persuaded himself that what Lan Wangji did was the result of some sort of unspecified special weapons training.
He would take the evidence that Lan Wangji relayed to him and feed it into the enquiry machine, but it would always take him a few minutes before he could look Lan Wangji in the eye afterwards. It clearly disturbed him on some level he couldn’t quite get past.
“Forensics will be here soon,” Ma Guoqing said, turning his back on them to survey the room. “All clear in here? They’ll want us out.”
“All clear, Red Leader,” Yu Xiaohong said flatly. She had very little patience for Ma Guoqing’s metaphysical squeamishness.
“Good. Let’s head back. You want a lift?” His eyes skimmed flatly over them before his attention was seemingly captured by the view out of the window.
“I would like to remain on site,” Lan Wangji said. “Outside the building. I want to be sure nothing else made its way here before we destroyed the lures.”
Ma Guoqing gave him a grudging nod. “I’ll let the uniforms know you’re around then. Flash?”
“I’ll stay with Hanguang-Jun,” Yu Xiaohong said.
Ma Guoqing grunted. They divested themselves of gloves and booties by the door, leaving them in a sad, bloody heap. Yu Xiaohong grimaced at her jacket cuffs, which had become saturated with blood despite the gloves. Ma Guoqing locked the flat door behind them and they headed down the stairs as silently as they had arrived.
Outside the block, Ma Guoqing headed over to speak to the forensics officers waiting in their van. The janitor was there. Clearly he hadn’t gone to bed and had noticed the arrival of more officers. He was complaining about getting his master key back. There was also an ambulance and one of the EMTs immediately came over and started quizzing Ma Guoqing about the laceration to his cheek.
Lan Wangji and Yu Xiaohong left Ma Guoqing to deal with it all, knowing their continued presence would not help as the cumbersome mechanics of the SPU’s scene of crime procedures played out. They began to walk the perimeter of the building, though everything appeared clear. On this side there were now quite a few lights on. Some residents must have been disturbed, either by noises from the flat they had been in or by the arrival of emergency services vehicles. It was enough to get them up in the small hours to peer out of their windows at what was going on.
Lan Wangji checked his compass. There was nothing indicated nearby so he did not carry Bichen openly. Ma Guoqing had enough on his plate without people calling in about a man carrying a sword.
They paced around the building in silence. Lan Wangji placed a talisman to ward off evil over each doorway they passed. As he ignited each talisman with spiritual energy it sank invisibly into the stonework. He was reasonably sure there were no more spirit lures on site and forensics would do another full UV sweep anyway, but it was a precaution.
“He doesn’t have to be such a prick about it,” Yu Xiaohong muttered.
Lan Wangji inclined his head.
“Just because it frightens him, what you can do. He should have some respect.”
“It is difficult for him to understand,” Lan Wangji said. “It does not align with how he sees the world.”
Yu Xiaohong snorted, dismissive of Ma Guoqing’s world view. After a few minutes of silence she started on a new tack. “Yeye could do it. A bit. Not like you. Not in the real qin-language, but by singing. You know? He could talk with them a bit, if they had a special message. And he could help them pass on.”
Lan Wangji did not know what to say, so he nodded. His teachers in Gusu had not approved of unregulated cultivation practices. He had learnt about the dangers of communication with the dead outside of the strict training and rules of conduct maintained by the sects. There had been cautionary tales of the misuse of such powers to keep loved ones lingering in the world long after they should have been free to pass, of bodies stolen to house ghosts and of souls trapped and extorted for secrets they had kept in life. Ordinary people could not be trusted with such powers and ought not be burdened with such heavy responsibility.
They had not mentioned, and a younger Lan Wangji had not thought to think about, what happened in all the cases where a properly trained and reputable cultivator was not available. “I’m sure he brought peace to many,” he said, feeling inadequate as he so often did talking to Yu Xiaohong.
“I was learning. But he died. Dad never wanted to learn. He wanted to ‘be normal’.” Yu Xiaohong spoke with resignation. “Uncle followed in yeye’s footsteps, but he had no aptitude for music. Really, a tin ear. He’s taught me other stuff. But I wish… I could have learnt from yeye.”
Lan Wangji took out his compass of evil again for want of something better to do. It was unmoving. No threat nearby. It was possible that he could still teach Yu Xiaohong some musical cultivation. Not the qin-language. It would take ten years at least to master the instrument itself, let alone the intricacies of its spirit-language. But perhaps the library at Gusu would have texts about the sort of songs used by rogue cultivators and recorded as folk magic.
There were rules about who should have access to such knowledge. And it was, in any case, all in Gusu and he had no plans and no time to visit soon. He risked a brief glance at Yu Xiaohong. She was staring out at the bushes and the small play area that was set up in the vicinity of this rear door to the block. She looked tired and washed out in the weak glare of the porch light.
She didn’t have the advanced meditation techniques he used to supplement his qi and get by with only a handful of hours of sleep. Even he was feeling tired these days. He would think about it. If there was anything he could offer, now or in the future, to make up for the skills she had not been taught.
“You shouldn’t forget,” Yu Xiaohong said suddenly. “Maybe it didn’t affect people like you, with secret mountains and shit. But you should remember. There are still plenty of people who don’t like what we do. Who think it’s evil or would just prefer to pretend it wasn’t real. Or, just like Ma Guoqing, it weirds them out. If the upstairs lot decide they don’t like cultivation again. If they decide it’s a ‘threat to national security’ or whatever. It won’t take much.”
Lan Wangji inclined his head in acknowledgement. It was certainly possible.
“It could happen again,” Yu Xiaohong muttered. “Before you know it. And, you know what? It would be Guoqing leading the task force to hunt us down. Don’t think he won’t do it. If they tell him it's his duty.”
That too was possible. It was not a nice thought.
“Do not step out to meet your troubles before they are truly near,” Lan Wangji fell back on the recitation of the precepts, though he wished he had something more comforting to say. Fortunately or unfortunately, Yu Xiaohong ignored him.
“You know how they did it last time? Police snipers. Doesn’t matter how strong your cultivation is. Three bullets through the head from across the street. Bam. They went for the strongest ones first, too. So you better make sure you head back to your mountain as soon as it happens.”
It had been mentioned to him before, when his teachers were trying to dissuade him from leaving for Beijing. It was, perhaps, more chilling now. Now that he’d met Ma Guoqing and his colleagues and seen the dedication with which they worked. And also noticed the way they tended to fall silent when he was nearby, the curious looks they shot him.
Now that he’d spent some time in the city, he could recognise, with the background clamour of it, the crowds, and speed, how impossible it would be to maintain vigilance against that sort of attack. That was one of the reasons, of course, why the sects had all pulled out.
“Why do you work with him? With the Security Bureau? If that is how you feel?” Lan Wangji asked.
Yu Xiaohong huffed out a breath that misted on the air in the light of the porch lamp. “Because it’s not enough to just stand on a rooftop and wait to hear screaming. That’s too late, isn’t it? I don’t like what’s going on in my city. Wankers on the internet starting cults. That poor, stupid guy in there, caught in the mill, trafficking stolen artifacts to wannabe demonic cultivators. Someone has to do something and, for now at least, that’s what the unit is doing.”
Lan Wangji nodded.
“Without them, all their surveillance stuff and internet monitoring teams and spook shit we wouldn’t have been here tonight. We wouldn’t have even known anything about it. Those two gui attracted by the lures would have gotten hungry. Eventually someone would come and check. There’d be a funny smell or something and then what? And more gui might have come in the meantime. Before you know it, multiple violent deaths and a concentration of activity and something bigger would come along.
“Uncle and I can’t do anything on our own except maybe mop up some spill. We’ve got to get closer to the instigators and that sort of thing takes resources we just don’t have. That even you don’t have. And they need us too. It’s a two-way street. Guoqing couldn’t have handled that scene on his own or with regular officers.”
Lan Wangji had a momentary vivid recall of the back of Ma Guoqing’s neck and the lunge of the gui before he took off its head. “No,” he agreed.
“And he knows that. Don’t get me wrong, it takes guts going out night after night knowing just how fucking defenceless he mostly is. It just puts him in a pissy mood and then he starts talking entirely in acronyms and looking at us like we are part of the problem.”
“You are right,” Lan Wangji said. “But I think almost getting your head torn off – twice in one evening – would make many people somewhat pissy.”
“He could at least say thank you to you.”
“I think that would make his mood exponentially more pissy and would therefore be an overall disbenefit.”
Yu Xiaohong snorted out a laugh.
But Yu Xiaohong was right, it might be a two-way street, but it was also a double edged sword. Every street cultivator who joined an SPU team made the unit more effective. But it also meant they were a known entity and the Old Community, what remained of it, had survived precisely because of keeping out of sight of the authorities. The trust they maintained was more fragile than was comfortable to acknowledge.
*
Ma Guoqing was busy over the next few weeks, coordinating the ordinary police work that went into following up all possible leads. The majority of the archive boxes had indeed been traced to the Suzhou Museum, but the actual records of what was in the boxes had been frustratingly scanty. ‘Manuscripts relating to cultivation practices’, provisional date ranges between 1400 and 1850, and descriptions of medium: silk scrolls, thread-bound books, etc. No record of what the texts actually contained.
The repeal of the prohibition on cultivation was recent enough that very little research had been directed towards these materials. Some of the boxes had been called up by a historian in the mid-1990s and efforts were underway to track him down in case he had a fuller record of the boxes’ contents.
Lan Wangji had showed the photographs of the wooden boxes to Professor Zhang. She had confirmed that they were likely boxes from a private collection and probably early twentieth century. She could not see that they were more identifiable than that in any way. The absence of Chinese characters within the label system might suggest a Western collector.
“Instability in years around the end of the Qing and the first decades of the Republic created something of a feeding frenzy among Western collectors,” Professor Zhang had said. “Once-wealthy families were desperate for cash and selling off their treasures, the royal palaces were haemorrhaging objects for the same reason. Did you know the entire contents of the Palace Museum were nearly sold to the MET in New York?”
Lan Wangji raised his eyebrows in what he hoped was suitable surprise. He was familiar enough with discoursing with scholars to let them have their head when they were covering pet topics.
“Foreigners living here often amassed personal collections to sell once they returned home or convert into cultural capital. Those cases could well represent such a personal collection. It could have remained in China if the owner left suddenly or was interned or killed during the Japanese invasion. Though foreign collections are also returning to China from abroad, in the anticipation that the contents will raise greater interest among Chinese buyers. The market in Chinese antiquities has been global for centuries.”
“Indeed,” Lan Wangji agreed, with an attempt at finality. “And there is nothing about the catalogue numbers you have seen that would suggest anything further?”
“Not to me,” Professor Zhang said. “I can circulate the photographs more widely, if you want? To see if any of my colleagues or contacts in the auction houses recognise them. If you recover any of the objects then I may be able to help more, though with private collections there is frequently very little surviving documentation.”
Lan Wangji had thanked the professor. He had been unable to leave without a further extempore lecture on the prevalence of the vanity publication of illustrated catalogues of private collections and the occasional minutes of presentations (extended bragging sessions) offered at the meetings of select learned societies. In the end he had to steel himself to be rude and just stand up to stem the tide. He appreciated Professor Zhang volunteering her time, but he was hoping to reserve the rest of the afternoon for meditation.
In the absence of assignments through the SPU, Lan Wangji returned to his regular night hunting. Yu Xiaohong hunted with her uncle when she was not with the unit. She had extended the invitation to him to join them, but it did not seem a rational use of resources.
So, instead, Lan Wangji night hunted alone. The city was far too large to be effectively patrolled by one man. He had experimented with riding around line 2 on the metro, watching his compass and alighting at the nearest station whenever the compass activated. But it was sometimes difficult to pick up the signal again.
In the end, Lan Wangji had decided the best course of action was to go out to one of the big parklands on one or other side of the city at night and set up spirit lures. At one or two o’clock in the morning in mid-winter he could be reasonably certain that there would be few to no people about. If he powered the lures with sufficient energy, they could draw spirits from a few kilometres away.
Sometimes he was joined by local street cultivators from nearby areas of the city. It was an opportunity to draw out and cleanse an area on a larger scale. Of course, it could not draw spirits that were bound to a particular place, trapped or already subject to the control of another cultivator. It was still worthwhile work and a relief to hunt without the added stress of being in a heavily populated area.
Tonight he had been joined by Yang Xuedong, who worked in the southeast of the city. They had set up in the south of Yongding River Park in the nature reserve near the river itself. The frost of the grass crunched beneath his boots, though the ground beneath was muddy in places. Xuedong had set up traps of his own devising around the perimeter of the lure area. These caught the smaller gui as well as drowned ghosts from the river, leaving Lan Wangji free to deal with more powerful prey. Yang Xuedong himself was positioned in a tree outside the circle of lure flags. His role was to spot for any (hopefully unlikely citizens) and to watch for what else might be coming from the city. They had some prearranged signals so that Lan Wangji would have some forewarning.
It had been a busy night. Lan Wangji could feel his shirt sticking to his back with sweat despite the biting chill of the night air. They would need to break the lures soon and clean up, so they could be gone before people started stirring and potentially crossing the path of something they shouldn’t. The moon, almost at the full, glittered on the frost-rimed grass, causing the patches of churned mud and yao blood to appear as dark blots and shadows across the lure zone.
Lan Wangji gave Bichen a shake to clean the blade of blood and scanned the clearing. There was a squelching sound from behind him that caused him to swing around to see a glistening red shape stumbling its way through the scrub from the direction of the river, not the city.
Lan Wangji took a deep breath. He could tell he was getting tired. He would stop after this one or he would deplete his qi too greatly. He breathed in the blown-corpse smell of the wangliang and sensed its malevolent hunger. Truly, it must have been a prodigiously long time since a cultivator hunted this stretch of the river for a wangliang to grow so large. It clearly sensed his qi in return, drawn on by greed. Its red eyes gleamed when it saw Lan Wangji and it opened its mouth in a wail like a lost child. The plaintiveness of the cry was belied by the serrations of its double rows of teeth.
Lan Wangji circulated his qi and felt Bichen thrum in response. One more dispatch. After that he would break the lures and use Wangji to Cleanse what was left. He swung Bichen but the water yao oiled to one side, grasping with its nasty little hands. Lan Wangji stepped smartly back, turned and Bichen scythed through the air a second time. Again the wangliang slid just out of range.
He had to abort his third swing to use Bichen to block the stream of acid bile the creature spat at him. He spun around to come at it from the other side.
“Lan Zhan!” he heard someone shout. His name? His birth name, which no one alive used? Lan Zhan had to leap back again as the wangliang took advantage of his momentary distraction.
“Sorry, Lan Zhan!”
There was a skinny teenager standing in the clearing grinning at him. Even as Lan Zhan blinked, the boy sent a talisman Lan Wangji couldn’t read darting through the air at the wangliang. Blue light and an energy discharge Lan Wangji again also couldn’t recognise. Some street cultivator invention? The yao reared and screamed and Lan Wangji snapped out of his distraction and pivoted, taking its head clean off.
“Lan Zhan,” the boy said. He was grinning from ear to ear like it was the most delightful thing in the world to be standing in Yongding River Park at 4 am in a clearing saturated with yao blood. And he somehow knew Lan Wangji’s birth name and had the absolute temerity to use it to his face.
“You,” Lan Wangji started and realised that he unfortunately was still breathing hard enough from the fight to need to take a few deep breaths before he could continue. This did not improve his mood. His chest felt tight. “Should not be here,” he gritted out, his chest still heaving.
“It’s me, Lan Zhan. Wei Ying,” the boy said. “Surprise!”
The boy let out a high, wobbly laugh, bright in the ice-still night air. He looked jubilant, which was extremely annoying as Lan Wangji felt sore and tired and sweaty and was almost certain that the wangliang bile had burned through his coat somewhere. Though that had happened before the boy arrived, he still felt like it was his fault. He had distracted him. “Who are you? What are you doing here?” he snapped.
The boy’s smile fell a few notches, then he pouted, exaggerated and childish. Irritating. “It is me, Lan Zhan. Someone was using my spirit attraction flags. I wanted to see who it was. And it was,” he laughed again, “you!”
Lan Wangji drew a breath to tell the boy in no uncertain terms that he had drawn up the spirit lures himself, that he had a night hunt to conclude, and to stop using that name when he sensed a new powerful surge of demonic energy, strong and sharp.
He dropped into stance as a dark figure, marked all over with the malevolent energy of a fierce corpse, materialised at the boy’s side. Lan Wangji threw himself forwards with Bichen drawn, sending a palm strike with his left hand with the intention of thrusting the boy aside. Instead he crashed hard into a talisman barrier.
“Don’t be like that, Lan Zhan. It’s only A-Ning,” the boy said.
Incensed now, Lan Wangji smashed the barrier with Bichen, but the fierce corpse had already wrapped its arm around the boy’s waist and leapt for the trees. Lan Wangji leapt after them, but the corpse was fast and he was, he realised, nearing qi depletion.
“Bye, Lan Zhan,” he heard the boy call, sounding not at all like he was being kidnapped by a fierce corpse. Was he, in fact, a demonic cultivator? Lan Wangji had sensed no demonic energy on him, but he had not used spiritual qi either. He wanted to give chase, but he knew he should not. He had responsibilities to conclude at this site.
He dropped down into the clearing. He took a few steadying breaths and began to walk the circle of lures, destroying them one by one. There were still the gui in Yang Xuedong’s traps to cleanse. Then he needed to walk the outer perimeter and check there was nothing still lurking. He rolled his aching shoulders and hoped that there was not.
He wondered if Yang Xuedong had been able to trace the direction the fierce corpse and the possibly demonic cultivator disappeared towards. He must be a demonic cultivator. It was the only possible explanation. But how had he known his name. What purpose could there be to that assumed pose of intimacy? Lan Zhan, it’s me. Wei Ying. Where had he heard that name before? He should ask Ma Guoqing to run it through his systems.
As he crossed the clearing to the lures he saw a dash of red in the grass. A ribbon. Absently he picked it up and put it in his pocket. Wei Ying. It itched in his brain. But probably that was just headache brought on by overstretching his qi reserves. When he sat on the cold ground and summoned Wangji to cleanse the gathered gui he hesitated, his fingers hovering just above the strings. He had caught himself just about to play a sequence of notes that were not the intended opening of Cleansing. He blinked and repositioned his fingers. The strong, life-filled, qi-filled notes of the guqin resounded on the night air.
*
Your seven strings are like the voice
Of a cold wind in the pines,
Singing much loved ancient songs
Which no one cares for any more.
"Qin Player" by Liu Changqing (709-785)
Chapter 5
Notes:
The chapters are getting longer and longer so there will probably be more irregular gaps between chapter postings. A marathon and not a sprint. I think this is my last clutch of OCs to flesh out the universe. I know this is a lot for a fanfic, but its important for the miracle of WWX and LWJ finding one another again that the world not be full of reincarnated MDZS characters. They find one another against all the odds. Their love will last till the stars turn cold, etc. so you'll have to suck up having them surrounded by randos instead of the usual ensemble cast.
My thanks again to @cypressy and @keriarentikai for the thoughtful and helpful beta and to @auntieiroh for the simultaneous podficcing of this story. Seriously, a gift to story continuity because I rarely re-read chapters as I post a multi-chapter fic, but I am loving listening. So, a serious boost to the coherence of this complicated narrative. <3
-*-
Chapter Text
Apart from cat feeding time in the afternoons, Wei Ying stayed inside Wen Ning’s room for three days. Wen Ning bought a cooking pot and hot plate which, like the heater, emitted no smoke but became surprisingly hot. Which Wei Ying found out the hard way, despite Wen Ning’s warning.
Wen Ning had returned the borrowed heater and blanket and bought Wei Ying new ones. Wei Ying learnt that everything ran on electricity, which was harnessed lightning. It ran in wires into every house in the city. Even lamps in the streets, so it was never dark, even at night.
The new heater did not blow hot air. It was formed of pink lobes of enameled metal and simply got hot, like a hot stone. The blankets were amazing. Not scratchy like wool, but fluffy and fleecy. Wen Ning also bought him sleep clothes of a similar thick, soft material because he worried about Wei Ying being cold in the room at night.
“How are you so rich now, A-Ning?” Wei Ying asked.
“I am not rich,” Wen Ning said. “I work because I need some money for things. For clothes, so I can be decent. Rent for Mrs Yue, also money for food for the cats and medicine or for them to see the veterinarian. But I don’t need much and so I have plenty to spare. The things I have bought are not very expensive.”
Wen Ning worked as a night security guard, which was much as it sounded, only these days, instead of patrolling you simply sat in a room and watched a series of seeing devices that allowed one man to guard a whole compound.
“It is not difficult,” Wen Ning said. “When you do not need to sleep.”
Wei Ying himself had not slept for the first two days, since waking up in Wen Ning’s room. He was trying to learn to read the characters in Wen Ning’s books and carefully listening to people talk on the radio. He found if he wrote out the characters in his own messy hand they made more sense. Wen Ning helped him with this, but he became increasingly anxious about the not-sleeping.
Wei Ying felt that Wen Ning didn’t understand because he could understand what people said. Then Wen Ning did a very bad thing, which was to confide his worries to Mrs Yue. She gave him one of her pills that the doctor gave her and he put it in Wei Ying’s food. Wei Ying then slept for a whole day and night. Wen Ning said he had tried to think what his jiejie would do. Wei Ying cried again and probably Wen Ning would have too if he could.
They had agreed that Wen Ning would never do that again, but Wei Ying had felt a good deal better afterwards. Unlike Wen Ning, Wei Ying did need sleep. And food and warmth and, which was something of a highlight, to wash. In Mrs Yue’s bathroom there was a cabinet that you got inside and a spout, not exactly the same as, but quite like the ones over the basins, which sprayed you with water! With a bit of practice, even hot water! Afterwards Wen Ning explained that you had to pay for the heating of the water and so Wei Ying tried to be a bit more circumspect. It was extremely good though.
Mrs Yue also let them use her washing machine, which was a cabinet you put your dirty clothes and some soap into and it did the whole thing. Wei Ying remembered the washer women with their brown faces, who would stand up to their knees in the lake and the tubs of steaming water in the wash-house and their red hands and the way that they would grin and offer to give him a scrub down.
No one came to look for Wei Ying. Maybe he would be allowed to just disappear?
“Oh, you’ve got one of those!” Wei Ying said.
Wen Ning was holding one of those shiny black tablets. Only his tablet had a face that was brightly illuminated. Wei Ying had seen people walking in the alley looking at such things too.
“It is a phone,” Wen Ning said. “A communication device with a little computer in it. I do not use it very much, but I check it for messages.”
“I have one. I had one. But it didn’t shine like that.”
“Yes, you did. I put the things from your pocket on the shelf, when I put you in the bed that first night. I forgot. I’m sorry, were you wanting it?”
“It’s not mine. It was Junyue’s I suppose.”
They both went to look.
“It doesn’t do anything.”
“I think the battery is flat.”
At Wei Ying’s blank look Wen Ning explained that these ‘phones’ also ran by electricity and had to be fed regularly. “It will take a while to charge back up,” Wen Ning said. “That is a wallet. Those are cards, for payment and a library membership and ID. That is a photograph. It is a print that is taken, not from a block, but from real life. It prints the moment onto paper.”
“Do you think… am I Junyue now?” Wei Ying said, looking at the cards and the picture.
“You are Wei-gongzi?” Wen Ning said.
“But no one knows who I am?”
“I do. It does not matter to me how people look. You called me. Only Wei-gongzi can do that. And I know you. I think I do not see like living people do. I cannot really remember. I can tell you have a different body now, but to me you look the same. You are the same.”
Wei Ying was not sure what he felt about that. He was not at all certain that it was such a good thing to be.
“I can call you… something different. If you want?” Wen Ning said carefully.
“I don’t know,” Wei Ying said. “I don’t know if I should. I don’t know who Junyue even was. How I got to be here in his body. Am I meant to be him now?”
“I don’t know,” Wen Ning said. “His ID is perhaps associated with a crime scene. I think it would be better if we got you a new ID.”
“What is ID?” They were both getting better at dealing with the points at which Wei Ying faltered in every conversation, not knowing and not understanding. Well, Wen Ning had been good from the beginning, showing no surprise and simply replying as best he could. Wei Ying was getting better at taking it in his stride. It definitely got easier as his store of prior knowledge grew and new information could be slotted into something instead of being just another lump in an incomprehensible soup of ignorance. At least some connections could now be made.
“Everyone has a card like this. It has their name and the date of their birth and their citizen number, see.” He showed Wei Ying his own card.
“It has your picture!” Wei Ying said.
“Yes. It is mandatory. You must have a card like this.”
“And I can’t use this one?” Wei Ying said, indicating Junyue’s card.
“The police would have been called to your old apartment. To Junyue’s old apartment. People were dead and you were not there.”
“There was that array,” Wei Ying said. “And you smashed in the wall.”
“They probably want to talk to you. The police.”
“Yeah. They probably think I did it,” Wei Ying nodded. “Wow, I’ve only been alive for five days or something and already I’m in so much trouble.”
“Beijing is a very big city,” Wen Ning attempted to assure him. “But if you use this ID or any of the cards, I think you will be found.”
“How?”
“Everything goes into computers. The police will be notified.”
Wei Ying already knew about computers. They were the machine-scribes that ran the city. “Will the little computer in Junyue’s phone also tell the big computer?”
Wen Ning turned around and quickly unplugged the recently plugged-in phone and they both froze, staring at one another.
“It was not switched on,” Wen Ning said. “I don’t think it can speak to the big computer if it is not switched on?”
Wei Ying blew out a long breath. “I guess I am not Junyue then. He seems to be in more trouble than me, just now.”
Wen Ning nodded.
Wei Ying looked down at the card in his hand. “What year is it?”
“2025.”
“He was,” Wei Ying counted back. “He was seventeen. This body is only seventeen. Does that mean I’m seventeen now?”
“You look… young,” Wen Ning said. “I think, I think we should not make you older on your ID. It might look odd.”
“Okay, I guess I’m seventeen again. And a wanted criminal. Again. Wow.”
“Wei Ying is not a wanted criminal,” Wen Ning said. “He is just seventeen. He has just come to the city. He doesn’t know anyone.”
“Oh, yeah! And I must have lived in a really, really tiny village with no electricity or computers or anything, which is why I get confused sometimes.”
“That’s good,” Wen Ning said.
“Maybe even not a village. Maybe I just lived alone with my grandmother and we just spoke in this funny way together. And we lived in a hut on stilts. In a swamp,” Wei Ying was warming to his theme.
“A swamp?” Wen Ning said doubtfully.
“Okay, maybe not a swamp,” Wei Ying conceded.
“I will ask,” Wen Ning said. “I will ask about where people might live where there is no electricity. If there are such places now.”
“You know people who can make a new ID card for me?”
“Yes,” Wen Ning said. “I do not have a normal ID card. I cannot. I have no birth registration. Also, my face does not change and I need to get a new card with the right age.”
“I see,” Wei Ying said. “Have you, have you been in Beijing long?” Wen Ning being here, alive, well un-dead all this time was one of the big thoughts he had not dared to poke at until now.
“Not long,” Wen Ning said, thinking. “About seventy five years. I came when they closed the temples. I had… a friend. He was a monk. They took him, but I got him back and we came to Beijing. It is quite easy to hide now the cities are grown so big.”
Wei Ying smiled. “Can I meet him? Your friend?”
“He is dead now. He was already quite old when we came here.”
“Oh.” Wei Ying thought about how terrible it had been, realising that everyone he loved was dead. But it had only happened to him once. In one horrible compression of years. In 1500 years, Wen Ning must have lost people over and over again. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, A-Ning.”
“People do not live forever,” Wen Ning said. “When he died, I stayed here. I have some other friends too. You do not need to look so sad.”
“A-Ning,” Wei Ying said, not sure what to say.
“It is sad when they die. But… I do not think I feel things like living people do,” Wen Ning said. “Not anymore. Like, when I touch this,” Wen Ning took the edge of Wei Ying’s fluffy pyjama sleeve between his fingers. “I can hold it and I know it is soft, not hard, but I do not really feel it. There is… a lot of quiet inside me.”
“A-Ning,” Wei Ying said again. “I wish, I wish I could have done better. For you.” It was a big thought, Wen Ning alone for all those centuries, but at the same time, Wen Ning was there in front of him looking placid, only a little concerned for Wei Ying’s own distress.
“Remember that it was not you who killed me, Wei-gongzi,” he said. “It was not you who made me a fierce corpse.”
“I know, but…”
“You bound my soul back into my body. So I could know my family again. So I could use the strength that I then had to protect them a little longer. I have never wished it were otherwise.”
*
Wei Ying had practiced hard, listening to the radio and getting Wen Ning to use more and more of the new dialect with him. He had started practicing with Mrs Yue too. When Wen Ning went to work, Wei Ying would go round to Mrs Yue’s rooms in the evening. Mrs Yue had a television, which was like a radio, but with pictures too.
Mrs Yue liked to have the television on in the evenings, even though she couldn’t really see it and sometimes wasn’t even in the same room. She said it kept her company. She would make congee for both of them. She only made congee and kept everything in the same place, so she could find things. She learnt that Wei Ying liked a lot of chilli oil on his congee. She said that most people from down south did, but otherwise she never talked about where he came from. She had seen him crying on the first day and maybe Wen Ning had told her something. She never let Wei Ying cook, even though he offered. Maybe Wen Ning had told her about that too.
Mrs Yue didn’t mind explaining things to Wei Ying. She said it was nice to know more than someone, when everyone else had treated her like a stupid old lady for years, just because she could not see.
“But not Wen Ning,” Wei Ying had said.
“Of course, not A-Ning. He’s a good boy.”
Wei Ying had a lot of questions about the game shows and idol contests Mrs Yue liked to watch, or rather listen to. She would get him to describe the contestants and the hosts and what was going on and sometimes she laughed so hard when he tried to explain what he could see and what they were doing that she was crying with it.
One evening one of Mrs Yue’s friends from down the alley came to watch television as well. Mrs Yue said it would be fine if he stayed and by this point Wei Ying was quite invested in a couple of the idol contests.
Mrs Li had seen him out at cat feeding time, so she wasn’t too surprised to find him there. She settled herself in Mrs Yue’s other chair, which Wei Ying had vacated for her. Wei Ying sat on the floor. Mrs Li promptly ignored the television, bright, curious eyes in a soft, wrinkled face. “What’s your name, then?”
“Wei Ying, Mrs Li.”
“How are you liking Beijing, A-Ying?”
“It’s great,” Wei Ying said dutifully.
“What have you seen? Where have you been?”
“Oh, I haven’t…” Wei Ying faltered. “I’ve just…”
“Psst,” Mrs Yue hissed at her friend. “I told you not to ask him questions. He’s had a difficult time.”
“I know,” Mrs Li hissed back. “I wasn’t asking him questions. I was just making conversation.”
They were both speaking in loud undertones, even though he was right there. Wei Ying stared resolutely at the television during this exchange, feeling self-conscious.
“When you’re feeling better you should go out more. Take exercise. You’re all skin and bone. Not like A-Ning. He’s a big, strapping boy,” Mrs Li advised.
“He can’t help being small,” Mrs Yue snapped in his defence, which was nice of her.
Wei Ying opened his mouth and shut it again because he could not explain he had been taller before.
“I’m just trying to help,” Mrs Li said. “Exercise is good for you. I don’t suppose you have a girlfriend?”
“No,” Wei Ying said. “No, I…”
“You’ll need a job first,” Mrs Li said with a sage nod. “You need money to take a girl out. You’ve got a sweet face, which is good, but girls aren’t interested in that these days. You’ll need a good job. Do you have a high school diploma?”
“Um, no,” Wei Ying said. He didn’t actually want a girlfriend. Not at the moment. He had more than enough on his plate, but it was still sort of humiliating to be quizzed like this.
“Hmm,” Mrs Li looked at him like he was a conundrum to be solved.
“A-Ning hasn’t got a girlfriend either,” Mrs Yue said, shaking her head. “Girls these days must be terribly picky.”
“Don’t know what’s good for them. They are only interested in flashy guys with imported cars.” Mrs Li and Mrs Yue agreed on this at least.
“And we have to fix your accent,” Mrs Li decided. “You sound like a bumpkin. No girl wants to go about town with a man who sounds like a turnip-grower.”
“Well,” Wei Ying, channeling Wen Qing, felt moved to defend himself, “turnips grow fast and have a good yield. You can feed a lot of people.”
“Girls don’t care about turnips,” Mrs Li pronounced.
Wei Ying thought of Wen Qing. “Some girls do. Some girls like turnips better than potatoes!”
“Not,” Mrs Li said, with the air of someone playing the decisive endgame move in a game of chess, “Beijing girls.”
Wei Ying pouted.
“He’s learning to speak properly,” Mrs Yue said. “His accent’s much better already. You should have heard him when he first arrived. I couldn’t hardly make out a thing he said.”
“I can help you with that,” Mrs Li said. “I used to work in the Beijing Department Store. We all had to speak nicely on the shop floor. I worked in soft furnishings.”
“What’s soft furnishings?” Wei Ying said.
Mrs Li stared at him.
“I told you,” Mrs Yue hissed at Mrs Li. “They didn’t even have electricity.” Then, to Wei Ying, “Soft furnishings is furniture, but the soft kind like this chair.” She prodded her padded throne. “I worked in the post office, where we also had to speak very nicely.” She glared at Mrs Li.
“I can catch fish with my hands,” Wei Ying offered. “But I don’t suppose that would impress Beijing girls.”
*
Wen Ning did not feel equipped to answer Wei Ying’s many questions about what had happened in the intervening 1500 years. He brought Wei Ying some books from the library.
“Whose library?”
“It’s a public library, for everybody. If you go with your ID, you can join and borrow books. We need to wait for your ID to be ready, then you can borrow books too.”
“You can just take them?”
“Yes, but you have to bring them back.”
“Any books?”
“Any that they have. Wei-gongzi.” Wen Ning redirected his attention, “this is a history of China. This is a history of China in the twentieth century, which was the one before this one. This one is A Child’s History of China. I thought, in case you still find the new characters difficult to follow…”
“Oh. Thanks.” Wei Ying felt a strange sense of trepidation. It had all already happened, what was in the books. Nothing he read would change anything about the present. But he had got used to living in the non-time of only the immediate present. The prospect of understanding, even if only in outline, the progress of all the years, the centuries, between now and then would make them unsettlingly real.
“You do not have to,” Wen Ning said. “But you keep asking me things and I cannot explain. At least, not from the beginning. You can still ask me questions. If I don’t know the answers we can look them up or I can get other books.”
So one rainy day Wei Ying started to read. He started with the children’s history. He figured it would give him a general shape for things. He started right at the beginning - what the book called prehistory. He recognised some of the stuff from the early chapters, Yu the Great and so on, though it was told differently from how it had been relayed in his own school days.
Of course, the perspective was always from that of the ordinary people. The cultivation world was only mentioned in passing where it brushed up against the general thrust of the history of the nation. It was not a long book, the one for children. The twenty three years he had lived flashed by without a single mention. The narrative rolled on, galloping through the centuries. Canal building, the melting of silver pieces into standard coins, the growth of the empire, the growth of the cities and war, always war. The book had maps and pictures of how people dressed, pictures of new inventions and photographs of the art they made. Wei Ying liked those bits.
It was a lot more engaging than the history books Wei Ying had had to read when he had been a child. But Wei Ying couldn’t stop coming back to the fact that the Sunshot Campaign and its aftermath hadn't been mentioned at all. How many other things, other people’s tragedies and losses, had been passed over? There was ‘war’, ‘rebellion’, ‘massacre’, ‘famine’. Those words meant a terrible time, the worst possible, for the people who had lived through it. But now it was just a few words, or none at all, in a 12,000 year long history.
Wei Ying didn’t really want to, but he read the adult history books too. He had been right. It was easier to follow having read the simple children’s outline. At first he had to ask Wen Ning when he couldn’t parse some of the characters or didn’t recognise a new idiom. The reading got easier, though the history got more complex. There were more names. Details that filled in more of the intricacy of events than could be contained in a book for children. The Sunshot campaign was still not directly mentioned in these other books. Some thousands of cultivators had died, but comparatively few commoners. The wars that were named in these histories killed hundreds of thousands of people.
It was strange. The conflict that had ruined all their lives, the loss of families, of homes, of childhoods, of lives was all forgotten now.
“It might be there,” Wen Ning said, “in older books. Or in cultivation histories, maybe. The library does not hold cultivation texts.”
“Was it all like this?” Wei Ying asked. “More and more wars, bigger and better machines for killing until, like now, you could kill everyone all in one go?” He gestured at the book of the twentieth century.
“There have been a lot of wars,” Wen Ning agreed. “The last century was the worst, I think, but there is always war. There is also always peace too. That is what Master Sheng said. He was my friend, the monk. There is war now, in other places, but there is also Mrs Yue who sits in the sun and feeds the cats. There has always been both.”
“How did you stand it?” Wei Ying asked quietly.
“At first I hid from it,” Wen Ning said. “Wars were quite small and slow moving. I could just go somewhere else. I didn’t have people I wanted to protect anymore.”
Wei Ying nodded.
“Then, when I had found my temple, when there were people I did want to protect, wars were still quite small. Soldiers did not want to attack a temple where one of the guardian statues would come alive and fight them. I helped the monks and tried to protect the temple and the people who sheltered there.”
“But, in the end?” Wei Ying asked.
“In the end the wars kept getting worse. The foreigners came and new foreign weapons and after that there was less and less I could do. Sometimes it was foreign armies, sometimes it was not, but I cannot stop cannons or machine gun fire. Now they have tanks and bombs that can be dropped from the sky. It doesn’t matter how strong you are when you are only one man.”
“I know,” Wei Ying said.
“When they came to close the temple down, the Abbott said that we should not try to fight them,” Wen Ning said. “They were the people and we should not fight the people. We heard that in some places the temple statues were taken and burned. I took our Guanyin to the mountains to hide her. It didn’t matter if they burned the statues of General Heng and General Ha, they no longer had a temple to guard.”
“You came to Beijing then?”
“Yes,” Wen Ning said. “There were a lot of people in Beijing who were hiding from something.”
“But what did the sects do, when all this was happening?”
“By then the sects were already weak,” Wen Ning said. “Many cultivators had died in one war or another. Whether it was the armies of the Taiping or the British or the Japanese, the warlords or the communists. Some cultivators had tried to protect sect residences and treasures. Some tried to protect the people in their territories or expel the foreigners. Like me, even strong cultivators cannot fight in a modern war. There were not so many left by the time communists outlawed the practice of cultivation.”
Wei Ying took a moment to try and absorb that. He’d seen the numbers. One man with a sword, or even ten or twenty top level cultivators could not stop armies. They had all died in the end. “So, what happened?”
“What remained of the sects disappeared. Into hidden places, with what they could salvage of their books and treasures. Some went with those fleeing the communists to Taiwan. That is what the Liuqiu island in the Southern Sea is now called. Some gave up their swords and swore to live without cultivation.”
“It was all gone, just like that,” Wei Ying murmured.
“Not all gone,” Wen Ning said. “In Beijing I met cultivators who hid. Rogue cultivators who had nowhere else to go. And there were families of cultivators in the city already, outside of any clan. I think other cities too. I had never been to the city before I came here. It is such a different thing from the towns we knew, Wei-gongzi. Even more now. When you are feeling better, we will go and see it.”
“Huh, yes, I guess,” Wei Ying said. He was not at all sure he wanted to leave Wen Ning’s little room, tucked in Mrs Yue’s little house, tucked into the crowded courtyard and narrow stone alley.
“There are good things too,” Wen Ning said. “Almost no one is hungry. When there is too much rain or not enough rain, the people do not starve. Children do not die of sweating fever or flux like they did. People who cannot work do not have to beg. All children go to school.”
“That is good,” Wei Ying acknowledged.
“They can travel from one end of the country to the other in less than a day. Ordinary people. They can live in towers in the sky and go to doctors when they are sick. They can fly. Ordinary people can fly in carriages in the air to distant lands.”
Wei Ying laughed. “That’s pretty good.”
“They used to come to the temple. The people, poor people,” Wen Ning said. “People who were sick or starving. Who had nowhere else to go. And we could not do very much and more people would always come. I was sorry when they closed the temples. But I am glad it is not like that anymore.”
“And were you there all the time? In the temple? Helping people,” Wei Ying asked.
“No,” Wen Ning said. His face remained placid, but a sort of shudder passed through his body.
“What?” Wei Ying asked. “What happened after I died?” This was what it was all about, wasn’t it. Not the centuries of history and why people had motorbikes and tiny musicians in boxes, but what had happened to his world. What had happened to the people he still loved.
“I don’t know, Wei-gonzi,” Wen Ning said.
It was not a lie, but Wei Ying could tell that Wen Ning was holding something back. “A-Ning, what happened after they took you?”
Wen Ning sat still for a long time. Staring at a patch of floor with unseeing eyes. Wei Ying waited.
“They took me away,” Wen Ning eventually said. “Away from jiejie. I thought… I thought it was because I had to be killed in some special way. But it was not that. They took me somewhere. And they did something.”
“They did something to you?” Wei Ying asked. He was clenching his fists in his lap so tight, he was dimly aware of his nails biting into his palms.
“They did something to the curse you had worked to give me back my soul. They… I could not… I was locked away from myself. They could control what I did.”
Wei Ying must have made some sort of sound because Wen Ning looked up at him again. “It was not… I do not remember much. They did not need me to know things or remember things and so I did not. It was mostly darkness.”
“They said they killed you,” Wei Ying whispered.
“They… used me,” Wen Ning said, equally quietly.
“They used you?”
“As a weapon.”
“They lied.” Wei Ying felt a long-buried rage building up inside him. “Those hypocrites! Every time. ‘Eradicating demonic cultivation and the crooked arts’, ‘bringing peace’. They wanted my Yin Tiger Seal and they wanted you for themselves!”
Wei Ying could taste blood in his mouth and the swirl and twist of the resentment inside him. Familiar. This time it was easier to reach out into the stones of the hutong to find more, long-buried resentment.
“No, Wei-gonzi.” Wen Ning was on his feet and he had his hands clasped around Wei Ying’s shoulders.
Wei Ying’s vision was going red with fury, or maybe it was the blood running into his eyes. Wen Ning did something he had never done before. He shook Wei Ying. Shook him like a rag-doll. Wei Ying gasped as his head bobbed uncontrollably for a moment, his concentration broken and the resentment he had been gathering spilling from his grasp.
“No,” Wen Ning almost shouted at him. “No, Wei-gonzi. I will not. I will not watch you do that again.”
Wei Ying just gaped at him. “A-Ning?”
“Last time you had no choice,” Wen Ning said, resolute. “You had no core and we had many enemies. But I will not watch again while you destroy yourself.”
“I…”
“You said you could control it,” Wen Ning said, more quietly now. “But you could not. You could control your armies. But not all of the time. By the end you did not always know us. You talked to people who were not there. You did not eat. You barely slept.”
“But…”
“I do not know what happened, but it destroyed you. It killed you. And you do not need to do it again.”
“I…”
“I will not let you do it again, Wei-gongzi. There is no need. I will not let anyone hurt you.”
Wei Ying stared at him. “But, it is all I have. I can’t just…”
“Many people live without cultivation. Many people do not carry a sword. They just live. You can do that too. You have… another chance.”
Wei Ying pulled in a shuddering breath. “But…”
“Who are you going to fight, Wei-gonzi?” Wen Ning said. “Who are you defending?”
“I…” Wei Ying stared at him, not knowing what to say. It was terrifying, having no purpose, no anchor in a duty to anyone. No strength to defend what he had, which was precious little. Just his funny little body and his friend. Maybe Mrs Yue, who was kind to him.
“When that yaoguai came, I nearly died,” Wei Ying said, eventually.
“I came,” Wen Ning said.
“What if you don’t? What if you can’t.”
“You are alive,” Wen Ning said. “That means that one day you will die. It is better than allowing the dead to eat your soul piece by piece.”
“Oh,” Wei Ying said, letting out a shaky breath. They sat in silence for a few minutes contemplating mortality or the lack of it. “I have a golden core now,” Wei Ying eventually said. “It is very small, but…”
Wen Ning looked at him, all his fierceness receded now. “That’s nice. What does it feel like?”
“It’s really tiny,” Wei Ying said. “But it feels good. Better than… better than not.”
“Have you tried spiritual exercises?”
“No I… not really.” This had been another thing he had not been thinking about. Something too precious to look at in case, upon closer inspection, it should turn out not to be real.
“You could try.”
“But seventeen is too late to start.” It was too much to even think about, to have that power, that life, inside him again.
“But you are not just starting,” Wen Ning said. “Junyue must have started before now, to form a core. And I do not think there are any authorities on forming a core for a second time with a resurrected soul.”
“No,” Wei Ying laughed. “I guess not.”
“A-Ning, A-Ying!” They heard Mrs Yue calling down the corridor.
Wei Ying went to the door. “What is it, Auntie Yue?” he called back.
“A-Xue has been and she put everything back wrong!”
“Mrs Li believes things should be stored in the fridge, which Mrs Yue does not,” Wen Ning explained. “I will go.” Then he hesitated and turned back to Wei Ying. “No, I think you will go. So you remember that you do not need to master any cultivation to have a useful life.”
“Yes, Wen-laoshi!” Wei Ying laughed, a little shakily, and went to retrieve Mrs Yue’s condiments from the cold cupboard, with a flutter inside his stomach that felt like hope.
*
Wei Ying began cultivating his golden core. It was odd, trying to remember the exercises he'd done so long ago as a child. As a child he’d been trying to catch up with the other children in Lotus Pier and there had been a master keeping them quiet while they meditated. Then it had been vitally important to him because he was not sure the Jiangs would keep him if he did not become strong in his cultivation.
Now, there were distractions everywhere. A guy Wen Ning knew came and took Wei Ying’s picture and a few days later he had a fake ID. He was Wei Ying, born 7th June 2008 and there was a little picture of his new face. It did not look as good in the little picture as Wei Ying thought it looked in the mirror, but Mrs Yue told him that was always the way.
Wen Ning took him to visit the library. That meant leaving the alley, which was sort of terrifying, but it was exciting too. First there were a few broader alleys, not that different from the one they lived on. Then a still larger one with shops and dense crowds, like a town on market day, but everyone in their modern clothes and holding up their phones to take pictures.
When they left the hutongs though, the city changed dramatically. The streets were so, so wide, with cars, which were horseless carriages made of metal, hurtling up and down in streams. The buildings were so, so tall, reaching up into the sky. Wei Ying had to stop and stare, so Wen Ning tugged him over to the wall where they could be out of the way of the crowds of pedestrians. They made it to the library, which was huge and had a moving staircase that carried you up it without having to climb. Wei Ying went round three times before Wen Ning said that if he wanted to choose books they needed to do that now because he had work later.
There were so many books. So many Wei Ying was quite overwhelmed. He thought he would choose some history books, just because he knew he had a place to start with them. Wen Ning found him a children’s introduction to science and technology and he forgot the history books. He got a book about electricity and the history of trains and one about volcanoes. His eye was also caught by some illustrated books, like the ones he’d seen in Junyue’s stash. Not exactly like, because it was after all a public library anyone could use, but with lots of pictures and just a little text.
Wei Ying read all his books in a couple of days. He also did tai chi with Mr Lu, who lived just down the alley. He was the man with bad knees. The sun fell on his side of the alley in the mornings and Wei Ying, who had been trying to meditate outside to use his core to keep himself warm, had got distracted watching him. Mr Lu saw him looking and said hello and Wei Ying asked him what he was doing, which led to Mr Lu showing him.
“I’m supposed to be meditating,” Wei Ying said ruefully.
“I was never good at meditating,” Mr Lu said. “Movement is better. Especially when you are young.”
Wei Ying thought maybe he was right and he found that it was possible to integrate his spiritual exercises into doing tai chi with Mr Lu. It was definitely getting easier, but his progress was slow. When he tried to push, everything got more sluggish instead of better. He could do a little and often, but not build any great mass of qi flow.
“I don’t know if my meridians are just too weak, or if they are blocked, or if I am imagining that there is even any more power to flow through them, you know?” he said to Wen Ning.
“I am sorry, I cannot help,” Wen Ning said. “I cannot sense qi flow. Perhaps my friend? I have a friend who is a cultivator.”
“There are still cultivators in the city?”
“There are a few. Most do not practice cultivation in the traditional manner. But Mr Yang does. Or quite close. He may be able to help you. We met when he was quite young. He tried to Cleanse me, which did not go very well, but we came to an understanding. I help him on night hunts when there is something he cannot tackle on his own.”
“I…” Wei Ying hesitated. It had been fine, good even, meeting new people, when they were the ordinary people who lived in the alley. But meeting cultivators again felt… he was not sure. But if this cultivator accepted Wen Ning, a fierce corpse, as a friend, then he could not be like the cultivators before.
“He is a kind man,” Wen Ning said. “I have always tried to stay out of the way of cultivators. To them I am an evil to be eradicated. But Mr Yang was prepared to listen when I said I meant no harm. There have not been many people over the centuries who have understood what I am and have still been able to accept me as a friend.”
“Okay,” Wei Ying said. That sounded promising. If a cultivator could be friends with a fierce corpse then he would not perhaps be too upset about a resurrected demonic cultivator. Or ex-demonic cultivator, as he had promised Wen Ning to concentrate on regular cultivation. “Do you think he can help?”
“I think that we all had teachers as we developed our golden cores. I think it is not easy to do alone. Mr Yang is a father now. He teaches his own children. I think he is probably a good teacher. His daughter is a very strong cultivator already.”
“I suppose it can’t hurt,” Wei Ying said.
*
“This is Mr Yang,” Wen Ning said.
“Yang Xuedong,” the man said, welcoming them into his home. They had travelled to his apartment on the metro, which Wei Ying was starting to quite enjoy after his first few terrified rides. Mr Yang did not live in a hutong, but in an old apartment block. They got up to his floor of the building in a box that rose through the air. Wen Ning said it did not fly, but was hoisted on pulleys, which made sense even if it felt like flying.
Mr Yang was tall - well, taller than Wei Ying, which did not take all that much - and broad. At least three Wei Yings wide, as they followed him down a short corridor to the kitchen. He had quite a loud voice too, but a warm grin that made him somehow not intimidating even when he should have been. “Meet my wife, Zhao Juan.” A woman turned away from the counter where she was preparing food to smile at them also. “This is our son, Zilong.” Mr Yang clapped a large hand down on the shoulder of a boy who sat at the kitchen table, bent over some books.
“He does not have the aptitude,” the boy bristled under his father’s hand. “Or the interest in spiritual cultivation,” Mr Yang acknowledged the correction. “But he is very clever. So this means he will get a great job and keep a roof over all our heads when he is bigger,” Mr Yang beamed proudly. “Cultivation does not really pay the big bucks these days.” He glanced at his wife and she rolled her eyes and went back to her cooking.
The boy, Zilong, in his early teens perhaps, squirmed and rolled his eyes, shaking off his father’s hand. “I’m trying to do my homework, baba,” he grumbled. He glanced at them and then away, seemingly more comfortable with his book.
“And this is my little princess!” Mr Yang said, moving along to grasp the shoulders of the girl sitting next to Zilong, who was decidedly less engrossed in her homework.
“Baba!” the girl groaned, sagging under the weight of his hands. She was younger, with her long hair fixed in a high ponytail, like Wei Ying used to wear, but held with a sparkly, pink band.
“This is Zhenzhen! She will be a very fine cultivator, just like her grandmother. If she stops messing about with that street stuff!”
“Baba!” the girl complained again, but good naturedly. “Are you a cultivator?” she asked Wei Ying, her eyes bright and curious.
“Sort of,” Wei Ying said.
“You aren’t dead like Ning-ge anyway.”
“No, I’m not dead. Anymore,” Wei Ying said.
“You were dead?” the girl’s eyes opened wide.
“Yeah, for a really long time,” Wei Ying said. “But I’m back now. I like your hair. I used to have long hair.”
“Thanks,” Zhenzhen said. “You could grow it back.”
“I suppose,” Wei Ying hadn’t given much thought to his new hair, apart from pushing it back when it flopped in his face.
“It’s already quite long for a man,” Zhenzhen said.
“It gets in my eyes when I’m reading,” Wei Ying agreed.
“You need to tie it back,” Zhenzhen pronounced. “We have to have our hair tied back at school so we can concentrate on reading. I like mine tied back all the time anyway. I think yours is long enough to tie back. Maybe? Wait here.” She indicated her seat at the table and slipped out of the room.
Wei Ying sat down obediently. “Sorry we’re interrupting your studies,” he said to Zilong.
“That’s okay,” Zilong said, with a long-suffering look. “I’m used to it. Zhenzhen and Baba never shut up.”
Wei Ying stiffened a little, waiting for Mr Yang to discipline his son for his rudeness, but Mr Yang just laughed, so Wei Ying did too. “What are you reading?”
“Physics,” Zilong slid his text book around just a bit so that Wei Ying could see. “We’re doing Forces.”
“Oh cool,” Wei Ying said, leaning over to look at the text. “I’ve got a lot to catch up on, with having been dead for a long time.”
“How long?” Zilong asked.
“About 1500 years.”
“Wow, that’s a lot to catch up.” Zilong looked dubious about Wei Ying making up such a deficit.
“I’ve read quite a bit already,” Wei Ying said in his own defence. “Mostly things didn’t change all that much until about a hundred years ago.”
Zilong considered this. “Yeah, people believed a lot of stupid stuff for ages. You probably don’t need to bother catching up on all that.”
Zhenzhen returned with a small box of colourful elastic bands for Wei Ying to choose from. There was something of a debate around which bands would look best versus which bands would make good demonstration tools for Zilong to explain the actions of equal and opposite forces.
Wei Ying did his best to concentrate on Zilong’s lecture, while Zhenzhen fixed his hair. It turned out not to be long enough for a ponytail, but could be tied into bunches that kept the hair out of his face. Mr Yang and Wen Ning sat on the other side of the table and observed, Mr Yang seeming to have no problem with his children monopolising his guest.
It was nice. Not scary, like Wei Ying had feared. Mr Yang was not at all like most of the cultivators he had known before. Wei Ying had always liked kids. He liked how direct they were and how they asked for what they wanted. He had missed kids. After the fall of Lotus Pier. When there weren’t anymore shidi or shimei for him to teach or muck about with. There had been only A-Yuan and that was still a pain too raw to touch.
“There!” Zhenzhen pronounced.
Wei Ying couldn’t see himself, but he put his hands up and could feel the two sprouts of hair and the plastic nobbles of the red cherries on one tie and the pineapple on the other. He waggled his head and it felt pretty secure. His hair was definitely not in his eyes. “How does it look?” he asked Zilong.
“You look dumb,” Zilong said, but not meanly, simply stating a fact.
“It’s not really long enough,” Zhenzhen conceded.
“Ah well,” Wei Ying said. “I’ll need to give you back your hair ornaments when I go anyway. But I will try to grow my hair longer and then you can have another go.”
“Baba, can you use cultivation to grow your hair?” Zhenzhen asked her father.
“Well, you can use it to heal the body, so I suppose it might be possible,” Mr Yang said thoughtfully.
“I only have a really tiny core,” Wei Ying said. “I don’t even really know if I can cultivate again.”
“That’s really rubbish,” Zhenzhen said sympathetically. “It’s rubbish having a weak core.” This she said in a less sympathetic and more pointed manner, aimed at her brother.
“Shut up,” her brother huffed at her. “I don’t care about having a stupid core. I’m going to be a fighter pilot and go into space!”
“Ugh, who cares about space!” Zhenzhen said.
“Going into space would be really cool,” Wei Ying said.
“Not as cool as this,” Zhenzhen said with a jut of her chin and she raised her hand and made an odd little gesture and all the lights went out.
In the sudden darkness Wei Ying could hear everyone yelling at Zhenzhen to put the lights back on. There was a flicker and the lights went back on.
“Can you not do that when I’m cooking!” her mother scolded. “It’s upset the timer on the rice cooker.”
“You are so annoying,” Zilong said to his sister.
“What… how did you do that?” Wei Ying asked.
“I can pull the current out of the walls, see,” Zhenzhen waggled her fingers and a blue light danced between them. She was trying to sound nonchalant, but was clearly very pleased with herself.
Her father sighed. “Kids these days all grew up with phones and computers and such. It’s a trick she picked up when she was little.”
“Can you… can you show me?” Wei Ying asked, trying and failing to moderate his excitement. “I think I did it once before. Or something like it. When I was attacked by a yaoguai. But I didn’t really understand.”
“Don’t encourage her,” Mr Yang said, but without seeming to hold out much hope.
At the same time Zhenzhen said, “You could control it?”
“Well, sort of, I was pretty desperate,” Wei Ying said. “I was trying… anyway, I got hold of this strange, new energy and I was able to wrap it around the feet of the guai, slow it down.”
“That’s so cool! I can only hold it for a few seconds really,” Zhenzhen said.
“You don’t have time for tricks,” Mr Yang said, exasperated. “You have a strong core. If you end up fighting guai…”
“I don’t have a strong core,” Wei Ying said pleadingly. “If she could just show me…”
“Not while I’m cooking! I’ve only just fixed the rice cooker,” Zhenzhen’s mother sounded a bit frazzled.
“After dinner,” Zhenzhen whispered.
“I’m afraid Wei-gongzi is very interested in new things,” Wen Ning apologised to Mr Yang. “He was a great inventor. When he was alive the first time.”
“Yeah,” Wei Ying said to Zhenzhen. “My best work, I think, was a compass to direct me towards malicious spirits. It was pretty useful, but I never got the chance to complete the design properly.”
“Baba’s got one of those. You didn’t invent it,” Zhenzhen said, frowning. “Show him!”
Bemused, Mr Yang pulled a small device from his pocket and handed it to Wei Ying. “You see, I can’t use it when I am with A-Ning. It goes haywire.”
Wei Ying took the compass and examined it. It was indeed forcibly indicating the presence of Wen Ning. “Look, A-Ning! Someone’s adjusted the tracking. It can find you! Though someone really ought to calibrate it so that beings with souls are not located, only malevolent things.”
“You say you invented something like this?” Mr Yang said.
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure this is based on the one I built. Can I just…” Wei Ying couldn’t resist popping the compass open at the back to examine the inscriptions. “Oh, I see! Yeah, that would work. They’ve made some good improvements. Not as much as I would have done if I’d had 1500 years to tinker with it. I already had some ideas for indicating the relative strengths of the attractants, but they don’t seem to have done anything like that. Can you set it for what nature or power level you are searching for?”
“Um, no. Whatever is the most powerful non-human entity in the vicinity overrides everything else,” Mr Yang said.
“Because I think this sigil could be adjusted and a third wheel added to include or exclude…,” Wei Ying was saying, mostly to himself.
“You’re telling me that you invented the Compass of Evil?” Mr Yang said.
“Yeah, just before I died.” Wei Ying was too absorbed in trying to work out the nature of the adjustments that could be made to consider what this admission might reveal.
Mr Yang turned to Wen Ning. “You’re telling me this kid is the reincarnation of the Yiling Laozu?”
Wei Ying looked up, his heart suddenly hammering. Was this it? Was he going to be thrown out? Was he going to have to fight this man? In his home? In front of his children? He looked to Wen Ning, but Wen Ning was sitting there, seemingly unconcerned.
“He’s not reincarnated,” Wen Ning said. “He was resurrected. His soul summoned into this new body.”
“I didn’t mean to!” Wei Ying said. “I didn’t do anything. It just happened. And I’m not as young as I look. I’m actually twenty-three. If you don’t count the 1500 years when I was an unconscious, incorporeal entity. Which I don’t because I didn’t really change in that time.”
“This kid?” Mr Yang repeated, seeming not to place much weight on the distinction between seventeen and twenty-three. “The actual Yiling Laozu is in my kitchen? Evil necromancer, slayer of thousands? Grand Master of Demonic Cultivation?”
“I’m not… I mean, I wasn’t that bad. They exaggerated a lot. I only killed…” Wei Ying glanced at the kids who were staring at him bug-eyed, “and anyway, I don’t have any weapons or anything anymore. I really wouldn’t… but if you want me to go?” Wei Ying got up nervously.
“Mr Yang,” Wen Ning said, “He is my friend. I told you. You know I would not have brought him here if he was a danger. It was 1500 years ago. Everyone he killed is long, long dead. And everyone he tried to save.”
Mr Yang blew out a long breath. He did not appear angry or frightened, just a bit baffled by everything. Probably the cherry and pineapple pigtails did not add to Wei Ying’s aura of menace. He waved his hand at Wei Ying to sit down again.
“What’s it like, being dead?” Zilong asked.
“Really, not all that much,” Wei Ying said, turning towards him as his heart rate began to slow down. “I, um, can’t recommend it.”
“Which is why you are not joining the airforce,” Zilong’s mother snapped from the stove, where she appeared to be only half listening to the conversation.
“Mama!” Zilong complained. “The J-20 has a max speed of 2470 km per hour,” he explained to Wei Ying.
“Wow,” Wei Ying said, nodding. “That is… that is very fast. I can see the appeal.”
“It’s the best stealth fighter in the world!” Zilong said. “I’m going to fly one.”
“No you’re not!” Zhenzhen said scathingly.
“There’s a seventh century warlord over for dinner,” Mr Yang said, but without the expectation of being listened to.
“I really wasn’t a warlord,” Wei Ying said. “I only had a clan of, like, fifty peasants.”
“Pff,” Zhenzhen said, disappointed.
“And an army of fierce corpses,” Wei Ying said, because he had some pride.
“Cool!” Zhenzhen said. Zilong looked like he would have said the same thing, if she hadn’t got in first, so instead he rolled his eyes and muttered about what the J-20 would do to an army of fierce corpses.
“He doesn’t have any fierce corpses anymore,” Wen Ning said. “Apart from me. He has renounced demonic cultivation. He is trying to build his golden core.”
“Yup,” Wei Ying said, and tried to look his most sincere and non-threatening. Really working those pigtails. “I just want to start again at the beginning. And not make such a mess of things this time.”
“Will you all clear the table for dinner?” Mrs Zhao ordered. “And no, Zilong, you can’t read at the table. Put your book away.”
*
Soon life had settled into something of a routine. Wei Ying did tai chi with Mr Lu in the mornings because that was a much better way to work on his core exercises. He studied through the day and helped Wen Ning and Mrs Yue with the cats in the afternoon and sat with Mrs Yue in the evenings. Mr Yang had been able to help him a little bit with his blocked meridians, but he said it was going to take time, which was boring.
Zhenzhen had showed him the lighting game, which was absolutely not boring at all. Wen Ning bought him a battery powered alarm clock and a little LED light which charged on the same charger as the phone. Wei Ying was allowed to practice drawing the lightning out of them and manipulating it. He could make little sigils with it now, but there was not so much he could do with such small quantities. He had been banned from experimenting with mains electricity because it kept tripping the fuses and once he took out all the power in the block and it was off for a few hours until engineers came from the electricity company.
When Wen Ning had the night off work they went out for street food. Wei Ying was getting used to crowds and could now talk to the fast-speaking vendors of the food stalls. Mrs Li was quite complimentary about his not sounding like a bumpkin anymore. His new life was beginning to feel more real, more whole and less like a wild fever dream, oscillating between vast vistas of yawning absence and the close focus of myopic absorption.
One evening, when they had eaten, Wen Ning asked if he would like to see a little more of the city. He led the way to a big park. Though the nights were still cold they were not as dark as early they had been. It was good to walk between trees on the illuminated paths. They began to climb a tall hill up a narrow stone path. Other people were climbing alongside them, coats and rucksacks and cameras.
By the time they reached the top the deep blue sky had darkened and the city was spread out beneath them, thousands upon thousands of glowing lights. The roads were illuminated like glittering strands between the buildings. Coloured lights shone like jewels. The moon, nearly at the full, floated above it all, strangely incongruous. Out of time.
“It’s amazing,” Wei Ying laughed quietly under his breath. He and Wen Ning sat on a stone in the gloom a little way away from the lights of the path. Elsewhere other couples and groups who had climbed for the same view sat and surveyed the city. Wei Ying fiddled with his hair ribbon. His hair had grown long enough to tie back, but only just. He had still been very happy to be able to tie a ribbon through it. He felt more like himself to have the long ends of the red ribbon fluttering in his peripheral vision, even though his ponytail was not much more than a sprig.
It would take years and years to really grow his hair. And years and years to grow his core. But he could have this now. He had a little money of his own, not just what Wen Ning gave him. Wei Ying had made a birthday card for Mr Lu using his best calligraphy and one of Mr Lu’s visitors had admired it. The visitor had commissioned an anniversary card for his wife.
Mrs Li, who was of an entrepreneurial turn of mind ever since her days as a shop girl, remained committed to the project of getting Wei Ying rich so he could get a girlfriend. She had badgered him into producing a few cards with more generic messages and then she had taken them down to Liulichang, where the antique bookshops were. She persuaded one of the shops to carry his cards on commission and it was all going rather well.
“You don’t want to go down there,” Mrs Li had instructed. “Spoils the image if people see you are just a kid. They want to imagine that you are some old scholar from before.”
“I am an old scholar,” Wei Ying said, laughing, “I’m ancient.”
“Exactly!” Mrs Li said. “That’s what they want. No website! No phone even! I said you were a friend of mine and so they will think you are at least as old as me. I will take your cards down every week and pick up orders. I am your agent!”
“Yes, boss!” Wei Ying had said. He had taken his earnings from the first few weeks and Wen Ning had taken him to a shopping centre, which had more moving staircases and an indoor garden under a glass roof. With a fish pond and real fish in it. Wei Ying had bought, as well as the ribbon, a black silk bomber jacket with red piping and a red dragon embroidered on the back. Also boots with the same rubber soles as the shoes Wen Ning had first provided him with, but this time in shiny black leather with red laces.
They sat looking at the city while the night got colder and darker. The people around them disappeared, heading off down the hill. Wei Ying practiced circulating his golden core to keep himself warm.
“Thanks, A-Ning. This is really great,” Wei Ying said.
Wen Ning nodded happily beside him.
“Thanks for everything,” Wei Ying said, more seriously. “If you hadn’t found me, I don’t think…”
“I am happy I found you,” Wen Ning said. “It has been nice. I’m glad you are happier now.”
“Yeah,” Wei Ying said, “I still feel like I’m sort of waiting for the other shoe to drop, but it's nice. Having time to meet people. To learn things. Time to find out what I’m supposed to be doing.”
“It is good to take time,” Wen Ning said.
“I’ve been thinking about Mr Yang’s compass. You know, I think that if I…”
Wei Ying never had the chance to finish that thought. They both looked up suddenly at the same time, sensing the surge in resentful energy. Wei Ying peered into the darkness.
On the slope below them a guai in the form of a bear with unnaturally extended limbs galloped past. It ignored them completely, seemingly set on some other goal.
“What the–?” Wei Ying was on his feet. “That thing should not be heading into the city!”
Even with his core boosting his speed and lightness, they lost the guai on their way down the mountain, but at the foot of the mountain they picked up another trail of resentful energy, a pair of gui drifting past them down from the mountain.
“What are they doing?” Wei Ying asked.
“I think there is,” Wen Ning cocked his head to one side as if listening. “I think it might be a spirit lure.”
“A spirit lure? Like my spirit attraction flags?” Wei Ying asked.
“Something like that. I think it is drawing the gui and guai towards it?” Wen Ning said.
“Into the city?” Wei Ying said, aghast.
“No, it is to the south of here. I think those things we saw are just coming down from the mountain prior to heading south.”
“It is… can you feel the draw?”
“It does not affect me, as you set my soul free of such things. But I can sense it if I concentrate. It is a way south from here.”
“Let’s go see!” Wei Ying said.
“I am not sure,” Wen Ning said. “It is better to not get involved with cultivators we do not know. They are not all like Mr Yang.”
“I want to know who is using my lures. We can stay at a distance. They won’t notice. They will have their hands full if they are drawing everything from so far afield.”
Wei Ying could tell Wen Ning was still not keen, but he really needed to know. Cultivators were using his designs. They were still using tools of his condemned ‘crooked path’ 1500 years later. Was it better than his original design? It must be if it was drawing guai from kilometres away. How had they done it and how powerful must these cultivators be?
When he had been startled by the guai Wei Ying had realised that out here in the parklands there was no electricity to draw upon. As Wei Ying followed the trail he spooled up a little power from the lamp posts at the roads they crossed, trying to take just a little, so as to not cause a blackout.
As the street lights flickered Wen Ning looked at him suspiciously. Wei Ying tried to look innocent. But honestly, after using his core for warmth and to boost his lightness down the mountain, if things should go awry and he needed to defend himself, he would rather not be useless.
They walked through a few quiet districts, Wen Ning carefully following the traces of the lure. Occasionally a gui flickered past them. Wei Ying reflected that if he was going to stick to his promise on demonic cultivation he would need to develop a more robust arsenal of lightning tricks. He couldn’t just wait for ten or twenty years of core development.
He hadn’t seen any gui or guai since that first night in Junyue’s apartment. But they were here, on the fringes of the city at least. Then Wei Ying and Wen Ning heard a scream ahead and broke into a run, but when they rounded the corner there was just a man and a woman huddled against the wall at the side of the road.
Wei Ying went to check them, but they were unhurt, just badly scared after something that was probably a guai had passed them. Wei Ying advised them to hurry home without stopping and the man helped his sobbing friend to her feet and took out his phone to call a Didi.
The lighting got sparser as they reached the edge of the built up area and entered another parkland of some sort. “It is over there,” Wen Ning indicated.
They made their way slowly and as quietly as they could, into the total darkness of the park. As they left the city behind it became quieter, just the swish of their feet in the grass and the rustle of leaves. The air was bitingly cold now, in the hours before dawn. Wei Ying tried to use his core to boost his vision, but it was paltry and he caught hold of the back of Wen Ning’s coat so that he did not lose him.
Something or someone leapt lightly down from a tree they had just past. Wei Ying and Wen Ning swung around, but before they could react further they heard a familiar voice.
“A-Ning, what are you doing here?”
“Mr Yang,” Wen Ning said. “We sensed the placing of the spirit lures. Wei Ying wanted to see what was happening.”
“You shouldn’t be here,” Mr Yang said urgently. “It’s Hanguang-Jun. He is Cleansing the city, but I haven’t told him about you and, well, it would probably be better if you don’t meet. Especially not in the middle of the night.”
Wei Ying did not hear what Wen Ning said. He was already running. Perhaps Mr Yang shouted something, but he didn’t catch it, his boots pounding through the damp grass. Hanguang-Jun he had said! Lan Zhan was here!
Once he had understood how far into the future he had come, he had understood that there would be no chance encounter with Lan Zhan in this second life. His Lan Zhan, his zhiji, was long dead. Though sometimes he would let his mind wander and allow himself to think that perhaps, at the top of a misty mountain or deep in a cave of ice, Lan Zhan still sat, an immortal master dreaming.
But he was here, after all. Not dead or dreaming. Ahead there was a clearing in the trees. Perhaps the moon passed out from behind a cloud or perhaps Lan Zhan was just like that. Wei Ying saw him. A figure he would know anywhere, dressed in white like it was someone’s funeral, fighting in the moonlight. Bichen’s familiar gleam, cutting the darkness, clean movements and a bloody edge. As he watched, Lan Zhan pivoted elegantly and the dark form of the guai shrank away from him.
“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying shouted, joyful and breathless. “Lan Zhan!”
*
I want to be your love forever and ever,
Without break or decay.
When the hills are all flat,
The rivers are all dry.
When it thunders in winter,
When it snows in summer
When heaven and earth mingle,
Not till then will I part from you.
“By Heaven!” Anon.
Chapter 6
Notes:
So, my initial plan was to follow book canon and I read the relevant flashback portions of the novel in preparation, but in the writing I have inevitably reverted to the Frankencanon that exists in my consciousness as a result of originally consuming the fan translation and the Untamed simultaneously. My apologies if this is going to annoy you. I have added The Untamed to the tags.
Thank you for your patience waiting for this update. I needed a bit of a break and then this chapter was a fairly meaty one. I have the next chapter drafted and an outline for the rest of this arc, so the next few chapters should come fairly regularly. After that, well, I originally thought this story would be maybe 40k 😅 As we've now passed that marker and wangxian have only got as far as one (1) stilted conversation I think it's fair to say that its going to be a good deal longer than that. Fair warning: there will be posting gaps from time to time, but I'll get there in the end. I remain thrilled by the reception this story has received, despite the complex setting and all the OCs and wangxian hardly ever even being in the same scene so far. I'm looking forward to starting to weave the two narratives and the two contrasting povs together and putting these guys into more situations together.
Huge thanks to keriarentikai and cypressey for their help polishing each chapter. Also to auntieiroh, whose podifccing of each chapter is a huge joy as well as an incredibly useful writing tool. You guys are the best!
Chapter Text
“Ah, A-Ning! You should have stayed hidden. You didn’t need to come. Lan Zhan wouldn’t have hurt me. Even if he couldn’t… tell who I was.” Wei Ying strove to push aside the pang that this gave him. He was in a different body, after all, in a different time. And it was very dark. It didn’t mean so much that Lan Zhan had not immediately recognised him.
“I know I shouldn’t have disappeared off like that, but really, it was fine.” Wei Ying tried to remonstrate, but it was not easy to be particularly persuasive when thrown over the shoulder of an immensely strong fierce corpse.
“A-Ning, put me down!”
Wen Ning did not reply and he did not put Wei Ying down. Wei Ying had a sinking feeling that he might be angry with him. They did not stop until they reached a dark alley near one of the metro stations on the line that would take them back to their hutong.
Wen Ning set him on his feet, but the look on his face forestalled conversation. He looked at Wei Ying solemnly and said only, “We should go home.”
Wei Ying followed meekly.
By the time they arrived back at their rooms Wei Ying had become convinced that Wen Ning was really upset with him. Of course Wen Ning was in more danger than he was. He had said he avoided cultivators. He had said that cultivators and the police would hunt him down if they knew of him. And he had forced Wen Ning to go and see about those spirit lures and he had promised that the cultivators would never know they were there. But he had run right into the lure circle so, of course, Wen Ning had come after him.
“I’m so sorry, Wen Ning,” Wei Ying had started as soon as they were settled in their room.
“No, Wei-gongzi,” Wen Ning had said, still looking mournful, “I am sorry.”
“You’re sorry? Why are you sorry?” Wei Ying asked, nonplussed.
“I should have thought to tell you sooner. I should have known that you would somehow find him.”
“Lan Zhan? You knew Lan Zhan was here?”
Wen Ning’s unexpressive face flashed with something that could have been pain. “No,” he said. “Yes. It is difficult to explain. You should eat. You need to sleep.”
“Please tell me,” Wei Ying asked, quietly. He didn't get why, but he could see Wen Ning was circling around something. He would have to have a reason for not telling him about Lan Zhan.
Wen Ning still looked troubled so Wei Ying fetched a packet of crackers – modern people were very fond of dehydrated foods – and started munching through them as a sop to Wen Ning’s concern about his bodily needs. He sat on the bed and looked at Wen Ning expectantly.
“I did not know for certain,” Wen Ning said. “I had not seen him. But I heard. I heard there was a young cultivator, come into the city from some far mountain sect, and people started calling him Hanguang-Jun.”
“You didn’t want to see him? You didn’t want to see if it was really Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying couldn’t hide his incredulity. How could someone as alone as Wen Ning had been not want to at least see someone he had once known? Especially if that person was Lan Zhan.
Wen Ning shook his head and appeared to be searching for words. Wei Ying let him. The whole night: the view of the endless city, the excitement of tracking down the spirit lures, his electric talisman working in the field and, more than anything else, seeing Lan Zhan again made him feel awash with something. Unanchored. Ablaze.
“I knew it could not really be Lan-er-gongzi,” Wen Ning said at last. “Not in the way you mean.”
“But it was him!” Wei Ying exclaimed.
“No,” Wen Ning said, shaking his head sadly. “That man is not the same. He is like, but he is not the same.”
“But he is!” Wei Ying interrupted. It was absurd, completely absurd, to assert that he might mistake another man for Lan Zhan. He had been a few years older, perhaps… Wei Ying faltered. A few years? Lan Zhan would have to be… wait. “He must have come back,” Wei Ying asserted. “Like me!”
“Not like you,” Wen Ning said. The gravity with which he spoke gave Wei Ying pause. And it couldn’t be just like him, could it, because it was not a new body? Not a different body anyway.
“What?” Wei Ying asked finally. “What are you trying to say?”
Wen Ning took a deep breath. “Some souls reenter the reincarnation cycle in recognisable form.”
Wei Ying felt a wash of relief. “So, it is Lan Zhan. It’s his soul, reincarnated. Just at the same time as me.”
Wen Ning shook his head. “No. Wei-gongzi, it is important that you understand. He is no longer your… the man you knew. He is continuing his soul’s journey. This is a new life for him. This is the only life he knows.”
“You mean, you mean he doesn’t remember?” Wei Ying tried to encompass that thought. Lan Zhan, but without their shared past. “But I can tell him…”
“No!” Wen Ning said with some urgency. “You can’t.”
“I can’t? What will happen?”
Wen Ning’s face creased in anxiety. “You can. But it will not matter. It will not mean what you want it to mean. It cannot.”
“So, he doesn’t remember me. That’s not so bad,” Wei Ying said, folding himself around the absence. “We can still be friends. I was really a bit of a prick a lot of the time anyway. Before. It will be good. We can start again.”
Wen Ning still looked so sad that Wei Ying feared there was something else. “What?”
“I met my sister’s soul once,” Wen Ning said quietly. “She was a midwife, a poor woman, without cultivation. It was by accident. One night I heard a woman screaming and I...”
“You saw Qing-jie again?” Wei Ying said after waiting minutes for Wen Ning to resume. “Is she…?”
“She is dead. Again. It was many years ago. Centuries,” Wen Ning said. “But, Wei-gongzi. She did not know me. It did not matter that I said I was her brother. From a past life. She did not know me. I was not her brother in the life she had. I was a strange man who wanted something from her that she could not give.”
“She…” Wei Ying sucked in a deep breath. What was there to say?
“I tried,” Wen Ning said. “Just to be a friend. But it was difficult for her. Uncomfortable.”
“I guess,” Wei Ying said, “it's kind of intense. To tell someone about their past life.”
“I did not tell her much. She did not want to know. Only, I had to explain, at first, that I had been her brother.”
“Did she believe you?”
“She believed that I believed it, at least,” Wen Ning said carefully.
“Was she… what was she like?” Wei Ying asked. “Was she the same?”
“Yes. And no,” Wen Ning said. “She was… sometimes I knew exactly what she would say. I knew the face she would make. And other times not. She had lived a different life. It was not easy for either of us.”
“I'm sorry,” Wei Ying said again.
“I stopped going to see her,” Wen Ning said. “I always kept an eye that she was okay. But, I didn't like… I didn't like that I was starting to know the new her.” Wen Ning paused and then continued, non sequitur. “Every hundred years or so they repainted the statues in the temple. Each time they did the eye-opening ceremony again. They were made new to house the spirit. But I did not want that. I did not want to lose, to forget, my jiejie.”
Wei Ying nodded.
“She knew where she could reach me. She never did,” Wen Ning said. “Maybe it will be different for you. But...”
Wei Ying nodded again. He tried to think it through. Lan Zhan looked the same. He moved the same. The same fluidity, the same forms. He was still a cultivator. Still a Lan. But…
This Lan Zhan, this new Hanguang-Jun, had not studied alongside him. He had not found the Cold Pond Cave and the Yin Iron. He had not fought alongside him in the Xuanwu Cave, or in the Sunshot campaign. He had never visited the Burial Mounds. He did not know Wei Wuxian or the Yiling Laozu, who was dead 1500 years before he was born. He did not know Wei Ying.
But he had Lan Zhan’s soul. This was a certainty. He had come down from the mountain to night hunt alone. People had started calling him Hanguang-Jun because he was the same, bringing light in the darkness. Wei Ying had seen him fighting under the moon, drawing the dark things to him. Drawing Wei Ying.
“I don’t think it matters,” Wei Ying said. “I don’t think it matters that he does not know me. He is still Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan is always Lan Zhan. In every life.”
Wen Ning nodded slowly, as if resigned.
“But, it doesn’t matter what I think,” Wei Ying said, suddenly remembering. “You are hiding from him and now he knows. We should… what should we do?”
“You must go to sleep, Wei-gongzi. It is nearly dawn,” Wen Ning said.
“What? I can’t go to sleep.”
Wen Ning looked at him, as if to say, ‘we have had this argument before’.
“What if he is coming here? Should we hide you or something?”
“This Hanguang-Jun cannot come here unless Mr Yang tells him where I live,” Wen Ning said.
“Do you think he will?”
“I do not think so,” Wen Ning said. “I think he would tell me first.”
“Oh. Yeah,” Wei Ying said.
“I should check my phone,” Wen Ning went and found his phone, which he tended not to carry. Or, as it turned out, keep charged. They both watched as the phone reawakened once it was being fed. After a few minutes it let out a little chirp, which made them both jump despite the fact that they had both been waiting for it.
“Mr Yang says he has not told Hanguang-Jun about me. He says that we must talk and he is on his way,” Wen Ning said after reading the message.
“Okay,” Wei Ying said.
*
Lan Wangji laid his hands down in his lap as the final notes of the qin settled out into the darkness. He looked up at Yang Xuedong’s footfall in the grass.
“The gui in the traps are all dispersed,” Yang Xuedong said. “I’ve taken the traps down and collected the remnants of the lures.”
Lan Wangji nodded and rose to his feet.
“Busy night,” Yang Xuedong said. There was something in his tone, in his manner that Lan Wangji could not place. Lan Wangji was tired. Too tired to parse fleeting expressions in the dark.
“Did you see which way they went?” Lan Wangji asked.
“What was that?”
“There was a fierce corpse, a demonic cultivator with him. Powerful enough to break the lure circle,” Lan Wangji said.
“Was there?” Yang Xuedong exclaimed. Again, there was something odd in his manner. “I was, well, you see,” Yang Xuedong rubbed the back of his neck. “Might have dropped off for a few minutes. Not as young as I was. Long night, and all.”
Lan Wangji looked at him for a beat to process this. The fierce corpse then was gone, with no trace. He would have to start enquiries from the beginning. He looked down and inspected the tail of his coat. It was indeed blood-flecked and acid-burned all down one side. Irritating.
“I’m sorry, Hanguang-Jun,” Yang Xuedong said.
Lan Wangji nodded in acknowledgement. He did not have the energy to think about this now.
“I’ll stay and walk the perimetre. You should go home. My compass says there is nothing powerful nearby,” Yang Xuedong said.
Lan Wangji consulted his own compass. It was true there was no indication of any immediate threat. He was bone tired. But Yang Xuedong must be tired too and he had a family to get up for tomorrow morning. This morning, rather. “You walk to the north of the perimetre and I shall walk to the south. If it is clear, I think we may go.”
Yang Xuedong nodded sheepishly.
It was, fortunately, still all clear. Lan Wangji bid Yang Xuedong goodnight and used one of his brother’s transportation talismans to cover the distance back to the courtyard of his residence.
As he crossed the small space of the courtyard between his and his neighbour’s doors, Lan Wangji spared an uncharitable thought for their little dog, which barked incorrigibly at every passing cyclist while Lan Wangji was trying to meditate and yet slept silently through the appearance of a sword-carrying man in the middle of the night.
He would need to meditate carefully for the next few days. His qi flow felt depleted, stilted somehow. He had put too much power into the lures and drawn forth more yao and gui than he had been expecting. Perhaps he would go to the park again, or up to the northern hills outside the city for a few days? He could even go home. He thought, with a sudden pang of longing, of the cold springs, the sighing of the pines. And silence.
But, there was a powerful demonic cultivator with at least one high-level fierce corpse under his control. One that moved more swiftly and decisively than he had ever seen one move. Up to now, it had not seemed that any of the new demonic cultivators in the city had mastered the ancient crooked art of waking a fierce corpse.
And they had no leads at all apart from a name. A name the cultivator had volunteered, so it was unlikely to be particularly revealing. As Lan Wangji stripped off his soiled clothes he couldn’t stop the image of that smiling mouth grinning at him in the darkness. ‘Lan Zhan’ he had called him. Had that been just a shot in the dark? Coming upon Hanguang-Jun and thinking it funny or clever to use the original cultivator’s birth name? Was it even a matter of record outside the Lan Clan – Lan Wangji’s birth name?
Lan Wangji took a quick, cold shower. He would call a meeting with Ma Guoqing and Yu Xiaohong tomorrow. They would all need to use the data analytics and networks they had to track down this new threat.
And Yang Xuedong had slept through the whole thing. If he had had a proper perimeter, four cultivators to cover the cardinal points... Not one, second-rate cultivator with a third-rate sword, who’d been asleep!
No, Lan Wangji reprimanded himself. Yang Xuedong was a good cultivator. And a good man. As he lowered himself into bed, aching, Lan Wangji let himself acknowledge what lay beneath his simmering irritation at everything and everyone. Hurt. It hurt that Yang Xuedong had fallen asleep.
He had trusted the man to night hunt with him, to watch his back. But wasn’t that idea just a delusion and perhaps a dangerous one? There was little that Yang Xuedong could do against any threat that would seriously challenge Lan Wangji. Instead of being angry or feeling betrayed, perhaps it was as well that he catch himself in this piece of pretence that might one day cost him dear. The pretence that when he night hunted he could rely on anyone other than himself.
Yang Xuedong was an experienced cultivator, even if he was not a high level one. Like Yu Xiaohong, he knew the city intimately. He knew how to mitigate the risks of night hunting in streets and parks and underpasses. He was an asset. It was sensible to welcome any assistance that was on offer. But Lan Wangji should not have indulged in the false-comfort of thinking that it meant that he was less alone.
He missed his brother. He missed night hunts where they fought in a group, moving as part of a seamless whole. Fighting with Shichun — they knew one another so well that there was never any question of a gap or a slip, only the perfect execution of a familiar dance. He and Shichun would have fought tonight like a mill grinding wheat.
Maybe Shichun could visit him? But then, there would be everything else. Everything he did not put in his letters. Lan Wangji shrank from imagining Shichun in his rooms, which were small and rather dark, roughly furnished and nothing like the tranquil apartments he was used to. Lan Wangji had moved six times in the five years he had been in Beijing.
At first he had liked that people could find him. They could tell him about problematic hauntings and he could help. But soon he learnt that if ordinary people could find him, so could ill-wishers. Though this might not be a particular problem for him, it put his neighbours in unacceptable danger. It was better not to be too easily tracked down. People who knew, could leave messages for him at Granny Fruit’s.
He chose his living quarters based on convenience of location and by the third move he no longer had the time or energy to consider much beyond basic cleanliness and some seclusion from heavy traffic. He had stopped taking much care over the arrangement of furniture. He had not bought new pictures or screens since the yao attack when he’d been living in Taoranting.
But what would Shichun think? About Lan Wangji’s mean little rooms and remorseless schedule, night hunting every night he was fit to, and barely touching the sides of the looming darkness that threatened the city? Wouldn’t he then, finally, think that Lan Wangji had been wrong and grandfather had been right? If Shichun withdrew his support…
Lan Wangji tried to concentrate on his breathing and shut down these fruitless, nighttime thoughts. He was just tired, he told himself. He knew it was unhelpful to let his mind stew. He needed sleep. Shichun couldn’t come anyway. It was pointless to imagine things that were not going to happen. No one was coming from Gusu and he wasn’t going back there.
He had a job to do here that was far more important than worrying about the state of his home decor. The hunt tonight had been intense. There should not have been so much malevolence so close to the city. Hunts had not been like that even a year or two ago. He must empty his mind and go to sleep. One logical explanation was that, out there, people were using summoning arrays that now worked. Waking beasts that had not been seen in the city for centuries.
And yet there was no rhyme or reason to it. Was it just a thirst for chaos? Lan Wangji thought again of the bright smile in the darkness. The boy had been so young. He had seemed so… so happy? Was it all a game to him, waking the dead? He had thrown a talisman that Lan Wangji had not seen before. So young and already so powerful. Dangerous.
Lan Wangji turned his pillow over and tried to concentrate on the cool cotton against the back of his neck. Breathe. That boy would end up like all the others. All those young men he had now seen. Empty bodies torn apart by creatures and forces they thought they could control, that they didn’t understand. That smiling boy with his terrible fierce corpse.
Sooner or later it would be another blood-splattered room or a car on its side with the roof ripped off like someone tearing into a bakery box. He might not even recognise what was left of him. And that thing would be out there, ungoverned.
Lan Wangji’s thoughts at last began to fog, as he drifted towards sleep. His worries ebbing, but still present. People would die. The boy would die. Yet another one.
Not another one. His memory nagged at him, even as his thoughts slowed and became indistinct.
Wei Ying.
*
“A-Ning,” Mr Yang said, pacing Wen Ning’s small room, “we agreed. I thought you were going to stay away from him. Now I don't know what to do!”
“Would you like some tea?” Wen Ning asked.
“It was my fault,” Wei Ying said at the same time.
Mr Yang waved his arms. “Now he thinks you're a demonic cultivator who's raised a fierce corpse!”
“I am,” Wei Ying said.
“He is,” Wen Ning said.
Mr Yang huffed in exasperation. “He thinks you're dangerous!”
“I have my moments,” Wei Ying said, with a shrug.
“You haven't told him about us yet?” Wen Ning asked.
“No!” Mr Yang almost shouted. Wen Ning shushed him because of Mrs Yue.
“I didn't know what to say,” Mr Yang hissed and then heaved a gusty sigh. “I said I fell asleep and hadn't seen you. I feel terrible. What he must think of me, falling asleep on a night hunt.”
“So, he doesn't know where A-Ning is?” Wei Ying said.
“No, but he will look for you,” Mr Yang said, shaking his head. “A demonic cultivator and a real fierce corpse. They will all be looking for you soon.”
“What do you mean, ‘a real fierce corpse’?” Wei Ying asked.
“He does not know A-Ning is, well, A-Ning,” Mr Yang said. “He could tell, though, the power and the cognition. He will think… it is logical to conclude that you are one of the new demonic cultivators who are trying to awaken fierce corpses.”
“Lan Zhan was always very logical,” Wei Ying agreed.
“Only, unlike the others, he will think you have succeeded.”
“What do you mean, ‘unlike the others’?” Wei Ying said.
“After the Sect Feuds in the seventeenth century there was a great effort to destroy all artefacts and records of demonic cultivation,” Mr Yang said. “There have been no fierce corpses like A-Ning since then. The great burning. But recently old texts have been surfacing. Or people are figuring out new ways of doing it. I don't really know. But things have been getting worse. Hanguang-Jun will think someone has finally managed it. He'll report it to his police friends too.”
“Friends? But I thought the police were against all cultivation. I thought it wasn't allowed?” Wei Ying said.
“It isn't, on paper,” Mr Yang said, “but in practice, they know they cannot keep a lid on things without the help of cultivators. Hanguang-Jun works with the police as well as independently. They are trying to find out where the demonic texts and artefacts are coming from. Track down these new demonic cultivators.”
“But that’s nothing to do with us,” Wei Ying said. “I'm not a new demonic cultivator. I'm a very, very old one.”
Mr Yang shrugged helplessly. “I know that.”
“If it had been before you came I might have just left the city for a few years,” Wen Ning said. “Gone somewhere else. But…”
Wei Ying thought of leaving their little room. Leaving Mrs Yue and his friends in the alley. The little life he'd only just started to build.
He and Wen Ning looked at one another unhappily.
“Maybe we still should?” Wen Ning said.
“But we haven't done anything,” Wei Ying said. “You haven't done anything.”
“If the police get hold of A-Ning he won't have to have done anything,” Mr Yang said. “And it won't look too great for you either.”
“What are they going to do? It's not like they have any jails that could hold us.”
“Exactly,” Mr Yang said grimly. “Exactly that.”
“What?”
“They have no jails for cultivators or fierce corpses. If they find you, they will kill you,” Mr Yang said. “What choice would they have?”
Wei Ying looked at Wen Ning.
“Perhaps we should leave?” Wen Ning said.
“The police don't even know about us,” Wei Ying said. “Only Lan Zhan. We just need to explain.”
“Who?” Mr Yang said.
“Wei-gongzi knew Hanguang-Jun. The first Hanguang-Jun,” Wen Ning said.
“You knew the actual Hanguang-Jun? Like, the real man, from the stories.”
“Hey, I was in stories too,” Wei Ying said. “You said. You said Yiling Patriarch, Slayer of Thousands. But yes, I knew him. We were… we were… friends.”
“Hanguang-Jun was friends with the Yiling Patriarch?” Mr Yang asked.
“Yes, we met when we were young and,” Wei Ying blinked a few times. He could not explain to Mr Yang everything Lan Zhan was to him. He had never really put it into words. Not even to Lan Zhan. Not even to himself. But there were other things, more public things, that everyone knew. He remembered Jiang Cheng, exasperated, asking why he had to keep annoying Lan Wangji. He laughed. “Hanguang-Jun was so cool. I used to make him so mad. He had quite a stick up his arse. But I was really annoying.”
“Okay,” Mr Yang said, looking a little perplexed to be learning such things about characters of ancient cultivation lore.
“But this Hanguang-Jun is not the same,” Wen Ning said, insistently.
“He is the same soul,” Wei Ying said.
“Wait, he's really the same actual soul as the real Hanguang-Jun?” Mr Yang said. “Wow.”
“Yes,” Wen Ning said. “But that does not mean he is the same man.”
“He's the reincarnation of Hanguang-Jun and you are the actual Yiling Patriarch?” Mr Yang said.
“Yup,” Wei Ying said.
“Just checking,” Mr Yang said.
“I get that it's a problem, these new demonic cultivators summoning things and trying to make corpse armies, but Wen Ning never did anything wrong. Lan Zhan will understand that. Lan Zhan was with me when I brought Wen Ning’s consciousness back.”
“Not this Lan-gongzi, that's what I've been telling you,” Wen Ning said.
“Even in another life,” Wei Ying said, “Lan Zhan will listen to the evidence. He won't want innocent people to be killed.”
“I am not innocent people,” Wen Ning said.
“You are,” Wei Ying and Mr Yang said together.
“Hanguang-Jun, the one I know, is a good man. He's not a Beijinger, but he's out night after night because we can't do it on our own,” Mr Yang said. “Beijing is an old city. There have always been ghosts, but now there are yao and guai of all sorts, more than ever before. The police think they are being summoned or released from artefacts.
“I do not work with the police. I have a family. I need to keep under the radar, but I understand why he does. They have ways of tracking the communications and things. They are trying to stem the tide before it gets out of all control.”
“What's a radar?” Wei Ying said.
Mr Yang looked at him for a few moments, then took a deep breath. He too was getting used to accommodating Wei Ying’s gaps in knowledge. “It's a military tool. A bit like your compass. It surveys an area and registers when enemies show up and tracks their movement. To pinpoint incoming attacks. I don't know why we say keep under it. I meant, I'd rather that the police just don't know anything about me.”
“Oh,” Wei Ying said. “That would be useful, though. If they are trying to track down artefacts. The compass only picks up on animate spirits and I was thinking it would be possible to adjust it to control that more finely, sort between ghosts and a different order of yin energy. But if I was doing that, why not inanimate energy also? Artefacts of power must leave a trace.”
Wei Ying thought of the sword he'd found within the Xuanwu of Slaughter. No perceptible sense of power until he had touched it. But there must be some way of tracing such power?
“You think you could do such a thing?” Mr Yang said.
“I don't see why not.”
“A tool like that would take an immense amount of power to survey even a portion of the city,” Mr Yang said. “But if anyone can use it, it would be Hanguang-Jun.”
“Oh, I wasn't thinking about spiritual energy,” Wei Ying said. “If you want to survey the entire city and track the movement of artefacts or things like guai across it, you'd need a huge team of cultivators. Or, much better, a power network that already runs throughout the city.” Wei Ying let a little dart of electrical energy dance across his fingers.
“An electrically powered compass of evil?” Mr Yang said.
“A comprehensive, city-wide, malevolent energy tracking system,” Wei Ying said. “That's a pretty good bargaining chip, isn't it? That's better than one less fierce corpse and one less ex-demonic cultivator.”
“I don't know?” Mr Yang said, looking troubled. “I can't say what will happen. I have a cousin in Wuhan. She's a cultivator. If you want to set up somewhere else. That's probably safer, to be honest. I think in other cities the regulation of cultivation and so on is much less intense. Beijing is the centre of government so of course things are stricter here. You might be better off…”
Wei Ying felt his heart quail at the thought of leaving the one place he was beginning to know, but could he ask Wen Ning to risk his life? “A-Ning?”
“Wei-gongzi can decide,” Wen Ning said. “It's your life too. And I have lived a very long time.”
Mr Yang looked at his watch. “And you don't have long to decide. Hanguang-Jun wakes early and, though I think he was tired enough last night not to message his police friend in the middle of the night, he could do so any time once he wakes. He doesn't seem to realise most people don't get up at five,” Mr Yang added a little ruefully.
“I can't, A-Ning. I can't ask you to take that risk for me. We should… we should go.” Wei Ying drew his knee up to his chest where he was sitting on the bed. This wasn't the first time he had walked away from everything he knew. He could do this.
“If it was just you?” Wen Ning asked.
“It can't be just me. I can't, not on my own,” Wei Ying said, tugging his knees in tighter. “I don't think I can. It's too… difficult. There's too much I still don't know…”
“No, Wei-gongzi. I don't mean to leave you alone. I mean what would you do if you did not have someone else you felt responsible for. If it was just you?”
“Oh, I…” Wei Ying thought about leaving the hutong for a new city, versus staying at Mrs Yue’s. Maybe working on a radar system for malicious artefacts. Improving his compass at least. Maybe working with Lan Zhan. New Lan Zhan, he reminded himself. Maybe being executed by the police. Or even by Lan Zhan. But hadn't that been what was supposed to happen all along? It wouldn't be the worst thing, would it?
“I would stay. I would talk to Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said.
“Do you think you can send him a message?” Wen Ning said. “Tell him that we would like to talk to him before he speaks to the police.”
“Are you sure?” Mr Yang asked.
“Wen Ning?” Wei Ying asked.
“Wei-gongzi, I have lived many lifetimes. You have lived twenty three years and for most of that you had very few chances to consider yourself.”
“But, A-Ning…”
“I do not want to be caught by these police. But I don't want to leave Beijing. Perhaps you are right and this Lan-gongzi will give us the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps then you can help him. I would like that. I do not think people should be summoning guai into the city, where so many people live and cannot defend themselves.”
Mr Yang was standing with his phone in his hand looking questioningly between them.
After a moment Wei Ying nodded and Mr Yang bent his head to type out a text.
Wen Ning sat next to Wei Ying on the bed.
“Is he going to come here?” Wei Ying asked.
“I don't know. I have sent the message and it is nearly five. I expect he will see it soon. I have not included your address,” Mr Yang said. “I said only that you were known to me. That I vouched you were no threat and that you wished to talk to him.”
“I do not think we should meet him here,” Wen Ning said. “If he is not convinced. If there are police, I would not want Mrs Yue to be involved.”
“We could meet at my flat,” Mr Yang offered. “Hanguang-Jun has been there. It would show that I trust you around my family.”
“But if there are police,” Wen Ning said. “They should not come to your home. They should not even know who you are.”
“I will speak to him,” Mr Yang said. “I cannot tell you what he will decide after meeting with you or even if he will refuse, but if he agrees to meet before he talks to the police, then that is what he will do. He will not set up a trap like that.”
Wei Ying nodded. His Lan Zhan would not do that either.
Mr Yang’s phone made a noise like a loud and prolonged fart and they all startled.
“Zhenzhen gets in my phone,” Mr Yang said apologetically. “If I change it back she only makes it worse.”
Despite the tension, Wei Ying laughed. He really hoped that, after today, he would still have the chance to know the Yang family.
Mr Yang looked up from his phone. “He says he has not yet made any report to the police. He says he will meet you. He has asked that we meet him at the Olympic Park in an hour?”
“I suppose it makes sense,” Wei Ying said. “We might know that Hanguang-Jun wouldn’t lay a trap for us, but he can’t say the same about us, after all.”
“I’ll tell him we agree, then. Then we should head off because it will take a good while to get across the city.”
Once they got to the park it was still pre-dawn and cold enough at 6 am for the place to be virtually deserted. Mr Yang mounted his sword for the climb to the meeting point, but as Wei Ying declined to be carried by Wen Ning again, their progress was only as brisk as Wei Ying on foot.
They were quiet as they made their way up the hill. Mr Yang and Wei Ying were tired after a sleepless night. Wei Ying also felt a buzzing anticipation under his skin, though he tried to calm each bubble of anticipation with an internal reminder of what Wen Ning had said. This was not his Lan Zhan. It was Lan Zhan’s soul in a new life. A life that had never known Wei Ying.
But he would see him, not in darkness, but in daylight and speak to him. The memory of his voice last night, low and crisp, even with the undertone of irritation, sent a shiver down his spine. He should not be excited to see him, this stranger Lan Zhan. It was a distraction from the main purpose, which was to assuage the anticipated hostility of a cultivator whose mission was the eradication of evil.
Somehow he had to persuade Lan Zhan to overlook the presence in the city of a fierce corpse in possession of his own consciousness and a demonic cultivator (retired). He would have to hope that new Lan Zhan had a more flexible attitude to the rules that his Lan Zhan had had. At least… Wei Ying’s thoughts wandered. His Lan Zhan had met Wen Ning, had been instrumental in helping when Wei Ying had been struggling to gather together the threads of Wen Ning’s scattered soul. He had met Wen Ning as a fierce corpse and he had met the other Wen. He had met… Again, Wei Ying’s thoughts veered away from the memories of A-Yuan. A-Yuan smiling up at Lan Zhan, playing with his new toys. A-Yuan in his arms as they watched Lan Zhan leave. That last time.
Wei Ying’s steps faltered for a moment. He was suddenly, viscerally, unprepared to see Lan Zhan again, as if in walking towards him now he would be stepping back to that time and place. The irrational fear that to see him again would trigger the same cascade of unbearable losses.
“Are you tired, Wei-gongzi,” Wen Ning asked. “I could carry you.”
“No, I…” Wei Ying still hesitated, still a little dizzy with fear. Wen Ning’s concerned face was no help in anchoring him in the present.
“You can fly with me,” Mr Yang said, “if you don’t want to arrive before Hanguang-Jun slung over A-Ning’s shoulder. There’s just about room for a skinny lad, like you.”
Mr Yang was not part of the memory world he was fleeing. And he hadn’t ridden on a sword since Suibian. Wei Ying took a deep breath and turned away to look at the view of Beijing starting to appear below them. The enormous, incomprehensible vastness of the modern city. Proof of the new time he was in and its enormous distance from the past.
He turned back around and slid his mouth into a smile. “So what’s an Olympic?” he asked Mr Yang.
*
At the top of the mountain, which Mr Yang had explained was in fact a man-made structure, was an arrangement of stone, boulders and pines.
Wei Ying and Mr Yang stepped down from his sword as Wen Ning trotted up behind them, unflustered by his run up the last third of the mountain.
Lan Zhan was already there, standing on one of the tall stones. Again, Wei Ying felt his grip on the present threaten to skew sideways. Lan Zhan stood tall and still against the slowly lightening sky, his long white coat flapping in the wind that somehow managed not to also plaster his hair over his face. Lan Zhan had always been great at that, so poised even the wind didn’t dare muss him.
Wei Ying only realised now that he had lost his ribbon somewhere, as his semi-long hair was gusted into his eyes. He laughed nervously and pushed it back out of his face as Mr Yang walked forward to greet Lan Zhan. ‘Hanguang-Jun’ he reminded himself. He must not presume on a familiarity that this Lan Zhan would have no frame of reference for and which, in any case, had always irritated him.
He put his hands behind his back and then reconsidered that perhaps he ought to keep his hands in plain sight if Lan Zhan – Hanguang-Jun – was still anticipating some sort of ambush. He glanced at Wen Ning, but Wen Ning was just standing placidly watching as Hanguang-Jun leapt down from the stone to land in front of Mr Yang and accept his greeting.
The wind whipped the words of Mr Yang’s apology past them. “I’m sorry I lied to you, Hanguang-Jun. I didn’t know what to do. I panicked. I’ve known A-Ning for decades. He has never been a danger to anyone.”
Hanguang-Jun acknowledged the apology with the smallest inclination of his head. His face remained grave and unsmiling. His eyes flicked watchfully over to where Wei Ying and Wen Ning stood. “Who is A-Ning?” he said.
Wen Ning stepped forward and bowed low from the waist. “I am Wen Qionglin, birth name Wen Ning. I was a cultivator of the Wen sect. I died in what is now Shaanxi Province about 1500 years ago. The circumstances of my death caused me to become a fierce corpse and I was a danger to everyone around me. My friend, Wei Wuxian, was a great cultivator,” Wen Ning gestured toward Wei Ying, who gave a stupid little wave before he could stop himself.
“He is still a great cultivator. He found a way to bind my soul back to my body. This was the wish of my family and it meant I was able to protect them some little time longer. Perhaps it was wrong and perhaps I should not have been permitted to remain as I am. This is something I cannot determine, but I have tried over these many centuries to do no harm and to help people where I can see the means of doing so without drawing attention to myself.”
Wei Ying did not think he had ever heard Wen Ning say so much in one go. He was proud of his friend’s quiet dignity.
Through this explanation Lan Zhan regarded Wen Ning with a cold and serious demeanor. “And, can you tell me, when it is that you have last taken a human life?” he asked.
Wen Ning tucked in his chin, regarding the ground, as he considered the question. “I cannot remember the exact year, but it was back at the temple. So, before the founding of the new China. And it was after the last Emperor, so perhaps one hundred years ago?”
“The temple?” Lan Zhan asked.
“I came to Mount Wutai in the last years of the Song, before the Jurchens came. I liked the peace there. Some of the monks came to know me and I protected the temple and the people who sheltered there. That is where I was until the Red Guard came.”
Lan Zhan gave a slight nod and turned the cold steel of his gaze onto Wei Ying. “You are the cultivator who made him?”
“Ah, yes,” Wei Ying said. “Um, Hanguang-Jun,” he added the honourific hastily. “I am Wei Ying, courtesy name…” he hesitated. “I was Wei Wuxian. They called me the Yiling Laozu. And other things. But it was a long time ago.”
One of Lan Zhan’s eyebrows curved up just slightly in an expression that managed to convey the deepest incredulity.
Wei Ying laughed and rocked on his heels. “Yes, I mean, I guess I don’t look like what you might expect, but actually that was me. Only,” he added hastily, “I have been dead for so, so long and now I’m back and I have this different body. I didn’t take it, by the way. It was given to me. I’m actually twenty-three. Not as young as I look. And I wasn’t so skinny. Except maybe at the end. But anyway, I’m really not a demonic cultivator anymore. A-Ning, that is Wen Qionglin, made me promise.”
Lan Zhan regarded him blankly.
“And sorry for interrupting last night and for calling you Lan Zhan.” Wei Ying decided to make a clean breast of everything. “I knew you, the original Hanguang-Jun. We were… He was my friend.” That was not too much, Wei Ying thought. Not too great a claim. At least he hoped so. “So, anyway, when I saw you I thought… You look like him. I thought… But A-Ning explained. So, sorry about that.” He could feel his lips stretched in a wide grin. Should he be smiling? Should he try to look more contrite?
Lan Zhan blinked. It was an expression so familiar, though not remembered, not thought about, for so many years until he saw it again. The small, physical tell of Lan Zhan considering and then setting a thought aside to be returned to later.
“It’s a lot, I guess,” Wei Ying laughed, joy bubbling up. “It’s just so good to see you again. Not you. I mean, it is you, obviously. But you have Lan Zhan’s face and I…” Wei Ying saw Lan Zhan’s brows contract into a small frown. “Sorry, now you are pissed at me. I’ll shut up.”
“You are able to control this,” Lan Zhan hesitated for a fraction, “Wen Qionglin?”
“Ah,” Wei Ying said awkwardly. “Well, technically, I suppose you could say ‘able’. But I have given up demonic cultivation and, plus, it would be really rude.”
“Wei-gongzi is able to take control of me, yes,” Wen Ning said. “He has only ever done so when his life was in danger. I believe that he would not do so again unless in very great need.”
Wei Ying opened his mouth to protest, but Wen Ning continued over him. “It is possible, I do not know by what means, for other cultivators to exercise control over me. It has happened in the past. This is why I have, since that time, taken very great care to avoid contact with the cultivation world. I do not want to be used in such a way again.”
Mr Yang seemed to decide that an intervention might be timely. “I have known Wen Ning for twenty years. In all this time he has lived peacefully in the city. He has the composure and the self-command you see now. He has nothing to do with these new demonic cultivators and he has helped me on night hunts in the past where there were things I could not tackle alone.”
Lan Zhan had turned to look at Mr Yang when he started speaking and Mr Yang must also have learned to read his facial expressions because he quailed in the face of Hanguang-Jun’s look of disappointment.
“I’m really sorry. I thought it was for the best that you did not know about A-Ning,” Mr Yang said apologetically. “And A-Ning just wanted to keep out of everyone’s way, like he said. Since the founding of the new police unit and all these new cultivators he has not joined night hunts because he does not want to fight anyone.”
“Under the radar!” Wei Ying blurted out. “I'm going to build a radar system for the artefacts and summonings you are trying to track down.”
Lan Zhan turned and stared at him.
“A-Ying is the designer of the original compass of evil,” Mr Yang said.
“The compass of evil is based on an original design by the Yiling Laozu,” Hanguang-Jun said, without inflection.
“Yes, I said, that was me. Is me. It's complicated. And when they say ‘based’, I mean, it's basically the same,” Wei Ying said. “It’s not like they’ve really improved the design all that much.”
“He has already made improvements to mine. Look,” Mr Yang held out his compass for Lan Zhan to examine.
Lan Zhan took it and Wei Ying couldn't resist coming over to point out its new features. “See, I've added this second ring here, so if you revolve it you can adjust for radius. This means it attracts only to soul-consuming entities in the immediate vicinity and if you revolve it the range is wider. I put an explicit exclusion in for A-Ning because it can't actually gauge intent, so all it's tracking are beings whose yin energy is high enough that they can be assumed to hunger for the yang energy of human souls, even though he doesn’t.
“What I reckon is that it should at least be possible to create a map that does something similar. So, an energised map of Beijing that pinpoints the location of all soul-consuming entities. In real time, of course, so clusters and movement can be tracked.
“It will take a bit more time to figure out about tracking artefacts. Their malevolence isn't as immediately palpable, you know...” Wei Ying looked up from the compass and Lan Zhan’s face was very close. He felt himself caught, transfixed by the flecks of amber that emanated from the dark pupils. Lan Zhan’s eyes flicked to the side to glare at Wei Ying’s hand that had somehow ended up on Lan Zhan's shoulder.
Wei Ying snatched it back, stepping away from where he'd been hanging off him. To see the compass better. “Sorry, Lan Zhan! Hanguang-Jun! Sorry.”
“He wants to help,” Mr Yang said, quickly. “I know it seems a bit implausible looking at him. But the new compass works as he said and it took him only about half a day. I saw him working. He knows what he's talking about.”
The wind chose this moment to dump Wei Ying’s hair in his face again. He felt at a distinct disadvantage with his partially grown out hair and his clothes from last night, smeared in places with dirt where he had skidded a few times as he ran down the mountain. He checked his pockets and drew out a spare elastic band that Zhenzhen had given him. It had a small plastic skull on it, which was maybe unfortunate in the current context but he needed his hair out of his face.
Lan Zhan – no, Wei Ying corrected himself again – Hanguang-Jun had hardly moved during this whole exchange. Even as they gathered around him, he stood straight and still, apart from taking Mr Yang's compass. Now that Wei Ying had stepped back out of his space he bent his head to examine the compass properly.
“You can pop it open at the back to see the sigils and additional characters. It's not… it's not crooked arts. At least, not more than the original compass you all carry now.” Wei Ying forced himself to stop talking and let Lan Zhan examine the compass in his own time.
They all stood in silence while Lan Zhan studied Wei Ying's work. Eventually he raised his head, snapped the compass closed and handed it back to Mr Yang. “You could make such an adjustment to any compass?”
“Yes, easily. It would only take an hour or so now I've figured out how to do it. I think I can add another ring as well that would allow you to calibrate by strength. Say, if you had to choose where to go and wanted to tackle the greatest threat first.”
“How is it that you think you can power something like a device to map the entire city? Is your cultivation that strong?” Lan Zhan’s eyes were sceptical.
“Not resentful energy,” Wei Ying said hastily. “I’m working on something else. Drawing on the electricity already harnessed in the city. I’m thinking of calling it dian dao, the lightning path, you see?”
“That’s true,” My Yang said again, this time a little regretfully. “I didn’t like the idea, but he has already taught Zhenzhen a barrier talisman using electricity that I can’t break. It’s unorthodox but I can’t see that it's evil.”
Lan Zhan continued to regard Wei Ying with his impenetrable stare. “And you say that you have nothing to do with the proliferation of new demonic cultivation texts and artefacts flooding the city?”
“No,” Wei Ying said. “Well, I suppose in a way. As the founder of demonic cultivation, I’m kind of implicated. I haven't seen any of these artefacts and texts so I don't know if any of them were mine. But,” he said, seeing Lan Zhan frown, “I didn’t instigate any of this. I didn’t know what was going on or ask to be summoned or anything. I was just… dead. This whole time.”
“And whose body is it you occupy?”
“Oh, he was a guy called Chen Junyue. I don’t know much about him, to be honest. He could have been involved in the stuff you are investigating,” Wei Ying said. “He drew an array that must have summoned my soul. At least, I guess it was him. He was a cultivator anyway. So, I have a golden core now, which is neat. But it’s very small, so I think he must have had help powering the array.”
“You did not have a golden core before?” Lan Zhan asked, with the same reserved tones with which he’d asked all his questions.
It was strange, Wei Ying thought, because he could see it didn’t particularly matter to the man in front of him. It would have mattered to the old Lan Zhan. But it was only a matter of antiquarian curiosity to ask this now.
“Kind of a funny story, but I actually didn’t,” Wei Ying said. “That was pretty much why I had to develop demonic cultivation. We were in the middle of a war and… well, I had to work with what I could find.”
“It was not a funny story,” Wen Ning said quietly.
“This is not recorded in any of the histories,” Lan Zhan said.
“Well no, it was a secret,” Wei Ying said. “The only people who knew were me, A-Ning and… his sister and, well, we all died so,” he shrugged. It was strange to say it now, a little off-hand explanation to someone to whom it meant almost nothing. Not explaining to Lan Zhan had pained him almost more than anyone else. Even navigating the anxious incomprehension of his siblings had hurt less. He had done it for them, for the Jiang, and in a way it made sense that they paid some sort of price for that.
“Wei-gongzi gave his core to his brother,” Wen Ning said.
“A-Ning!” Wei Ying protested, flinching even now, when it couldn’t possibly matter anymore. Perhaps it hadn’t mattered even then? His greatest secret. Perhaps he could have let the truth be known? It wasn’t like Jiang Cheng could hate him any more than he had by the end.
“If Hanguang-Jun is to judge now whether we are permitted to live in the city, or indeed to live at all, then he should know the kind of man you are,” Wen Ning said.
“The Yiling Laozu was an orphan, adopted into the Jiang Sect. That is what the histories say,” Lan Zhan said, frowning.
“He regarded Jiang Wanyin as his brother,” Wen Ning said.
He was, Wei Ying thought. He was my brother and my sect leader. I did the right thing. I think.
Lan Zhan’s frown deepened. “Chief Cultivator Sandu Shengshou had his core donated to him by the Yiling Laozu?”
“Chief cultivator?” Wei Ying asked, his head jerking up.
“I believe Chief Cultivator Sandu Shengshou’s courtesy name was Jiang Wanyin,” Lan Zhan said. “Am I not correct?”
“Yeah,” Wei Ying said faintly. “That’s A-Cheng.” He laughed a little wetly. “A-Cheng was chief cultivator?”
“Sandu Shengshou was chief cultivator after Zewu-Jun,” Lan Zhan confirmed.
“Wow, that’s,” Wei Ying said. “That’s good. He…” He shrugged again, pride warring with an amorphous grief over not having known of it until now. The Jiang had risen from the ashes. He had made that possible, with his core and perhaps with his death too. Once it was all done and dusted Jiang Cheng would have been free of uncomfortable ties to him or the Wen.
He looked at Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan had gained nothing from Wei Ying’s sacrifice, only seen his friend turn away from him and descend into darkness and, from what Wen Ning said, into madness. And he’d been the only one that never stopped reaching out to draw him back. Not waiting patiently, but going after him again and again, trying until the end to bring him home. Wei Ying felt tears prickle behind his eyes.
Lan Zhan stared back at him, the pucker between his brows achingly familiar. Wei Ying could almost put it into words. ‘This person is not behaving in a way I understand or expect and I will glare at them until they correct themselves or go away.’ Wei Ying felt a hysterical giggle, threaten to escape. “I’m sorry. This is so strange,” he said quickly. He dragged his hand over his face. “It’s so strange to see you again and for all this, all these things that were my life, that were so important, and now they’re from so long ago for you that it doesn’t even matter.”
Lan Zhan appeared to consider this and to be prepared to acknowledge that Wei Ying might indeed be finding this conversation challenging in some way. He nodded briskly, his face smoothing out and shuttering again, so that Wei Ying could no longer read it. He thought about what Wen Ning had said about knowing what the new Wen Qing would say and sometimes not. But with Lan Zhan it had always been like that. Wei Ying barked out a laugh.
Lan Zhan started and looked put out. “You asked to meet me this morning. What was it you hoped to achieve?” Lan Zhan said, clearly ready to move on from this confusing exchange.
Wei Ying took a deep breath and exerted himself to drag his thoughts into the here and now. “If you tell the police about us, they’ll hunt us down. Or try to,” he said. “A-Ning’s a fierce corpse and I’m a dead guy and a former demonic cultivator. From what we hear, they aren’t going to be very understanding about that.”
Lan Zhan nodded.
Wei Ying knew how negotiations like this went. Make yourself useful, make yourself enough of an asset so that people were prepared to forget about rules of decorum or vengeance. At least for a little while. “I can help. Mr Yang says things are getting pretty bad, pretty quickly. I know I don’t come across as that impressive now, but you’ll see. I can upgrade your compass and probably any other kit you have based on talismans. And I’m not kidding about the radar thing. I think it should be possible and from what I understand that could make a big difference.”
Lan Zhan looked at him, assessing. Lan Zhan could always smell bullshit.
“And I want to,” Wei Ying said. “I like this city. People have been kind to me. I guess it’s kind of my fault, if there are designs of mine or whatever in circulation causing problems. I did a lot of fucked up things before. So long ago it hardly matters, but this matters. This is something I can maybe do to put things right. And it’s your fight, so I know it's something worth fighting for.”
Lan Zhan’s eyes widened just a fraction before narrowing in suspicion. Or was that confusion? Anyway, he turned away. “And you?” he said to Wen Ning.
“I do not want to fight. I have never wanted that. But I will help Wei-gongzi. Wei-gongzi has always been brave. He has always defended the weak and defied the unjust. He gave his life, in the end, trying to save my family.”
Wen Ning lowered himself awkwardly to his knees. “Hanguang-Jun, it may be that you decide that my existence is an evil and I must be eliminated. I came here to beg that you do not judge Wei-gongzi in the same way. He deserves a second chance at a life.”
“A-Ning,” Wei Ying cried, trying to haul him back to his feet. “A-Ning, get up.”
“I don’t know if a ghost can be a good man,” Mr Yang said, coming and resting a hand on Wen Ning’s shoulder, “but A-Ning is a good and gentle soul. I haven’t known A-Ying so long, but I have seen no signs of evil in him. He has taught Zhenzhen to shield herself, like I said, and Zilong has started working with him on talisman designs because it does not require that he have a strong core. I never thought I could interest him in cultivation. From what I have seen him do, I think A-Ying could do as he says he can and build you these new tools.”
Wei Ying gave up on tugging on Wen Ning’s other arm, given that the man was as solid as a damn rock, so instead he turned to Lan Zhan. “Look, I don’t know if we deserve to be here. But we are here and our deaths won’t do any good to anyone. I want to help you. I can help. You won’t regret it.”
Lan Zhan stood tall and pale as the wind swept his long hair out behind him. While he looked serene, like he always did, there was a tension around his eyes and in the set of his shoulders. He looks tired, Wei Ying thought, remembering that he’d been in that lure circle alone all night and was now here, after a scant few hours sleep, being asked to… what? Trust or execute a pair of total strangers?
“You don’t have to decide right now,” Wei Ying said. “If you want to think about it. I mean, it’s up to you. What are we going to do? If you tell us to get out of town we’ll leave. If you say you’re going to call the police, we’ll also leave. Anything else, I guess we’ll just head back home and wait, you know? So there’s no big rush.”
Lan Zhan blinked again. “Home?”
“Oh, yeah, we live down in the city. If we get back now I can do my tai chi with Mr Lu down the alley. If I’m not there he just does about five minutes of tai chi and then sits down and smokes. Which is really bad for you, did you know? In the afternoon we feed the cats. Wen Ning and Mrs Yue run a sort of cat rescue. There are, like, thirty or forty, who come and get fed regularly. But don’t worry, they also take them to the vet so they can’t have babies otherwise there would be a hundred more every few months probably.”
It felt like a relief to dive back into the minutiae of the everyday. The present had always been a more comfortable place for him to be than the past or, for much of the time, the future. His life over the past few weeks had been pretty good, all things considered, and he was going to hold onto that for as long as possible.
“When A-Ning goes to work I watch TV with Mrs Yue. Sometimes Mrs Li comes. Zilong showed me how to make TV from my phone show on the TV, so now we can watch pretty much anything. We’re watching Produce 101 from Thailand because Mrs Li likes Jackson Wang. A-Ning works nights. Which makes sense, don’t you think? I don’t work yet, but I make calligraphy cards that Mrs Li takes to sell. You would laugh. I mean, the old you. You always thought my calligraphy was really terrible. But I wasn’t really trying then. It’s pretty okay when I make an effort.”
The sleepless night was starting to catch up with him, which always tended to make his tongue run on. He made a conscious effort to stem the flow. Lan Zhan was staring at him again, perplexed. Wei Ying grinned at him, hopelessly fond, and tugged his short ponytail tighter. He really needed to invest a little more in the question of whether you could use spiritual energy to grow your hair. Maybe Lan Zhan would know about that? He only just managed to tamp down on the impulse to ask him.
“I will refrain from informing the SPU of your existence for at least a month,” Lan Zhan said eventually. “I would like to meet you again and learn more about the adjustments you propose to the compass of evil and the workings of this electronic cultivation. Yang Xuedong has vouched for you and I would not wish to judge others too quickly.”
Wei Ying smiled. “Be fair and they will follow you,” he said, matching Lan Zhan’s precept with another that seemed apt.
Lan Zhan looked at him sharply.
“I studied at the Cloud Recesses, back in the day, I still remember. You made me… I mean, I had to learn all the rules,” Wei Ying smiled, even as his heart tripped on the memory. Jagged edged beneath the surface.
“Be trustworthy and they will believe you,” Lan Zhan said sternly.
“I’ll try, Lan Zhan.”
“And do not call me Lan Zhan.” At this, Lan Zhan turned, sprang lightly to the large boulder he’d been standing on when they arrived, and from there to a tall pine. Then he must have ignited a transportation taliman because he vanished from sight.
“Well,” Mr Yang said, “I think that went as well as we could reasonably hope.”
Wei Ying was still looking at the tops of the pinetree. “He’s still so cool. Lan Zhan was always so cool. How is it fair that he gets to be cool in this life too?”
----------------------------
Dreaming of Li Bai
Parted by death, we choke,
Knock back the sobs
Parted alive
Lifelong — we breathe
With regrets.
South of the river, miasma rules the swamps.
Not a word since your exile,
In dreams often
You made your visit
Knowing how I miss you.
Your soul,
Late of the living,
Blown in first light
With the glint of green maples & out —
Off the frontier gate ere the black night
Claims you.
They have netted you in the other world
The forces that be.
On parole,
Where did you get those wings & feathers?
Uncannily bright,
The moon too
Has no place to hide,
Crashing through the rafters
As it leaves the sky —
My absent friend
I begin to dream in your colours.
Du Fu (712-770)
Chapter Text
Ma Guoqing shifted his foot through the rubble, looking ruefully around the decimated room. Or what had once been a room and was now open to the sky and the cold drizzle. “It took them a little while to realise this was our shout,” he said. “Site had to be passed by structural engineers before it was safe to enter. They had assumed explosives and it's only now that the security footage has been reviewed that they knew to call us in.”
“So, what’s up?” Yu Xiaohong asked, from deep within the hood of her winter coat. Ma Guoqing had told them both it was a cold scene and she had presumably dressed for warmth and not action.
Lan Wangji had had to restrain himself from asking her, when she first arrived, if she was aware that her coat hood had animal ears. It was not, after all, plausible that she would buy or wear the coat without noticing. He had thought they might be bear ears, but as the coat was pink it was clearly not intended to be zoologically correct.
Ma Guoqing had not even blinked. Perhaps he had seen the coat before. He was wearing a long charcoal overcoat and, to keep the rain off, a black peaked cap with a police badge. Judging by the bedraggled-looking uniformed officer without a cap guarding the scene perimetre, this had only been recently acquired. Lan Wangji was glad he had an umbrella in his qiankun pouch.
“I’m guessing it wasn’t explosives,” Yu Xiaohong said.
“Nope,” Ma Guoqing replied. “Resolution wasn’t great on the footage but it looked like a naked old man, only he can punch through walls.”
Lan Wangji and Yu Xiaohong both turned to look at him from where they’d been scanning the debris.
“I’m going to assume from the lack of sage nodding from you guys that this isn’t one of your regular guai,” Ma Guoqing said.
“Guai and gui do not usually punch through walls,” Lan Wangji said. “They can pass through them, so there is no need. A yao might assume a human form, I suppose.”
“Or it might be a real fierce corpse,” Yu Xiaohong said. “If it did this much damage then we are looking at something pretty high level. The ones we’ve seen so far would have battered themselves to a pulp before they managed this. This isn’t some flimsy plasterboard.”
“No,” Ma Guoqing agreed. “This wing was built specifically for Mr Gong’s collection. Steel doors, reinforced glass, the works.”
They all looked around at the pulverised building materials surrounding them.
“Shit,” Yu Xiaohong said gloomily.
Lan Wangji felt a twinge of guilt. He knew of a fierce corpse possibly strong enough to do this. One which he had not – yet – informed his colleagues about. But Wen Qionglin was not an old man. “I would like to review the footage,” he said.
“Sure,” Ma Guoqing said. “But is there anything here you can… I don’t know, sense, or something?”
Yu Xiaohong snorted derisively.
Lan Wangji looked around the shattered room. “Artefacts are not usually detectable except by touch, apart from those famous enough to have a well-known form. It will take some time to sift through all this rubble and it is, I think, reasonable to assume that any artefact of power will have been taken away. Do we know what is missing?”
Ma Guoqing grimaced. “Not exactly. We know what was in here. At least we have Mr Gong’s insurance inventory. But, yeah, it’ll take a while to check that against what we can recover here.”
Lan Wangji took out his compass, but it didn’t indicate anything in the vicinity. Because Ma Guoqing was looking at him expectantly he also drew out Wangji and plucked out the notes to Inquiry a few times, but as he had anticipated, there was no response.
“Whatever it was,” Lan Wangji said, “it has been and gone and there are no other traces of spiritual presence.”
Yu Xiaohong had been toeing through the rubble. She bent down and picked up a shard of something. “Was this shit all for real?” She turned the fragment over in her hand and Lan Wangji saw the bright yellow and green of the enamel as she brushed her thumb over the surface.
“Valued for insurance at around 25 million RMB,” Ma Guoqing said, grimly. “I’m expecting a personal hamper from Art Theft once they hear this isn’t going to be their problem.”
Lan Wangji also sifted some of the debris with the toe of his sneaker and bent to pick up a piece of a jade cong, broken to a sharp shard down one side. He ran his thumb over the carved notches, painstakingly ground out of the stone maybe 6000 years ago. Presumably it had been whole until very recently. “I think we had better let the clean-up team in. If we know what was taken, we may be able to develop a clearer thesis.”
Ma Guoqing nodded. “It clearly wasn’t a simple robbery, as so much of value was just smashed. As I see it, the options are theft of a particular item of value, possibly an artefact of power, or the use of a non-human subject in perpetrating an attack directed at Mr Gong as intimidation or revenge or something. Or it could be simple cultural vandalism. Some demonic cultivator showing off what he can do. Whichever it was, they made use of something pretty high level, maybe a 3 or a 4, to get in and out of here in just under five minutes and cause this kind of damage.”
“I don’t know,” Yu Xiaohong said, “I’d kind of prefer it if it had taken something important. The idea of general criminals, some industrial competitor or a pissed off ex-wife having access to and using category 3s to grind their mundane axes freaks me out.”
“Though,” Lan Wangji felt forced to add, “if it is the former, someone with the power to direct a high level entity to do their bidding has now secured an artefact of, presumably, comparable or greater power.”
“Shit,” Yu Xiaohong said again. She drew the drawstring of her hood tighter, making the furry ears prick up.
*
The SPU had been called to the Gong mansion only the day after that strange meeting on the Yangshan mountain in the Olympic Park. Lan Wangji had hardly had time to process and still didn’t know what to make of it. It was troubling to consider that something as strong as Wen Qionglin had been undetected in the city all these years, but it no longer came as a surprise. Lan Wangji was not a man predisposed to despair, but it was becoming clearer and clearer that the SPU and the other cultivators in the city were fighting a losing battle.
A few years ago he did not think he’d have had any truck with negotiating with a demonic cultivator and his fierce corpse. But now, Wei Ying’s words kept coming back to him. Our deaths won’t do any good to anyone. Wei Wuxian, Lan Wangji corrected himself. Annoyingly, that first name by which Wei Wuxian had introduced himself seemed to have stuck in his subconscious.
It was difficult to believe that the death of Wei Wuxian and the elimination of Wen Qionglin would achieve anything at all. It was harder and harder not to regard the work of the SPU in the same light as Yu Xiaohong had regarded her independent work: too little, too late. Mopping up the spill.
The terms of engagement were shifting too fast and they weren’t anywhere close to keeping ahead of the game. Just like the Gong mansion attack, the new fierce corpse or whatever it was. They were hopelessly reactive, scrambling to make sense of a series of endlessly proliferating and seemingly unrelated data points, even with all the resources of the Security Bureau behind them.
The prospect of something to break the deadlock, turn the tide, was enticing. But it could be a trick. Or a slippery slope. Striking bargains, making compromises. Do not associate with evil. But Mr Yang was right. Wen Qionglin had not appeared very evil. And Wei Wuxian, supposedly the Yiling Patriarch resurrected? It was difficult to believe.
Their claims were mostly unverifiable now. Even with such sparse records as survived from those days, they had been on the losing side and history was written by the victors. In the end, it hardly mattered; whether they were who they said they were, whether they were delusional or it was some trick. Though it was hard to fathom what purpose was served by impersonating a character from history. At least when approaching him. With other audiences, perhaps ‘I am the Yiling Patriarch returned from the dead!’ would be an attractive proposition. But surely then you would cast someone different, not that sweet-faced little guy?
It could only be a sincere delusion then. Or the truth. And if it was all true? Wei Ying had claimed to recognise him. Claimed that he had the same name, the same face even, as Hanguang-Jun. Lan Wangji did not know what to make of that. He knew he’d been named after Hanguang-Jun, even down to his birth name. Perhaps there were histories in other sects that recorded such details. It was difficult to know, now that the sects had become so disconnected, what records might survive.
The boy had said they were friends. He certainly behaved as if he knew Lan Wangji. The way he smiled at him. The informal use of his birth name. The way he’d slung an arm around Lan Wangji’s shoulder. It was an odd ploy, if it was feigned. Unless perhaps to force an intimacy? Accelerating the building of trust? If so, they had again picked the wrong mark. Lan Wangji did not like intimacy or informality.
The compass had been intriguing though. Mr Yang said that it worked. Lan Wangji would need to examine it further and test it out. This Wei Wuxian had said he could do more. He had said he wanted to help. All he had asked for so far was amnesty for himself and Wen Qionglin. That could just be to get his toe in the door, but they needed better tools.
If it was possible to trace loci of resentful energy across the city, if they could get a bigger picture of what was going on, that would be a game changer. He should, at any rate, learn what this new form of electric cultivation was. They had not encountered it so far in the field. Much as he disliked withholding vital information from his colleagues, he knew that Ma Guoqing had rules to follow. Protocol and a chain of command that would mean he would not necessarily be at liberty to bend rules.
The fact that Lan Wangji was considering doing just that was a mark of just how badly he feared that the losing battle they were fighting was becoming a rout.
*
Lan Wangji met Ma Guoqing at his office later that day and they reviewed the spliced together security camera footage. It was not significantly more illuminating. The camera angles were awkward and the resolution was not sharp, but from the perimeter of the estate it was possible to track the progress of the form of a naked man, pale against the dark grass, as the figure jumped down from the wall, ran across the lawn illuminated by bright security lights, and then leapt, fists raised, striking the wall at first floor level and disappearing inside in a cloud of debris.
The footage from inside the gallery was of barely any use. A still-empty room through which the time-lapsed image showed the progress of a great cloud of glass, brick dust and shattering display cases.
“He didn’t even bother to pick a window,” Ma Guoqing said. “He just bust through the wall like it didn’t fucking matter.”
Lan Wangji asked for the footage to be played over a few times until he was reasonably confident that the bald head and spindly legs could not be Wen Qionglin in disguise. He had not, of course, seen Wen Qionglin’s bare legs, but he had clearly been tall and sturdily built. There was no clear image of the man’s – or, as he could not be a normal man, the entity's – face.
“Could a cultivator do that, just using qi?” Ma Guoqing asked.
Lan Wangji thought. “It would not be usual,” he said. “Such feats of strength would usually be attempted with a spiritual weapon or tool, not with your bare hands.”
“But could you?”
“I could not,” Lan Wangji said. “I have not tried. But I think, in any case, that your observation about the window is pertinent. If I were driven to attempt to tear into a building with my bare hands I would still probably attempt the window rather than simply puncture the wall. There are also a number of garden statues nearby. I would think a rational person would take one up and attempt to batter with it.”
“So you think it's more likely it’s being controlled?” Ma Guoqing asked, as they watched the sequence of camera shots play out again.
“It does not appear to me rational,” Lan Wangji said. “But it is directed. Despite the extent of damage done, suggestive of frenzy, the brevity of the attack implies an objective that it was possible to fulfil in that very truncated span of time.”
“It could still be simple destruction,” Ma Guoqing said. “There wasn’t a single collection item undamaged apart from some very small carved jades and items of jewellery that were too small to smash without individual attention.”
They watched the garden cameras capture the figure leaping back out of the hole in the wall, running across the grass and leaping again to clear the perimeter wall.
“Was there blood in the grass?” Lan Wangji asked.
“Nope.”
“It is, or appears to be, barefoot. If it were human one would expect lacerations to the feet from moving within a room littered with fragments of broken ceramic and jade.”
“If it were human it also wouldn’t be able to punch out a double layer of brick wall with security steel mesh in the cavity insulation.”
Lan Wangji inclined his head in acknowledgement. “If it were a cultivator, they would have to be using qi to enhance their strength significantly as well as harden their body for impact, right down to the soles of their feet.”
“Is that possible?”
“Theoretically, though, someone with that level of cultivation at their command could have achieved immortality. To eschew that in favour of house-breaking and/or vandalism to no apparent purpose seems highly unlikely.”
“Please let this not be some sort of deity having a mid-life crisis. I don’t think I can… I think I have to draw the line at, like, heavenly immortals, doing crimes on my patch.”
“Very few cultivators achieve immortality,” Lan Wangji said, attempting to reassure. “As I said, I think it is most unlikely.”
“Good,” Ma Guoqing said. “So what is more likely?”
“It could be a yao assuming a human form, but in that case I do not see the purpose of the disguise. The most likely identity for an individual displaying this sort of strength and singularity of purpose would be a fierce corpse. Though it could be a cultivator wielding some sort of artefact we cannot make out.”
“Unless he’s got a wizard’s staff up his bum I don’t see what sort of weapon he could be carrying,” Ma Guoqing grumbled.
“There are amulets and other small objects that could be very powerful,” Lan Wangji said. “The footage is really quite indistinct in details.”
“Yeah, the higher resolution cameras are all inside the house, but then they couldn’t pick up anything because of the dust cloud.”
“Do we know yet what was taken?”
“We have a shortlist,” Ma Guoqing said. “It’s heavy on the smaller items because we worked through the bigger chunks first. There are probably small pieces we just haven’t found yet.” He clicked around on his computer, closing down the videos and pulling up some other files. “At least everything here is well photographed and extensively documented for insurance purposes.”
“I suppose that Mr Gong’s financial status is being considered for potential insurance fraud?”
Ma Guoqing groaned. “Don’t even invoke that possibility. The idea of crooked businessmen summoning a dragon or qilin to come and eat their over-insured assets and that being my problem… I found a white hair yesterday. I’m only thirty. I’m thinking of putting in for a transfer to homicide or maybe counter-terrorism. I can’t take the stress.”
Lan Wangji waited placidly for Ma Guoqing to finish his rant and answer the question.
“Yeah, it's being looked into,” Ma Guoqing eventually said with a sigh. “And anyway, his insurers are going to be going over everything with a microscope. This is going to wipe their profits for the year down to zero and their shareholders won’t be pleased. Thieving bastards. Do you know how much I had to pay to renew my car insurance?”
“I mainly take Didis,” Lan Wangji said, “or fly by sword.”
Ma Guoqing gave him a long-suffering look. “Anyway, these are the relevant files. A number of jewellery items, including this fuck-off diamond.” As he spoke he opened a series of files from what was presumably some sort of collection catalogue. There was a close-up photograph of a diamond, set in a gold clip, against a ruler, measuring it as around thirty millimetres in length.
“These jewellery pieces are nearly all Qing dynasty, and mostly late in the period,” Lan Wangji said. “Significant events in the cultivation world from as recently as that are well documented. Additionally, it coincides with the general decline in status of cultivation. I think that it is unlikely that an individual object of great power would have been crafted during that time and that we knew nothing of it.”
“And you just, like, know off by heart the significant events and inventions of every dynasty?” Ma Guoqing asked.
“There are scholars who know more, but yes. Apart from spiritual, musical and martial cultivation, my education placed great emphasis on the history of the cultivation world. If it makes you feel better, I did not know Australia was a real place until I was twenty-two.”
“Seriously?”
“Mn. Global history and geography did not feature. Additionally, I did not see a smart phone until I was eighteen, or have my own one until I was twenty and came to Beijing. I still do not understand why it keeps running out of space even though I only use four apps.”
“Okay, Grandma. You help me catch Meng Po’s boyfriend here and I’ll show you how to clear the crap off your phone.”
Lan Wangji nodded and they continued to scan through the short list of objects. Following his recommendation, Ma Guoqing did something to the list, which he called a ‘spread sheet’ for some reason Lan Wangji could not discern, to move the older objects to the top.
“There is nothing that I recognise as a known artefact,” Lan Wangji said, after looking through the eight items that remained. “But a few of these objects are grave finds that went into the ground long before accurate records started to be kept. They could be anything. I have a contact at the university I would like to show these to.”
Ma Guoqing considered. “Yeah, okay, I’ll email them to you. You’ve got email, right?”
Lan Wangji nodded with some dignity. Yes, he had email.
*
Professor Zhang opened up the files that Lan Wangji had sent her and swivelled in her office chair. “What is it you want to know?”
“Any or all of these objects may have been stolen,” Lan Wangji said. “I am interested, in your opinion, which of these would be the most important?”
“Important in what sense?”
“The most desirable.”
“Desire is a very mutable thing,” Professor Zhang said. “But setting aside the vast range of personal idiosyncrasies that might exist, out of what I’ve seen so far, the cong, here, is the oldest.” She pointed at the photograph of a dark green jade cong. “It has the widest currency as an antiquarian object that the averagely well-informed collector would recognise as an ‘important antique.’” She clicked over to the next file.
“This large diamond is obviously a high-value stone and therefore a close competitor in financial terms. It could be recut and set into a number of high value stones in order to resell at reduced risk. It is, however, the youngest item in your list, I think. Only just late Ming. These two bronzes are probably attendant figures from a Buddhist altarpiece, monks or luohan. See the protrusions at their feet? Those would be where they were fixed into the overall arrangement.”
Professor Zhang continued through the files. “These pieces are all good examples of Jun ware. Probably anonymous enough to return to the market without great risk.”
“And if the thief was not concerned with profit, rather simply desired possession?” Lan Wangji asked.
“Well, then, the diamond perhaps. Some people are wild about large gems. Or the cong, or this,” Professor Zhang clicked back to the file of a fairly unassuming jade bangle, “based on their antiquity and ambiguous ritual function.”
“Ritual function?” Lan Wangji asked.
“They are neolithic, we are talking 6000–5000 BCE for the oldest examples. We have very little surviving evidence of the cultures that produced them. Ritual significance is presumed because they have no discernible practical function and it would have taken an enormous amount of effort to shape them in this way.
“The cong are a more familiar form, but this bangle is an example of the jade work of the Hongshan Culture, the very foundations of Chinese civilisation. It looks like a dragon’s head, see? There’s the snout. We don’t really know what any of it signified. They are presumed to be spiritual tools of some sort for mediation between heaven and earth. They were all worked millennia before even bronze tools. We can only guess how they were made and what they were made for.”
“Thank you. That is very helpful,” Lan Wangji said.
*
Even after the narrowing down of the shortlist – after fragments of Jun ware were found and the diamond was recovered from the rubble – the identification of the neolithic jades as the sole stolen objects did not further their identification of the thief.
The man had seemingly appeared and disappeared into thin air. CCTV cameras across the neighbourhood had had their footage examined with no results. As such, they had very little more to go on when the next call came through.
“Something has broken into Christie’s auction house,” Ma Guoqing barked down the phone. “It’s in the Embassy district. How long do you need?”
Lan Wangji had been in Beihai Park, setting up some low-level spirit lures to deal with a recent spate of hauntings. “Send me the address, I will call a Didi. I can be there in about twenty minutes.”
Ma Guoqing hung up without saying anything further, but a text message with the location pin came through a few seconds later as Lan Wangji flew over the lake towards the west side of the park where he booked a Didi.
There was very little traffic this late at night. The driver wasn’t allowed beyond the police barrier that had been thrown up at the intersection, but Lan Wangji was recognised when he got out of the car and shown over to Ma Guoqing. Yu Xiaohong was already there.
“It’s not an in-and-out this time,” Ma Guoqing started without any other form of greeting. “He’s in there. We’ve got a patch on the security cam feed. Not smashing everything to shit this time, either. He’s looking for something specific.”
“It is the same jade thief?” Lan Wangji asked.
“Well, I fucking hope there isn’t more than one naked septuagenarian punching through walls in this city,” Ma Guoqing said. “We’ve got a van full of Special Forces. Controlled explosion is an option, but we’re holding back on that. The value of the stuff on site is eye-watering.”
“You have no reason to assume that an explosion would destroy whatever it is,” Lan Wangji said.
“That’s what I told him,” Yu Xiaohong said.
“Temperatures over 1000 degrees Celsius destroy most non-human subjects,” Ma Guoqing said.
Lan Wangji shuddered and thought, involuntarily, about Wen Qionglin and his reluctance to fight.
“I wonder how they found that out?” Yu Xiaohong muttered.
“I don’t know,” Ma Guoqing snapped. “It’s just what it says in the procedural handbook. And it’s not a thick fucking book, let me tell you. It’s all we’ve got, right there between ‘ask nicely’ and ‘run away screaming’.”
Lan Wangji looked from Ma Guoqing to the other officers milling around, tense faces, muttered conversations. He thought of the uniformed officers who had waved him through the police cordon: young, not even carrying firearms. Not that firearms were likely to do any of them any good. But they were here. They were all here in the middle of the night hoping to stop something they could not name or understand. Lan Wangji found that he could not blame them their dependence on blunt force. Three bullets in the back of the head from across the street.
“In what sense would the explosion be controlled?” Lan Wangji asked.
Ma Guoqing waved his hand vaguely. “So, so. It’s just what we call it to not freak people out. It means we firebomb the place, but we evacuate the neighbours first and have some fire trucks standing by.”
Lan Wangji looked dubious. It did not sound like a reliable solution and certainly not one they would learn anything from.
“We need to get in there and see if we can come up with a better solution,” Ma Guoqing said, putting on his helmet.
Lan Wangji was probably the only one of them who was really remotely equipped to enter that building, but they had had that fight before. Ma Guoqing was their group leader and he would not countenance sending in civilians where he would not go himself, even when Lan Wangji had argued strenuously against it. This is what leadership and duty meant to Ma Guoqing and, in the end, Lan Wangji had to accept that.
Yu Xiaohong was better prepared. She was not as strong as Lan Wangji, but her skills and her cultivation style were formed on the streets, shaped by covert, guerilla-style tactics, not centuries of tradition and ancient principles of honour. She knew how to get out of a tight spot. And, in any case, this was her city and he wasn’t sure their relationship would come back from any suggestion of his that she take a back seat for her own safety.
Ma Guoqing had told Lan Wangji that Yu Xiaohong had been with another team for a few months before working with Ma Guoqing. The group leader had tried to prevent her from entering a dangerous scene and she had dropped him with a kick to the balls and gone in anyway. Ma Guoqing and Lan Wangji were not predisposed to making that experiment twice.
Ma Guoqing was at least in full body armour this time, as well as a helmet. Lan Wangji understood when they passed through the buckled front doors and Ma Guoqing pointed out the indent and the blood smear high on the wall. “That was the security guard who tried to intervene,” he said. “The thing down there’s a category 3, absolute minimum. Those doors are built to withstand ramming by an armoured vehicle.”
The doors at the other end of the white marble atrium were also smashed open, but otherwise there was nothing like the sort of devastation wreaked at the Gong mansion. “He’s still in the vaults,” Ma Guoqing said. Lan Wangji presumed that he had radio communication of some sort within his helmet. “Let’s get eyes on him and see if you guys can make out what the hell it even is.”
They made their way carefully and quietly through the shattered doors, through an internal gallery area where nothing appeared to be disturbed, and then climbed over the remains of another armoured door and on down a flight of stairs. Lan Wangji felt his heart rate pick up as they entered the vaults. He could just hear Ma Guoqing behind him muttering under his breath into his helmet, notifying control of their location.
They could hear a quiet clattering and the occasional clang out of sight. The vaults were low-ceilinged and utilitarian compared to the marble halls and glittering lighting above. There were concrete columns here and there and strip lighting along the ceiling beams. The space was open-plan but divided up by rows of solid-looking metal cabinets and drawer units back to back. The litter of cabinet doors, torn off and discarded, and drawer trays strewn haphazardly on the floor, indicated the probable source of the noises.
Lan Wangji couldn’t sense strong resentful energy. Not, at least, the sort of pulsing aura of menace you would expect from a category 3 yao. It could be a cultivator, he supposed, with an artefact of great power under his control somehow. Lan Wangji tightened his grip on Bichen’s hilt and advanced, signaling to Ma Guoqing and Yu Xiaohong to keep back.
Keeping his steps light, he rounded the corner of shelving that obscured the further reaches of the vaults. At the end of a row of drawer units he saw the man. Naked, as the security footage had already indicated. He did appear to be in his seventies. He was not particularly tall. His arms and legs were somewhat spindly in contrast to the thickness of his torso, with a paunch and once-powerful shoulders from which his skin seemed to sag.
On one arm Lan Wangji made out the jade bangle. There was still no clear sense of power from the man. He certainly carried no weapon, though he was using only his thumbs and forefingers as he rifled through the drawer contents, before throwing it aside. Either his hands were crippled in some way or he was maintaining a grip on some small object in each hand.
There was something odd about him though, a haze or distortion in the air around him. Lan Wangji blinked, trying to make it out. He heard Ma Guoqing move up to just behind him. Ma Guoqing would warn him if the man moved. Lan Wangji half shut his eyes and felt out instead with his qi-enhanced senses.
That way he could see the elderly man and a second figure superimposed in his place: tall, inhumanly tall. Also nearly naked, but with long white hair and a beard protruding from some sort of feathered headdress and mask. Wiry and muscular. There were strings of beads covering the naked chest and an animal pelt of some kind slung around his shoulders, shadowy and indistinct. Was it a ghost after all?
Before Lan Wangji could make any further sense of this, the figure gave a cry of triumph. Or, rather, the bald, living man did so and the ghost, shadow-figure, echoed the gesture without emitting any sound. He had found – or rather, they had found – what they were looking for.
Lan Wangji was seized with the sudden premonition that it was absolutely vital to prevent the entity from securing the new object it had been so jubilant in locating. He flew forwards, Bichen extended, and tried to sweep aside the items being lifted from the drawer.
The spectral hands came up, even as the hands of the smaller man scrabbled for the artefacts. Lan Wangji drew up his qi to reinforce his ribcage just in time before the punch landed and he found himself flying through the air. He hit some metal cabinets rather than the vault wall and that probably saved him because they toppled backwards, absorbing some of the momentum.
“Stop. Police,” he heard Ma Guoqing shout and he dragged himself out of the litter of cabinets in time to see the figures amalgamate into one as a pair of glowing jade disks were affixed to the headdress on either side of the man’s head. The spectral figure became suddenly clearer and more real. Real enough to make out the intricate lines inked beneath its skin and the blackened teeth.
A pair of percussive gunshots rang out. Ma Guoqing had a gun raised. His eyes were wide but his jaw was set. Presumably he could see the new figure too, now. He was, at any rate, able to register that neither shot appeared to cause any injury even at point-blank range as the figure strode towards him.
Lan Wangji was moving. Ma Guoqing was defenseless in front of this thing, standing between it and the exit it was heading towards, now it had what it had come for. Yu Xiaohong must have come to the same conclusion as she shoulder-charged into Ma Guoqing’s side, wrapping her arms around his waist and propelling them both out of the immediate path of the figure.
Lan Wangji was on his feet moving towards them, desperately trying to make it back to the people he should be protecting, when the jade thief turned, unhurried, and swung one fist into the nearest supporting column. Lan Wangji leapt, throwing himself forwards, even as the column bent and cracked and the ceiling above began to collapse.
He managed to reach them both and raise Bichen over his head as the ceiling beam crashed down. He could hear Ma Guoqing screaming into his helmet. “All units, do not engage! Subject is exiting. Do not engage!”
The ceiling beams struck Bichen, driving Lan Wangji to one knee. Pain sheared up one of his legs as it went out from under him, but he didn’t have attention to spare, channeling his qi into an arc to support Bichen. The wave of dust silenced Ma Guoqing as they all bent, struggling to breathe in the small space Lan Wangji had created.
He had not seen them die before him. His heart pounded in his chest. He had not, yet, seen them die. He should not have advanced and left cover. Even though he had been right and the spirit was now stronger than ever, he should not have. He had only just made it back in time. But he was here now and he needed to slow his breathing, stabilize his qi and steady himself. Fight back the fear that they might still be crushed as the building groaned and settled above them.
It was completely dark in their hole in the rubble. Lan Wangji sensed movement and it must have been Yu Xiaohong because he heard the rustle of talisman paper and the faint glow of her qi and then the load over his head became less unbearable. Another rustle. She must be writing lightening talismans.
Ma Guoqing kept coughing until Yu Xiaohong conjured a light mist of water to lay the dust. The building above them creaked ominously.
“First unit reporting in,” Ma Guoqing croaked into his radio.
The radio buzzed.
“Partial building collapse. I’m here with Flash and Hanguang-Jun. Citywide call. Non-human subject loose. Report and do not engage. Dangerous subject, do not engage.”
Yu Xiaohong kept going, adding a third and fourth lightening talisman.
“Okay, good,” Ma Guoqing was saying. “Get structural over here ASAP and get us out.”
Yu Xiaohong was able to plaster the ceiling beam in talismans, but it wasn’t possible to actually stabilize it. Lan Wangji had to continue to hold it in place. The pain in his leg and back a penance for not being able to stop the spirit from securing the jade disks and for leaving the team unprotected.
He had held endurance poses before, he reminded himself. It was a fundamental part of his training. He knew how to maintain the circulation of his qi and quiet the screaming of his muscles. With the application of the will he could close his mind entirely even to the possibility that he could not keep doing this for as long as was needed.
“Heavy-lifting gear is on site now,” he heard Ma Guoqing murmur from behind Yu Xiaohong some time later. It was hard to keep track in the total darkness.
At one point there was a boom and a tremor from elsewhere in the building. Lan Wangji had to adjust his weight slightly and that broke his meditation enough for the pain in his leg and across his back to force out a little shakey exhale. He fought his mind back under control, sinking deeper.
He used a trick from his childhood, walking the paths of Gusu in his memory. The Lanshi and the way the light slanted through the windows, tracking across the floorboards as the day passed. The tops of the pines, just visible against brilliant blue in summer or bent and bulbous with snowfall in winter.
The grey flagstones of the paths as they wound up the mountain. The anemones and mosses growing between the stones. The old tree stump, just where the path twisted, where his old teacher Lan Xingyu had liked to sit, resting on his way up to the Music Pavilion. Lan Wangji could follow each path in his mind. The way to the Library Pavilion, the carefully arranged rocks outside, the grey wood of the door lintel, worn smooth by the passage of so many feet.
The steep path to the Back Hill, steps cut into the rock. The little white and pink alpine flowers in late spring, nestling in crevices in the great stones that lined the way. The meadow with rabbits that would come up to investigate if you sat in the grass for long enough. The bright, mineral blue of the Cold Spring and the smooth, cold shift of pebbles beneath his feet. The quiet there, where even the birds seemed to show respect. The deep green of the ferns.
The broad, worn path to the Hanshi. The lingering scent of his grandfather’s pipe, of which Lan Wangji knew that he smoked one only, at the hour of sunset. There was an old bamboo stool where he would sit on the terrace of the Hanshi, just where a gap in the trees gave a view down the valley. A gap assiduously maintained by Lan Luyin, the gardener. Lan Wangji could see, in his mind’s eye, the silhouette of his grandfather’s figure against the violet evening sky. The hunched bulk of his robes as he sat, the long, straight nose of his profile and the thin curl of smoke around his head.
His own Jingshi, of which he could recall every inch, every knot-whorl in the floorboards, each brushstroke on the painted paper screen of the sleeping area. He ran his mind lovingly over each beloved object. The child’s desk that still stood in one corner, long after he had grown out of it. The low guqin table, made especially for him, on the occasion of his taking Wangji from the Music Pavilion. The brush pot of the palest celadon that had been his last birthday present from Lan Xingyu.
From there he walked the last, most precious path, the one to his mother’s house. This was a path he could walk many times. As many times as needed. Walk it in the dappled heights of a childhood summer or in the frosts of autumn, when the green growth had all died back and there was nothing but the bare pine trunks to break the icy wind. In the winter, when he flew by sword over the unbroken snow, to hover before the little house. He could trace the drifts of snow that lapped up to the dark windows, sealing shut the door that no one opened anymore.
*
In the end, it took another couple of hours for engineers to dig down to them. Lan Wangji had to brace hard towards the end with Yu Xiaohong helping him because the digging caused movement in the beam above. Water was passed down once a small gap was opened up. Yu Xiaohong poured some over his lips and wiped his face.
Some other things were then passed through the hole. They were jacks of some sort which Ma Guoqing, following instructions in his earpiece, levered and expanded into place to take the weight of the beam. Eventually the rescuers were able to expand the hole they had made enough for Yu Xiaohong to slither out.
“You next,” Ma Guoqing said.
Lan Wangji shook his head.
“You next. That’s an order.”
“I do not take orders from you,” Lan Wangji said, or tried to say. His voice was a faint croak. He coughed and it turned into something regrettably close to a whimper.
Ma Guoqing was too much of a gentleman to make capital out of so obvious a weakness. “I need the extra space to get out of my helmet and body armour or I won’t fit through the hole,” he said instead. An excuse, but Lan Wangji had now opened his eyes and the wavering flashes of torchlight through the hole were making him feel woozy, so he nodded.
Turning and crawling through the hole was bad as his leg screamed at him. Hands grasped him on the other side and drew him onto a plastic cradle. They told him to stay still and that they’d soon be up to ground level. By then he was slipping in and out of consciousness a bit, so he didn’t really mind. Yu Xiaohong rode with him in the ambulance, but she got to sit upright in a foil blanket, while he was still strapped down.
He woke again in the hospital. He had never been to a hospital before except to visit Ma Guoqing that time he got a concussion. Yu Xiaohong was still there. He told her that he was leaving. She told him that his leg was broken, there was internal bleeding and he wasn’t allowed to leave until it was stabilized. There was a line into his arm. He tried to take it out and Yu Xiaohong wouldn’t let him. He fell back asleep before he could win the argument.
In the morning, which turned out to be the afternoon, Ma Guoqing was there, sitting in the visitor’s chair frowning at his phone screen. Lan Wangji tried to sit up and take the glass of water he could see beside the bed. He did not succeed in getting that far, but he did make an undignified noise, which alerted Ma Guoqing to the fact he was awake.
Ma Guoqing helped him to the water.
“Want to go home,” Lan Wangji told him.
Ma Guoqing nodded. “They’re not going to discharge you until you are at least mobile enough to get into a wheelchair.”
This was extremely annoying, but also quite difficult to come up with a convincing argument against.
Ma Guoqing snorted out a laugh.
Lan Wangji looked at him, frowning. There didn’t appear to be anything to laugh about. Everything hurt.
“Sorry,” Ma Guoqing said. “Only, your face is not usually so expressive. I guess they’ve got you on the good drugs. The pouty face got me.”
“Not pouting,” Lan Wangji said, and drew his bottom lip back in.
“How’s the pain?” Ma Guoqing said.
“Hurts.”
“Here,” Ma Guoqing said, reaching for a small valve on one of the lines into his arm. “Why don’t you concentrate on your healing stuff and I’ll go and grab something to eat and we’ll see how you are doing when I get back? This’ll take the edge off.” He did not wait for a response before he depressed the valve and everything went grey and then black.
When Lan Wangji next woke it was dark. He could make out the crumpled form of Ma Guoqing, asleep in the chair, his head lolling uncomfortably to one side. He didn’t wake when Lan Wangji took another drink of water. His core must have started the healing process while he slept. He would meditate now and maybe he would be strong enough to leave in the morning.
The hospital was not quiet. There were people moving about beyond the curtain that sequestered off his own bed from the rest of the room. Conversations among people he could not see, carried out at different volumes, certainly not all of them mindful of the people sleeping nearby. The occasional bright rake of orange light across the wall as a door opened and closed beyond his sightline.
Lan Wangji directed his focus back to his core, gently revolving the power there and then sending a thin stream out to circulate around his body. He still felt sluggish, though he could not tell what was the drug and what were the after effects of qi depletion. By the time the room began to lighten, he was able to send a stronger flow of energy down his leg.
A nurse came in and asked him how the pain was. She spoke in a loud, cheerful voice and Ma Guoqing stirred in his sleep. Lan Wangji glared at her. He also told her in no uncertain terms that he did not want any more pain medication. The nurse rolled her eyes and left.
Ma Guoqing sat up and groaned, stretching out his neck and swearing under his breath. He reached down to where he had a bottle of the lurid-coloured sports drink he favoured and drank thirstily. “Sorry,” he croaked at Lan Wangji. “I didn’t know it would knock you out like that. Guess you are pretty sensitive to morphine.”
Lan Wangji nodded. “The jade thief?”
“He’s disappeared again,” Ma Guoqing said. “Charged out of the building, apparently. Everyone was already in the process of pulling back, thankfully. He tossed a car, but it was empty. Then he headed off at a run down the street. Turned onto Sanlitun East and fucking disappeared.”
He snorted in disgust. “We’ve pulled CCTV from all over. It’s one of the most surveilled districts in the world. So far we’ve got fucking nothing, but there’s hours of potential footage still to review. It’s out there somewhere, but not on the rampage.”
“That is good,” Lan Wangji said.
Ma Guoqing grunted. “Seeing as it doesn’t look like there’s a whole lot we can do if and when it does decide to show up again. But, you’re on sick leave. I shouldn’t be talking to you about this. How are you feeling?”
“I am better. I would like to leave now,” Lan Wangji said.
Ma Guoqing looked sceptical. “Can you walk?”
“You said I needed only to be able to get into a wheelchair,” Lan Wangji countered.
“Yeah, but that was when you couldn’t even sit up,” Ma Guoqing said, with a shrug. “If you can’t walk, you can’t go home alone. Um, you can come to mine. If you really hate it here, I mean. And if you promise not to keel over and die or anything.”
Lan Wangji was rather touched by the offer. They had, over their years of working together, maintained a hard boundary between the private and professional spheres. Lan Wangji did not know where Ma Guoqing even lived and vice versa. Ma Guoqing and the SPU had Lan Wangji’s emergency contact information, but he had made clear that they were not to use without Lan Wangji’s explicit permission or in the case of his death or immenent decease.
He did not want his brother to worry or to deal with the absence of a response from his grandfather or father. He did not, in any case, need assistance, only time to rest and heal. “I will go to the Grand Hyatt. If I take a suite, I daresay staff will be ready to help if I fall down and cannot get up.”
“Ooh, fancy,” Ma Guoqing said, though he sounded maybe a little relieved too that he wouldn’t be called upon to play nurse.
“Can you please locate my belongings? I will need a phone to make a reservation.”
“I don’t know if the doctors will agree to discharge you,” Ma Guoqing looked doubtful.
“I can manage my own healing,” Lan Wangji said. “I do not want any more medicine.”
“Well, look, I’ll see what I can do,” Ma Guoqing said, getting up. “Oh, fuck,” he said, straightening and glaring at the chair. “I’m too old for this shit.”
“I thought you said you were only thirty,” Lan Wangji said.
“Too young to go grey. Definitely too old to spend a night in a hard chair.” Ma Guoqing was still muttering obscenities to himself as he left the room.
While Ma Guoqing was gone Lan Wangji took the opportunity to experiment with sitting himself up and trying to swing his legs over the side of the bed. It was extremely painful. As if the shattered bone ends were grinding against one another. Which, on reflection, they probably were.
He also discovered that he had been put in a gown with no back to it. He hoped this had not happened while Yu Xiaohong was present. Surely a government hospital would have more decorum than that? He sat on the edge of the bed and gathered the blanket behind him to shield his rear. Then he tried to circulate his qi to his leg again, but found that his core was again quite depleted. Wheelchair it would have to be.
Ma Guoqing arrived a little while later with a couple of white plastic bags that contained his belongings. They were all extremely dusty. Ma Guoqing opened the window to shake out Lan Wangji’s coat.
“Did the doctor say I could leave now?” Lan Wangji said, hating how plaintive he sounded.
“Nope,” Ma Guoqing said. “But you saved all our lives yesterday. The least I can do is spring you from this place.” He went over to the window and took out his phone.
Lan Wangji recovered his own phone from the plastic bag. He had powered it off before they entered the auction house, so when it was powered back up he was able to call the hotel and secure a reservation. They had wheelchair accessible rooms, which was a pleasant surprise. He shook out his clothes as best he could. They were very dirty.
“Do you need a hand?” Ma Guoqing said, having concluded his call.
Getting into dusty and sweat-stained clothes was unappealing. But was it more or less appealing than being out in public in an open-backed gown and bare legs?
“I’ve called us a taxi that can take a wheelchair,” Ma Guoqing said. “We can get your coat on at least, cover everything up. You’ll probably want to wash before you get dressed. If you can, I mean. At the hotel. Anyway, I’m gonna go steal a wheelchair.”
While he was gone, Lan Wangji shrugged into the arms of his coat and sorted those belongings he wished to keep into his qiankun pouch and discarded the rest of his ruined clothes. He took a couple of the notes he had in his wallet and left them by the bed to pay for the wheelchair.
The escape from the hospital was uneventful. Ma Guoqing wheeled him along with an unhurried and yet purposeful stride that ensured no one queried his progress. The taxi was waiting, as arranged, and Lan Wangji tried to ignore the vulnerable sensation of the draft up his legs.
As behooved a five-star hotel, the welcoming smiles of the staff at Hyatt did not waver in the face of Lan Wangji in a wheelchair, his coat covered in brick dust, being wheeled in by a rather crumpled looking police officer.
Even in the wheelchair, the trip had been exhausting. He felt sore of body and blank of mind, held together with the thinnest of veneers. They were shown to what the desk clerk had insisted on calling a ‘baby suite’, which Lan Wangji found irritatingly infantilizing. Though that could have been because he was already coping with being wheeled about and not even wearing underpants.
Ma Guoqing whistled when he finally wheeled him into the room. “Nice,” he said, making his way over to the floor-to-ceiling window with its view over the city. “Do you want me to help you into bed?”
Lan Wangji was seriously tempted by the thought of just lying down, but he just couldn’t bear the thought of getting into a clean bed as filthy as he was. “I will rest in this chair and then I would like to shower. Please bring me a notepad.”
Ma Guoqing fetched the pad of paper and branded pen from the desk. Lan Wangji worked out a quick list. The pyjamas he liked and his size, necessary toiletries. Fresh clothes could be ordered on his phone for delivery to the front desk. Lan Wangji added a phone charger to the list. “I would be very grateful if you could get me the things on this list,” he said. “Then I will shower and change and go to bed.” Lan Wangji held out his credit card.
“Come on, man,” Ma Guoqing said, waving it off. “You saved my life, I can buy you a pair of pyjamas.”
“I would prefer,” Lan Wangji said. “Also, you have not read the list. I think you can find all these things at SKP.”
Ma Guoqing scanned the list and his eyebrows raised. “Do you use all this stuff? Like, eye cream and stuff.”
Lan Wangji just looked at him.
“I guess it’s kind of reassuring that you don’t just look miles better than everyone else with zero effort,” Ma Guoqing said. “What even is hair serum? Don’t tell me you’re going bald?”
Lan Wangji glared at him.
“SKP, you say?” Ma Guoqing grinned. “Back in a bit, then.”
When he had gone Lan Wangji wheeled himself over to the window and began to meditate again. He was very tired. In the end he settled on just the simplest practice, revolving his qi in his core, letting it pulse gently with his breaths. Healing his leg would take time.
Ma Guoqing returned with shopping bags some time later.
“Thank you,” Lan Wangji said.
“Well, you did save my life.”
“Please stop saying that.”
“You did, though,” Ma Guoqing said, looking past him out of the window as he set down the bags. “It’s a great view from up here.”
“I also jeopardized your life, both your lives, in trying to prevent the spirit assimilating the next jade object.”
Ma Guoqing shrugged. “I saw how much stronger it got. Fuck! If you could have stopped that it would have been worth the risk. Anyway, you held up the ceiling for, like, four hours to stop us all getting crushed like bugs, so I think that cancels that out.”
“It is not like I would personally have come out well if the ceiling came down.”
“You both went down there on my say so,” Ma Guoqing said quietly, staring resolutely out of the window. “You nearly died.”
“You went down there too,” Lan Wangji said.
“Because it’s my job, my badge, my duty,” Ma Guoqing replied. “But you…”
“I did not go down there on your orders,” Lan Wangji interrupted. “I went because I also regard it as my duty, my job. It is why I am here in Beijing.”
“Yeah, but…”
“I think Yu Xiaohong would also say she regards it as her duty, her service to her city, as a cultivator.”
“You both nearly died,” Ma Guoqing said again, his eyes still on the view outside. “When it is my job to protect this city. And I couldn’t do a fucking thing.”
“Except come down there with us,” Lan Wangji said. “Every time. Even though you ‘can’t do a fucking thing.’”
“You said ‘fucking’,” Ma Guoqing said, turning away from the window.
“I said ‘fucking’ and I use eyecream,” Lan Wangji said. “I am very tired and I wish to shower as best I can and get into my surprisingly expensive pyjamas and go to sleep.”
“Are they really that good?” Ma Guoqing asked, nodding towards the bags. “I didn’t know you could pay that much for pyjamas.”
“They are tolerable,” Lan Wangji said. When he had come to the city he had been overwhelmed by it. He had also had to grapple with a great many new things. He wondered the city baffled by its scale and complexity. A department store was a place you could get everything you needed just by asking someone whose job it was to direct you to the correct department.
Over time he had come to realise that it was also the job of these people to sell you many things you didn’t know you needed or wanted before you came in. But as his things from home wore out he took comfort in little luxuries that could be easily replaced. He did not like the feel of cheap fabrics on his skin or the smell of many toiletries.
‘Do not live luxiouriously’ might be a virtue that he was deviating from to some extent, but he was not, he thought, ostentatious in his consumption. Familiar objects, pleasant textures and daily rituals comforted him. There was probably an element of personal vanity, but he could be humble in acknowledging and accepting this weakness.
“Do you want help? In the shower, I mean,” Ma Guoqing asked a bit awkwardly.
“Please, no,” Lan Wangji said. He had been suffiently underdressed in front of the world for one day. “Thank you for everything today.”
“Well, thank you for…”
Lan Wangji glared at him.
Ma Guoqing shrugged. “Okay. Don’t fall and die in the shower.”
“I won’t.”
“You’re on sick leave, but I’ll let you know if we get any leads.”
“Thank you. Please send me details of those jade disks when you have them from the auction house.”
“Will do.” Ma Guoqing gave him a farewell nod and left.
Lan Wangji allowed himself to slump in the chair a little as the door clicked shut. Ma Guoqing was a good colleague. A friend of sorts, though they always kept things on a professional footing. Brother-in-arms was perhaps the best term. Lan Wangji had never really had friends, but he appreciated the care Ma Guoqing had shown him, waiting at the hospital and everything.
Lan Wangji turned back towards the window in his chair. The rain was sheeting down, blurring the view of the city into a palette of pale greys under steel clouds. It all looked so orderly and far away from up here. There were cars streaming up and down, though no sound made it this high or through the triple glazing.
Though it was mid-morning, many buildings had their lights on against the gloom of the day. Glittering glass towers and the clay-red roofs of the Forbidden City were visible in the distance. The ancient city holding its own against the tides of change. Lan Wangji felt removed from the life below.
Fragile life, he reminded himself. They might have all died yesterday, Ma Guoqing was right. Ma Guoqing had no cultivation to mend bone or staunch blood. How far Yu Xiaohong’s healing abilities would stretch he had no idea. The way things were going, as threats escalated, Ma Guoqing’s vulnerability as a non-cultivator might become untenable in the field. They should revisit their agreed protocols. It would be better to have those fights outside the immediate theatre of action. And it would be a fight. Ma Guoqing was a soldier of the city and the stones of Beijing had absorbed the blood of many of her soldiers over the centuries. Many of her citizens, too.
Lan Wangji was a visitor only, staying in this hotel for foreigners. He’d stayed here when he first arrived five years ago, with no idea of where to go. He hadn’t stayed long. He’d moved into the city, but he’d never become part of it. It seemed he did not have it in him to become part of somewhere. Except perhaps the cold stone and pine roots of his old home, which he had left behind.
Not like Wei Ying, who had been here for weeks only and had a new place he spoke of as home, friends and neighbours. Even Wen Qionglin, who was a ghost, had a home here. Perhaps less of a ghost than Lan Wangji.
Lan Wangji closed his eyes again and tried to muster the energy he would need to shower. Self-pity was a worse vice than vanity, and certainly more dangerous. He had not come to the city to belong. He had come to wield the skills and strength that he had to protect people who were otherwise without protection.
His priority had to be regaining that strength. Meditation, sleep and food, all of which he was now in a position to manage effectively. Self reflection could come when he was not feeling so weak. Focussing on his failures now would not help anyone. He should instead feel gratitude for the care of his teammates and grateful to his forefathers and the training, that he had been fast enough and strong enough for them to all get out unscathed. Well, as his aching body remined him, relatively unscathed. And grateful, too, that this rigourous training would again allow him to clear his mind, sink into meditation and begin to heal.
-----------------------
Imitating the Ancients, No. 9 of 12
The living are on their way.
The dead only have come home.
Between Heaven & Earth,
A travellers’ lodge.
Grieve,
& you grieve over dust,
Nothing new.
The fabled rabbit on the Moon
Is still at work
Pestle & mortar
Pounding the elixir
Of unending life.
The Tree of the Sun has already been
Chopped down & tied into bundles.
White bones alone have nothing to say.
Pines & firs,
Evergreen
Do not know Spring,
A sigh, now then,
A sigh for those
Who went before,
& those to come.
What is keeping them here?
Li Bai (701-762)
Notes:
Lan names extras:
Old teacher: Lan Xingyu 星雨 (Star Rain)
Taken from "To the Tune of Riverside City" by Qin Guan
东 风 夜 放 花 千 树 ，
更 吹 落 ，
星 如 雨 。
Machine translation: The east wind blows thousands of flowers into bloom at night, and blows down the stars like rain.Gardener: Lan Luyin 绿阴 (Green Shade)
"Plucking Mulberries" by Wei Yingwu
绿 阴 不 减 来 时 路 ，
添 得 黄 鹂 四 五 声
Machine translation: The green shade remains as it was when I came, and the oriole chirps four or five timesIf you happen to know that these are terrible name choices in any way, I welcome correction.
I am having fun engaging with classical Chinese poetry. The diversity of translation choices of the same poems has really brought home how much more of a challenge it is translating Chinese poetry to English compared to say German or French. Many of the translations I have used and like best are from a recent collection by Wong May: In the Same Light. If you're enjoying the poems included in this fic, do check it out. It also has a US publisher.
Chapter 8
Notes:
Huge thanks to @cypressey for making me work at WWX's characterisation and just generally nudging me to go the whole nine yards. Also to Keriarentikai, without whom each chapter would have at least one extremely embarrassing canon name misspelling as well as multiple other smaller confusing typos. <3 <3 <3
Chapter Text
It was a week without hearing anything more from Hanguang-Jun. Then Mr Yang passed on that there had been some sort of major incident and the Old Community had been warned to look out for and report any encounters with unfamiliar entities and to strengthen any protections they maintained.
Maybe Hanguang-Jun was too busy dealing with whatever it was to follow up on their meeting in the park? Mr Yang didn’t seem particularly worried by this latest threat, but Wei Ying made Mr Yang show him the protection arrays on his home.
“But you said, maybe it was a new high-level fierce corpse?” Wei Ying said, looking at the design on the inside of the Yang’s front door.
“That’s what they are saying,” Mr Yang said, “or some sort of extraordinary possession. Apparently it brought down a building on top of Hanguang-Jun, over in the Embassy district.”
“But this array is just a bog-standard protection against hauntings,” Wei Ying exclaimed. “It wouldn’t stop something like that! Something that Hanguang-Jun couldn’t eradicate.”
“Well, I take care not to bring my work home with me,” Mr Yang said. “This is just in case anything pops up.”
“But that thing’s still out there!”
Mr Yang gave Wei Ying a tired smile. “There’s a lot of stuff out there, A-Ying. I don’t know any protections that can stop an unbound fierce corpse or even a high tier yao. There didn’t used to be such things in the city.”
“But,” Wei Ying started.
“My family hunt ghosts,” Mr Yang interrupted, “that’s what we’ve always done. Resentful spirits, settling the unquiet dead, maybe the occasional mountain yao come down into the city.” He shook his head. “I don’t have the tools for this.”
Wei Ying stared at him.
“I still go out every night because there are still ghosts, but the other stuff, the new stuff… Yuejin said he saw a yin shu in one of the metro tunnels. I mean, what the crap am I supposed to do with that? When I see something I can’t handle, I just turn and run these days. Unless I’m with Hanguang-Jun and then I stay well back and spot for him, if I can. I have my family to think of. Want to see my kids grow up.”
“But, what if…” Wei Ying’s heart was hammering with fear. The last few years of his life had been dominated, shaped by the urgency of keeping safe the people who depended on him. Because nobody else could or would. And now, he had people again and they were, again, more or less defenceless. And last time… last time he had watched Wen Qing and Wen Ning walk to their deaths. And it had been his failure. That and all the deaths that followed. He took a shuddering breath.
Mr Yang shrugged and patted his shoulder, seeing his upset but not the cause. “There are twenty-two million people here. We have a better chance than most. We know when to run.”
That was really not good enough. Wei Ying took two days out of his map development project to set up new protective arrays around the Yang family flat and building. And then again at Mrs Yue’s and at both ends of the alley. Each array was keyed to fire talismans that Wei Ying and Wen Ning carried.
Wei Ying also wrote an emergency communication talisman to be carried on the person. He gave them out to everyone he knew. The Yang family already understood how such things worked. For the others he set them up to ignite if torn in half, and told Mrs Yue and Mr Lu and everyone else that the talismans were to ward off bad luck and if they were ever in danger they should tear the paper. Then Wei Ying almost had a heart attack the next day when Mr Lu tore his, hoping it would help him win the lottery.
He still couldn’t stop worrying about Zilong and Zhenzhen. Children were so small and vulnerable and their yang energy was so strong. Enticing. Zhenzhen could at least cast a pretty effective barrier array, but Zilong could not and he went to a high school with an engineering specialism that was quite a way from the family home.
Wei Ying argued with Mr Yang and Zilong about keeping Zilong away from school. Zilong was not impressed.
“They’ve got to live,” Mr Yang said. “If there was a specific threat against us or against children or something, it would have been passed along. Until then, we just have to carry on. Zilong is sensible. If anything happens, he knows to run, hide and call for help.”
“But he’s just…” Wei Ying begged. He could see from Mr Yang and Zilong’s faces that they thought he was over-reacting. But he kept seeing the dead faces of his shidi and shimei from the massacre at Lotus Pier, the gaunt faces of child slaves in the Wen camps, his… his…
In the end Wei Ying’s palpable distress was enough to persuade Zilong to agree to skip his after-school clubs for the next week, which would at least mean he was home before it got dark.
“Thank you,” Wei Ying said, almost tearfully. “If I had the map set up already we could devise tracking talismans, so I would always know were you are,” he said with regret.
“Uh, you can already do that with my phone,” Zilong said.
“What?”
“My phone. Has GPS. You can. I guess if you think it's really important, we can set it up so that you can see where I am. Well, where my phone is, but I pretty much always have my phone.”
“Huh,” Wei Ying said. It was a matter of minutes to set it up so that Wei Ying’s phone had an app where he could always see the little dot of Zilong’s phone. Then Zhenzhen wanted to be added too. When Mrs Zhao heard what he was doing, she made Mr Yang hand over his phone. Then Wei Ying felt a bit better and wanted to know what GPS was. Zilong was teaching him about looking things up on his phone. It was pretty great. Much faster than the library.
Mr Yang was very relieved when Wei Ying subsequently ruled out using satellite data in his city mapping project. Zilong was more disappointed. When Wen Ning learnt about the phone tracking thing he was very insistent on getting a dot for Wei Ying also. At night, when Wei Ying couldn’t sleep, he could take out his phone and look at the little dots of the Yang family, clustered at home, and the solitary dot of Wen Ning at work.
Wei Ying wondered where Lan Zhan was. He probably had a phone too.
Mrs Yue had refused to be added to the dot system. “I never go anywhere, A-Ying. If you want to find me, I’m here or at Mrs Li’s or at Wu-mart. If the dot says anything different it means someone stole my phone. Which they will be very disappointed about because it is the one from the charity with the big buttons and I don’t think anyone will make any money from that!”
*
About ten days after they last met, Lan Zhan contacted Mr Yang again. He asked to meet Wei Ying again at Mr Yang’s, so that he could learn more about Wei Ying’s lightning path and the potential map development.
Wei Ying went slightly off his head, because he’d hardly made any progress at all. Well, he’d already worked on Mr Yang’s compass, increasing its range and allowing for more accurate calibration, both in terms of range and in terms of the strength of the soul-eating entities registered. It was a pretty decent tool now, though when Wei Ying had the time he wanted to integrate a talisman that measured the user’s own qi to guard against qi depletion on night hunts.
He and Mr Yang had gone out with the enhanced compass, to see if there was anything at the really high end of the spectrum that might be the thing sought by Lan Zhan and the police. But the compass hadn’t thrown anything up. Mr Yang had been quite cheerful about this, hoping it meant that the threat had been exaggerated. Wei Ying had been more concerned that it meant, perhaps, that his search criteria were not including everything relevant.
He had brokered with Wen Ning that the development of his lightning path skills was now a matter of real urgency and he should be allowed to start experimenting with more than just a few small batteries. Mr Yang had been concerned that they were stealing electricity from the grid, so in the next few days Wei Ying worked with Zilong on a series of experiments that suggested that the power Wei Ying and Zhenzhen had tapped into was electromagnetic radiation, rather than electricity straight from source.
Wei Ying didn’t really understand the difference, but Mr Yang and Wen Ning were both relieved to know that Wei Ying was not syphoning power directly from the national grid. But then Mrs Zhao wanted to be assured that neither of her children were being exposed to dangerous radiation, which involved some more experiments, until Zilong at least was assured that they were not.
“Everything gives off electromagnetic radiation,” Zilong pronounced. “All living things, only a lot more from things like electrical cables and other electronic machines. But not, like, a dangerous amount.”
Nobody else really knew enough about electricity and electromagnetic radiation to quiz him on his findings.
“But if you are passing it through your body, through your core, in large quantities, won’t that be bad for you?” Mrs Zhao asked.
“I dunno,” Zilong said. “No one ever did it before.”
The adults all looked at each other and agreed that Zhenzhen should be banned from lightning tricks until they knew better. Zhenzhen stormed to the kid’s room and slammed the door.
“Should you…” Wen Ning asked that night.
“I’ve got to,” Wei Ying said. “My spiritual core is too small and so it’s this, which might be bad for me, or demonic cultivation, which we absolutely know is bad for me. Besides, I feel fine.”
“Will you stop if you do not feel fine?” Wen Ning said.
“A-Niiiiing,” Wei Ying moaned. Which they both knew meant no.
Because Wen Ning did not pry further, only looked at him with large mournful eyes, Wei Ying felt he had to try to explain a little more. “I don’t think it is harming me. Not like… not like demonic cultivation. I don’t feel hollowed out, not like I’m a vessel for it, only a conduit.”
Wen Ning did not look particularly reassured.
“Well, Jiang Cheng wielded Zidian his whole life. Didn’t do him or his cultivation any harm,” Wei Ying said brightly. “Though, actually, maybe that’s because Zidian functioned as the conduit? Huh…”
“Wei-gongzi should consider his own life as at least as valuable as the lives of others,” Wen Ning said.
“Ai-yo,” Wei Ying sighed. “My life…”
“Wei-gongzi is not a weapon of war, he is a man,” Wen Ning said. “A mortal man.”
“I know, A-Ning. I…” Wei Ying paused. He knew that. “But what kind of a man stands by and lets innocent people get hurt? When he can do something. I think I can do something this time? Maybe. I can’t just sit back.”
Wen Ning gave a small nod. Maybe he understood? Wei Ying couldn’t really tell and didn’t want to prolong this conversation. Maybe it would work out this time? Maybe it would be different?
Last time, he’d tried so hard. He’d clawed together every bit of strength he could, in a body that no longer had any strength of its own. And he had fought and fought, knowing that it was gnawing the soul out of him, knowing how paper-thin his control had become, but knowing that the moment he stopped, the moment he let go…
And he’d dug deeper and deeper, into that hollow space inside him, to find the willpower to keep holding on even as everything pulled taut. Until it all came undone with a furious ricochet that killed Jin Zixuan, killed… Until everyone was dead. Dead for 1500 years.
He would recognise, this time, if it got like that, wouldn’t he? He would know not to hold on so long. He would know his limits and the price that might be paid for ignoring them. Maybe?
*
Wei Ying and Wen Ning arrived well before the appointed hour for the meeting at the Yang family home. The kids were still at school, but Mrs Zhao was at home. She was intensely busy in the kitchen and Mr Yang was hoovering. When Wei Ying asked to use the bathroom, Mr Yang made him promise to leave it exactly as he found it or he, Mr Yang, would be in a lot of trouble.
Wei Ying was perplexed because the bathroom was not substantially different from how it normally was, except all the towels were now a matching colour and there was a little candle burning. He made sure to leave the towels all straight.
In the kitchen Wen Ning had already been pressed into service folding wonton. Mrs Zhao was rolling out sheet after sheet of dough squares. Wei Ying could distinctly recall Mrs Zhao saying that no one had the time to make wonton wrappers from scratch and that the ones from the freezer section were just the same, but he knew when to keep his mouth shut. Sometimes, anyway.
Zhenzhen came home from school first and kissed her mum. “Ugh, you smell funny,” she said.
“I do not smell funny,” Mrs Zhao said.
“And you’re wearing makeup?”
“No.”
“Hanguang-Jun is coming,” Mr Yang said.
“Oooh, cool!” Zhenzhen said. “He’s very cool. Dad said he once saw him slice a huge tiger-yao in half with one swing.”
“He is extremely cool,” Wei Ying agreed.
“Mama fancies him,” Zhenzhen confided.
“Well,” Wei Ying said. “he is very handsome.”
“Don’t be so silly!” Mrs Zhao said at the same time, going pink in the face. “He’s an important man. It’s just nice to look nice. Go and put on a fresh shirt, there’s ink all over you.”
“Mamaaaa,” Zhenzhen groaned.
“Go on,” Mr Yang said, “you know how your mama gets. Be thankful that you don’t also have to tidy your room.”
Mrs Zhao swung around from where she stood at the sink. “Do you think he’ll go in the kids’ room?”
“Well, the map…” Mr Yang started.
“And tidy your room!” Mrs Zhao yelled after her daughter.
“Mamaaaaaaa!”
“You don’t need to fret, dear,” Mr Yang said. “Hanguang-Jun is here for work. He isn’t going to be judging our housekeeping, which,” he hurriedly continued as his wife frowned at him, “is in any case exemplary. Outstanding, even.”
Wei Ying thought of Lan Zhan sitting in the makeshift camps during the Sunshot campaign, in the ruins of the Nightless City, in the little inn in Yiling, even the Burial Mounds. “Lan Zhan, I mean, Hanguang-Jun doesn’t care about those sorts of things. The only thing he doesn’t like is ostentatious display. Oh, and he doesn’t eat meat!”
“Xuedong told me that at least,” Mrs Zhao said.
“And it smells amazing,” Mr Yang said with unfeigned enthusiasm.
Wei Ying saw Mrs Zhao slip off her long sparkling earrings and pop them in the kitchen drawer.
On one hand, it was funny to see the Yang family getting all excited about having Lan Zhan over. Zilong didn’t even need to be yelled at to go and put on a fresh shirt. On the other hand, Wei Ying could admit to himself that he was also pretty excited. Maybe he was just infected by everyone else’s flurry? Or maybe it was because it was just going to be cool to explain his new ideas to someone he thought would really grasp them. It was probably that.
Last time, at the Olympic Park, he’d been at a disadvantage. He hadn’t had anything that could really prove what he was talking about. He could tell that Lan Zhan had not really been convinced. That was probably fair, he supposed. It was pretty random to just have someone rock up and claim to be a genius inventor from 1500 years ago.
And of course, he was in this new body. Rather short and slight and he didn’t have the cultivation, or the developed mastery of his new path, to really impress Lan Zhan with his skills. Not like when they had met properly for the first time and fought each other across the rooftops. Lan Zhan had still ignored him after that, of course. But he had ignored him, not not noticed him.
But, he would show Lan Zhan today. He would show him the map, which was coming on pretty well. He would show him that he could really help.
*
Lan Zhan was a little late, which was very unlike him. Mrs Zhao was becoming increasingly concerned about the timings for the meal when the door chimed. Wei Ying had cause to curse his shortness again because when Mr Yang opened the door he could hardly see Lan Zhan, from where he and Wen Ning had hung back at the kitchen door. He heard him greet Mr Yang and then Mrs Zhao.
As Mr Yang stepped back, Wei Ying was able to see Lan Zhan in the doorway, again wearing that long white coat. A modern cut, but reminiscent in silhouette of the robes he used to wear. Lan Zhan handed Mrs Zhao a packet of tea wrapped in pretty, shiny silver and blue paper.
“Please accept my apologies for my late arrival, Zhao-furen,” Lan Zhan said. He also handed over a little basket of early plums, nestled in tissue paper. “From Madam Granny Fruit,” he murmured.
“How lovely,” Mrs Zhao said, bowing as she received the gifts. “Please come in and sit down.”
As they all moved into the kitchen Wei Ying was struck by the stiffness in Lan Zhan’s gait. “Lan Zhan, you’ve hurt your leg!” he blurted out. “Hanguang-Jun, sorry!” He had really meant to get that right this time.
“It is nothing,” Lan Zhan said. But he had paused, glanced at Wei Ying and looked away before he answered.
If it really were nothing, he’d have looked him in the eye as he spoke. It was too like that time on the way to Mount Muxi, when Wei Ying had watched Lan Zhan walk like that for days. “But you’re limping?” Wei Ying said.
Lan Zhan frowned. “I am not limping.”
“Not limping-limping. But, you are walking funny and, it's just, the last time you walked like that you had a broken leg,” Wei Ying countered. “Do you have a broken leg?”
Lan Zhan opened his mouth, but then seemed stymied as to what to say.
“Are you injured, Hanguang-Jun?” Mr Yang asked.
“I am recovering,” Lan Zhan said. “I may have aggravated it a little, taking the stairs just now.”
Mrs Zhao made a noise of concern. They were in the kitchen now and she quickly pulled out a chair for Lan Zhan.
“Has anyone looked at it?” Mr Yang asked. “A healer?”
Lan Zhan gave a minute shake of his head. He was frowning. “I was taken to a hospital. I was, unfortunately, unconscious. The doctors there put a metal rod within the broken bone. I am finding that… I am unclear how I should progress my own healing around this.”
“You were unconscious?” Wei Ying said, staring. It surely took a lot to do that to Hanguang-Jun. Also, they put metal rods in him, what?
“A building fell on me,” Lan Zhan said repressively.
“Cool!” Zhenzhen said. Then, when her mother shot her a glare, “not cool that you were hurt, but cool that you’re mostly fine even after a building fell on you.”
“That was over a week ago,” Mr Yang said, frowning.
Lan Zhan winced slightly as if it were a rebuke. “My qi was somewhat depleted. From holding the building up while we awaited the rescue services.”
“Cool!” Zhenzhen said again. “Ugh, he knows what I mean!” This latter statement was directed at her mother.
“Will you let me look?” Mr Yang said. “I’m not a specialist healer. There aren’t really any of those in the city. So, we all know bits and pieces.”
Lan Zhan hesitated. He had always hated to have any such attention, Wei Ying knew. Hated to acknowledge any weakness. “Please,” Wei Ying begged. He only just managed to catch another ‘Lan Zhan’ slip and, as a result had his mouth open and didn’t know what to do with it, so he snapped it shut again and blew out his cheeks. This meant he was just… What was he even doing with his face now?
“Hanguang-Jun?” Mr Yang asked again.
Wei Ying darted forwards and pulled out a second chair for his leg. “Here, Hanguang-Jun, let Mr Yang have a quick look. And then we can all eat and no one will bother you about it again.” As he spoke he crouched down and, cradling Lan Zhan’s calf, gently raised his leg to lay on the cushion there.
Lan Zhan was just staring at him, blinking, when he looked up at him. Not even furious, just discombobulated, he thought. Wei Ying laughed awkwardly. “I mean, last time, you just pretended the whole time that you didn’t need any help, but actually it was really bad, so… Mr Yang!” He scrambled to his feet to let Mr Yang draw another chair over.
Mr Yang bent over Lan Zhan’s leg, his hands hovering above the limb as he closed his eyes. After a minute or so he straightened up. “There is quite a bit of metalwork in there,” he said. “Pins and things.”
Wei Ying made a mental note to look up modern surgery techniques.
“Must have been pretty smashed,” Mr Yang concluded. “It is healing though. Can you show me how you have been attempting to advance the healing?”
Mr Yang replaced his hands and Lan Zhan closed his eyes. He sank, effortlessly, into deep meditation. Wei Ying had always been impressed by his ability to do this. It was more than just shutting his eyes. It was a quality of stillness that was infinite, that radiated out from him. Could Mr Yang feel it, the singing power of Lan Zhan’s core?
With Lan Zhan’s eyes shut, Wei Ying could finally look at him properly. It was really the same face, going well beyond mere resemblance. The same polished jade skin. Like jade, it gave the impression of softness and at the same time, the impermeability of stone. The smooth planes of his face that could never be any other way. The line of his jaw that would make a sculptor weep. The slight part of his lips…
Wei Ying rocked back on his heels, realising that he had begun to tip forwards, to look closer. In meditation, Lan Zhan’s face lost the pinched look he seemed to carry now. He was a bit older than he’d been during the Sunshot campaign, which was the last time they had really spent extended time together. He had the same tightness around the eyes though. A soldier’s eyes.
Mr Yang straightened again and coughed slightly, to signal the end of his examination. Wei Ying found himself watching avidly to see the moment when Lan Zhan’s dark lashes fluttered open so that he might catch the first flash of gold. Watching Lan Zhan awake from meditation was always like watching a god being born. Wei Ying really wished meditation wasn’t so fucking boring. It looked sort of breathtaking when you were good at it.
“Well,” Mr Yang said. “As far as I can see you are just going to need to ease off a little. The metalwork is all there holding the pieces together, and unless you want to go back to the hospital and have them take it all out, there is just less space for the flow of your qi. It is backing up. Overflowing.”
Lan Zhan frowned.
“It is working,” Mr Yang said. “Circulating as it should. You will just need to be patient. Put less power into it. Rest also. Allow the normal functions of healing to proceed.”
“If your leg was bad, why did you take the stairs? There’s an elevator,” Wei Ying exclaimed.
Lan Zhan frowned again. “I do not like elevators.”
“You Lan always had a thing for stairs,” Wei Ying said. “There’s probably a rule about it. You shall not attain altitude without the appropriate exertion.”
“There is not,” Lan Zhan glared at him. But at least he was now properly annoyed rather than ashamed by his weakness.
“My grandmother had a recipe for tea with red dates that promotes healing,” Mr Yang said.
“I have visited Madam Granny Fruit,” Lan Zhan said, nodding towards the plums that Mrs Zhao was still holding. “If there is anything of a vegetable nature that will do me good, I can assure you that I already have it.”
“She has a soft spot for you,” Mr Yang agreed. “Always asks me how you are doing, when I pop by.”
Wei Ying could well imagine someone called ‘Madam Granny’ having a soft spot for Lan Zhan. Mrs Li would eat him right up. Mrs Yue’s heart belonged to her A-Ning, of course. Popo had said… But Wei Ying shut down that line of thought reflexively. “Who’s Madam Granny Fruit?” he asked quickly.
“Granny Fruit is one of the leaders of the Old Community in the city,” Mr Yang said. “I should take you to see her. It didn’t occur to me that A-Ning couldn’t, ah… well,” he finished awkwardly.
Wei Ying glanced at Wen Ning to see him hanging his head, his chin tucked diffidently in.
“Granny Fruit is the guardian to one of the oldest nature spirits in the city. She is…” Mr Yang stumbled.
“I am anathema to her,” Wen Ning said. “The Apple Tree Spirit is a spirit of life in the city and I am… dead.”
“Oh,” Wei Ying said. “Oh.”
“I don’t think you’re asthma,” Zhenzhen said, slipping around the table to slide her hand into Wen Ning’s.
“Thank you,” Wen Ning said quietly.
“Well, let’s eat!” Mrs Zhao said with what was either a masterly social steer or a cook’s grasp of exactly how long the soup had been simmering.
“Thank you, Zhao-furen,” Lan Zhan said, removing his leg from the chair and turning towards the table.
“Mrs Yue laughed at me when I called her Yue-furen,” Wei Ying said. “She said no one used those old-fashioned titles anymore.”
Lan Zhan’s brow contracted in consternation and he looked quickly at Mrs Zhao. “I am sorry if I have given offense?”
“Oh no,” Mrs Zhao said at once, from where she was serving out bowls of soup. “I think it is very nice. Very… courtly.”
“How about you, Yang-guniang?” Wei Ying said, grinning at Zhenzhen.
“Urgh!” Zhenzhen slouched in her chair in an effort to kick him under the table.
Zilong glared preemptively at him and Wei Ying laughed. Lan Zhan’s ears were still red, so Wei Ying grinned at him too. “Don’t worry, Hanguang-Jun.” Only an infinitesimal pause before he used the right name this time. “I expect Mrs Yue is just a rebel. Or she was just laughing at me. Just for being me, you know? I have that effect on people.”
“Mrs Yue likes you very much,” Wen Ning said.
“In the Old Community many people still use the honourifics,” Mr Yang said. “Not consistently, but it's part of how we are a little apart from the mundane folk. We remember and that’s important.”
“Thank you,” Lan Zhan said, “for explaining. In Gusu we have not… kept up with the times very well.”
“They aren’t all that much to write home about,” Mr Yang said.
“But there is some great stuff!” Wei Ying said. “I mean, you probably wouldn’t be much of a one for escalators, but I think it’s neat the way that the steps wrap around the belt and come up right side up. Which, of course, they would. It’s so simple, like a waterwheel, but for people.”
“I did appreciate the elevator at my hotel. I am currently on the 64th floor,” Lan Zhan said.
“You live in a hotel?” Wei Ying asked, spoon poised to his lips.
“Currently,” Lan Zhan repeated, without elucidating.
“Cool!” Zhenzhen said.
“Have there been any further sightings of the spirit we have all been warned about?” Mr Yang asked.
Lan Zhan glanced around the table before answering, but then seemed to reconcile himself to accommodating the presense of Wei Ying and Wen Ning. “No,” he said, “there have not, though there are certain leads.” He paused to take a mouthful of soup.
The Lan must have relaxed their principles on talking during meals, Wei Ying thought. Or else, just Lan Zhan had.
“But, we should eat,” Lan Zhan said with a pointed look at the two children at the table. A conversation he did not want to have in front of them, then. “This meal is delicious. Thank you,” a slight hesitation, “Zhao-furen.”
“Oh, it is just a regular family meal,” Mrs Zhao said, going pink.
“So,” Wei Ying said quickly before Zhenzhen could point out the irregular amount of effort her mother put into it, “the Lan are still at Gusu then?”
Lan Zhan nodded. Perhaps he still preferred not to talk much during meals after all. But that was okay, Wei Ying had always been able to carry a conversation. “That’s great. So much has changed since I died, but the Lan are still there on their mountain. I studied there, you know,” he explained to the kids as he fished a wonton out of his bowl and dropped it in Zhenzhen’s. “Beautiful place, so many steps! It’s all up in the clouds. Not that I appreciated that when I was fifteen. I was terrible. Got kicked out. You shouldn’t do that, if you ever get the chance to study there. You still take guest disciples, right?”
“No,” Lan Zhan said, his eyes on his bowl.
“Really?” Wei Ying said, fishing out another wonton and this time reaching over to drop it in Zilong’s bowl. “It used to be the most prestigious place to study. Everyone wanted their kids to have a chance to be accepted as a guest disciple. Hell of a lot of rules, though.”
“The Lan have been a closed sect since the mid-eighteenth century,” Lan Zhan said quietly.
“Huh? That’s too bad,” Wei Ying said. “The Lan sword style was a really good discipline. Everyone has their own style, of course, but studying the Lan forms was a real stretch for everyone. They are so precise and minimal, it's really hard to get any power into them unless you get it just right. Any sloppiness and you get your arse handed to you. Still, maybe Lan Zhan can teach you.”
More wonton had appeared in his bowl, probably from Wen Ning. Mrs Zhao always set a dish for him even though he did not eat. Wei Ying leaned forward to distribute them between the children.
“A-Ying!” Mrs Zhao scolded. “I’ve told you. There’s plenty for everyone. Eat your own food. If the children want more they can ask.” She stood to ladle him another serving. “Here,” she said, bringing over a red jar from the counter, “you can put your chilli oil on it if you don’t like it.”
“I do! I do like it. Thank you, Mrs Zhao. Sorry,” Wei Ying said, feeling his cheeks heat. He knew it was maybe a bit weird, but he just wasn’t comfortable eating food with the children there. With adults it was fine. You just had to make sure you each had equal portions. He glanced up at Lan Zhan to find him watching him. He ducked his head in embarrassment.
“It is going to be a topic at the next discussion conference, now they have started again,” Lan Zhan said.
“What is?” Wei Ying said, looking up confused.
“Resuming the practice of hosting guest disciples.”
“Oh.”
“To rebuild communication between the sects and promote the exchange of knowledge.”
“Oh, well, that will be cool.” He had not realised how fractured the sects had become over the previous centuries. No discussion conferences. No guest disciples. “Maybe that means you will get to go and study there after all,” Wei Ying said to the children.
Zilong shrugged. “I’m no good with a sword anyway. I want to be an inventor, like you.”
Wei Ying let out a surprised laugh, warmth bubbling in his chest. There was really nothing like the frank admiration of children. “You’ll still want to study at the Cloud Recesses though, if you get the chance. They have the most amazing cultivation library. At least, it was burnt once, but I heard you saved most of the books?” he looked at Lan Zhan.
“Yes,” Lan Zhan nodded. “It is, as far as I know, the most extensive extant collection of cultivation texts in the world.”
“There you go,” Wei Ying said. “If we are going to expand the practice of talismans and arrays we will need to do proper research.”
“Well, I don’t want to research,” Zhenzhen said. “I want to fight with lightning.”
“Fighting with lightning will definitely be very cool. But if you want to do it with real panache, you should still consider studying with the Lan. I saw warriors from all the major clans fight during the Sunshot campaign… and after, but anyway,” Wei Ying’s voice faltered a little. He didn’t want to share with Zhenzhen and Zilong the idea that, in the end, he had been a hunted man.
But he was telling a story and Wei Ying was never one to disappoint an audience. “So, the Nie fight with unsurpassed ferocity. Great slashing forms with sabers as big as you are tall! Terrifying. Yunmeng Jiang, which was my… the sect I trained in, are a real asset on the battlefield. Strength when you need it, but slippery, unpredictable and inventive.
“The Lan, though, can’t be beat for sheer style. I’ve seen a hundred Lan warriors, dressed in white, descend on a battlefield from the sky. All looking like heavenly immortals, like your Hanguang-Jun here. And everyone else was covered in blood and sweat, of course. And they took out their guqin and the chords they played! I could feel the ground shake. Feel it in my bones, the power of those qin, as men fell before them like grass before the wind.”
“You have seen that?” Lan Zhan asked, his voice low, but his gaze strangely intent.
“Yeah. It’s not something you forget, let me tell you! And,” Wei Ying said, getting into it. “I’ve seen Hanguang-Jun and Zewu-Jun fight, side-by-side. Bichen and Shuoyue danced together like summer swifts. Blood flowed in rivers around them, but the Lan robes are forever white.”
Lan Zhan’s face looked strange, almost as if his eyes had tears in them. Quickly, Wei Ying turned back to Zhenzhen. “Have you heard of Zidian? That was an ancient weapon of the Meishan Yu clan and it passed by marriage to the Yunmeng Jiang, so I knew it. Rather intimately, in fact, haha! That’s what I thought of when I first gathered the lightning power here when I woke up. It was a ring set with a purple stone and it transformed, in the hands of its wielder, into a whip of purple lightning. How cool is that?”
Zhenzhen nodded vigorously. “Whoa! I want one! Can we make one of those?”
Wei Ying tipping his head to one side, “You know, I don’t know? Maybe?”
*
Lan Wangji found himself in a strange mood by the end of the meal. Part of it was relief at Yang Xuedong’s assessment of the progress of his healing. It was good to know that there was nothing fundamentally wrong. Only the difficulties thrown up by the unaccustomed confluence of spiritual healing and the medical technologies of the common people.
He had been annoyed when Wei Ying had called attention to his leg. He had thought he was masking his limp well. He preferred, always, to nurse any injuries in private. His old teacher, Lan Xingyu, had told him off about this. At least, that was what Lan Wangji had inferred from a long and rambling story he had told about the library cat, who was not of course a pet, but a rodent-prevention colleague.
The cat had got in a fight with a rat or something and it had taken Lan Xingyu three days to track her down because she had taken herself off. By that time the bites had become infected and the cat was malnourished and dehydrated. All in all, the message had been that Lan Wangji should more properly consider others and not choose to conceal when he might need help. And not be like a cat. Who had also bitten Lan Xingyu when he tried to help her.
Perhaps it was recalling the moral of this story that had taken the sting out of his annoyance with Wei Ying. Wei Ying had appeared to act out of genuine concern. Lan Wangji had given up attempting to correct himself from referring to Wei Wuxian as Wei Ying. Everyone else did and, well, he probably had more important things to worry about.
Maybe it was all part of Wei Ying’s plot to lull him into a false sense of security? If so, everyone else was either in on it or had fallen for it. He was so at home here, with the Yang family. Lan Wangji had been here a handful of times before. It had always been nice. Just slightly awkward, as social occasions always were for him. Yang Xuedong was the only one always at ease. His wife tended to regard him with a certain amount of awe. The children didn’t seem to know what to make of him.
They clearly didn’t have that problem with Wei Ying. Or Wen Qionglin either. It had been obvious how comfortable the children were with them, the banter, the affection between them all. Mrs Zhao also. The way she’d rested a hand on Wen Ning’s shoulder when he had gathered up all the bowls on his side of the table to pass to her. The way she, always unfailingly polite – even deferential – to him, had scolded Wei Ying for passing off his food to the children and made him eat.
Zhenzhen had a surprising capacity for wonton, given her size. Wei Ying, despite Mrs Zhao’s efforts, ate very little. Perhaps he really had not liked it? But then his friend, Wen Qionglin, would not have been passing him more? It was perplexing.
Mrs Zhao set out cups and a pot of tea once the table was cleared. Lan Wangji was grateful for the heat of the cup in his hands and the veil of steam. Wei Ying’s description of the Cloud Recesses had struck a nerve. It was natural for his thoughts to turn towards his home with more frequency of late. Natural to feel a little homesick when you were unwell and in a strange city.
It did sound, from the way he spoke, like Wei Ying had really known the Cloud Recesses. It was good to hear that, at one time at least, the Lan had been renowned. Good to be reminded that the learning they still carefully husbanded had once been sought across the cultivation world. They should really accept guest disciples again. He would write to his brother to encourage him on this point.
More than anything, though, the description of the Lan in battle had brought a lump to Lan Wangji’s throat. They had been like this once too. Not just scholars. Not just guardians of ancient knowledge. They had gone out into the world and fought. They had been a force to be reckoned with. They had made a difference.
They still learnt the battle forms these days, but only as a matter of record, to keep the forms alive, that they might be passed on. The bodies and minds of their disciples were just so many archive repositories for knowledge and skills that must be preserved. Not used.
Lan Wangji had not even considered using Wangji in combat. On the sparring ground they only ever worked with sword forms. He knew the chords of the battle qin as exercises only. Wei Ying had seen it in action. Wei Ying had seen Zewu-Jun and Hanguang-Jun fight.
Lan Wangji sipped his tea, keeping his eyes down. It could be a fabrication, of course. No proof. Designed to appeal to his pride. But even if it was an invention, it had given him something. An insight into something he should never have forgotten.
“I hope the tea is brewed correctly, Hanguang-Jun?” Mrs Zhao asked.
He had been silent too long. “It is excellent,” Lan Wangji said. “The whole meal was excellent. Thank you.”
Mrs Zhao was indeed a very good cook. After a week in the hotel Lan Wangji had enjoyed the home-cooked food even more than usual. Restaurant food was always a bit too rich, even the healthy dishes. He had a kitchenette in his suite, but none of his own pans and knives of course. He didn’t like using the wrong equipment. He would have to do something with all the vegetables Granny had given him.
Perhaps he should move home now? The bathroom at the hotel, with its large tub, had been pleasant on his aching muscles and the room was nice, clean and bright and quiet. Good for meditation. Maybe he should move again? Try and find somewhere a little more congenial? But just the thought of trying to do that sapped the energy he had just received from the food.
“Can we show you the thing now?” Zhenzhen asked, vibrating perceptibly in her seat.
“The thing?” Lan Wangji asked.
“The map,” Zilong said, also bright-eyed. “We’ve been helping Ying-ge with his map prototype.”
“You have?” Lan Wangji blinked. He had not thought that the Yiling Laozu would be using children in his experiments. Happy and enthusiastic children.
“Ying-ge doesn’t know very much about electricity,” Zhenzhen said. “Ge has studied it at the big school.”
“Hey,” Wei Ying objected, “I didn’t know much at first. Which is not to say that you guys haven’t been really helpful, but, like, I am actually quite competent now. Come on!”
Zhenzhen rolled her eyes. Lan Wangji wondered if all six-year-old girls were as scathing. He could not really remember from when he was six.
“I’m helping keep track of the data,” Zilong explained. “Ning-ge places the yin energy within the test area and Zhenzhen calls the co-ordinates. Only Ying-ge is allowed to activate the arrays and charge the map because mama is afraid we’ll get cancer.” Zilong gave a sigh to indicate that this fear was, in his opinion, scientifically unfounded.
Lan Wangji glanced at their parents, but as neither of them seemed at all concerned about the proceedings he acquiesced. “Do we need to go outside?”
“Oh no,” Wei Ying said quickly. “I’m still working small scale. Just to get the principles in place. I just need the table. When everyone is done with their tea. No rush!”
Zhenzhen’s avid stare was enough to ensure that the tea was not lingered over. As soon as Lan Wangji was finished Zhenzhen was by his side.
“Can I show him?” she said. “Can I show him the map in our room?” Wei Ying nodded and Lan Wangji got to his feet. Zhenzhen immediately grabbed his hand and towed him out of the kitchen. Her respect for him had clearly been diminished by her excitement.
In the children’s room there was a desk between the beds, clear except for what looked like a sheet of copper laid on the table top. Zhenzhen dragged Lan Wangji over to look at it. It was plain, apart from a grid of lines scored lightly into the surface, with sequential numbers up each side. There was not much room between the two beds, so when Wei Ying and Zilong also joined them they had to huddle up around the table.
“So,” Wei Ying said, “this is the map. For now, the area depicted corresponds to that of the test area, which is the kitchen table.”
Zilong interrupted. “The ratio is 1:10. I drew it. When it's the real city it will have to be something more like 1:1000, though you’ll probably need to scale up the test area gradually so we don’t lose accuracy.”
“I see,” Lan Wangji said. He did not see.
“Absolutely,” Wei Ying said, in a manner which suggested that he, at least, did. “The test area is demarcated by four corresponding talismans, to create what is essentially an array. Only I can’t draw it as such because, ultimately, these will need to encompass the whole city and that’s a lot of line. Too vulnerable. But we’ll need to work up to that like Zilong says.
“For now, I set them at the four corners of the table next door. I’ll show you in a bit. The map is marked with resonating talismans on the back, see, to create correspondence?” He picked up the copper sheet and showed Lan Wangji the talismans in the four corners, drawn on the back in what looked like black ink.
“In the end the talismans should probably be engraved too, but I’m using sharpie for now, because I might want to change things.”
Lan Wangji peered at the talismans. He couldn’t read them, apart from some elements that he recognised as references to the cardinal points. They were familiar in some ways, sharing a certain kinship with the sigils on his compass and spirit lures, which made sense if they were all really authored by Wei Ying. Now he thought about it, it also reminded him of the design on certain warning talismans and boundary arrays. He would do some research to trace their authorship. “Why copper? Why not talisman paper?” he asked.
“Well,” Wei Ying said, “I’m going to use the existing electric grid to maintain the connection between the four points. Over such a huge area it's really the only sustainable solution. The cultivation path I’m working on now is based on channeling ambient electromagnetic energy. It’s just a hunch really, but copper is what all the wiring is made of and it seemed sympathetic, you know? Also, no blood, which is great.”
“Show me,” Lan Wangji said. It sounded strange to him, but then his grasp on what electricity actually was was extremely weak. “Was that what you used to block my strike when we first met? Electromagnetic energy?”
“Yeah, yeah!” Wei Ying said brightly. “I’m still only… I haven’t really codified anything yet. I got a bit distracted upgrading the protective arrays on this flat and… everything. Anyway, for a demonstration I’m going to set up the pseudo-array on the table and then come in here and charge the map. Once correspondence is established, Zhenzhen, who is our relay, will tell Wen Ning to touch the table. We will see where on the table he is, on this map here. Zhenzhen will shout the coordinates when we ask, to confirm.”
“I see,” Lan Wangji said again, which was very much still only partially true. But he followed the trio back out to the kitchen where the table was now cleared. Zilong brought out a big roll of paper, which he laid out across the table surface. It had the same grid drawn on it as the copper map, only larger to cover the whole table.
There were blobs of something along the underside that Zilong and Zhenzhen pressed into the table to keep the paper in place. Sticky tack of some sort. Zilong then took out a box that from the pictures and text on the lid purported to be a child’s introduction to circuitry.
“This is to simulate the power grid,” Wei Ying said. “There are electricity lines running everywhere, but while we are still working at this really small scale we needed to fake it.”
As Wei Ying explained, Zilong had taken out a coil of insulated wire and some plastic objects from the box. He and Zhenzhen tacked the wire around the lip of the table and then Zilong fed the ends into a couple of the plastic boxes, which he’d set on a chair.
“This is the battery pack. The switch unit and the light aren’t really necessary,” Zilong said, gesturing at the box and the other small plastic things. “But they came in the set and it means we can see when the circuit is live and switch it off between trials to preserve the battery.”
Lan Wangji nodded. He realised that he was going to have to spend quite a bit of time looking things up in the near future.
Wei Ying then took out four pieces of copper, each about the size of his hand and bearing sigils that looked, superficially at least, the same as on the map. He laid them on the four corners of the table. Zilong flicked the switch so that the little bulb ignited, then Wei Ying, humming to himself, did… something.
It was something Lan Wangji could not really follow, but he could feel energy fluctuate around him and the hairs prickle on the back of his neck. Wei Ying charged each tablet and, at his touch, the drawn lines glowed briefly. The little bulb attached to the circuit flickered momentarily.
“That’s the test area set up,” Wei Ying said.
He and Zilong headed back to the bedroom and Lan Wangji followed them. Zilong sat on the bed and popped his laptop open to type something. Lan Wangji felt the same stir and atmospheric fizz of energy as Wei Ying placed his fingers on the copper map.
“Ready,” said.
“Ready,” Zilong yelled towards the doorway, making Lan Wangji jump.
“Standby!” He heard Zhenzhen shout from the kitchen.
“Come on, come here,” Wei Ying said to Lan Wangji. “You can’t see from there. Look.”
Directed by Wei Ying’s nod Lan Wangji came over and looked down at the map. Even as he approached a pinprick of light appeared on the copper surface. Lan Zhan looked up and around, but could see nowhere the light could be being projected from.
“You can touch it,” Wei Ying said, “cover it up, whatever. It’s quite safe. It’s just a marker.”
Lan Zhan shaded the light with his hand. It certainly was not being shone onto the map from elsewhere. It glowed up from the map surface.
“Are you ready?” Zhenzhen’s impatient shout came from the kitchen.
“Wait a bit!” Zilong called back.
“Okay, now we note the grid reference,” Wei Ying said. “Zilong, come and show Lan Zhan.”
Zilong discarded his laptop and drew a line, with the aid of a clear plastic ruler, from the numbered line at the bottom of the map to the dot and then from the numbered line on the side to the dot. “Twenty-three by seven and a half,” he said. “See?”
Lan Wangji, bending over the map, could make out the numbers and where they intersected on the map. He nodded.
“Report!” Zilong shouted towards the door.
“Twenty-three by seven and a half!” Zhenzhen’s glee-filled response was shouted back.
“That’s where A-Ning is touching the table. Where yin energy over a normal level is manifesting,” Wei Ying said, grinning up at him.
“Shall we show you again?” Zilong said with so much pride and enthusiasm that Lan Wangji could only nod.
It was remarkable. If what he was seeing was true. If it wasn’t some trick. Zilong wiped the lines he had drawn off the copper map with a tissue leaving it clear.
“Whiteboard marker,” he said to Lan Wangji, who did not know what he was talking about.
They repeated the experiment. The second time, after the grid reference was confirmed, Zilong shouted “Now in motion!”
Lan Wangji watched as the dot traced slowly across the map to a new resting point, the grid reference for which was again confirmed.
“The idea will be that we can track everything, in real time, wherever it is and as it moves,” Wei Ying said.
It was… if this could work… Lan Wangji could not even begin to think it through. Before he got his thoughts in order, Wei Ying was nudging him with his elbow. “Now from the other end. Go into the kitchen and watch them there.”
Lan Wangji was still trying to process what he was seeing, but he went back into the kitchen where the others all were.
Zhenzhen was beaming. “It’s so cool! Isn’t it so cool? We only got it working as good as this last Saturday!”
“It… is very interesting,” Lan Wangji agreed.
“It’s remarkable,” Mr Yang said, also beaming. “I don’t know how he does it, but it works. And if it can work on a larger scale, city-wide, well! It might be possible to track where every yin-heavy entity in the city is at any time!”
“It would,” Lan Wangji said slowly, “be remarkable if that were possible.” Seeing it played out in this small scale made the possibility tantalisingly tangible.
“Because we only have Ning-ge,” Zhenzhen broke in, “we can’t test if it will work with lots of different ghosts at the same time. Ying-ge says it should. We tried with Ning-ge placing two hands in different places, but that didn’t work. Probably because he is only one person.”
Lan Wangji looked over at him. Wen Qionglin gave Lan Wangji his small diffident smile and then looked down.
“Ready?” Zilong was the impatient one this time, shouting down the hall from the bedroom.
“Oh yeah,” Zhenzhen said. “Ready!” she yelled.
Wen Qionglin bent forwards and then glanced up at Lan Wangji. “Please indicate where I should set my hand, Hanguang-Jun,” he said softly.
Lan Wangji stepped up to the table and pointed, at random, to a spot on the surface. Wen Qionglin set his hand down in that place. A minute or so later Zilong shouted out a pair of numbers.
“See, see,” Zhenzhen said, dancing forwards to draw Lan Wangji’s attention to the relevant numbers that marked the position of Wen Qionglin’s hand on the grid. “That’s what they said!”
Lan Wangji could feel his heart beating fast in his chest. He had to take a slow breath to steady himself. There was a lot that was still unsubstantiated. Could it work outdoors? Could it really track anyone other than Wen Qionglin? How reliable and accurate could it be, when scaled up? A few centimetres on a tabletop was nothing, across the city you could be in completely the wrong neighbourhood.
“I mean,” Wei Ying said, coming into the room seemingly half-way through a conversation he had started with Lan Wangji in his own head. “You’ll want to verify. Bring someone else along that you trust. I can see that it might be an elaborate put-up job, memorized sequence of grid references or whatever.”
Lan Wangji turned and Wei Ying was in the doorway bouncing on his heels.
“Well, it would be pretty shitty,” Wei Ying rattled on, “to put the kids up to something like that and I think you know Mr Yang wouldn’t do something like that, but anyway…”
“You couldn’t know,” Lan Wangji interrupted. “The last sequence could not have been planned between you. I told Wen Qionglin where to place his hand.”
“Oh,” Wei Ying said, “well, that’s good. You can see it works, at least like this. That’s pretty good, for starters?” Wei Ying was grinning at him broadly. His smile was infectious, his eyes happy crescents. It tugged at Lan Wangji’s memory. That smile, in the darkness. Hi Lan Zhan, it’s me, Wei Ying!
Wei Ying, who was also a demonic cultivator, who had woken a fierce corpse. Who claimed to be the Yiling Laozu, founder of demonic cultivation. And also, it seemed, now the founder of a whole new cultivation path using, if Lan Wangji understood, ambient electromagnetic radiation. Lan Wangji blinked.
Wei Ying’s smile faltered in the face of Lan Wangji’s lack of response. “I know it’s early days. There’s a lot still to iron out, but it's a start. I’ve only been working on it for about a week.”
“It is,” Lan Wangji said slowly, “an interesting proposition, if it can indeed be scaled up.”
Wei Ying nodded. “I was thinking that the next step would be to take it outside. Try something like a whole building. You could come, if you like. If your leg’s better. Bring someone else you trust. Someone you know I can’t have corrupted or something. But I swear it’s legit.” He looked hopefully at Lan Wangji.
Lan Wangji nodded slowly. It would be important to see it work on a larger, less contained scale. It would be good to have someone else with him to verify. It would have to be Yu Xiaohong, he supposed. There was no one with the requisite knowledge of cultivation that he trusted so much. But, then he would be asking her to lie, at least by omission, to Ma Guoqing, which felt unfair. A breach of trust within the team.
But this was, in the end, a cultivation matter. The development of new cultivation tools and the sounding out of a new potential ally. Lan Wangji already collaborated with members of the Old Community who remained unknown to the police. Ma Guoqing knew this in outline. He understood and had not, at least not yet, asked for any details of their other work, only for data on the entities they encountered.
Yu Xiaohong was a member of the Old Community. They needed to know about this new development and have their own say. Yang Xuedong had said he meant to introduce Wei Ying to Madam Granny Fruit and, through her, the Apple Tree Spirit. Perhaps Lan Wangji should accompany them there?
It was a lot – to decide the fates of Wei Ying and Wen Qionglin on his own – but perhaps he didn’t need to do it alone? He could, at least, observe the judgments of others and include that in his evaluation. He was tired suddenly, his leg aching from being on his feet this past half hour.
“Your leg!” Wei Ying suddenly exclaimed as if he had heard his thoughts. “You’ve been standing this whole time.”
This precipitated a little whirl of action. The tabletop graph was dismantled and the children were shepherded by their mother into the bathroom to get ready for bed. Lan Wangji was shown to the sofa and, when he refused to fully recline upon it, was furnished instead with a stool and cushion on which he was prevailed upon to elevate his leg.
Wen Qionglin made tea because Mrs Zhao was busy with the children, though he passed Lan Wangji’s cup to Mr Yang to proffer to him. Lan Wangji’s research had suggested that he must be the famed and feared Ghost General, or at least the echo of what had survived into the present of that renowned spectre. The knowledge was hard to reconcile with the Wen Qionglin before him, whose presence was so self-effacing that it was difficult to remember he had been in the flat this whole evening.
He and the Yiling Laozu, the bogeymen of tales from Lan Wangji’s childhood, were nothing like that in the flesh. Though, Lan Wangji did not know how much of Wen Qionglin remained flesh. And the flesh of Wei Ying was, in point of fact, the flesh of another man entirely, one Junyue, about whom everyone seemed to have forgotten.
Stealing other people’s bodies was not something that Ma Guoqing was likely to take kindly to. But then Wei Ying had said he had not stolen it and that Junyue appeared to have been the one who effected the exchange. Only his word for it of course. Only his word for a lot of things. And so many words, Lan Wangji thought a little ruefully. His brain felt over-full.
Wei Ying was still talking. “It doesn’t work like regular radar, you know, radio waves bouncing back off things. Did you know bats did that? Not with radio waves of course, but with sound. Anyway, more like the compass of evil, really, because the spirits we’re seeking are emitting high, or at least unusual, levels of yin energy.”
Wei Ying sank easily into a cross-legged pose on the carpet by the sofa without pausing. “So it was more about finding a way to transpose the principles of the compass onto the map, the attraction towards concentrations of yin energy. But with the reach extended because of using the electric grid, not a single source like the compass in your hand. It allows us to triangulate instead of just point.”
Lan Wangji nodded, it did conform to the principles of the compass as he understood them. And, in inverse, to those of the lure flag.
“It’s really just working with the patterns of energy as we’ve always understood them, basic attractants, the relationship between yin and yang and the way they act on one another. The spirit lures work on that basis too,” Wei Ying said, just a moment later.
“It’s not that big a leap, but I guess without an alternative power source it wasn’t really feasible with traditional cultivation. The compass though,” Wei Ying smirked up at Lan Wangji. “I can’t believe you were all still using my ancient design, with hardly any modifications. The regular people have changed nearly everything from back then, with cars and airplanes and computers and stuff. The old compass of evil is like, I don’t know, still using a handcart.”
“It works,” Lan Wangji said, a little stiffly.
“Yeah, but,” Wei Ying scoffed, “you guys had 1500 years and all you had to do was sit down and tinker with it for a few hours. It was so basic. You saw what I did to Mr Yang’s compass? Range, strength, custom exclusions. They weren’t big adjustments.”
Lan Wangji was a little stung. Really, Wei Ying was too arrogant. “Until recently, such adjustments were not necessary. For most of that time each sect maintained its own territory and the watchtowers alerted us to threats outside those areas.”
“So, you just had enough peasants to push your handcarts around?” Wei Ying laughed.
Lan Wangji bristled. But he was forced to acknowledge that part of his irritation came from the knowledge that there had been attempts to develop rival compass designs under the Ming and that none of them had proved as reliable and so had fallen out of use.
“This electricity, this lightning path,” Lan Wangji went for an aggressive subject change instead. “You have been alive again for only a couple of months, and you have devised a whole new mode of cultivation?”
Wei Ying gave him a small twist of a smile that looked strangely predatory on his sweet, boyish face. “It took me three months in the Burial Mounds to forge the demonic path, I guess it was easier the second time around?”
“Why?” Lan Wangji asked.
“Why what?” Wei Ying frowned.
“Why have you pursued this new path?”
“I told you,” Wei Ying said. “I promised Wen Ning. It seems, you were… my Lan Zhan was right. Resentful energy is harmful to the user. It exacts a cost and, in the end, I couldn’t pay anymore. And it was bad. I don’t want to do that again.”
“Why not return to the righteous path then? You said you have a golden core now.”
“Because,” Wei Ying said, baring his teeth and sitting up straight for the first time, “there isn’t time for that! I need the power now, not in fifty or a hundred years time.”
“What for?”
“Well, for one, so I can be of enough use to you and your police friends to stop them from coming for us. For Wen Ning! If it wasn’t for me you wouldn’t have known about him.” Wei Ying waved his hands, gesturing at his friend, his fierce corpse who sat quietly holding, but not drinking, a cup of tea.
Temperatures over 1000 degrees Celsius destroy most non-human subjects, Lan Wangji recalled and wished he had not.
“And,” Wei Ying continued, “I don’t like being fucking useless. And I’m not. I’m not useless. I can help this way. Mr Yang told me how you night hunt every night. How he and the other rogue cultivators in this city are struggling to stay on top of the rising numbers of attacks and hauntings. How it’s not… not really under control anymore.”
Wei Ying shrugged, the anger seeming to run out of him leaving him again looking like a young man, overwhelmed and sad. “It’s getting worse and worse. And if even Mr Yang…” His eyes darted to look out down the hall to where they could all hear Mrs Zhao scolding the children into bed. “What about them? What about everybody? And maybe it’s even because of people using my designs. These new demonic cultivators, summoning things that shouldn’t be here with so many ordinary people. Then it’s also sort of my fault.”
“I don’t think it can really be considered your fault,” Lan Wangji said slowly. “Or, at least, such fault as there might be is shared by the many, many hands these designs have passed through over the centuries since your death, to convey them into the present. And, especially, those who are disseminating and making use of them now.”
Wei Ying was looking down at his hands, working his thumb through a hole torn in his cuff. The man he’d claimed to be had turned to demonic cultivation because he had lost his core (allegedly) and had fought in the Sunshot campaign with Chenqing only. Sources were contradictory, but his contribution to the Sunshot campaign was established in reliable records (the Lan archives) as decisive to the victory against Wen tyranny. He had then turned on the cultivation world, and made a bid for personal power using a resurrected army of Wen (supposedly).
It did not appear to be very logical, when he could have allowed the Wen to first subdue the cultivation world and then simply deposed their leadership. Unless it was that he was corrupted by the crooked path he followed. He was supposed to have been driven mad by it. So, perhaps the megalomaniacal final phase was a manifestation of this madness?
He certainly did not appear to be mad now. A little erratic in his speech, perhaps, and certainly somewhat disordered in his dress, but certainly not irrationally homicidal. Could history repeat itself? Could Wei Ying fight against chaos in the city and then be driven mad by this lightning path, plunging the city back into chaos? There seemed to be no particular grounds to expect that.
Lan Wangji found he was just staring at Wei Ying without saying anything, and had perhaps been doing that for some minutes. He stirred himself and looked away. This was the first day he had been out of his hotel room for more than a brief bit of fresh air. He was flagging. His training and experience urged him to caution, but his heart tugged at him.
He had to be careful. He was tired, currently weak and in pain, so of course he wanted there to be other people he could rely on. Of course the promise of something like this, a tool to turn the tide, the ache of what it would mean to have hope again, was difficult to resist. And if it was a false hope? Would that really make any difference when the reality was that he was fighting now without any hope of victory, only the grim belief that the cause was just?
Mr Yang leaned forward in his chair and handed Lan Wangji a paper talisman. “Look,” he said, “A-Ying wrote this. All the family carry one now. He made a new protection array for our home too. Don’t get up, you can look on your way out. They are all keyed to give him and A-Ning warning if we are attacked. That’s what his lighting path is for, I think.”
Mr Yang was looking at Lan Wangji solemnly. “I’ve examined his core. It’s not fundamentally flawed, but it's very small. There’s nothing he could do if one of those talismans ignited. Not with traditional cultivation. But he can pull bolts of lightning out of thin air. You saw him block Bichen. When one of these talismans is used, and let’s be honest that could be any day now, I very much hope he’ll be there to come and help. Him and A-Ning.”
The truth of this twisted in Lan Wangji’s chest. He saw Wen Qionglin sit up a little straighter. The first glimpse of the power a fierce corpse like that might be capable of. Wei Ying, though, curled forwards, like he felt the same twist of fear as Lan Wangji. His eyes had been fixed with a desperate intensity on Yang Xuedong since he started speaking. His knuckles white.
Yang Xuedong had been a cultivator for thirty years and he didn’t have the strength to protect his family against things like the Jade spirit. What must it be like to live with that knowledge? As things stood, Lan Wangji was not sure he or anyone else could stop that thing. But, if he could not extend any guarantee of safety himself, what right did he have to take away the promise of protection offered by Wei Ying and Wen Qionglin, untested as it was?
“I just want to help. I just can’t… can’t bear it if…” Wei Ying said, quietly, looking up. “I wanted to protect people. That’s all I ever meant to do, Lan Zhan.”
Lan Wangji did not bother correcting Wei Ying on the use of his name. He nodded and handed Yang Xuedong back the talisman.
*
Presented to the Duke of Shih-hsing
Rather perch in a wild wood
Rather drink from a mountain stream
Than consume fine rice and meat
And struggle for audience of the great
How crude this vulgar frugality
But I shall dress coarsely till my head is white
Intelligence may not be my forte
But I may claim to be humane
They say that Your Excellency
Makes no distinction of friend and foe
That you do not sell offices
That all your activities are for all the people
Your humble servant thus petitions you:
Could he find a place in your ministry
With gratitude for choice on public ground
Without desire for private preference.
Wang Wei (699-761)
trans. G. W. Robinson, Wang Wei: Poems (Penguin, 1973)
Chapter 9
Notes:
Content warning for descriptions of panic attacks.
This chapter ends with a cliffhanger/unresolved moment of tension that will not be resolved until the next chapter, so wait a few weeks to read them both together if you hate that sort of thing. Note: the tension is not conflict between WWX and LWJ.
Millions of thanks continue to be owed to Cypressey and Keriarentikai for their insightful beta and to Auntieiroh for the motivational power of her podfic of the story as it unfolds.
Chapter Text
Wei Ying woke to find his pillow wet and his chest aching. The shadows gathered close in around him felt threatening and he fumbled for the light switch. The darkness receded, but not far enough. The room looked strange and unfamiliar. Full of objects he did not recognise. Nothing was how it had been before. How it should be. Wen Ning was still at work and Wei Ying fought to keep his mind as blank as possible, keep the memories of the dream at bay, as he scrabbled to pull on a hoodie and thrust his bare feet into boots.
He needed to get out. Needed not to feel hemmed in. Needed the sky. The real world. He staggered down the dark stone corridor and out into the alley. It was barely dawn. The sky was the strange mud colour it showed when the clouds were low and the lights of the city bled into the night sky. No stars. No moon. Nothing from his old life.
The walls of the alley were black voids, broken here and there by the occasional light slung over a yard gate. The air, at least, was cold and crisp. He couldn’t tell if the tang of blood at the back of his throat was from the dream or if he’d bitten his tongue in his sleep. There were still too many shadows. Something moved further down the alley and the terror of the dream reignited suddenly. A swirl of motion in the darkness, or maybe that was just a trick of his vision, as he turned and ran.
They were coming. His enemies or his ghosts turning on him. His heart pounded in his throat as he ran. Somewhere, beating in the back of his head like his pulse, the half-formed idea that he had to lead them away. Away from Mrs Yue. Away from all the people sleeping, from Mrs Li and Mr Lu. Away from Auntie Qu and A-Yu at the mini-mart and the foreign students in the end house who smiled and smiled and had worse accents than he did. The sound of his boots slapping on the cobbles reverberated off the stone walls of the hutong.
He ran until his lungs were screaming and his side ached where Jiang Cheng had stabbed him. He slowed down and the action of slowing seemed to rob his body of its fuel of panic. He managed only a few more steps before his knees gave out. He dragged himself to the side of the pavement and huddled up against the wall there.
Slowly his breathing slowed from gasps to regular pants. He became aware of the drone of cars passing up and down as the city slowly awakened. The road was a wide one, three lanes in both directions, trees planted on either side and broad pavements. A large expanse of sky stretching in both directions. The sky at one end had brightened from mud to silver sand, the street lights and car lights only a faint glow. They would start to go out now, as the daylight took over.
His dream was fading. It had no place in this space of droning metal carriages and glass towers. In the dream he had been in the Nightless City, only not quite. The architecture of the courtyards had been exaggerated and labyrinthine. Jiang Cheng had been there, seated on the Sun Palace throne. He shouldn’t have been there. Wei Ying had tried to drag Jiang Cheng away, had almost got him out of the throne room when the corpse of Wen Qing appeared and caught hold of his arm saying ‘what about the baby?’ Her neck was broken.
That was when Wei Ying had remembered the child. A child he was supposed to look after, to protect. He had promised, but he’d forgotten until now. The panic roared through him. He must have put the baby down to look for Jiang Cheng and maybe now it was too late. How could he have forgotten? He had to find it before it was too late.
Wei Ying stared hard at the passing cars, at the lights coming on as more and more of the blank glass windows of the towers illuminated and the offices started another day of work. He tried to forget the terror of trying to make his way through the Sun Palace, fighting off corpses he dared not look at for fear they would wear the faces of people he knew. And forget the baby who might or might not have been Zhenzhen or A-Yuan or fourth-shidi. Or another child, a nameless child, whose death he was responsible for.
He shivered, drenched in sweat either from his run or from the terror of not finding the child, not saving Jiang Cheng. The only member of his family he hadn’t killed. He needed to remember, Jiang Cheng became chief cultivator. Lan Zhan had said. He didn’t die in Nightless City. It wasn’t Jiang Cheng who had died there…
Wei Ying heaved himself over onto his hands and knees and retched. When he was finished he sat back against the wall again, staring at the sky. With the acid out of his stomach and the numbness of exhaustion setting in he felt marginally better. Well, he felt like utter shit, but not in immediate existential peril.
It was really cold. The hollowness inside him felt familiar, but it wasn’t real, he reminded himself. It was a memory. He had a core now. Wei Ying sent a little flutter of thought down into his lower dantian as he breathed and felt a flicker of life in response. His little fledgling golden core.
Huaisang had once tried to hand rear a golden oriole, he remembered. He had said it was going to be so beautiful and then he showed them this scraggly, red-necked thing with an insane puff of sparse grey feathers on the top of its head. Jiang Cheng had been disgusted with it and Wei Ying had laughed until he cried as Huaisang had tried to explain how beautiful it would be when it fledged.
It had died though. Huaisang had not been very good at catching insects. Wei Ying should take better care of his own scraggly little core. It had been a gift after all. He had not received so many gifts in his life that he could reasonably treat them with such disdain. And he might still need it, if something was dropping buildings on people. You couldn’t mend bones with lightning.
He settled himself and began to breathe, deep into his stomach, revolving the air around his core, like he had been taught as a child. Centuries – or fifteen years – ago, depending how you counted it. The little core repaid him by thrumming into life and sending out warmth that he could direct around his body.
Maybe he should always go for a run before working on his qi exercises? Total physical exhaustion seemed to make his brain quiet enough for the resonance of the meditation to take hold. That might be a good idea. Mr Yang had also said running away was a core skill of the cultivator these days. Though maybe it wasn’t the run but the whatever else, the nightmare, that had temporarily scoured out the debris of his mind and left it clean and receptive like a well-scrubbed pot? Just a little raw because his insides were not cast iron.
Wei Ying felt pathetically grateful for the little golden note of his core inside him. He really should burn some paper money for Junyue to thank him for this. If people still did that now? Paper phone credits? Phone. Wei Ying felt in his pockets. He didn’t have his phone. Or a key or anything at all, in fact. And he didn’t know where he was. How far had he run? He had no idea.
He got to his feet. Ouch! Fuck! His feet hurt. Blisters, he thought. Probably from running in boots with no socks. He hobbled along, not even sure if he was going towards the hutong or in completely the wrong direction. Wen Ning would be home from work now. He would be worried.
It was no good having a GPS tracker on Wei Ying’s phone if Wei Ying didn’t remember to bring it with him. Well, he would just have to find his way back. There was no way for Wen Ning to find him in this enormous city. Things weren’t really desperate enough to use demonic energy to call him. Wen Ning would think it was a dire emergency and Wei Ying didn’t want to damage his little baby core if he could help it.
There must be another way to get back. Probably. Wei Ying hobbled along until he came to a small row of shops. The nail salon, whatever that was, was closed. So was the restaurant, but there was a grocers shop and Wei Ying went in. There was a middle-aged cashier sitting behind a perspex screen. Wei Ying went up to the counter and put on a winning smile. “Ah, jiejie, can you help me? I’m lost and I have lost my phone.”
The woman looked at him with a completely unresponsive expression.
Wei Ying tried his best to look pathetic. “I promise. I ran out of the house with no phone and now I’m lost. Can you tell me how to get to…” He gave the name of the alley.
“What you want?” the woman said, bruskly. Definitely her dialect was not the same as the Beijingers Wei Ying had met.
“You have a phone?” Wei Ying said.
The woman grunted.
Wei Ying thought about trying to explain about having a nightmare and running from the house. “So,” he started. He was not sure where he was going to go with this, but before he could form a plan he sensed someone come up behind him and the woman’s eyes slid over him to this new person.
It was a real customer, so Wei Ying stepped aside. The street kid in Wei Ying knew that no shopkeeper wanted to keep a real customer waiting while they dealt with a sob story. The customer set down a drink can and a packet of something for the woman to ring up, then paid, gathered it up and left.
Wei Ying returned to the counter. “Can you look up an address for me? Tell me how to get home? That’s all I want.”
The woman still seemed suspicious. “You got no phone?”
“Please auntie, look at the map thing on your phone. You can just show me,” he mimed holding a phone up to the perspex panel. In the end the woman slid a scrap of paper and a pen for Wei Ying to write the address and input it into her phone.
Wei Ying stared in dismay at the length of the little wiggly line he was supposed to follow home. That would take a long time, even if he could remember it all. And Wen Ning would be waiting for him. Not knowing what had happened. He didn’t know Wen Ning’s number by heart. Anyone’s number.
He saw on the map the little legend of the name of the mini-mart at the end of the alley. “Can you call that store for me? Call Qu Tian, it’s her store, and she can send A-Yu to tell Wen Ning where I am. Pleeeeeease.”
In the end the shop lady did call Qu Tian’s shop and Auntie Qu was very kind and booked him a Didi to bring him back. Whatever Auntie Qu had said had reassured the shop lady by the end and she gave him a can of bubbly drink for free when she noticed how his hands were shaking.
Everyone was very kind, Wei Ying reflected in the Didi. Soon he would come back with a protection talisman for the shop keeper here. Maybe he could start putting them on random buildings as he passed them?
*
Whether it was Yang Xuedong’s reassurance about his qi, Madam Granny Fruit’s prescribed vegetables or the tantalizing flicker of hope held out by Wei Ying’s invention, Lan Wangji was feeling a lot better only a few days after his meal at the Yangs’. He had checked out of the hotel and moved back to his old rooms, which were, indeed, dark and cramped, but at least had all his belongings and no obsequiously polite staff in the vicinity.
He had asked Yang Xuedong to let him know when he intended to take Wei Ying to Granny Fruit’s and so he was already there, being fussed over by Granny, when they arrived.
Granny was wrangling over Lan Wangji accepting or – his preferred stance – not accepting a daikon radish as big as his forearm, when her attention swung away from him and he felt a pressure in his temples like a storm brewing. It might have been that the overhead lights also flickered momentarily.
“Dong’r, what you bring that necromancer here for?” Granny Fruit said in a voice colder and more laced with power than Lan Wangji had ever heard from her.
Yang Xuedong, who was standing just inside the entrance of the shop, took a step back, raising his hands. “He’s not a necromancer, Granny.”
Madam Granny Fruit strode across the shop, disregarding Yang Xuedong and poked Wei Ying in the chest. “Where’d you get that body from, boy? Huh?”
Lan Wangji followed in her wake, vaguely aware of her daughters flooding into the shop behind him and customers setting down their baskets and quietly slipping out of the front door. Lan Wangji had the odd urge to put himself between Wei Ying and Granny Fruit, but he held back. He was here to observe. That was the point.
Wei Ying also had his hands raised in surrender, like Yang Xuedong. His eyes were wide, but he did not take a step back when she prodded him. “It was given to me,” he said.
Granny Fruit made a sceptical noise, but she did not eject him from the shop and Lan Wangji was completely certain that she could have, with the smallest extension of her will.
“I didn’t ask for it,” Wei Ying said. “I made no exchange. It just happened.”
Granny Fruit reached up and hooked her finger in the neck of Wei Ying’s hoodie, tugging it down so Wei Ying was forced to bend low, bringing his face level with hers.
“What you doing in my city?”
“I woke up here,” Wei Ying said quickly, making no effort to pull away from her scrutiny of him. “It was a sacrifice ritual, I think. He chose the terms and they were fulfilled before I even knew what was going on. He chose his own destruction while I was still dead.”
Granny Fruit tilted her head from side to side considering him. Lan Wangji had to remind himself to breathe in the hush of the room.
“Maybe so,” Granny Fruit said slowly after a pause, “but you are an eater of souls, I can see it in your eyes,” she wrinkled her nose, “smell it.”
“I walked the ghost path a long time ago. When I was alive last time,” Wei Ying said. “But, they ate me back. In the end, we were all dust together.”
Granny Fruit frowned, testing the truth of his words. “What you doing in my city now?” she repeated.
“I think,” Wei Ying said. “I think I’ve been given another chance. At first I thought it was just the chance to live, knock about a bit. But now, I’ve seen the guai coming down into the city. I’ve heard about, you know, the bad stuff happening. I want to… your city has been kind to me and I think, maybe, I can do better this time around. Make things better.”
“How you think you gonna do that?” Granny Fruit asked, but she at least released his neck so he could stand up again.
Lan Wangji could see Wei Ying’s throat work as he swallowed.
“Well, no more ghost path. I promised A-Ning.”
“You promised a ghost?” Granny shot back.
“He is my friend.”
“The dead have no place among the living. That is the law,” Granny said.
“He takes only the smallest place and he’s served the living for 1500 years. He is a good… person.” Wei Ying said.
“Then he should pass on, not linger here,” Granny said.
Wei Ying gave an awkward twist of his shoulders. “I think I might have ruined that for him, the first time around. I don’t know if he can. That’s also why I must keep my promise to him.”
“You’re a funny sort of necromancer, I’ll give you that,” Granny said, shaking her head.
“Ex-necromancer,” Wei Ying said. “I’m actually trying something new, but maybe…” He faltered, seemingly losing confidence in that gambit. He looked around and caught sight of Lan Wangji. “I’m going to work with Lan… with your Hanguang-Jun. If he decides he can trust me, that is.”
At the mention of his name Lan Wangji felt that he ought to step forward. “Wei… Wuxian has shown me some tools he is developing. They may help us to halt the spiritual pollution of the city.”
“A demonic tool?” Granny Fruit asked severely.
“No, no,” Lan Wangji said. “I would not—”
“No,” Wei Ying said at the same time, “I’m using electricity.”
“A machine?” Granny said, less scathing this time and more perplexed.
“Not really,” Wei Ying said, “kind of like a secret third thing. A third path. Harnessing the ambient electromagnetic energy of the modern city, a waste product really, and channeling it using traditional methods, like talisman.”
Granny Fruit squinted. Then she turned to Yang Xuedong. “What’s he talking about, Dong’r?”
“Er, it’s kind of like he says,” Yang Xuedong said, still holding his hands in the air. “He’s using electricity, but cultivating with it. He isn’t using any resentful energy and his grasp of talismanic principles is really high level. I don’t know how it works, but it does.”
“So that’s why you’re giving up the ghost path?” Granny Fruit stared at Wei Ying, as if she could see right through him. “You think you’ll be more powerful with this electricity?”
“Nooo,” Wei Ying said. “Resentment is the quickest path to the greatest strength. I guess that’s why people keep doing it, even with the, er, madness and the soul-eating destruction and everything.” He shrugged. “I promised A-Ning, like I said. And… well, it was really shit last time. It turned out badly for me and for everyone.”
“And if this electronic path turns out badly too?”
“Lightning path,” Wei Ying corrected. “It sounds better.”
Granny gave him a flat look.
Wei Ying quickly held his hands up in surrender again. “If it turns out bad, even a little bit as bad as the ghost path was – if I feel like I’m losing control – I’ll give it right up.”
“Oh? And is this on your honour as a soul-eating necromancer?” Granny retorted.
“On my honour as an ex-necromancer, whose soul was coughed back up after 1500 years in the void.” He extended his hands, bowing low. “Wei Wuxian, at your service and the service of the city.”
Granny made another snorting noise, but this time it was the usual noise of scepticism extended to young men who made outlandish claims. Similar, in fact, to the scepticism she showed Lan Wangji when he maintained that he was not in want of a three kilogram daikon.
The stormclouds seemed to lift and the daughters drifted off into whatever backrooms they usually occupied. Wei Ying and Yang Xuedong relaxed, Yang Xuedong taking an enormous gulp of air, like he’d forgotten to breathe properly this entire time.
“Come on, then,” Granny Fruit threw over her shoulder as she bustled towards the rear courtyard.
“Phew,” Wei Ying said, confidentially, falling into step with Lan Wangji as they followed Granny Fruit. “I thought I was for it for a bit there. Thanks for backing me up.”
“I…” Lan Wangji faltered because he had not considered his contribution in that light. He had corroborated Wei Ying’s statement, on a factual basis only. Hadn’t he? If he had unduly influenced Granny’s assessment then it would not, in turn, help him when he came to making his decision on Wei Ying at the end of the month.
Wei Ying was laughing with Mr Yang now, so Lan Wangji didn’t need to formulate a response. Wei Ying’s rattling style of speech at least left no awkward pauses. He seemed content to accept Lan Wangji’s non-contributions to conversation, rather than wait for a response when there was none. Lan Wangji determined he would be careful now, before the Apple Tree Spirit, not to do more than observe.
Wei Ying, who was still twisted around speaking to Mr Yang behind him, caught his foot on the door lintel into the yard and pitched over backwards. Lan Wangji caught one flailing arm and Wei Ying grabbed his sleeve with the other as he fell. The few paces that brought them into the orbit of the tree were only just enough to return Wei Ying to his feet and turn him around.
And so it was that they arrived before the tree with Lan Wangji’s hand at Wei Ying’s elbow. They were engulfed together in a small flurry of blossoms. Lan Wangji would have disentangled himself and stepped back, only Wei Ying, never having encountered the spirit before, had been startled by the strength of its aura and clutched Lan Wangji’s arm.
It was not the blossoms only, but a strange disorientation of the senses. A warm wind, where there had been no wind before. And a scent of dew on summer grass. An echo of bird song. No, an echo of another day entirely. Many, many summers. Certainly not this overcast, early-spring morning in Beijing. Ringing laughter.
But the laughter was real. It was Wei Ying beside him with his head tilted up into the falling flowers. He turned towards Lan Wangji, his smile just visible beyond the curtain of white and pink petals. He might have been speaking, but Lan Wangji couldn’t hear. His chest felt constricted and for a moment he held onto Wei Ying as tightly as Wei Ying had a hold of him.
In another moment, a few scattered petals lay on the ground and the sky was again grey overhead. The sound of traffic passing along the street beyond filtered over the roofs of the yard buildings. Lan Wangji’s heart was hammering unaccountably.
“Did you hear what she said?” Wei Ying was asking him, with tears standing in his eyes.
Lan Wangji could only shake his head. And then cough. It felt like he had something lodged in his throat. Maybe he had inhaled a petal.
“Well, not really said,” Wei Ying bubbled on. Like a mountain stream around the rocks of Lan Wangji’s silence. Lan Wangji shook his head to clear the strange image. He was supposed to…
“I am alive again,” Wei Ying said. “Like, it’s okay. That I am part of the world again. She said… she implied. I don’t know, that’s its okay for me to be back. It wasn’t… it isn’t some terrible mistake. For me to be here. For me to… be.”
“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji said, though he didn’t know what, if anything, it was he wanted to say. Of course the spirit had welcomed him. He was alive like she was. A summer soul, like she was. He did not let go of Wei Ying’s arm, if only because of the wild and disquieting sense that if he did he might do something outlandish like reach out to wipe away the tears that caught and trembled in Wei Ying’s lashes.
Granny Fruit made a disgruntled noise, which was the only warning Lan Wangji had that she was standing right beside them. It was the same sort of put-upon noise she made when forced to acknowledge that Lan Wangji was twenty-five years old and quite healthy and so it had to be theoretically possible to live on a vegetarian diet.
“He’s too skinny, Ji’r,” Granny Fruit complained.
Lan Wangji turned and blinked at her.
“Look at him,” she continued. “Blow over in a light breeze.”
“I…” Lan Wangji came to a stop again because he really couldn’t fathom what Wei Ying’s weight might have to do with anything.
Granny heaved another sigh and indicated with her chin for them to follow her back inside.
Lan Wangji opened his mouth to say that he hadn’t even greeted the Apple Tree Spirit, but presumably Granny Fruit would be aware of that and she was the Apple Tree Guardian. He disentangled himself from Wei Ying and made what he hoped was not a completely perfunctory bow to the tree, which he was pleased to see Wei Ying emulate, from the corner of his eye. Then they both turned and followed Granny inside.
Lan Wangji stepped aside to allow Wei Ying to step over the door lintel, back into the shop, ahead of him. His hand hovered at the small of Wei Ying’s back as he stepped through. What was he doing? He didn’t like touching people. Perhaps it was that he expected Wei Ying to trip again? And Granny had said that he might fall?
Granny puttered around the shop handing Lan Wangji a selection of fruits and vegetables, seemingly at random. “He needs meat,” Granny said with an odd emphasis, nodding towards Wei Ying. “Broth!” she added with a note of triumph, balancing the previously-contested daikon on the armful of produce Lan Wangji was now carrying. “Beef,” she said with finality. “Star anise and ginger. You eat!” This she threw over her shoulder at Wei Ying.
Lan Wangji glanced at Yang Xuedong to see if he knew what was going on. He just shrugged.
Granny Fruit had turned the gimlet eye of her attention over to Wei Ying. “Dampness! Too much sugar. Eat one every day.” She handed Wei Ying five or six lemons, which he almost fumbled, not being prepared for the fruit avalanche. “With the peel. Good for the qi.” She poked him in the lower dantian and a lemon slipped his grasp to bounce across the floor.
“You heard,” she turned on Lan Wangji again. She wagged a finger at him. “Make sure he eats the peel.”
“Yes, Granny,” Lan Wangji said obediently. Was he also supposed to make Wei Ying the broth? He certainly couldn’t eat this many vegetables on his own.
“Early strawberries for your family, Dong’r,” Granny Fruit continued. “Don’t go hiding ghosts from me again!”
“No, Granny. Sorry, Granny,” Yang Xuedong said.
“Keeping secret ghosts. Whatever next. Suppose they don’t eat much at least. Humph!” Granny Fruit bustled off into the back room talking to herself and not looking back.
After five or so minutes, Wei Ying whispered. “Is she coming back?”
Lan Wangji glanced around. Everything in the shop seemed to be continuing as if nothing had happened. No one was looking at them. “I think… not.”
“That was intense,” Wei Ying said.
“You dropped a lemon,” Yang Xuedong pointed out.
“Do I really have to…” Wei Ying wrinkled his nose, hefting the lemons.
“She’ll know and she’ll be mad at you,” Yang Xuedong said, nodding.
“But how will she know? Does the fruit tell her?” Wei Ying looked down suspiciously at the fruit in his arms.
Yang Xuedong shrugged. “She’ll know anyhow. It’s not worth it. Eat the lemons.”
“I think,” Lan Wangji said, “it is more likely some function of her understanding of human nature than direct communication from fruit.”
“You won’t tell on me, will you, babies?” Wei Ying crooned at his armful of lemons. “We’re going to make delicious, delicious lemonade together.”
“I don’t think you are supposed to increase the amount of sugar in your diet,” Lan Wangji said.
“Shhh!” Wei Ying said, attempting to shield the lemons from Lan Wangji. “Don’t put ideas into their heads.”
Ridiculous.
*
They had arranged to do their first field test of the map two days later. Wei Ying was excited to show Lan Zhan the plan he and Zilong had developed for the scaling up. It was a Friday night, so that Zilong could come along too to watch his invention in the field, seeing as he didn’t have school the next day. Wei Ying had been anxious at the idea of Zilong coming out at night, but Wen Ning had pointed out that it was up to his parents to decide.
Mr Yang had said that he’d accompanied his father on night hunts when he was fourteen. He’d never expected Zilong to do the same as his cultivation was not naturally high, but since it had turned out Zilong had an aptitude for this talisman work, he should participate. He would be with his father the whole time. Mr Yang was clearly thrilled at having this opportunity to share his work with his son.
Lan Zhan was bringing a colleague, another city cultivator called Yu Xiaohong, to help him assess the map. Mr Yang had said he’d met her a couple of times only and that he knew her uncle, Yu Xiongming, better.
“They aren’t classical cultivators,” Mr Yang had said. “They don’t carry swords. It’s mostly talisman work and Qigong. Maybe more, I don’t know. Old Families don’t share all their secrets.”
They had decided to meet out at a business park in the south of the city, where they could secure a largish area with few passers by, but that was still on the grid. Wei Ying decided not to set anything up in advance to make the test as transparent as possible for Lan Zhan and his friend.
Wei Ying was feeling buoyed up. After meeting Granny Fruit and the Apple Tree Spirit he’d had two nights without nightmares. His soul felt soothed by the sense of acceptance, even welcome, he’d experienced in the presence of the spirit. He hadn’t really been able to explain to Lan Zhan the nature of the essentially wordless communication, but from the poleaxed expression on Lan Zhan’s face, he’d caught something of the same power. The gnawing sense that his presence here, back in the world, was unwanted, an error and that it was all going to unravel any moment, had gone. He was here now and what he made of this opportunity was up to him. It had been a blessing of sorts.
And Lan Zhan had been there. Lan Zhan had held him and called him by his name and Wei Ying didn’t know why, but it was sort of neat that Lan Zhan had been there too. Like maybe he accepted his presence in this life too. Nice, also, to have someone from his life before. Not that this Lan Zhan knew him before. But he knew this Lan Zhan.
It was funny, but he really did know this Lan Zhan. He was very serious and very rational. You could see him always thinking so hard about everything. The little concentrated pucker between his brows. And he was very dutiful and respectful of elders. He had couriered round a large container of broth, still a bit warm, made from the vegetables that Granny Fruit had given him. Plus beef! Just because Granny Fruit had told him to! It was cute that he was so dutiful.
It was also objectively weird. Wei Ying was not an expert on contemporary world etiquette, but he was pretty sure it was weird to courier someone soup and not just ask them round or bring it round yourself. He wondered where Lan Zhan lived. Wen Ning had just said that Wei Ying should eat. Mrs Yue, who he had shared some of the broth with, had just shrugged and said it was good soup and not to look a gift horse in the mouth.
Mr Lu had said it meant she liked you, when Wei Ying had said that someone he just met a few times had couriered him soup.
“Probably she’s shy? Was it good soup?” Mr Lu asked.
“It was pretty good,” Wei Ying said, “kind of wholesome, but nothing a little salt and chilli oil couldn’t fix.” He decided that it was too complicated to explain that Lan Zhan was not, in fact, a girl he had met, but a cultivator and friend from a past life who was trying to decide if Wei Ying and Wen Ning were an abomination unto the heavens.
“I can’t remember when I last ate something that didn’t come out of a packet or a cook shop,” Mr Lu said, a little wistfully.
Wei Ying had invited him to come and finish the broth that evening with him and Mrs Yue. He maybe shouldn’t have done that, because it meant essentially inviting someone round to Mrs Yue’s as they always ate in her kitchen, but in the end it had been a jolly evening.
He would have to remember to thank Lan Zhan when he saw him.
Zilong flew with Mr Yang and so Wei Ying and Wen Ning took the metro and then walked. The others were all there when they arrived, navigating to Mr Yang’s dot on his phone in the dark industrial estate. The group fell silent as Wei Ying and Wen Ning approached.
“Hi! Sorry if we’re late,” Wei Ying called.
“Ah, so, this is A-Ying, Wei Ying and, uh, Wen Ning,” Mr Yang said, his voice loud in the quiet night.
The other cultivator, Yu Xiaohong, who Wei Ying had not met before, was difficult to make out in the dark. She was just a bit shorter than him, but solid. Her face was in shadow.
“Hi!” Wei Ying said again. “I’m Wei Ying. I guess Lan Zhan, uh, Hanguang-Jun explained. About me being dead before. I’m not a demonic cultivator,” he added, because that seemed to be an initial concern people had when meeting him.
Yu Xiaohong made a short grunt of acknowledgement, but her attention seemed fixed on Wen Ning, who was standing next to Wei Ying, just a pace behind.
“And this is A-Ning,” Wei Ying said, punching Wen Ning lightly in the arm. “He’s my friend from before.”
Wen Ning bowed. “Yu-guniang.”
Yu Xiaohong’s nod was even smaller this time. More a jut of the chin. Wei Ying had a sudden flash of insight. Maybe a memory from when he’d been a kid on the streets or new to the Jiang clan. The firmly planted feet and loosely held arms, the head slightly thrown back. Defiant. Yu Xiaohong was scared and determined not to show it.
Lan Zhan had not been scared, meeting Wen Ning. Suspicious, maybe even hostile, but Lan Zhan had Bichen. The Yu family were not sword wielders and Mr Yang had described them as street cultivators. It probably made sense that Wen Ning, a high level fierce corpse, would be a bit intimidating. He was, after all, the Ghost General.
But Wei Ying knew intimately how slippery the slope was between fear and hatred. He had to find a way to diffuse this fear as quickly as possible. If they were going to work together. Which they would need to do if he was going to work with Lan Zhan and the police.
“A-Ning is going to help us tonight,” Wei Ying said, slinging his arm around Wen Ning’s shoulders, though he had to reach up awkwardly to do so. “Zilong, why don’t you explain how Ning-ge is going to help?”
“Oh yeah, okay.” Zilong seemed mercifully oblivious to any currents of tension. He pushed his glasses up his nose. “So, Ying-ge will set up the search area and that will reproduce on the map here.” He held up the copper sheet. “The talismans are keyed to register yin energy, which is why Ning-ge will show up on the map and no one else will. If it is working, we should be able to trace his movements across the search area, reflected, in real time, on the map.”
“Thanks, didi! I’m going to set up the search area first. So, maybe you stay here with A-Ning? And then Mr Yang and Lan Zhan can fly me and Yu-guniang to place the boundary markers. I can explain about the talismans while we are setting them up.”
“Okay,” Zilong said.
Wei Ying took a step towards Lan Zhan before realizing that, of course, he would fly with Mr Yang. Lan Zhan would be taking Yu Xiaohong. He covered up his misstep by patting Lan Zhan’s sleeve. “Thanks for the soup, Lan Zhan. It was really good.”
Lan Zhan nodded and Wei Ying stepped onto Mr Yang’s sword. “Lan Zhan’s a really good cook,” he said to Yu Xiaohong, who had stepped up behind Lan Zhan on Bichen. “But maybe you already know that.”
“I did not… know that,” Yu Xiaohong said, looking between the two of them.
Lan Zhan rose into the air then, so Wei Ying could not explain about Granny Fruit and the soup.
At the first marker site Wei Ying showed Yu Xiaohong the copper talisman he was going to place and explained the design. She seemed a little more relaxed now they were away from Wen Ning, but still brusque. Not friendly.
“Do you have to align to the cardinal points?” Yu Xiaohong asked after Wei Ying had explained the scaling up principles.
“To be honest, I don’t know,” Wei Ying said. “When we did this before, the rectangle of the map was aligned to the rectangle of the table top. Lan Zhan explained the experiment, right?”
Wei Ying saw Yu Xiaohong glance over at Lan Zhan and frown. “I mean Hanguang-Jun!” he said quickly. “No disrespect intended. It’s just that I knew him before. I knew the first Hanguang-Jun and… and I called him Lan Zhan and so I forget.” Wei Ying looked over at Lan Zhan, standing tall and still in the darkness. “He’s so alike. I forget he’s not my Lan Zhan.”
Yu Xiaohong’s eyes darted between them. “Whatever,” she said.
“Anyway,” Wei Ying said, getting back on track, “I don’t know how important it might be to conform to cardinal points or how much distortion it might cause in the map if we don’t. That’s one of the things we’ll find out tonight.”
“But you think you can scale this up to the entire city?” Yu Xiaohong asked.
“That’s the plan,” Wei Ying said.
They set up the four boundary markers and headed back to the centre of the test site. Wei Ying showed Yu Xiaohong the map there and the way the talismans were designed to correspond to align the test area with the map surface.
Yu Xiaohong was still clipped in her questions. She had maybe relaxed a little more when they’d arrived back to find Zilong and Wen Ning sitting side by side on the grass, heads bent over a mobile phone game Zilong was playing, their faces illuminated by the coloured flashes from the screen. They’d both looked up with the same guilty expressions and scrambled to their feet.
Yu Xiaohong had some questions about the talisman correspondence which showed she grasped the general principles. She hadn’t followed all of his reasoning though, which had made use of references to talisman theory she’d presumably not had access to.
“If you still have the Four-prong Master scroll at Cloud Recesses, you should get them to send us a copy,” Wei Ying said to Lan Zhan. “Maybe also The Book of Golden Light, at least the chapters on talismans.”
Lan Zhan ducked his head and didn’t say anything. Maybe they didn’t have those texts anymore. Wei Ying would have to get by on what he could remember.
“How do you propose to run the test?” Lan Zhan asked instead.
“Um, so, I’ll charge the map with power and we should see Wen Ning appear here, right where we are. Then he’ll head off and we’ll track him through the search area. If that works we’ll run a second test. I’ll power down the map for a bit while Wen Ning goes and hides and then re-power it. We’ll see if it is possible to use the map to find him. Mr Yang and Zilong will be observing. Okay?”
When everyone nodded, Wei Ying charged up the map and held it out for everyone to see the small point of illumination that was Wen Ning.
“Okay, A-Ning, if you can run to the outer boundary of the map in each direction. That’s two warehouses north and south from here and up to the fence on the east side and the big road to the west.”
Wen Ning nodded and slipped silently away. They all crowded close. Wei Ying could feel the heat of Lan Zhan’s body all down his side.
“It’s really working!” Zilong said, jiggling with excitement. “It’s working, Ning-ge! Keep going,” he shouted in the direction Wen Ning had run. “Look!” He pointed, though they could all see the little dot heading across the map.
Zilong was bouncing up and down and Wei Ying felt like doing the same. “If we had a really accurate map of this area it should be possible to have it transposed onto the sheet in proportion, to show everything accurately. For now, I’ve just sketched on the warehouses. So, he might appear inside, when he’s really outside or vice versa, you know.”
“But for the whole city, won’t you need a map as big as, I don’t know, a room or something, to get meaningful detail?” Yu Xiaohong asked, frowning. “I don’t see how you can get enough precision with this.”
Wei Ying opened his mouth but Zilong was already speaking. “Yeah, it’s going to be sort of tricky. If we scale it to the whole city, on this size map, the dot will either cover four or five buildings or the dot will have to be super-tiny.”
“So, one option is a command centre with a big map, relaying information to people in the field. But that would involve some delay,” Wei Ying said. “Or, I was thinking, actually making everything super tiny and using a magnifying crystal. I haven’t solved it yet, but obviously a handheld device would be preferable.
“But, that’s just a question of the interface, really. The main thing is that the talismanic alignment works. And it does so far. With that principle in place I’m pretty sure I can build a device, or devices, that can show whatever detail you want, right down to individual buildings.”
“See right inside buildings, individual rooms?” Yu Xiaohong asked.
“Oh sure,” Wei Ying said. “Every building is essentially its own grid. Wherever there are concentrations of yin energy within the electricity network I can pinpoint it.”
Wen Ning trotted back into the test area and Zilong ran over and hugged him. “It worked, Ning-ge. We could see you go everywhere!”
Wen Ning bobbed his head and smiled. “You and Wei-gongzi are very clever.”
“Ah, it was mainly him,” Zilong acknowledged magnanimously.
“You definitely helped,” Wei Ying said, going over to ruffle Zilong’s hair, where he still had his arms wrapped around Wen Ning.
“It’s great!” Mr Yang said. “But, I’m going to take Zilong home now. You can all fill us in tomorrow.”
“Awww,” Zilong complained.
“Come on,” Mr Yang said. “It’ll be 2am before we are home and something tells me mama won’t have succeeded in getting Zhenzhen to sleep until we are back.”
Everyone waved them off.
“Right,” Wei Ying said. “Next test!” He powered down the talismans on the map. “You hop off and hide somewhere in the search area and we’ll come and find you. You can move around, but don’t leave the zone.”
Wen Ning nodded and loped off.
“We’ll give him five minutes or so and then see if we can track him down.”
Yu Xiaohong broke the awkward silence that followed this. “And, you’ve been working on this for how long?”
“Um, the lightning path or the map?” Wei Ying asked.
Yu Xiaohong waved a hand at him impatiently.
“Well, the lightning path from pretty much when I woke up, which was back in February. I was trying to gather up resentful energy… There was this great yao guai attacking me!” Wei Ying said quickly in response to the frowns directed at him by both cultivators.
“I was only just not dead and half bled-out from the summoning array! Anyway, I couldn’t find any in this new tower block in the sky. I guess Junyue had maybe… anyway, I caught hold of this other stuff instead. Then Zhenzhen showed me how she did it.”
“Wait, that’s Cultivator Yang’s little girl, right?” Yu Xiaohong asked.
“Yeah,” Wei Ying said. “She’d figured out a way to play with the electricity when she was little, just repurposing the cultivation principles, like why not? And I just took it from there.”
“Into a whole new path of cultivation and re-written the talismanic tradition? Since February? The way I understand it, they didn’t even have electricity when you were alive.”
“Zilong says there has always been electricity in living things, but, like, small amounts. Also lightning of course,” Wei Ying began, but Yu Xiaohong was glaring at him. “Okay, well, I guess it’s because the approach is not really all that different to demonic cultivation.”
Lan Zhan turned and frowned at him then.
“Look, traditional cultivation is like growing a fruit,” Wei Ying reasoned. “Every day you have to nurture it through meditation and other practices, like water and sun and nutrients. And if you are diligent, over time, you get a great big fruit, like Lan Zhan.”
Yu Xiaohong snorted an involuntary noise out of her nose.
“Ah, you know what I mean,” Wei Ying complained. “But resentful energy, it’s more like scavenging. Roadside berries.”
“Roadkill,” Yu Xiaohong challenged.
“Okay, yes,” Wei Ying conceded. “No one wants it and it’s kind of gross. But it's there and it's abundant and immediate in terms of power. There’s a cost, of course.”
“Gives you worms,” Yu Xiaohong said.
“Pretty much,” Wei Ying agreed. “Great big ones eating your soul from the inside out.”
Yu Xiaohong and Lan Zhan both shuddered.
Wei Ying held up his hands. “Lessons have been learnt. But, these days there is also electromagnetic residue everywhere. In the city at least. And it's possible to gather it up, in a way that is similar to the gathering of resentful energy.”
Yu Xiaohong shook her head. “And could just anyone do this?” she asked. “A non-cultivator? Hanguang-Jun said you were without a core, when you turned to the ghost path.”
“Yeah, but I’d had a core. I don’t know for sure, but I’m using my meridians. I did back then. I used the understanding of channeling energy that I’d learnt on the righteous path. Maybe a non-cultivator could learn to do the same? At least faster than cultivating to core formation first, but it’s not like just sticking your finger in a plug socket. You have to have the embodied practice and to know what you are doing.”
“Okay, but you could teach me?” Yu Xiaohong asked.
“I could try,” Wei Ying said.
“And would it damage my golden core?”
“We don’t know. Mr Yang is monitoring my golden core. Give me six months or a year and I guess we’ll find out. But we should get going.” Wei Ying powered up the map again and they bent over it.
“It will be useful,” Lan Zhan said, when the dot appeared. “We will not have to wait for the communications that are being tracked by SPU intelligence.”
Lan Zhan always said very little, but he’d been more than usually reticent tonight. This was clearly said to Yu Xiaohong who only gave a short sniff in acknowledgement. Maybe, Wei Ying thought, she had been angry with Lan Zhan for keeping this all secret from her.
“I’ve only been working on the map for about two weeks,” Wei Ying said. “That’s when Lan Zhan found us. I mean, when I found Lan Zhan. I mean…” Wei Ying took a breath to try to organise himself. “Lan Zhan said he would give us a month before telling the police, if I could really find a way to help you. It was only two weeks ago.”
“I…” Lan Zhan broke in, but didn’t seem clear on what he wanted to say.
Yu Xiaohong shifted impatiently. “It’s there,” she said, indicating the dot on the map. At least, Wei Ying hoped the ‘it’s’ referred to the dot and not Wen Ning. “We should get going.”
They turned to orient themselves and then started off running. In no time at all though, it was apparent Wei Ying could not keep up. He was holding the map and did not have the cultivation level to boost his speed and respiration like they did.
“Give us the map, we’ll find him and come back,” Yu Xiaohong said.
“Ah, no,” Wei Ying gasped, catching his breath. “I have to be touching the map to power it. I haven’t figured out a way to create a power reservoir or anything like that yet.”
“You take him then, Hanguang-Jun,” Yu Xiaohong snapped.
Lan Zhan drew Bichen and stepped on, holding out his hand.
“Oh, sure. Okay.” Wei Ying took Lan Zhan’s hand and Lan Zhan guided him to stand in front of him as Bichen rose.
Lan Zhan wrapped one hand around Wei Ying’s waist as he wobbled.
“Hah, your hands are big,” Wei Ying blurted out, noticing how Lan Zhan’s hand spanned his waist. “Were they always so big?”
Lan Zhan seemed to pause, considering. “Not when I was a child,” he said solemnly.
Wei Ying let out a bit of a giggle. Because it must have been ticklish or something, having Lan Zhan’s voice in his ear like that from where they were standing so close. Lan Zhan was always so serious and sincere.
Yu Xiaohong made an exasperated sound, from where she stood waiting on the ground.
“Oh yeah.” Wei Ying bent over the map. “This way,” he pointed.
Lan Zhan flew low and Yu Xiaohong used lightness to race along beside them.
“Wait, he’s moving!” Wei Ying said, when Wen Ning’s dot doubled back on them. “Back this way.” He swung around to point, so that Lan Zhan had to wrap his arm tight around him to stop him falling off as he redirected Bichen’s flight.
Wei Ying whooped and grabbed onto Lan Zhan’s hand, lacing their fingers together securely. “Come on!” He kept his eyes on the map as Wen Ning’s dot zipped along. “Faster,” Wei Ying shouted. “Down that way!”
Wei Ying caught a glimpse of Wen Ning running and shrieked and pointed. Lan Zhan sped in the direction of his pointing hand. As soon as they caught up, Wei Ying wriggled free of Lan Zhan’s grasp and leapt from the sword at Wen Ning’s fleeting figure below. “A-Ning!”
“Wei Ying!” Lan Zhan shouted.
But Wen Ning caught him, as Wei Ying knew that he would. “We caught you!”
“You did,” Wen Ning said, setting him back on his feet.
“I think,” Yu Xiaohong said, having raced up moments before, “that, technically, he caught you.”
“Pfft,” Wei Ying said. “It works! Next we should set up a lure flag. Test it with multiple yin entities. Then we can scale up. Is there a neighbourhood you want to do first? Somewhere you already suspect trouble is located?”
“Well,” Lan Zhan said, thinking.
But Wei Ying was buzzing with too much excitement to wait for Lan Zhan’s reply. “Can we set up a lure now? Just a really small one? Just a few gui or something? What I was thinking would be good would be to also set up an alternative key for the map to track us too, based on yang energy. If you were trying to direct the cultivators in the city or warn them off danger. I mean, if it's really demonic cultivators, they might be sophisticated enough to manage coordinated attacks at some point. You’ll want to know where your own people are too.”
“You can do that?” Yu Xiaohong said. “Track cultivators as well?”
“Oh yeah, that’ll be easy. The tricky thing will be artefacts. Those don’t manifest their power in the same way. It’s latent somehow. It’s like they need the wielder there to fully consolidate their energies or something. I wonder if you could get me something to work with, from the police? Just a small cursed amulet or something? They should be pretty pleased with this map. Enough to just lend me something to work with. A budget would be nice too. Copper isn’t cheap.”
“Wait,” Yu Xiaohong said. “You aren’t giving this to the SPU.”
“What?” Wei Ying said.
“This map,” she said, her voice weirdly intense. “It’s for us to use. Okay, it might be pretty useful, but no one else gets to know about it. Ever.”
“What?” Wei Ying said again.
“If you think I’m going to let you hand this to the Security Bureau, a map that can be used to track and trace all the cultivators, all the people of power, in the city? You have,” she punctuated each word with an emphatic pointing finger, “Another fucking thing coming.”
“Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying asked, confused.
“I think Yu Xiaohong is concerned,” Lan Zhan said, awkwardly. “In the past, cultivators were targeted by the police. When cultivation was illegal.”
“Oh, yeah. Wen Ning said.”
“Oh yeah,” Yu Xiaohong parroted and then turned on Lan Zhan. “And in the past was only twenty years ago. That’s not the past. Ask your medieval fucking boyfriend!”
“It is a legitimate concern,” Lan Zhan said. “I had not thought…”
“I’m not… I’m not his boyfriend,” Wei Ying said.
But Yu Xiaohong wasn’t talking to him. “No, I can see you haven’t fucking thought about it. At all. You think it’s never going to happen to you because you have such a good fucking relationship with Guoqing. You’re best buddies now. Have you already told him about this?”
“Ah, no. I have said nothing,” Lan Zhan said, quietly.
“Even if they had the map, it wouldn’t work,” Wei Ying said, trying to calm the situation. “It only works with me to power it. No one else and I wouldn’t…”
“You said you could teach me,” Yu Xiaohong said, wheeling on him.
“I said maybe,” Wei Ying said, “but if you think it's dangerous, we can just not. Keep me as the only key.”
“If they know about it, it’s too late,” Yu Xiaohong said emphatically. “They can figure out how to use it. They have cultivators working there. They must have. And if not them, someone else. Some demonic cultivator megalomaniac who wants to wipe out all the competition. You think you can’t be made to cooperate? Everyone has a breaking point. I’m guessing you don’t have, like, family anymore, but what about the Yangs? Anyone else you care about? Don’t think they are above bringing pressure to bear.”
Wei Ying sucked in a breath.
“Yeah, Mr Genius Inventor,” Yu Xiaohong said. “How much will it take for you to turn this into an extermination list? Have you heard of drone strikes? Do you know what that is?”
Wei Ying tried to suck in another breath, but there was nowhere for the air to go, his chest locking into the now-familiar iron band of panic. He had done it again, hadn’t he? The awful recognition. Trying to help. Trying to do better this time around. Trying to save people and he’d made a weapon. A weapon that powerful men wanted. They would try to take it from him and force him to choose.
Would he choose the people he loved, Zilong and Zhenzhen, over the hundreds of other innocent cultivators in the city? When he knew what would happen anyway? In the end. In the end it would be the same, no matter what his intentions had been. They would all die. And it would all be his fault.
“Wei-gongzi.”
He heard Wen Ning’s voice distantly past the rushing of blood in his ears. “A-Ning,” Wei Ying gasped, fingers clawing into Wen Ning’s coat. “Take it,” he said, thrusting the map at Wen Ning. “Destroy it. Tear it to pieces.” It would have been better if he had been torn to pieces in the Burial Mounds and remained that way.
“Wei-gongzi, please breathe.”
Lan Zhan was saying something, but Wei Ying couldn’t tell what, couldn’t spare the rapidly narrowing scope of his attention. He managed to suck in a short breath. His exhale was threaded through with a whining note of panic. “Destroy it. Then we can go. Leave the city. I never meant. I never meant everyone to die. I’m sorry, Lan Zhan, A-Ning. I never meant…”
“It’s alright. No one has died,” Wen Ning was saying. “You haven’t hurt anyone.”
“You died,” Wei Ying whispered. “I killed you and everyone else. Take me away. We have to go,” another gasp, “before everyone is dead.” His lungs weren’t working anymore, his heart, and he collapsed forward into the darkness of Wen Ning’s coat.
*
From Onward Across Borders
I left home long ago, walked out our gate
into the unbearable abuse soldiers endure.
Bones of father’s love, flesh of mother’s love:
how are they so broken in a son still alive
to guess at death: shake free of its reins,
the horse tearing blue silk from my hands,
or scrambling eighty thousand feet down
mountain slopes, reaching for a fallen flag.
Du Fu (712-770)
trans. David Hinton
Chapter 10
Notes:
Continued thanks to everyone supporting this story! I am thrilled that you are following me on this meandering and so-far smutless path. There is some action in this chapter that is smut-adjacent, in a peak-wangxian, plausible deniability fashion, is it or isn't it? XD
I have updated the tags and, as I doubt anyone has memorized what was there before, the new tags are:
Angst with a Happy Ending
Cultivating with dubious consent
Horny qi transferDrop me a polite note if you feel there should be further tags :)
Chapter Text
Lan Wangji felt paralysed when Yu Xiaohong turned her anger on Wei Ying. The sudden escalation caught him by surprise. He ought not have been so surprised. It was his fault. Things had been tense all evening. Yu Xiaohong had still been simmering with anger that Lan Wangji had kept his knowledge of Wei Ying and Wen Ning from her all this time.
She had not been mollified when he had told her about the map, even though he had tried to convey how valuable it might be to them. She seemed to focus exclusively on how long she had been kept out of the loop and all the times he could have said something to her and had chosen not to. “I’m not Ma Guoqing!” she had shouted. “I’m not the police. You should have told me.”
Probably he had handled it all poorly. He had been too invested in the hope offered by the new compass and the map to have properly concentrated on anything else. He had grasped that hope like a lifeline and he had not thought everything through. It promised a way to make some sense, finally, of the day-to-day horror they were near-drowning in, a city and a people beset by monsters. He had hoped, and assumed, that Yu Xiaohong would be similarly quick to grasp the map’s potential as a tool and that her excitement would overshadow everything else, like his had. He had misjudged.
He hadn’t considered all the ramifications of a tracking system. He should have thought about the potential uses the map might be put to beyond the immediate ones. What it would mean for the authorities to have such a tool. Yu Xiaohong had been right. But, Wei Ying, only in the city for a couple of months, only alive for a couple of months, could not be expected to have any idea of such complications. It should have occurred to Lan Wangji. He should have had those conversations in advance.
Instead, Yu Xiaohong, already on edge, had apprehended them at once and seen, in their confusion, her worst fears had failed to register with either of them. She had lashed out and it should have been Lan Wangji who bore the brunt of this, but instead it was Wei Ying. Lan Wangji had failed to explain and Wei Ying had proved to be fragile in a way Lan Wangji had not anticipated. Despite his lack of context, Wei Ying’s lightning-quick mind had grasped the kernel of truth in what Yu Xiaohong had said and all his excitement, his confidence, his sometimes-arrogance had bled away.
They had stood in an awkward cluster in one of the pools of light from the warehouse security lighting. Yu Xiaohong raging and Wei Ying had shattered, absorbing and refracting Yu Xiaohong’s fears, magnified and distorted by the conflation of past and future. Lan Wangji had been paralysed because Yu Xiaohong was right, but it was not Wei Ying’s fault and he could not think quickly enough to stop this happening.
I killed you and everyone else, Wei Ying had said. And even the most transparently biased of the histories had not suggested that the Yiling Laozu had killed Wen Qionglin, only that he’d raised him as a fierce corpse. It was not right.
Lan Wangji watched, still groping for some way of calming the situation as Wei Ying went down under a tide of guilt and ghosts from his own past. Wei Ying had said earlier that he thought he had been given another chance, he had spoken of doing better this time. It was only when the hope of that chance sluiced out of him, leaving empty horror and despair in its wake, that Lan Wangji had understood what that second chance meant.
Yu Xiaohong had been taken aback by Wei Ying’s reaction, by his collapse. She had stared at Wei Ying and then looked at Lan Wangji in confusion. He had not sufficiently briefed her. Again, his fault. He realised too late that the reincarnation of the Yiling Laozu probably meant little to her beyond some demonic cultivator from the olden days, a vague legend, folklore. What did she even know about him?
Lan Wangji himself had not realised before now that, though 1500 years had passed for the rest of the world, likely the passage of time was not the same when you were dead. For Wei Ying, the bloodletting at Nightless City and the final battle at the Burial Mounds were only a few months ago, when the Yiling Laozu and whatever following he had amassed there had been totally destroyed.
It had been too easy to forget this, in the face of Wei Ying’s smiling enthusiasm and effervescence. Perhaps Wei Ying had also preferred to forget. Lan Wangji watched helplessly as Wei Ying pushed his much-prized map away with trembling hands. He heard Wei Ying beg Wen Qionglin to take him away before it was too late. Before it could all happen again.
Wei Ying collapsed before Lan Wangji could think of a single useful thing to do or say. The fearsome Ghost General caught and cradled him gently, his blank face still somehow managing to express the deepest sadness.
“Uh?” Yu Xiaohong said, looking between Lan Wangji and Wen Qionglin with a frown. She folded her arms defensively. “It’s true though. That thing is a massive potential threat to the Old Community. You guys need to consider that properly.”
Lan Wangji bowed his head. “You are right and I should have considered this before now.”
“Yeah,” Yu Xiaohong said. “Well… okay.” She looked back and forth between them all again and then just gave a sharp nod, turned and left.
Lan Wangji was relieved not to have his attention pulled in two directions. Wei Ying, he had to do something to help Wei Ying. He tried to shake off the inertia he felt gripped by. Failure. He had done it all wrong and now Wei Ying was hurt. He had to do something. He approached Wen Qionglin with his hand outstretched to take Wei Ying’s wrist. Wen Qionglin turned his blank-eyed stare on him and Lan Wangji hesitated. “May I?” he asked.
Wen Qionglin held his gaze for an uncomfortably long time before nodding.
Lan Wangji took Wei Ying’s wrist. He felt anchored there. Relieved. This was something he could do: analyse and stabilize like he had been taught. Wei Ying’s pulse was a little rapid. Feeling for his meridian, Lan Wangji caught at its fluttering, golden thread. It was wispy, agitated, and he fed a weak stream of his own qi out along it to gentle its flow.
Wei Ying’s core was not well-developed, as Mr Yang had said. Lan Wangji could only feed a very little energy in before it overflowed, so he applied the technique he’d learned for settling the qi of children, wrapping his own qi around Wei Ying’s core. Wei Ying’s pulse slowed beneath his fingers and Lan Wangji’s anxiety ebbed in accord.
Wei Ying still did not wake. It had been fifteen or so minutes of feeding him energy. Surely someone should not remain unconscious so long after whatever this was – a stress attack, a mild deviation in the course of his qi. “Should we take him to a hospital?” Lan Wangji asked. “Or to Yang Xuedong’s?”
“He does not need a hospital,” Wen Qionglin said. “This happens sometimes. He needs rest. He is exhausted.”
“He faints like this?” Lan Wangji asked, concerned.
“He does not sleep enough,” Wen Qionglin said. “Or eat enough. He is… subject to nightmares and he is very anxious to get the map working as soon as possible.”
Lan Wangji looked at Wei Ying’s face, illuminated only by the spill of the security lights around the warehouses. In stillness, without the animation of his smile and his constant talking, he could see the tautness of the skin and the dark circles around the eyes. “He should… not do that,” he said falteringly.
“He will sleep now,” Wen Qionglin said. “He always sleeps after an attack. I will take him home.” He hefted Wei Ying effortlessly up into his arms.
Wei Ying had said they came on the metro. “You cannot take an unconscious man on the metro,” Lan Wangji said. That was a legitimate concern. It was not just that he did not want Wei Ying taken out of his sight.
“I will not.”
“You will run faster if you are not carrying him. I can take him on Bichen. To your home and meet you there.”
Wen Qionglin regarded him again with the same blank, indecipherable stare. Then he acquiesced with a blink and Lan Wangji drew and mounted Bichen. Wen Qionglin gently transferred Wei Ying into his arms.
“Follow me.”
Lan Wangji chose not to think about the way having the weight of Wei Ying in his arms felt like the opposite. Felt like a burden lifted, not taken on.
Granny Fruit was right though, Wei Ying was too thin. His actual weight in Lan Wangji’s arms was disconcertingly slight. Lan Wangji had made him a soup. He had felt very awkward about it. He had watched an evening’s worth of videos regarding how to cook meat. The red cubes of beefsteak in the plastic tray he had bought were really not particularly horrid to handle. He had wondered if he ought to assign himself some sort of penance for the taking of life, but it had been an instruction from Granny Fruit.
He had made a large quantity and had then been at a loss of how to convey it to Wei Ying. Should he have invited him around? The delivery man had looked at him strangely when he gave him the two bags of plastic tubs of soup.
Wei Ying had said he liked it. Had said that Lan Wangji was a good cook. Probably he was just being polite, but it had been nice, for once, cooking for someone other than just himself. Even if he had had to include meat. He should make more. Xiang chun would be coming into season. It was very nutritious. Wen Qionglin had said Wei Ying did not eat enough. It was important that what he did eat was nutritious.
Lan Wangji had to concentrate on following Wen Qionglin’s fleeting form in the darkness, so he couldn’t look down at Wei Ying’s face, only hold him close and fly as smoothly as possible.
*
Wen Qionglin and Wei Ying lived in one of the hutongs in the heart of the city, in one of a number of small, makeshift buildings, built inside what had once been the courtyard of an older house. It was, as Lan Wangji knew from sending the soup, really not that far from his own accomodation. He should have brought the soup himself, then maybe they could have eaten together. Maybe he could have helped in some way, earlier, not left all the weight on Wei Ying’s shoulders.
Wen Qionglin led the way along a dark corridor that connected them to the alley, signalling with a finger for silence until they entered a small room. Only when Wen Qionglin turned on a small lamp was Lan Wangji able to make out the narrow bed against the wall, the few shelves and single chair that made up the sole furnishings of the room.
Wen Qionglin shut the door to the corridor. “Mrs Yue lives across the hallway. She is sleeping,” he said in a low voice.
Lan Wangji nodded.
Wen Qionglin crossed and drew back the blankets on the bed so that Lan Wangji could lay Wei Ying down. Wen Qionglin appeared to struggle with the laces of Wei Ying’s boots. His fingers were not dexterous.
“May I?” Lan Wangji asked. Wen Qionglin stood back and they stepped around one another, awkward in the small space. Lan Wangji knelt to work on the laces, which were tied in what appeared to be a nest of knots.
Wen Qionglin, at the head of the bed, raised Wei Ying up slightly to work off his jacket. It was thin, a shiny satin, chosen for its embroidery, not warmth on a still-cold spring evening. Didn’t Wei Ying have a warmer coat?
When Lan Wangji had worked off both boots, Wen Qionglin pulled the blankets back up to cover Wei Ying.
“May I check his qi again?” Lan Wangji asked. Wen Qionglin folded the blankets aside on one side and drew out one arm before tucking everything else back in place. His movements were a little stiff, but there was an undeniable gentleness in his care for Wei Ying. The history books described the Ghost General as a servant, even a weapon – merely an extension of the will of the Yiling Laozu. There was clearly more to it than that, given his care for Wei Ying.
Lan Wangji reached out to take Wei Ying’s wrist from where it now lay on the bedclothes. His qi was not much altered, still settled from when Lan Wangji had ministered to it earlier. He had not expected otherwise. Holding Wei Ying’s wrist, though, feeling the beat of his pulse and the fine thread of his qi was more of a comfort for him, if he was honest.
He didn’t know why he still felt so destabilized. Perhaps he had built Wei Ying up as a solution to all his problems, all his fears, and now, when Wei Ying was proved fallible and human, he was knocked back to where he started? But no, it did not feel like that. He still believed in Wei Ying. He still believed that the quickness of his mind and his unconventional insights, would grant them the lever they needed to break out of the corner they were being backed into.
He had hurt Yu Xiaohong, who he knew had lost family members in the purges. She had had to fight her own father to be allowed to practice her family’s path, her birthright, because of the pervasive fear of those days. But nothing loomed as large in his mind as the hurt to Wei Ying. Wei Ying had worked so hard.
Lan Wangji could not make sense of how strong the urge, the need, now was to stay by Wei Ying and care for him. It went beyond repairing any error he had made in handling the situation. It went deeper than caring for an asset valuable to the battle he was fighting in the city. It was repugnant to think of Wei Ying that way. Wei Ying was Wei Ying.
Wen Qionglin was watching him. Lan Wangji could not read his expressionless face, but perhaps he might be concerned about this long examination?
“His qi is stable,” Lan Wangji said. “He is just sleeping, I think. As you said.”
Wen Qionglin nodded.
“This has happened before?” Lan Wangji asked.
It was prying perhaps, but he could not bear the thought of just rising to his feet, bidding them good night and leaving to wait until he might hear from Yang Xuedong again as to how Wei Ying was doing.
Wen Qionglin nodded once in confirmation, but he did not seem to expect Lan Wangji to leave either. He was knelt at the head end of the bed, while Lan Wangji was at the foot end. There was the one chair, but it had clothes hanging over it and it did not feel like drawing it over would be the right thing to do.
They knelt, a meter or so apart, watching Wei Ying sleep. It would probably have been less weird to keep this vigil alone, but at the same time, this was where they both wanted to be and neither had any inclination to judge the other.
The room, when Lan Wangji glanced surreptitiously around again, was dingey, with crumbling plaster walls and a concrete floor covered with a worn square of carpet. Much more basic than his own rooms, which he had previously regarded as spare and utilitarian in the extreme. There were clothes on the floor as well as the chair. There were also crumpled up balls of paper everywhere and pages from a notebook tacked up on the wall. There were books on the shelf at the end of the room and also in piles on the floor. Where did Wei Ying eat? Did Wen Qionglin just sit on the floor like this while Wei Ying slept every night?
Lan Wangji looked back at Wei Ying. His eyelids were twitching as his eyeballs revolved behind them. His hand, where it lay on the bedclothes, was clenched into a fist. Wen Qionglin had mentioned nightmares. Wei Ying needed sleep.
Lan Wangji adjusted his position to sit back upon the floor and cross his legs before him. He drew Wangji from his qiankun pocket and began plucking out the notes of Rest. He did not want to overwhelm Wei Ying so he put only a small amount of spiritual power into his playing. The ghosts he was laying to rest were only in Wei Ying’s mind.
It was gratifying, when he looked up from the strings, after playing for a while, to see Wei Ying’s face again slack with sleep, his hand uncurled upon the lurid patterned blanket. Lan Wangji kept playing, shifting into Cleansing. Granny Fruit had said she could smell the necromancy on Wei Ying. It must be tainting his soul, as this body was new. Or perhaps it was a taint associated with whatever Junyue had done before he gave up both his body and his soul. Either way, it would be good to free Wei Ying from this corruption.
The Apple Tree spirit, the oldest nature spirit in the city, had given him her blessing. She had marked him for life and not death. Lan Wangji was glad. Wei Ying was not going to be another young man sucked into the world of new demonic cultivators and artefact smugglers and destroyed. Wei Ying was going to live.
It was possible, Lan Wangji thought, trying and failing to tamp down on the hope rising in his chest, that Wei Ying was going to do more than that. He was going to turn the tide.
Lan Wangji let his hands rest on the strings and just watched Wei Ying sleep in the golden glow of the small lamp. The silence after the qin allowed the other sounds of the night to filter back in. The incessant background drone of traffic that characterised the city and, at this small hour before dawn, the very sporadic sounds of footfall or bicycle. There were occasional voices too, music and distant whoops. A reminder that for some people it was a Friday night.
“He didn’t kill everyone,” Wen Qionglin said quietly into the space between them. “He tried to save us.”
Lan Wangji inclined his head. He did not want to speak. To break the silence with words when he was so doubtful of what best to say. ‘I know’, when he had no ground to assert that, beyond the light in Wei Ying’s smile. When he knew that whatever Wen Qionglin told him could hardly be relied on. ‘All the veracity of a Jin scribe’ as Lan Xingyu had been wont to say, when they encountered biased or contradictory sources.
“What is it he is afraid of?” Lan Wangji said in the end.
“He is afraid it will happen again,” Wen Qionglin said.
“What happened?” Lan Wangji asked, into the small-hours quiet that lay between them.
“He made a weapon, the Yin Tiger Tally.”
Lan Wangji nodded. This was known.
“The Qishan Wen were bent on seizing control of the cultivation world. They had burned the Cloud Recesses.” Wen Qionglin gave Lan Wangji a glance, acknowledging that this he must also know. “They had massacred Wei-gongzi’s sect at Lotus Pier and the Jin were going to fold soon, everyone knew. Wen Ruohan was in the ascendant.
“Wei-gongzi had no core and he was thrown into the Burial Mounds to die. This is why he devised the ghost path and forged the Yin Tiger Tally. So that he might come back and fight alongside his brother, even without his sword.”
Lan Wangji nodded again. It was what made the tale of the Yiling Laozu so compelling, why it had lasted as a legend for centuries. The powerless victim comes back from the dead to seek revenge and succeeds in taking it. Wei Wuxian had been instrumental in taking down the Qishan Wen.
“He did not tell anyone that he had lost his core,” Wen Qionglin said. “I do not know why. I was a prisoner of war. I think perhaps he was already… not alright. I saw later what it cost him, wielding Chenqing and carrying the Yin Tiger Tally. He said the Jin wanted the Tally from him even then.”
“I think,” Lan Wangji said into the quiet between them, “he was probably right. It was found in their possession later. Some time after.”
Wen Qionglin nodded. “My sister and I were in a Jin-run labour camp. Not just us, but all of the Dafan Wen: non-cultivators, non-combatants, children, even. Wei-gongzi found us. He rescued us.”
Lan Wangji looked over at Wen Qionglin. The histories said only that the Yiling Laozu had gathered the remnants of the defeated Wen forces around him. Wen Qionglin was staring with unseeing eyes at Wei Ying’s sleeping face. He was a fierce corpse. His soul reattached to his revenant body through some dark artifice of Wei Ying’s making. And yet. And yet Lan Wangji did not doubt his word on this. “Why?” he asked.
Wen Qionglin took a moment or two to resume his story. “He came looking for us. He believed he owed us a debt, my sister and I. But when he found us, when he found out about the conditions in the labour camp, about the old people and children who could barely work, kept only for torment, then I think he simply could not conceive of any other course.”
It was not a great stretch to believe that of the Jin, given what he knew of the history that followed. And it was no stretch at all to believe that of Wei Ying. To believe that if he came upon innocent people being abused, especially children, he would not, could not turn his back and walk away.
“After that, really,” Wen Qionglin said, “I think there was only ever one way it was all going to end. He had defied the cultivation world. No one had sympathy to spare for the name of Wen. He had humiliated the Jin, slain a number of them and shown up all the other sects who had been content to let the injustice of the camps slide. Or, perhaps,” he threw another glance at Lan Wangji, “were too caught up in their own efforts of recovery after the war to notice.”
Lan Wangji let the breath hiss from his nose. Perhaps it was unfilial, but history, as well as the recent past of his clan, made it difficult to fully credit this, to believe it had been ignorance only. Sects, he had learnt, operated first and foremost to protect their own existence. After the burning of Cloud Recesses and a punishing war, the death of Qingheng-Jun and with Zewu-Jun still young and new to the position of sect leader, he could not imagine the elders of 1500 years ago having any more appetite than the elders of today for espousing a precarious, if righteous, external cause.
They had known, he guessed. Or at least some of them did. They had looked the other way. Probably uttered a moral condemnation or two amongst themselves, and allowed innocents to die. These were not their people. And the great and virtuous Hanguang-Jun, his namesake, was among them? Not so virtuous after all. Had he known? Had he argued? Had he been told that he was only one man?
“He took you to his fortress in the Burial Mounds?” Lan Wangji said eventually.
Wen Qionglin made an odd noise that it took Lan Wangji a moment or two to gather that it was laughter.
“It was no fortress, Hanguang-Jun,” Wen Qionglin said, though with no bite. “We built some huts. We scratched a bare living from polluted ground. I was dead by then. Wei-gongzi set up wards, but they would not be enough for a concerted attack. He tried to foster a terrifying reputation. He hoped to protect us through the fear conjured by his name, but it did not work like that.”
Lan Wangji looked back at Wei Ying, where he slept. He looked young and tired and not at all capable of keeping his enemies at bay by means of terror alone.
“He tried,” Wen Qionglin said, as if echoing his thoughts. “But things just kept getting worse. Fear of Wei-gongzi with the Yin Tiger Tally kept them at bay. But it was that fear which drove them on. They could not let him keep it. Perhaps he should have destroyed it,” Wen Qionglin said sadly. “Perhaps some of us might have survived that way. But he was sure they would fall on us as soon as it was gone. I think maybe the yin iron within the tally was telling him so. He was no longer… very well, in the last days I was with him.
“I do not know what happened in the end. And I do not want to,” Wen Qionglin said quickly. “The ambush at Qiongqi Pass was a terrible shock to him. He had thought it meant a reconciliation with his family, but it was a trap. Wei-gongzi’s control slipped. I was not able to… keep a grip on my soul. I did not mean, we did not mean the death of Jin-gongzi. It was a terrible mistake.”
Wen Qionglin bowed his head, looking at his own hands. “My sister and I gave ourselves up. She thought that our deaths might assuage some of the offence. That it might just give the Jin face. Temper their vengeance. But it did not.”
“No,” Lan Wangji said solemnly. He knew some of what happened next. The alliance formed against the Yiling Laozu. Men who’d fought alongside Wei Wuxian in the Sunshot campaign. But they’d fought alongside Jin Zixuan also. A terrible mistake indeed.
The Jin histories had spun it the other way. Jin Zixuan, his cousin and his cousin’s men, headed off to offer an escort to the Yiling Laozu on his way to Carp Tower and instead of behaving like an honoured guest he had turned on them. The Lan records were strangely silent on this point.
Lan Wangji had written to his brother to refresh his memory of all the records of the Yiling Laozu, but the usually meticulous record-keeping of the Lan seemed to suffer some diminishment in the years after the Sunshot Campaign, only regaining their former detail and regularity some ten years later. Perhaps this could be explained by the exigencies of rebuilding the Cloud Recesses. Perhaps not.
“He blames himself still,” Wen Qionglin said, “for all of it. The deaths on both sides. He let the dead in, you see. They spoke to him all the time, all those years in Burial Mounds – the Wen dead from Sunshot, everyone else he raised. He dug up graveyards full. They were with him everywhere. He did not kill them though, not all of them at least. In the end, I think he loved them just as much as he loved us. He would not give up on us, leave us to our fate. He could not give them up.”
Lan Wangji shuddered. The dead had no place among the living, Madam Granny Fruit was right. It was an abomination. What was death if not a release from the toils of the world? How wicked to wake the sleeping dead, disrupt their passage to rebirth, to serve you? Could anything justify that?
Lan Wangji looked up at Wei Ying’s face, the frown just creeping back between his eyes, now it had been so many minutes since Lan Wangji had played. Wei Ying, haunted in his sleep. Wei Ying, in life, consumed by so many hungry ghosts, his soul eaten away by them until, at his death, there was almost nothing left.
He could not have entered the cycle of reincarnation and rebirth either, to be still available to be drawn back by Junyue’s array. He had just been lost, perhaps, a tiny fragment, all that time. And even that tiny fragment was enough to carry with it all those memories, all the pain and the guilt. Even after 1500 years, so that he was still marked as an eater of souls.
But Granny Fruit had seen more than that. ‘A funny sort of necromancer.’ The Apple Tree spirit too, had recognised him and welcomed him into the city. If there was, truly, any way to survive the taint of so much death and wickedness then it would be right for Wei Ying to find it. He had been here for months only. It was another chance.
Wei Ying stirred. His hand on the cover twitching, the faint echo of whatever he was doing in his dream. Seizing a sword, crushing a throat, holding fast to someone he loved? Lan Wangji lifted his hands again and played.
Under the influence of Cleansing, Wei Ying slowly shook free of the grip of the dream, the memory, and slept again.
“Thank you, Hanguang-Jun,” Wen Qionglin said, into the quiet, when Lan Wangji had again let the strings fall silent.
“Thank you,” Lan Wangji said, bowing his head.
What must it have been like, over those years, to watch the rough-wakened dead eat their way through Wei Ying’s mind and soul with no tools at hand to offer respite or repair? Wei Ying spoke of ‘his Lan Zhan’, but where had he been through all of this when Wei Ying had been in the greatest need of such aid?
The sky was beginning to lighten now at the small, high window in the wall over the head of the bed. Sounds from the world outside shifted gradually into the morning register as the day began. Lan Wangji and Wen Qionglin did not move. In the slowly growing light of day the disorder of the room became more apparent. Lan Wangji had to resist the nagging urge to retrieve and fold the clothes that had been laid on the foot of the bed and now, with Wei Ying’s unquiet sleep, had become a tumble of garments between his blankets and the wall.
Wen Qionglin must have seen the looks he cast around the room. “Wei-gongzi says I should not move his things. He says he cannot find them when I do.”
Lan Wangji nodded in response. But surely, if everything had a place and was simply returned to that place, it would not be so difficult. How could Wei Ying work in this dim, cramped room, where it looked like the only surface for writing on was the floor? Or possibly he just wrote directly onto the papers affixed to the wall? The awkward angle perhaps explained the atrocious, chicken-scratch characters.
He used traditional characters, Lan Wangji noticed, like he himself did. Which, of course, made sense. Though he must have learned to read modern characters to learn about such things as electricity and echolocation and the dangers of smoking. Lan Wangji had also had to learn when he came to Beijing. How strange, he reflected, that his upbringing at the Cloud Recesses had in so many ways ensured that he was just as out of step with the modern world as Wei Ying.
Movement from the bed drew his attention back to Wei Ying’s face. Wei Ying blinked at them a few times and then, without acknowledging them, turned over onto his side. He gathered the blankets around himself, hunched and facing the wall. Perhaps he was still tired, not really ready to wake up, though it was after mao shi?
Lan Wangji and Wen Qionglin remained quiet, but the silence in the room took on a new quality. From the lonely stillness of the night hours, there was now something weighted and oppressive about quiet in the room. He could tell from Wei Ying’s breathing that he was not asleep. He glanced at Wen Qionglin.
Wen Qionglin looked placid, as always, but his voice was tender when he spoke. “Wei-gongzi, are you well?”
The lump of blankets that was Wei Ying did not answer.
“Wei-gongzi,” Wen Qionglin said again.
“Go away,” Wei Ying said, his voice flat.
“Wei-gongzi should eat,” Wen Qionglin tried.
“Fuck off.”
Wei Ying did not sound at all like he usually did, voice lively and full of enthusiasm. They all sat in silence for some more minutes, though it had no ease to it.
“Will you drink some water?” Wen Qionglin asked.
Wei Ying shifted irritably. “I said fuck off, A-Ning,” he threw over his shoulder. “Leave me alone.”
Wen Qionglin rose, a little awkwardly, as if his body had begun to stiffen in a kneeling pose. He looked sadly at Wei Ying and then nodded at Lan Wangji and made his way past him.
What did that nod mean? Wen Qionglin was leaving? Was he supposed to stay? What was he supposed to do that Wen Qionglin, Wei Ying’s old friend, had not been able to do? Lan Wangji had to resist the urge to grasp at Wen Qionglin’s coat tails as he left the room.
Wei Ying was a tight, hunched form on the bed. Should he play for him? It seemed rude though, now he was awake, to play for him without seeking his permission first. Maybe it was more important that Wei Ying drink something, or eat?
“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji started, uncertain.
“Get lost!” Wei Ying snapped.
Lan Wangji was startled by his tone. Wei Ying had never spoken to him like that. Wei Ying had always seemed so pleased to see him. At first it had been disconcerting. But it had been nice too. The way Wei Ying’s eyes lit up every time they met Lan Wangji’s own. “Wei Ying, I think you are not well,” he said.
“Fuck off, Lan Zhan. Leave me alone.”
Lan Wangji considered this. “I do not think solitude would help. Will you let me play for you?”
Wei Ying sat up suddenly, throwing down his blankets. “Get lost, Lan Zhan! Get out of here! Leave me the fuck alone!” he raged, his face contorted in a snarl.
Lan Wangji looked at him from where he sat on the floor, a little warily. Wei Ying’s eyes were stormy and unfocussed. He did not know what Wei Ying might do and he was certainly capable of being a threat. How much of a threat Lan Wangji did not exactly know. But he did not want to leave.
Lan Wangji regarded him steadily and determined that it did not seem that Wei Ying was going to imminently attack him. “You are not asleep,” he observed. “You should get up.”
Wei Ying seemed to deflate, the anger draining out of him. He closed his eyes. “Go away, Lan Zhan. Just… leave me alone.”
“I do not think you should be left alone.”
“Lan Zhan.” It was not how Wei Ying usually said his name. It was not even the playful whine he used on Wen Qionglin and the Yangs. It sounded infinitely tired.
“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji responded, immovable.
Wei Ying tried a different tactic then: keeping his eyes closed and wrapping his arms around himself and bowing his head. As if he could remove himself from this interaction this way, if Lan Wangji would not leave.
Lan Wangji waited and it was as he half-expected, wherever Wei Ying had withdrawn to was not a comfortable place. The furrow between Wei Ying’s closed eyes deepened and his knuckles whitened where he gripped his own shoulders. It was not so many minutes before his eyes flew open again and he curled forwards as if in pain.
“You have to go, Lan Zhan. I don’t want you here. You can’t stay. They are coming,” Wei Ying pleaded, his eyes still squeezed shut.
“No one is coming,” Lan Wangji said steadily. But Wei Ying’s distress was so palpable he rose from his place on the floor, vanishing Wangji, and sat on the bed, closer to Wei Ying.
“No,” Wei Ying pleaded, almost a sob.
“Wei Ying, no one is coming. You are safe,” Lan Wangji said, trying to impress the truth of this upon Wei Ying.
“They will kill all the cultivators. They will kill Zhenzhen and Zilong,” Wei Ying whispered, voice cracking. “Are they already dead?”
“No, no,” Lan Zhan said, more urgently. “They are not dead. None of that has happened. None of that will happen. I should have thought of it earlier, but now we can consider. We can make sure it does not happen.”
“We have to destroy the map,” Wei Ying said, agitated, his eyes beginning to dart from side to side, scanning the room.
“No,” Lan Wangji said. “We don’t need to. We only need to be careful.”
“No, no!” Wei Ying moaned desperately. “That’s what I thought before. I thought I needed it. I thought I could control it. I didn’t destroy it when I could and then it was too late, I didn’t have the strength to, and…” His arms, wrapped tight around himself, began to claw at his sleeves.
“No, Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji repeated. “It’s all right.”
“You have to go, Lan Zhan. If they find you they will kill you. Now that everyone else is dead.” Wei Ying seemed to not hear Lan Wangji’s words at all. “I can’t… I can’t stop them. You have to go, Lan Zhan. Please.”
Tears were falling now from beneath Wei Ying’s lashes. Lan Wangji didn’t know what to do. Should he call for Wen Qionglin? “Wei Ying,” he said urgently, trying to call him back.
“Not you as well,” Wei Ying moaned to himself. “Not my Lan Zhan.” He had worked his sleeves up and began to drag his nails down his inner arms.
“Wei Ying, stop,” Lan Wangji said as he saw blood blooming in the scratches there. “Wei Ying!”
When Wei Ying did not stop, Lan Wangji caught hold of his wrists, drawing his hands away. Wei Ying struggled, crying out. His wrists were terribly narrow, fragile in Lan Wangji’s hands. Lan Wangji was afraid of breaking them if he held them too tight, so instead he pinned them to the bed, either side of Wei Ying’s shoulders, leaning over him, forcing him back into the pillow.
“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji ordered. “Open your eyes.”
Wei Ying thrashed a little more, but Lan Wangji did not let him go. “Open your eyes. Look at me,” he demanded.
Wei Ying opened his eyes. The released tears rolled down either side of his face into his hair. His eyes were a curious grey colour. Unusual. Lan Wangji was not sure he’d noticed before. They looked up at him in blank despair.
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan said, taking a deep breath. “We are not in danger. Not immediate danger anyway,” he added because he did not like to lie. “We are in your home in the hutong in Beijing. No one knows you are here.”
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying whimpered.
“No one knows I am here. No one is coming. You have had a nightmare, a waking dream, but it is not real. It is not now. It was in the past. You are safe. I will not let anyone hurt you.”
“Lan Zhan?”
Wei Ying seemed to have come to himself a little. He was no longer struggling beneath Lan Wangji’s hands. Lan Wangji loosened his grip on one side to bring his fingers to Wei Ying’s pulse point. Wei Ying’s pulse was rapid again, his qi stuttering in its flow. Lan Wangji sent his own qi forth to guide it again. Familiar, this time, with the slender channels of Wei Ying’s meridians, he sent in only a gentle ribbon of power.
Wei Ying’s breath still stuttered, his eyes going wide.
“Shhh,” Lan Wangji said. “Relax. Concentrate on circulating your qi.”
Wei Ying still didn’t close his eyes, staring up at him, but not everyone closed their eyes to meditate. Lan Wangji closed his. He ran his qi along Wei Ying’s meridians, encouraging the flow to steady. When he was content that there were no blockages, he did as he had done before and directed his qi to Wei Ying’s golden core.
He was still sending only the barest amount of energy, but he wrapped it around Wei Ying’s core, pulsing gently in time with Wei Ying’s heartbeat. In time with his own heartbeat. He heard Wei Ying breath out shakily and opened his eyes.
Wei Ying lay on the bed beneath him, his tousled hair fanned out across the pillow, tear tracks still on his face. His eyes were still wide, but not with alarm. They were glassy, his pupils dark and shining. His mouth was slightly parted and suddenly Lan Wangji was aware of how close their faces were, of how he held Wei Ying pinned to the bed.
His control slipped a little and the carefully gentle stream of qi he was sharing with Wei Ying flowed a little stronger, a little more powerfully.
Wei Ying gasped, his chin tipping back as he arched slightly.
“Relax,” Lan Wangji said, surprised by the way his voice came out low and husky. “Concentrate. Expand your meridians.”
“Huh?” Wei Ying said, the pulse in his neck fluttering.
“Trace the course of my qi. Breathe slowly,” Lan Wangji instructed. It would be good for Wei Ying, he reasoned, if his cultivation base was stronger. It would help him manage these attacks of darkness. Lan Wangji very carefully didn’t think of anything else.
“Match my breaths,” he said, exaggerating slightly the sound of his inhale and exhale. “Good. Well done, Wei Ying,” he praised when Wei Ying followed his instruction. “Close your eyes. Concentrate on the flow.”
Wei Ying’s eyes fell obediently shut. Lan Wangji didn’t want to overwhelm Wei Ying and he was careful to regulate down the flow of his own qi after that little slip. They matched breaths as he matched the pulse of Wei Ying’s qi flow. “Good, Wei Ying. You are doing very well.”
It was not very long, though in truth Lan Wangji had no idea how long, before Wei Ying’s core was pulsing steadily beneath his, Wei Ying’s qi flowing free and steady. Lan Wangji began to withdraw his energy, very slowly, easing free, slipping softly out of the stream.
He kept his fingers on Wei Ying’s pulse after, monitoring that it continued steady, suggesting that Wei Ying was succeeding in maintaining his qi exercise without him. Wei Ying’s face was peaceful. Still tired. Still a little gaunt, but there was a little smile of contentment on his lips.
It was true that the medical application of qi to the unconscious subject was a valuable stabilizing tool in a crisis, but real progress in cultivation could only be achieved with active engagement. It had never worked quite like that when Lan Wangji had worked with Lan juniors, he was forced to admit. It had never felt as… intimate.
He would have to reflect, when he was alone again, on what was now unavoidable: his physical attraction to Wei Ying. It was not a terrible shock. He had been attracted to men before. Only, before, his attraction had compounded his natural stiltedness in social interactions. These relationships had sputtered out of existence before they could even have been said to be, let alone be acknowledged or reciprocated. In the face of his inability to manage even such fundamentals as speaking or making eye contact with the objects of his attraction, he had not even held out any hope.
With Wei Ying it was both unsurprising, because Wei Ying was beautiful, sparkling and engaging, and unprecedented because Wei Ying had not needed him to make eye contact or initiate conversation. He had just barrelled forwards absorbing Lan Wangji into a friendship as if he already fit there.
But that was important, something Lan Wangji would have to remember. He took a deep breath. Wei Ying didn’t like him. He liked ‘his’ Lan Zhan. Lan Wangji felt an ache deep in his chest at the thought. Wei Ying’s Lan Zhan. Another man from his life before. A man with Lan Wangi’s face and Lan Wangji’s soul. But that did not make him Wei Ying’s Lan Zhan. It would be wrong to step into the welcome Wei Ying was extending to the man he remembered. Lan Wangji would be an imposter. It would not be fair, when Wei Ying was already struggling to differentiate the past and the present. It would be wrong to take advantage of that. Lan Wangji would have to be careful. He would have to hold on to the ache of disappointment, not allow himself to forget this.
He sat watching Wei Ying’s face as he meditated, a gentle hold still on both wrists. He didn’t want to move, in case movement broke Wei Ying’s concentration. Wei Ying had said he found meditation difficult. Maybe Lan Wangji could help him with that? Maybe, even if he was not and could not be Wei Ying’s Lan Zhan, he could do better than that Lan Zhan had? He could stay by Wei Ying, help him with his cultivation, help cleanse him of his ghosts, keep the nightmares away.
Eventually Wei Ying’s eyes fluttered open and Lan Wangji let go of his wrists sitting back. Wei Ying blinked and let out a little huff of laughter. Lan Wangji sat still, waiting to see what he would say. Waiting to take his cue from Wei Ying.
“Wow,” Wei Ying said, grinning up at him. “Well, it certainly didn’t feel like that when Mr Yang cleared my meridians.”
Wei Ying smiling at him. Lan Wangji tried to muster himself in the face of the surge of feeling, the relief-rightness-joy in being the person Wei Ying looked at like that. And he tried to remember the little gut-punch of knowing he was not really seeing Lan Wangji when he looked at him like that.
“Your meridians were not blocked,” Lan Wangji said, keeping things factual. “Your qi flow had become a little erratic, destabilized by… your nightmare. I was helping you to regulate the flow.”
“Oh,” Wei Ying flushed a little, looking away. He shuffled upright in the bed and rubbed at his wrist absently.
“I hope I haven’t hurt you,” Lan Wangji said. “You were upset,” he nodded at the long scratches that still stood out red on Wei Ying’s forearms. “I didn’t know what to do. I hope it is not too much?”
Wei Ying looked down at his own arms and tugged down his sleeves to cover them, his cheeks reddening further.
He was embarrassed, Lan Wangji guessed. Ashamed of losing control. “Yu Xiaohong upset you,” he said quickly. “It was my fault. Entirely my fault. I put you in that situation.” Lan Wangji was not sure how much Wei Ying remembered, but he found he could not stop. “I should have considered the risks of such a tool. I asked you to develop your design. It should have occurred to me along the way. These are my risks to manage, not yours. You were not even alive during the purges.”
“I should have known,” Wei Ying said glumly. “If anyone should have known, it should have been me. I should have learnt my lesson.”
“When should you have known?” Lan Wangji said, suddenly exasperated. “When should you have picked up on the insidious workings of the modern surveillance state? In all that time, in the few months that you have been alive? Maybe between learning modern Chinese, what cars are, how escalators work, electricity? And all while redesigning the compass of evil that generations of cultivators have tried and failed to improve on, developing a third path of cultivation and doing tai chi with an elderly neighbour who has high blood pressure? Wei Ying!”
Wei Ying was staring at him, but he was no longer fiddling with his cuffs. “Um?” he laughed weakly.
“You cannot take sole responsibility for any of this,” Lan Wangji said sternly.
“I made it,” Wei Ying said.
“You made the Yin Tiger Tally and that you made entirely alone. This is different. We will work on the map together. I do not understand the intricacies of the design, but I will work with you on how it is developed and deployed. That makes it my responsibility also. And not just me. We will need to discuss its use with others. Manage the risks as a community.”
“But what if?” Wei Ying began.
“If you had never made the Yin Tiger Tally, it is possible that many people would have lived a while longer.”
A shudder passed through Wei Ying, but Lan Wangji was not finished.
“But is it equally possible that, without it, the Qishan Wen would have triumphed and the Sunshot Campaign would have failed. Perhaps, in their victory, just as many people would have died? Perhaps different people, perhaps all the same people. It was hardly a benign regime. Perhaps all the other sects would have been destroyed. Perhaps the Jiang, the Lan and the Nie would have been wiped from the face of the earth.”
Wei Ying let out a shakey huff of breath.
“We cannot know what might have happened. And we cannot know what will happen in the future now. There is a possibility your map could be turned against the cultivation world. That is a future we must guard against. There is another future, though, in which the map is never made and we lose the battle against the tide of evil in the city.
“I do not know what might happen then, but it will be terrible. Between the unchecked power of a score of new demonic warlords and the might of the People’s Liberation Army. It would be terrible. We have to stop that from happening.”
Lan Wangji took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment. “I have to stop that happening.” He swallowed. “You can go. You can leave the city with Wen Qionglin, as you said. Only… if you go, if you do not complete the map, I do not know how I am to succeed.”
“The army?” Wei Ying asked softly, blinking.
Lan Wangji nodded. “I do not know, but if things continue to escalate, the authorities cannot continue to ignore the problem, or delegate it to a semi-secret specialist unit as is currently the case. Their solutions, the solutions of non-cultivators are…” Temperatures of 1000 degrees destroy most non-human subjects. “They are necessarily blunt. They almost succeeded in wiping out cultivation once before. And that was when they had no greater motivation than distrust. It is not likely that our world would survive whatever they come up with when they are under real and significant threat.”
Wei Ying sucked in a mouthful of air.
Lan Wangji put a hand on his arm to quiet him. He had not meant to scare him again. “Wei Ying,” he said. “None of it is your responsibility. It is not even your fight. I am sorry I let you think that you had to help me or the police would hunt you down. I’m sorry I let you think the burden was all yours. I am sorry that you have not been eating and sleeping, that I have made you unwell.”
“You didn’t, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said, sitting straighter. “I’ve always been like this. A bit fucked up.”
“I made it worse,” Lan Wangji said. “I made it harder for you.”
“You made me soup,” Wei Ying said.
“You are too thin. Madam Granny Fruit said.”
“It’s what I wanted to do,” Wei Ying said. “You didn’t make me.”
“What?”
“Working on the compass. Working on the map. I want to make things better. I want to help. I don’t want… what you said. Those terrible things that might happen if we don’t sort this out. I just… I’m afraid. I’m not a good person. Not like you, Lan Zhan. I make the wrong choices. People are always angry at me. I guess I must be…”
“No,” Lan Wangji said quickly. “Wei Ying is good. No one is angry. People love you. The Yangs all love you, I can see. Wen Qionglin and this Mrs Yue you live with. All your other friends. I…”
“Yu-guniang is angry with me.”
“She is angry with me,” Lan Wangji corrected. “She was afraid and she is someone who is always angry when she is afraid. Well, she is angry most of the time. But perhaps this means she is always a little afraid?”
To Lan Wangji’s relief, Wei Ying nodded rather than continue to assert that he was uniquely and solely the subject of people’s ire. Many people had hated him, of course. The story of the Yiling Laozu would not have lasted for 1500 years if he had not frightened many people. Many cultivators from all the clans had died at his hands, Lan Wangji should not forget this. And the corpses of many, cultivators and non-cultivators, had been desecrated, drafted into his ghost army.
These were facts. But they sat alongside other facts. The Wei Ying before him whose mind dashed from topic to topic like a skipping stone, before disappearing into depths Lan Wangji could not follow. Wei Ying who was always ready to laugh. Wei Ying who was generous, working patiently with Zilong and Zhenzhen, letting them feel involved and giving them the opportunity to learn.
Did it matter that the crimes of Wei Ying’s past carried less weight with Lan Wangji now than his present virtues? He was kind, he wanted to help, he was clever, brilliant even. He offered Lan Wangji hope. He treated Lan Wangji like a friend and Lan Wangji had been lonely for so long.
It was dangerous, maybe. But Granny Fruit and the Apple Tree spirit had tested him and they had accepted him, welcomed him. The Yang family and the people of this hutong. Wen Qionglin, who had known him through all of this, who might be expected to bear a grudge against the man who had irrevocably broken his soul’s journey to reincarnation and who had been unavoidably entangled with the deaths of his sister and the rest of his family, and yet he still followed him with absolute devotion.
This loyalty was not conjured through Wei Ying’s mastery, Lan Wangji was sure. Wen Qionglin was independent in his consciousness. He had lived, well, existed for 1500 years without Wei Ying, but his friendship had stood the test of all this time. It could only be that in his view, however badly it turned out, Wei Ying had stood by him and his family when no one else would, had risked everything, lost everything, trying to save them.
“Lan Zhan?”
Oh, Lan Wangji had been staring at Wei Ying for what was probably a disconcerting length of time. He looked down at the blankets instead. They were very ugly. Now that there was daylight, he could properly see the pattern on the acrylic fleece, a brown background with a giant tiger’s head in orange and white, covering the whole blanket. The one beneath was a geometric pattern in teal and pink.
Lan Wangji closed his eyes and tried to concentrate. “I want it to be clear. I will not report you or Wen Qionglin to the police. I have no intention of doing that. I will have to decide on what basis to continue my co-operation with the SPU. How… There are many things to figure out. If you want to leave or to remain concealed within the city, for as long as that is possible, I will do what I can to further that.”
“I don’t want to leave,” Wei Ying said. “I want to help, if you think I can. If you don’t think I will make things worse?” He looked painfully uncertain.
“I know you can help,” Lan Wangji said at once. “We can work together. Even if the map is just a secret thing we consult from time to time, it will give us valuable data. At the moment, we just do not know what we are dealing with. It feels like fighting a hydra.”
“But if you know where they all are then it’s more like whack-a-mole,” Wei Ying said with a little bubble of enthusiasm.
“Like what?” Lan Wangji said, perplexed.
“It’s a toy,” Wei Ying said. “Zhenzhen had one. You set it going and you wait with a little hammer and when these little heads pop out of trapdoors you whack them.”
Lan Wangji tried to recall any of the toys of his childhood. He drew a blank. “I…”
“Never mind,” Wei Ying said, laughing at him a little. “I’ll show you, at the Yangs. You’ll see. You can see where the holes are, so it's only a matter of watching. If you watch long enough, there is a fairly simple set of variations. You can tell what’s going to come up where. Zhenzhen got so mad at me because I got the mole every time.”
Wei Ying was smiling again, his face softening with the memory. It was hard to believe that it was all real: the panic, the collapse, nightmares, visions of persecution, anger, despair. This smiling young man was the Wei Ying that Lan Wangji had become familiar with over their handful of meetings. The man that Lan Wangji was rapidly falling in love with.
Lan Wangji pushed the thought aside. Inappropriate. He needed to not allow himself to indulge in enchantment with the bright surface Wei Ying showed the world. He needed to remember what lay beneath the surface. Even if Wei Ying did not want to remember. Maybe especially because Wei Ying did not want to remember that.
“You should drink some water,” Lan Wangji said. A shadow flashed across Wei Ying’s face. Perhaps it was shame again? A reminder of his weakness. “And then we should have breakfast,” Lan Wangji said. That was neutral. Everyone should eat breakfast after all. It was late.
“Where is A-Ning?” Wei Ying asked.
“He…” Lan Wangji began and then paused. Probably Wei Ying would not want to be reminded that he had sent Wen Qionglin away. “I don’t know,” he said. Which was also true. “We can go and look for him. We can all get breakfast.”
“Okay,” Wei Ying said.
So Lan Wangji got off the bed, allowing Wei Ying to swing his legs out. He fetched the boots he had set to one side last night.
Wei Ying pulled them on. “Wait, what’s happened to the laces?”
“I undid them last night. To take them off?” Lan Wangji said.
“They aren’t supposed to be undone,” Wei Ying said, bending over again with a huff to pull the laces taut. “No one has time to undo and retie laces everytime they put their boots on. They were tied just the right amount so I could pull them on and off.”
Everyone? Lan Wangji thought. Surely most people did tie and untie their laces. That was what laces were for. Surely manufacturers would have come up with something else if that was not the case? “I am sorry,” he said. “There were a lot of knots.”
“Yeah, that’s because the laces were too long. They dragged in puddles so I tied extra knots to shorten them.”
“I see,” Lan Wangji said.
Wei Ying grinned up at him. “You look so scandalized,” he laughed.
“I am scandalised,” Lan Wangji said, straight-faced. “I had previously thought that boots with side zippers, in which the laces are ornamental rather than functional, were the acme of sloth.”
Wei Ying let out a bark of surprised laughter. Lan Wangji felt a swell of satisfaction at the sound.
They left the room, and followed the gentle sounds of human activity into what turned out to be Mrs Yue’s kitchen. Wen Qionglin was there, stirring a pot on the hob, while a tiny old lady in a bright pink tracksuit set sat at the table.
“Hello, Mrs Yue,” Wei Ying said brightly. “This is my friend, Lan Zhan.”
“Good morning, Mrs Yue,” Lan Wangji said. “It is nice to meet you.”
“Come into the light where I can see you,” Mrs Yue said, so Lan Wangji came further into the kitchen.
“You’re very tall,” Mrs Yue said after peering at him. “A-Ying has very tall friends. Come and have breakfast. A-Ning has made the congee.”
“I have made it with a vegetable stock, Hanguang-Jun,” Wen Qionglin said from the stove.
“Hanguang-Jun?” Mrs Yue asked.
“That’s his nickname,” Wei Ying said quickly. “We call him that because he’s so cool. And good-looking. And everything.”
“Hanguang-Jun,” Mrs Yue chortled to herself. “Honestly, you boys! And what do you mean vegetable stock, A-Ning?”
“Hanguang-Jun is a vegetarian,” Wen Qionglin.
“Really?” Mrs Yue sounded put out. “A big lad like you doesn’t eat any meat?”
“No, Mrs Yue,” Lan Wangji said.
“Not even chicken?” she asked hopefully.
“No,” Lan Wangji said, tamping down on the obscure need to apologise for this.
Mrs Yue shook her head sadly and tsked to herself.
Really, what was it with all these old ladies?
Wei Ying, already sitting down at the table, laughed. Lan Wangji could not tell if he was laughing at him or at Mrs Yue. Or perhaps just laughing to have another morning in the world.
*
The sun has set, and a mist is in the flowers;
And the moon grows very white and people sad and sleepless.
A Zhao harp has just been laid mute on its phoenix holder,
And a Shu lute begins to sound its mandarin-duck strings....
Since nobody can bear to you the burden of my song,
Would that it might follow the spring wind to Yanran Mountain.
I think of you far away, beyond the blue sky,
And my eyes that once were sparkling
Are now a well of tears.
...Oh, if ever you should doubt this aching of my heart,
Here in my bright mirror come back and look at me!
Li Bai, Endless Yearning II. Trans. Witter Bynner
Chapter 11
Notes:
So, friends, I've passed the 100k mark, which is a lot of words in four months. Also, there is still a long way to go. Maybe another 100k, or more? I'm going to take a break now for a few months, to recharge my creative batteries. I'm leaving you in a good place in this chapter. The slow inhale before things ramp up to the end of the arc and the transition to the next one.
I hope you enjoy this chapter! Thank you for all your support so far and thank you (in advance) for your patience over the summer pause. Subscribe to the story, if you want a notification when I start posting again. Or follow me on Tumblr or Bluesky as I'll update there too. <3
Hugest thanks to cypressey and keriarentikai for their beta on this chapter, which was quite straggly in places as I dragged myself over the line. Thank you for patiently getting this one postable!
Chapter Text
Wei Ying caught himself looking at Lan Zhan again. It was fortunate that Lan Zhan always ate mostly with his eyes cast down looking at his own bowl. Wei Ying looked away quickly, but a minute later he found his eyes were back. Lan Zhan was sitting at his kitchen table. Well, Mrs Yue’s kitchen table, but Lan Zhan was here in his home. Eating breakfast with the same thoughtful focus as he did everything else.
Lan Zhan had stayed the whole night. He had come home with them, to make sure Wei Ying was okay. He had stayed and he had... Wei Ying felt his face get hot as he thought about the pulse of Lan Zhan’s spiritual energy inside him, the intensity of his gaze. It had been nothing like Mr Yang’s warm and careful probing of his meridians. Lan Zhan’s qi was like a cataract, white hot, all the way through to his core. And he had held Wei Ying, gentle and incandescent all at once.
Wei Ying let out a shaky exhale at the memory. It had been so intimate, that connection running from one core to the other. And he was speaking as someone who had once felt someone hold his core in their own two bare hands. Not a fair comparison, of course. Wen Qing had been intentionally dispassionate, concentrating on the intricacies of the task. Lan Zhan had… not been dispassionate.
His compassion had been palpable. Lan Zhan, this Lan Zhan, had only just met Wei Ying, really. And already he was so kind. To sit up all night and to share his qi with a stranger, with so much, so much feeling. Lan Zhan really was too good.
Wei Ying noticed he was staring at Lan Zhan again. There were faint, bluish shadows under Lan Zhan’s eyes. He had not slept, of course, and he was only just recovered from his broken leg. Even so, he had felt so strong. Holding Wei Ying. He had told Wei Ying he was good. Wei Ying wished it were true.
When you had had a stupid freak out and had to be carried home unconscious. When you worried your friends and made them sit up all night. When your best friend, your zhiji, who was also sort of a stranger, had to feed you his spiritual energy… it was not ‘good’ to want that to happen again. Because it had felt so… nice.
Wei Ying slipped his hands under the table so he could press on the tender point on his wrist, where Lan Zhan had held it. He held you, he tried to lecture himself, because you were thrashing about having something that was maybe a qi deviation and also just being bonkers. Get a fucking grip, Wei Ying!
As if he sensed Wei Ying’s consternation, Lan Zhan looked up then, met his eyes and his brow furrowed slightly in concern. He dipped his head in a way Wei Ying knew meant are you okay, Wei Ying? And Wei Ying could only nod in the affirmative and, oh gods, what was his face doing now, smiling dopily back at Lan Zhan.
He was lucky that Wen Ning was too kind to judge him and Mrs Yue was mostly blind.
“You should eat,” Lan Zhan prompted him.
“Oh, yeah,” Wei Ying said. He sounded a little breathy. Was it possible to get drunk on strong qi? Maybe that was it. Maybe he was actually high on Lan Zhan’s spiritual energy. That would explain why he could not stop his face from smiling like an idiot.
Lan Zhan looked pointedly down at Wei Ying’s nearly full bowl.
Oh yeah, he should also actually eat breakfast. He was really hungry this morning. He shovelled in a couple of quick spoonfuls. “Es eeelly gud, A-Nng,” he said around the food.
“No talking. You could choke,” Lan Zhan said. His spoon was set neatly beside his empty bowl.
“I’m glad you like it,” Wen Ning said.
“Eat up, A-Ying,” Mrs Yue said. “You have to catch up with your tall friends.”
A-Ning was, of course, not eating and now that Lan Zhan and Mrs Yue had finished, they all watched him eat with the same aura of approval. Was this what it felt like to be the pampered only son in a noble household? Everyone watching the young master eat? Wei Ying thought about sharing this observation, but Lan Zhan would tell him off for talking and they were all waiting for him so, really, he should just get on and eat. And stop fucking smiling at the same time, or he would choke.
When Wei Ying had finished the bowl, and been prevailed upon to eat another and drink some water, Lan Zhan insisted that he should meditate.
“I’m feeling fine, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying protested.
“Nevertheless,” Lan Zhan said, “it is important to consolidate…” he glanced at Mrs Yue, clearly uncertain how much she was in the know.
“Mrs Yue knows I practice tai chi,” Wei Ying said, easily. “Lan Zhan helped me sort out something I was a bit tangled with.”
“Practice makes perfect,” Mrs Yue said. “Mrs Li is learning Thai, you know. From an app. She says learning new languages wards off dementia. Too late, if you ask me. It’s those shows. Boys love. Honestly.”
Wei Ying had no idea what she was talking about and, from their blank faces, neither did Lan Zhan and Wen Ning.
“Well,” said Wei Ying, getting up and electing to let the whole thing slide. “Like you said. I better go practice.”
“Mr Lu will be doing his practice, I suppose,” Mrs Yue said, with studied nonchalance. “He’s alright. You can invite him to supper again. If you want.”
“Will do!” Wei Ying did a salute and helped Wen Ning gather up the bowls.
“Just put it in the sink,” Mrs Yue said. “Only I know where everything goes.” And she shooed them out of her kitchen.
*
Mr Lu was indeed outside, but he was sitting in his doorway smoking one of the cheap, filterless cigarettes he favoured. Wei Ying scolded him and then cajoled him into demonstrating their tai chi routine, so he could show Lan Zhan the integrated qi exercises he had rigged into it.
After Lan Zhan’s… whatever he had done, the exercises seemed to flow more easily than ever before. Wei Ying actually got quite into it. For the first time he could actually feel the pulse of energy as he moved to and fro, releasing and drawing it back in. It really felt…
“Lan Zhan! Wen Ning! I think I’ve had a breakthrough. I can feel it,” Wei Ying exclaimed excitedly.
“That is good,” Wen Ning said.
Lan Zhan took his wrist and checked his meridians. It did not feel like it had before. It was just a normal assessment. “Good,” Lan Zhan said. “Continue.”
“What?” Wei Ying said. He had finished for the day. Hadn’t he?
“Continue your practice,” Lan Zhan repeated. “I shall meditate here.” And he folded his legs under him and sank into a sitting posture in a patch of sunlight, where it fell against the wall on Mr Lu’s side of the alley.
Well, okay then. Wei Ying decided he would carry on and repeat his tai chi a few times, because it felt good. Not because Lan Zhan told him to. And not because Wen Ning’s non-expression still looked a bit like he was laughing at Wei Ying. And definitely not because, if he didn’t, he would just sit and stare moonily at Lan Zhan while he meditated and Mr Lu was not blind and would definitely notice.
*
When Lan Zhan had finished his hour (hour!) of meditation, they all three sat in the sun with their backs against the wall of Mr Lu’s house to decide on next steps. Mr Lu had retreated back inside claiming he needed a lie down after Wei Ying bullied him into twenty minutes of tai chi.
“I will need to go and speak to Yu Xiaohong this morning,” Lan Zhan said. “I need to apologise to her, as I have to you, for failing to communicate effectively and for having inadequately reflected upon the work we have been doing.”
The thing was… the thing was, Wei Ying’s memory was really bad, just anyway. And when he got, well, upset about things, it got a lot worse. He was not totally clear on what had happened last night. Snippets of vivid recall, but also a lot of blanks. He didn’t like to ask for a rundown. What do you mean you don’t remember? were words he would happily never hear again. It was never anything good. And, it made people all concerned, all over again, when he’d only just got them to stop looking at him like he was going to flip out for no reason.
Also, he was quick on the uptake. He usually got most of what he needed from context clues and the rest from asking dumb, facetious questions.
“I think,” Wen Ning said slowly, “that nothing has been done that cannot be undone. No one has been hurt.”
“Wei Ying has been hurt,” Lan Zhan said. “Yu Xiaohong also. By my… mishandling of the situation.”
Lan Zhan was sitting so straight, his head bowed in remorse. Wei Ying was pretty sure this wasn’t warranted. He didn’t remember last night all too clearly, but he was sure Lan Zhan hadn’t done anything wrong. “But I’m fine, Lan Zhan,” he said quickly. “I’m not hurt. I feel great!”
Lan Zhan looked at him sadly. As if his buoyancy was somehow evidence to the contrary. Everyone else was usually relieved when he was cheerful again, but not Lan Zhan.
“The map is very new, Hanguang-Jun,” Wen Ning said. “Perhaps you should not expect of yourself that you should have already envisaged every potential future?”
“Yeah, you only saw it for the first time last week,” Wei Ying broke in.
Lan Zhan was just frowning down at his own hands folded in his lap.
“And we can destroy it,” Wei Ying carried on. “Yu-guniang said… it was bad.” This was where his memory got a bit hazy.
“She said that it might be used by the police to track down all cultivators, not just demonic entities,” Wen Ning said. “Not that it was bad.”
Wei Ying decided that he didn’t need to know how aware Wen Ning was of the ways Wei Ying’s memory lapsed after he had been upset. Given how long Wen Ning had known him, the answer was probably pretty aware. At any rate, Wen Ning had filled in some of the blanks. “We don’t need to make the map at all, if that’s a risk. We can forget all about it.”
“No, Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan said. “We need it. I can’t…”
“I can make you something else,” Wei Ying said quickly. “Not the map. What do you need?”
Lan Zhan took a deep breath and paused, seeming to collect his thoughts. “The map,” he said carefully, “appeared to me to be a useful tool. Because it addressed one of our significant lacks, which is that of sufficient data to preempt an incident before it happens. Thus far we have been entirely reactive, responding to calls where the public are already threatened.
“Police intelligence, which is based on their ability to track communications across the internet and mobile networks, to monitor bank accounts, CCTV and so on, has not offered any significant breaks. We are, still, ‘mopping up’, rather than dealing with the source of the flood.”
Wei Ying pondered. “So, we could continue with the map, but work out more safeguards. Keep it all secret?”
“But,” Lan Zhan said, sounding troubled, “there is so much. There is so much going on. I had assumed that the cooperation with the SPU would continue, that their data analysts would help us to make sense of whatever the map revealed.”
“But, what Yu-guniang said. I don’t think,” Wei Ying hesitated. “I mean, it doesn’t matter about me, but I actually don’t think I can cope with making something that ends up being the tool that destroys the cultivation world. I just…”
“No,” Lan Zhan said quickly, turning towards him. “Not that, Wei Ying,” he said, his brow creased in concern. “We will make sure that doesn’t happen.” He looked at Wei Ying, his eyes soft. At least, Wei Ying thought they looked soft. Kind. Warm, where the morning light caught glints of gold.
“I think Yu Xiaohong is correct,” Lan Zhan continued, ducking his head to resume his self-castigation, shuttering his eyes from the sunlight. “It would be too powerful a tool to share in that way. And, I should have…” he tailed off.
“Maybe we can come at it from another angle,” Wei Ying said, keen to steer Lan Zhan off the topic of what he ‘should’ have done or not done. “What are all the problems you guys are having? Maybe there is something else that is more urgent?”
Lan Zhan looked down in thought for a minute or two. “There are too many ghosts and not enough cultivators,” he said in the end.
“Well, the old me would have seen an obvious fix there and raised a ghost army. But,” he added hastily as Lan Zhan and Wen Ning, on both sides of him, stiffened, “I can totally see that is not a good solution for the modern city.”
They were both glaring at him and didn’t stop until he conceded that it probably wasn’t a good solution, full stop, and that he wouldn’t be considering it any further.
“I was just thinking aloud,” Wei Ying muttered. “I do that. It doesn’t mean I’m actually going to act on it.”
“Sometimes he does though,” Wen Ning commented. Like a traitor.
“So, in the absence of a ghost army,” Wei Ying said loudly. “I’m guessing that if it was possible to draft more cultivators into the city from outside, from Gusu or somewhere else, that would already have been done.”
“No one is coming.” Lan Zhan shook his head.
Wei Ying wondered about the Lan. They had let Lan Zhan go, but without support. Here he was, alone. Taking on more than one man, even a man like Lan Zhan, could reasonably be expected to shoulder. And still, no help from Gusu? Wei Ying didn’t say more. To be cut adrift by your family was painful enough, without other people questioning you, asking you to reiterate it.
“Right. Too many ghosts then,” Wei Ying said, turning the topic. “As far as I understand it, we’re talking about an increase in regular hauntings, also random new wild yao and summoned guai and powerful shit, like whatever it was that dropped a building on you. At least,” he added, “that’s what Mr Yang’s told me.”
“Yes,” Lan Zhan agreed. “We think that the proliferation must be driven by multiple factors, rather than a single source. Demonic cultivators using array designs and the tools of the ghost path to call up entities of all sorts, intentionally or otherwise.” Lan Zhan’s voice was measured, accurate and succinct. “Then,” he continued, “as a result of this, the subsequent concentrations of demonic energy and sites of violent death in the city appear to be creating purification-resistant ‘coldspots’ of yin energy, which produce their own manifestations. There is a multiplication effect.”
“Oh boy,” Wei Ying said. “Curse sites as well.”
“Indeed.” No emotion. Lan Zhan’s voice never betrayed emotion, but Wei Ying could tell, by the tightness of his jaw, the tendon standing out in his neck, the stress Lan Zhan was under.
“It is also possible,” Lan Zhan said, “that cultivation artefacts that have been used in the past to trap high-level spirits, failed gods, demonic monsters and the like are being intentionally broken. That, or the curse sites are degrading the protections on the artefacts and allowing the spirits to escape.”
“Okay,” Wei Ying said, trying to sound unfazed by this. It was strange to consider the significance of these myriad threats while people, regular people, passed up and down the alley in front of them. People going to work, to the shops, tourists. “Well, then,” he said, “the map, if we continue down that route, will absolutely need a calibration system to make it useable or it will just be an absolute chaos of yin entities everywhere. Probably, we will want to concentrate our efforts on the highest level and people will just have to suck up being haunted and shit, until we have things more under control.”
“This is true,” Lan Zhan said, “but the presence, the charting, of the lesser entities may be valuable to track in case of patterns, if there is a source.”
“Yeah, definitely. If someone has a magic cooking pot, but for ghosts, we want to put a stop to it,” Wei Ying agreed.
“That is why I had thought we would need the analytical services of the SPU to make this work.” Lan Zhan sounded a little weary.
“No sun to shoot down this time, that’s for sure. It’s more like shooting raindrops in a downpour.”
Lan Zhan’s shoulders did not slump, but they gave the impression that they would have done so if they were not so well regulated. Wei Ying lent against him, intending to bump his shoulder in an encouraging manner. Wow, Lan Zhan’s shoulder was rock hard. It was like bumping against a stone house. Of course he knew how strong Lan Zhan was. He still had the bruises on his wrists.
“Have you considered the Book Men?” Wen Ning asked.
“Huh?” Wei Ying asked, twisting around, away from Lan Zhan, to look at Wen Ning where he sat quietly on his other side.
Wen Ning leaned forward a little to look over at Lan Zhan, but when Lan Zhan just looked back at him with a faint frown, he continued. “The Book Men are an order within the Old Community. They keep the history, the records, of the city. I do not know if they have a spirit at their heart, like the Apple Tree spirit or if they are just self-appointed in some way.”
“I…” Lan Zhan hesitated, still frowning. “I have a contact, Mr Mo. I think now that he described himself as a ‘book man’ when we met. I thought that was a reference to his profession only. He runs a bookshop. But the city has been an administrative capital, on and off, for two thousand years, so I suppose that some record-keeping spirit might have manifested in that time.”
“Master Sheng told me,” Wen Ning said, ducking his head apologetically. “I have not had anything to do with them. But when we first came to the city, the Book Men collected reports from those coming into the city. Members of the Old Community, I mean. They would buy any books or manuscripts people brought with them. I just heard it discussed among some of the monks and priests. They would protect knowledge, but not people. They were very secretive. The monks did not like them.”
“Well, sort of morally ambiguous then,” Wei Ying said. “But as some of our problems with the map lie in the domain of interpreting extensive, complex knowledge, and also keeping the source of that knowledge deadly secret, it’s probably worth looking into.”
“I shall ask Yu Xiaohong,” Lan Zhan said. “And, if she agrees, talk to Mr Mo.”
“I’ll see what Mr Yang says too,” Wei Ying said. There was an idea itching in his brain. He couldn’t put his finger on it. He lent his head back against the wall.
“Are you alright?” Lan Zhan asked quickly. “Are you tired?”
“No, I’m fine,” Wei Ying murmured, not moving, still chasing the thought.
“I suppose you must leave soon, Hanguang-Jun, to speak to Yu-guniang,” Wen Ning observed.
“No,” Wei Ying almost shouted, starting forwards. “I mean…” He didn’t know what he meant. Only that he was not ready for Lan Zhan to go. They hadn’t sorted out anything.
“I should,” Lan Zhan said, but he did not immediately get up.
“We still need to figure out,” Wei Ying said, “a plan. We need to figure out a plan. So that Yu-guniang knows that we have taken her seriously and also…”
“Yes,” Lan Zhan said. “A plan. I do not know what to say.”
“I see,” Wen Ning said.
“A plan,” Wei Ying said, more firmly. “Solutions. So, uh, what’s this thing dropping buildings on you, then? We should have a solution to that.”
“Oh,” Lan Zhan said, settling back into his upright posture against the wall. It seemed that, maybe, he was not so eager to leave yet either. “Well, we do not know for certain, but it appears to be a high-level possession. The subject… there appears to be both a human person and a spiritual entity acting in concert. So far, they have been focussed on the acquisition of certain jade artefacts.”
“Yeah?” Wei Ying said, all attention.
Lan Zhan’s head dipped. “We know little more than that. It is very strong. It gets stronger with each artefact it secures.”
“What’s it going after?” Wei Ying asked, intrigued. He had not heard of an entity magnifying its power this way.
“Jade,” Lan Zhan said. “Neolithic jade. There is no record of any powerful enchantment of such objects, so it is likely that the power was imbued in them before records began. I have a contact at the university. She says that the stolen pieces we have identified, a bangle and a pair of bi disks, are examples of Hongshan culture jade, so 5000 or 6000 years old.”
“Wow, that is an old spirit,” Wei Ying said.
Lan Zhan nodded. “I saw the spirit. He has the figure of a man. The jade objects he has taken have been incorporated. He was wearing the bangle, even though he is larger now than a normal man. The disks became part of his headdress.”
“Oh shit. Do you think they were his? These things he’s collecting.”
“Mn. That is one inference. The vessel he is possessing appears to be an older man also, but he has not been identified. The spirit holds his hands like this.” Lan Zhan folded his hands into a tai chi whip form, forefinger and thumb pinched, with the other fingers folded into the palm. “He may be holding further small artefacts there. Professor Zhang, my contact, says there have been grave excavations like this, with small carvings placed in the hands in death.”
Wei Ying whistled. A 5000-year-old ghost, capable of corporeal form.
“There have been no older police reports about thefts of suitable Hongshan artefacts that we might link to this case. Any auction sales of suggestive items have been followed up without result. This indicates that, if there are such small talismans involved, they were already in the possession of the cultivator who summoned the spirit, or acquired on the blackmarket.”
“Yeah, okay,” Wei Ying said, his mind beginning to spin with ideas. “Something triggered the spirit to manifest. That could have been intentional, a summoning or the breaking of a spirit seal, or unintentional, if a seal was broken by accident. And then some guy, maybe a cultivator or maybe not, is seized by the spirit. Then what?”
“Apart from the two thefts, we have no idea. It disappears entirely outside of the crime scenes.”
“Transportation talisman?”
“Possibly. But wherever it goes, it has done nothing further to attract our attention. Yet.”
“Hmm,” Wei Ying thought, the comforting, familiar sense of becoming absorbed in a problem releasing him from all the things he didn’t want to have to think about anymore. “If it was intentionally summoned or released you’d think there would be some sort of intent, some ultimate goal.”
“Yes,” Lan Zhan agreed. “Regarding his goal, we can only wait and see. This is not ideal. Though it is also possible that the person who released it was not able to control it and is, instead, now under its control.”
“If that’s the case, what does a spirit want? Its own grave goods, presumably. And then what? I mean, it’s good it isn’t unleashing bloody destruction everywhere, but it’s kind of unnerving having a spirit of this power just bumbling about.”
“Mn.”
The sun was rising higher now. Not exactly hot, still only early spring, but brightening the smooth-worn cobbles of the alley, the pristine white glow of Lan Zhan’s hightops and coat. Striking blue lights off Lan Zhan’s hair, where a strand of it fell loose at the side of his face. It was a wonder, really, why people were just passing by and not stopping to stare.
A sudden, more pertinent, thought struck Wei Ying. “Maybe it isn’t bumbling about. Something as powerful as that ought to be registering on the compass of evil. But no one is picking anything up. Mr Yang and I have surveyed with his new compass settings and we found nothing at the top end. What if it is returning its power to the artefacts, or even residing primarily in one?”
Lan Zhan frowned. “I suppose that is a possibility. It has been over two weeks since the incident at the auction house and all leads have gone completely dead.”
“Makes me think that some way of tracing artefacts of power should also be a priority,” Wei Ying said. “I don’t really want to work further on the map until we are clearer on how it might safely be used, but I could work on the compass. See if I can devise a setting to react to power within artifacts.”
“You think that might be possible?” Lan Zhan asked.
Wei Ying sucked his teeth. “It’s trickier. The energy source is concealed, but if I can find some way to bypass that concealment it would be the same basic principle, just a different attractant. The compass, the lure flags, it's all the same thing: an orientation to set energy sources. Hey, do you want me to do yours, by the way? Your compass,” he said when Lan Zhan looked blank. “I can do adaptations that would let you selectively scale your search up by power level.”
Lan Zhan hesitated.
“It would only take me an hour or so. You’d have it back by tonight. It would be useful for me to have a little play around. Give me ideas for an adaptation or similar tool for tracing artefacts.”
Lan Zhan flinched slightly.
“What? I won’t break it. I guess they are pretty expensive.”
Lan Zhan appeared to be searching for words. “They are antiques,” he said at last. “All those still in use are at least two hundred years old, most are older. We don’t… we don’t know how to make them anymore,” he finished quietly.
“You don’t know how to make them? Nobody?” Wei Ying repeated dumbly. “I thought Mr Yang’s was just old because it was a family heirloom.”
“They are all heirlooms. Like the great swords. Like the battle qin. We don’t,” Lan Zhan took a long breath and swallowed. “Such things of power are no longer made. The knowledge has been lost.”
“Oh,” Wei Ying said. He was not sure what else to say. That was strange to think about.
“As the sects shrunk or died out there was no demand for such things. The crafts died as the craftsmen did. When people started to worry about it, it was too late. What had been written down proved not to be sufficient.”
“Oh,” Wei Ying said again. “I’m sorry.” He had no idea why he’d said it, but Lan Zhan looked so sad. “But, hey, I know. I’m not dead. Any more. I know how to make a compass. I won’t break yours, of course. But I could make a new one from scratch. I could make Yu-guniang one, if you think she would like it?
Lan Zhan was looking at him very intently again.
Wei Ying faltered. It was a lot of gaze to be subject to. “I don’t know how to make a qin. But I made Chenqing and some of the principles were the same. I mean, it’s sort of funny, but I made Chenqing thinking about how you used Wangji. I mean, not you, but… You do still have Wangji, right? Mr Yang says you use a qin?”
“I do,” Lan Zhan said. “I played for you last night.”
“Oh, okay, good,” Wei Ying said, relieved that Lan Zhan still had his qin. “You played for me? I don’t remember.”
“You were not sleeping peacefully. I played Rest and Cleansing.”
“Oh, thank you,” Wei Ying said. “I wish I hadn’t been asleep. I’d like to see you play, I mean.” He could feel his cheeks heating up, for some reason, at the thought of Lan Zhan playing for him while he slept. He had thought, once, a long time ago, that they might live together. A childish dream. But he’d thought they could share a house and in the evenings Wei Ying would sit and listen, while Lan Zhan played. Stupid. What were they talking about?
“Anyhow,” Wei Ying said hurriedly, “Lan musical cultivation. Using an instrument to channel energies. Really powerful. So, that’s what I thought about, when I needed a way to control resentful energy. It’s all the same thing, after all.”
Lan Zhan, who had been staring at him sort of wide-eyed, now frowned at him.
“Not the same thing!” Wei Ying said. “The opposite thing. And very bad for you. I just mean on the level that energy is energy. There are ways in which it all behaves the same way, regardless of the source.”
Lan Zhan’s frown had turned more thoughtful. “Do you use an instrument to control this electrical energy you now use?”
“No,” Wei Ying said. “Most of what I’ve worked with are very small amounts of energy. The intention is enough, you know? But, if I’m going to manage something bigger, I think you’re probably right and that’s what I’ll need to do.”
“Something bigger?” Lan Zhan asked.
“Well, yeah. You can’t go after that jade spirit on your own.”
Lan Zhan’s eyes sparked with something. He turned to look at him and, sitting side-by-side as they were, it caused their knees to bump together.
“I’m not letting you do it alone,” Wei Ying said. He bumped Lan Zhan’s knee deliberately this time. “You said I could help. You can’t do everything on your own, you know. I guess I’m one to talk, but look how that turned out! And anyhow, I have an idea. I’m thinking, if the spirit gained power with each artefact it recovered, it should be weakened if it loses them, right? So, your chord assassination technique could be just the ticket.”
“Chord assassination?” Lan Zhan was leaning towards him. As if the hope Wei Ying was holding out was a physical thing.
“Yeah, how you used it against the Xuanwu. You held it fast, almost decapitated it, and that was a creature with near-god levels of power.”
“That was not me,” Lan Zhan said, the spark going out of his eyes. He tucked himself back against the wall, looking away and down at the hands in his lap. Wei Ying felt the loss and found that he very much missed having Lan Zhan turned towards him, Lan Zhan’s eyes on him.
“Not you in this life,” Wei Ying conceded gently. “But I know you can do it.” Lan Zhan was still withdrawn, pulled away. Did he not believe in himself? Well, Wei Ying would have to change that.
“I have seen you fight with Bichen. It was the same. It was how I knew you. The people call you Hanguang-Jun and it’s not flattery. I don’t think Yu-guniang is much of a one for flattery.”
Lan Zhan let out a little huff. “It is a nickname.”
“It is not,” Wei Ying insisted. “It’s not, is it, A-Ning. You’ve heard people talk about Hanguang-Jun.”
“They speak with hope when they speak of Hanguang-Jun,” Wen Ning confirmed.
“But I’m not–” Lan Zhan began.
“You are not the same man, but you are the same soul and where do you think the strength to fight comes from?”
Lan Zhan looked up again. His eyes were deep, golden pools.
“Everyone heading into battle feels the same way,” Wei Ying said. “Afraid that they will not have what it takes. If they are sane anyway. If they have not been fighting too long.”
Lan Zhan nodded.
“And you definitely have what it takes,” Wei Ying asserted. “You carry Wangji. You know the forms. Lan arm strength,” he gave Lan Zhan’s arm a squeeze. “Piece of cake!”
Lan Zhan let out a funny sort of snort. Wei Ying decided that it might have been a laugh because, with his gaze back on Wei Ying, there was that slight upward tilt to his eyes that meant he was smiling.
Wei Ying beamed back. “I think it’s great, what you are doing,” he said. “Coming here. Fighting for the city, even though it isn’t yours.”
“Wei Ying is also going to fight,” Lan Zhan said, but his ears had gone red at the tips.
Wei Ying wondered if they got hot to the touch when they did that. His shijie had used to test his temperature with her lips to his forehead when she feared he was running a fever. He laughed, a little wobbly, “I’m a soldier of fortune. I’m just here and making the best of it. You had a home and you left it because you saw people needed you.”
“You may not have chosen to come here, but you are choosing to fight,” Lan Zhan said, a weight to his gaze. “Choosing to stay.”
“Well, that’s the point, isn’t it. Fight for a just cause. Protect the innocent. I know you might not think so, with my reputation, but that’s what I always meant to do. It just… turned out…” It was Wei Ying’s turn to look away and study the growing rip in his jeans.
When Lan Zhan didn’t say anything for a minute or two Wei Ying had to look up again. Lan Zhan was just looking at him. There was no condemnation in his eyes. Was Wei Ying imagining the understanding there? Was he projecting? The sun, slanting into the alley now that it was nearing midday, was catching the amber lights in Lan Zhan’s eyes, making them glow like banked coals around black pupils.
They were just staring at one another. Wei Ying felt caught in Lan Zhan’s gaze. Is this what Wen Ning meant when he said of Mr Yang that there had not been many people in all the centuries who had truly known what he was and accepted him anyway? It would be good to fight alongside Lan Zhan once more, only this time with no secrets between them.
“It will be good,” Lan Zhan said eventually, “to fight alongside you.”
“Yes,” Wei Ying said. It seemed natural now to have Lan Zhan echoing his own thoughts. His zhiji. “It will be good. And you won’t be on your own. You’ll have me and A-Ning!”
Lan Zhan blinked and looked over at Wen Ning then. “I thought. I understood that Wen Qionglin did not wish to fight?”
“If Wei-gongzi is headed into battle then I will go with him,” Wen Ning said. “Wei-gongzi does not always take care.”
Wei Ying bumped against Wen Ning’s shoulder. Which was also rock solid. Maybe everyone was right about him needing to eat more. This body was getting a bit flimsy.
“I also do not think that 5000-year-old spirits of great power should roam the city unchecked. It isn’t safe,” Wen Ning said.
“Thank you, Wen Qionglin,” Lan Zhan said, equally seriously, bowing his head.
“What are you doing sitting in the sun?” Mrs Li was standing in the alley in front of them with two large bags of groceries.
“Hello, Mrs Li,” Wei Ying said, jumping up.
“You will burn,” Mrs Li scolded. “Look, your nose is red already. How are you going to get a girlfriend with a red nose?”
“Good morning, Mrs Li.” Wen Ning had also risen politely. Lan Zhan followed suit.
“This is my friend, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said, tugging on Lan Zhan’s sleeve to draw him forwards.
“Good morning,” Lan Zhan said, bowing.
Mrs Li looked up at him, impressed. “You’re very handsome.”
Lan Zhan blinked and then bowed again. “Thank you.”
“He is,” Wei Ying said, proudly, patting Lan Zhan’s arm.
“Girls aren’t even going to notice you’re there, A-Ying, if you keep going about with these tall, handsome men,” Mrs Li shook her head.
“I think that Wei-gongzi is also unlikely to notice the girls,” Wen Ning said quietly.
Mrs Li wasn’t paying attention. She had set down her shopping and was rooting in her handbag. “Close your eyes,” she instructed Wei Ying.
Wei Ying obediently shut his eyes. Unfortunately, he opened his mouth to ask what was going on and therefore caught a mouthful of the stuff Mrs Li was spraying on his face. He spluttered and choked and felt Lan Zhan’s steadying hand on his elbow.
“Sunblock,” Mrs Li announced. “Close your mouth, silly boy.” She sprayed him again liberally.
“You have to take care of your skin. You can get cancer, you know. Or wrinkles. Look at A-Ning and your friend. Lovely skin. You’ve missed your ears,” Mrs Li said, indicating Lan Zhan. “Come here.”
Looking completely baffled, Lan Zhan stepped forwards. Mrs Li sprayed some of her spray onto her own fingers and then got Lan Zhan to bend down so that she could rub sunblock into his ears. “There,” she said, satisfied.
“Thank you,” Lan Zhan said, obviously still very confused about what was going on.
“Use sunscreen,” Mrs Li wagged her finger at Wei Ying. “You need a girlfriend to cook for you. Getting skinnier every day.”
“Lan Zhan cooks for me,” Wei Ying protested.
Lan Zhan nodded but Mrs Li was not to be mollified. “Pfft. He doesn’t have time to cook for you. He has a good job. Executive something. Look at his coat.”
“I-” Lan Zhan began.
“Shall I help you with your shopping, Mrs Li?” Wen Ning asked.
“Oh yes, thank you!” Mrs Li said. “I felt like cooking. I’m going to make zhajiangmian. You should come for supper.”
“Thank you, Mrs Li,” Wen Ning and Wei Ying chorused.
“And your handsome friend,” Mrs Li said, almost coquettishly.
“Thank you,” Lan Zhan said, bowing again, until Wen Ning mercifully guided Mrs Li away down the alley.
“Ha, well, that was Mrs Li,” Wei Ying said. “She’s, uh, a friend of Mrs Yue’s,” he finished, unable to come up with any other adequate explanation for Mrs Li.
“I see,” Lan Zhan nodded, but with an air of incomplete comprehension.
“She’s just like that,” Wei Ying said.
“I should go,” Lan Zhan said again, but not moving.
A bicycle dinged its bell and Wei Ying tugged Lan Zhan back over to the side of the alley. “Um,” he said. There was something he wanted to say to Lan Zhan before he left. He just couldn’t remember what it was. The fabric of Lan Zhan’s coat was soft, wool maybe, where he rubbed it between his fingers. Lan Zhan was really so much taller than him now. Eating more wouldn’t fix that.
“We should,” Wei Ying’s mouth was saying. What was he talking about? What had they been talking about? Had he hit his head last night? Was this another after effect of the qi transfer high? Lan Zhan pressing him down into the bed, while he… Gods, he couldn’t think about that now. In the middle of the street. Mrs Li was right, Lan Zhan had really nice skin. Fair, but healthy. Glowing now in the spring sunshine. His long eyelashes casting shadows across his cheeks.
Focus! “Tell Yu-guniang I’m sorry,” Wei Ying said. “I’m sorry we didn’t think about the map being used in that way. But we’ve got it now.”
Lan Zhan also seemed to shake himself and refocus. He nodded.
“Anyway, I know we can't take any of this to the police, but I could really use an embued artefact to study, if I’m going to find a way to identify their energy signatures. So if you or Yu-guniang have any ideas on where we might come across one of those, let me know.”
“Mn,” Lan Zhan nodded. “I will ask Yu Xiaohong. If we cannot source one in Beijing, I may be able to ask my brother. But,” and he sighed.
“Let me guess, nothing is allowed to leave Gusu?”
Lan Zhan nodded.
Wei Ying had another thought. “Lan Zhan, are you still rich?”
“I am not short of money,” Lan Zhan said slowly, questioning.
“I’m not rich at all and neither is Wen Ning. I need a flute – maybe more than one, if I need to experiment a bit to get it to work. I’ll need more tools and materials if I’m going to make Yu-guniang a compass from scratch. And if I am going to go back to working on the map eventually…”
“I see,” Lan Zhan said.
“I’m sure we’ll manage though,” Wei Ying said hastily.
“No. Of course,” Lan Zhan said, taking out his phone. He looked at Wei Ying expectantly.
“What?” Wei Ying said.
“I will make a payment onto your phone?”
“Oh! Oh, yeah.” Wei Ying hopped up. “I think my phone’s inside.” Wei Ying dashed back into the house and found his jacket and the phone still in the pocket. Not a lot of charge left, but still alive. He jogged back to Lan Zhan and opened his payment app.
They exchanged details and Lan Zhan sent through a payment.
“Oh,” Wei Ying said, when he saw the amount. “That’s a lot.”
“Good musical instruments are expensive. If you are making a new spiritual tool, it should be good,” Lan Zhan said.
“Yeah, I guess,” Wei Ying said, still a little breathless about the amount of money. Maybe he could buy Mrs Yue one of those footspa things they advertised during the breaks between shows? She was always saying she had cold feet. Or maybe a new carpet, because that was the underlying problem, really.
Wei Ying had no problem accepting gifts of money from people. After all, pretty much everything he ever had was a gift from someone – from Jiang Fengmian and, when he forgot, from Jiang Cheng or shijie. Jiang Cheng had always groused about it something awful though. And shijie had always tried to get him to learn about taking care of money. But what was there to learn? Sometimes you had it, most of the time you didn’t. All he’d really learnt was that when someone else had it you had to wheedle it out of them. Lan Zhan had been very generous. Just like Wei Ying had always been telling Jiang Cheng that rich young masters ought to be.
Lan Zhan was tucking his phone away when a new thought struck Wei Ying. “Lan Zhan?”
“Mm?”
“Can I have your number?”
“Oh. Yes. It is probably part of the payment information, but yes.”
“Do you want my number?” Wei Ying asked, biting his lip.
“I have it. To make the payment,” Lan Zhan explained.
“Can I,” Wei Ying hesitated. “CanImakeyouabluedot?” he said in a rush.
“What?”
Wei Ying took a deep breath. “There’s a thing on my phone. If you agree. It means I can see where your phone is. At night, when I can’t sleep, I like to see where people are. So I don’t worry.”
“But I will be here?” Lan Zhan said.
“What?”
“Wei Ying needs to sleep. If he is to create a new compass for artefacts and develop musical cultivation for the lightning path and learn the chord assassination technique before the jade spirit returns.”
“Um?”
“Wei Ying needs to sleep. While Wen Qionglin is at work, I will come back and play for you.”
“But, you… night hunting?”
“Your tools and your new techniques are more important. They will make more of a difference. Unless I get a call that there is something I must deal with,” Lan Zhan said and then his expression clouded over slightly. “Unless you do not want me to come?”
“No, no. I want you,” Wei Ying said at once. “I mean…”
But Lan Zhan seemed satisfied. “I must go,” he said. “I will return.”
“Oh, okay. But give me your compass,” Wei Ying said. “I’ll fix it up and get it back to you.”
Lan Zhan nodded and reached inside his coat, drawing out a blue leather case, with embossed gold designs across it.
“Oh, fancy,” Wei Ying exclaimed. When Lan Zhan handed it to him.
“It is seventeenth century,” Lan Zhan said.
Wei Ying could feel the leather, worn buttery with age, still warm from Lan Zhan’s body heat. He popped the catch to take a quick look at the compass inside. He could see at once that it was a different order of thing to Mr Yang’s, beautifully made and with far fewer signs of use and repair. The compass face was silver and engraved with a floral design, maybe magnolias, in fine, incised lines all over its surface. “So pretty! Look at that. Just like its owner,” Wei Ying grinned.
Lan Zhan frowned at him.
“I’ll take good care of it,” Wei Ying promised.
Lan Zhan nodded again, turned and left. He didn’t smile again before he went and Wei Ying kind of wished he hadn’t teased him. “Bye, Lan Zhan!” he called, but Lan Zhan didn’t break his step.
Wei Ying watched after him as Lan Zhan headed off down the alley. The gait was the same. The sway of the long, white coat from his broad shoulders. He could be watching him walk away in Yunmeng or Yiling. Only this time, Wei Ying knew he was coming back.
He was still looking after Lan Zhan when Wen Ning returned.
“Hanguang-Jun has gone, then,” Wen Ning observed.
“He had to go,” Wei Ying said, a little glumly.
“He said he had to go after breakfast and it is noon now,” Wen Ning observed.
“Yeah, well,” Wei Ying said, “we had to, you know, sort things out. Come up with a plan.”
“Is that what you were doing?”
Wei Ying looked closely at Wen Ning. The thing was, Wen Ning was the purest soul to ever live and that made it difficult to tell sometimes when he was taking the piss. His face gave nothing away.
“It’s just nice to spend time with him again,” Wei Ying said, with some dignity. “He’s like how he always was, you know? And it’s… nice. But I do know,” he caught himself, remembering what Wen Ning had been at such pains to tell him. “I know he’s not the same. He’s a different person. He doesn’t know me. And we only just met. Only… he is very like.”
“He is,” Wen Ning agreed, with a kind smile. “Very like.”
“And, it just really feels like we know each other,” Wei Ying said. “Like we’ve always known each other. Do you think that’s just me? Am I being really weird?”
“I do not think it is just you,” Wen Ning said, solemnly. “You are both weird.”
“Good,” Wei Ying said with relief. Then Wen Ning’s words caught up with him. “Rude, A-Ning!”
*
Wei Ying went inside to work on Lan Zhan’s compass. And, on Wen Ning’s insistence, to have lunch. It was dim inside the house, after the bright sunlight of the alley, but he still had one of the clip-on LED lights that he hadn’t fried during his early experiments with the lightning path. When the table was clear again he opened up the back of the compass to get at the mechanism. He found it was engraved even on the inside of the cover, with the flowers, magnolias maybe, where no one would even see them. Peering closer, there was even an inscription, in tiny characters, like bees among the petals. Lan Qingni. My heart’s compass.
That was sweet. A courting gift perhaps, to some beautiful lady cultivator in the Lan family a long time ago. Wei Ying wondered if Lan Zhan had chosen it or if he had just been given it. What if Lan Zhan had a sweetheart back in Gusu? Lan Qingni? Maybe that inscription had been added later? Maybe it wasn’t as old as the rest of the compass? It was hard to tell. But, no. If it was a gift from a lover, Lan Zhan would not have handed it over to Wei Ying so easily.
He did carry it close to his heart though. But that was because it was a key tool and valuable, Wei Ying told himself. Where else was he going to carry it? If you were going to give a lover's gift to Lan Zhan, a useful tool would be a good choice. Useful and beautiful, like this. But Lan Zhan was loyal and upstanding. Not forgetful. If it was a love-gift he wouldn’t have handed it over without saying anything. ‘This compass was given to me by my sweetheart back in Gusu. I have not seen her for five years. Please be careful with it,’ Lan Zhan would have said. If it was such a thing.
Was there some lovely Lan maiden pining for Lan Zhan back in Gusu, even if this wasn’t a gift? Was Lan Zhan pining? Perhaps he had put all thoughts of love out of his mind, to devote himself selflessly to the task. The poor maiden. She had probably tossed herself off the mountainside in grief when he left. What else were you going to do if Lan Zhan said he couldn’t marry you because he was going off to the city to fight monsters? If you were a maiden. Probably Lan maidens were made of sterner stuff. Probably they’d just be very dignified about it and gift him something very useful like this compass and only throw themselves off a rock after he’d gone. Maybe Lan Zhan didn’t even know she was dead?
Wei Ying took a deep breath. Now he felt all out of sorts, feeling sorry for a girl who in all likelihood didn’t even exist. Stupid. Maybe Lan Zhan had left because he didn’t want to marry her? Some cousin his family wanted him to marry? Wei Ying shook his head. He really needed to stop this nonsense and concentrate. He wanted to make a good job of this compass and see if he could do so without marring the engravings. He hadn’t needed to bother about the aesthetics with Mr Yang’s compass, but Lan Zhan deserved the best.
After a few hours, Wei Ying was done. He was quite pleased, in the end, with how he’d been able to manage the calibration and integration of a third wheel. Really, it would have been nice to replace what was now the middle wheel with gold, but that was not something he could do on short notice, not having any gold on him, and he’d promised Lan Zhan his compass back tonight. Maybe he’d mention it, as an option for later? Maybe if he made a new gold piece he could engrave it too, with Lan Zhan’s name? Or something.
After Wei Ying finished he took his notebook outside to jot down ideas about all the different designs he was mulling. Mrs Yue and Wen Ning had fed the cats, but the day was sunny and so many of the cats had stayed to sun themselves on the stones on their side of the alley.
At least making notes took his mind off the lemon slices Wen Ning made him eat. Someone, and he suspected Mr Yang, had told Wen Ning about Granny Fruit’s instructions. Now Wen Ning made him eat lunch every day, not just breakfast and dinner. And lemons! How was he supposed to get anything done with all this eating?
Wei Ying was just looking up from his notebook, staring into space thinking about the locking mechanisms of artefacts, when he caught a glimpse of Lan Zhan at the far end of the alley. That familiar glide and the way people parted around him. Probably no one had bumped into Lan Zhan in his life. Probably not even on the metro. This aureole of space just manifested around him, like the universe knew he was too good to touch.
Lan Zhan approached. “Good afternoon. You have a lot of cats.”
“These are the cats we feed. Well, A-Ning and Mrs Yue do. They don’t really like me.”
“You are not still,” Wen Ning said, an observation he had made before when Wei Ying complained about the cats not liking him. “And you try to grab them and then you throw things at them when they run away.”
“Small things!” Wei Ying protested when Lan Zhan frowned at him. “I’m not a monster.”
“I see,” Lan Zhan said, sitting down on the cobbles beside them. A black cat with white socks, which Wei Ying had named Booties for obvious reasons, meandered over immediately.
“Careful, you’ll get cat hair all over your white coat,” Wei Ying said.
“There are charms on it for night hunting. I think it will survive,” Lan Zhan said, running his hand over the cat’s dusty back.
“Charms for blood and venom, sure, but cat hair? It gets everywhere. They never even come near me. I just live in proximity to Wen Ning and get covered in hair, second hand. Pets aren’t allowed in Cloud Recesses are they, so the charms have probably not considered that.”
“Pets are not allowed, no,” Lan Zhan agreed. “But there are cats to catch mice. The gardeners keep song birds that purport to hunt the snails and other insects in the garden. I cannot remember what the nursery dog is supposed to do. Guard the children, possibly, though as I recall, it just lay there sleeping while children climbed over it. There was also a tortoise in the vegetable garden and I don’t know if tortoises eat pests or just vegetables. I never saw it eat anything else.”
“But Lan Zhan, the rules!” Wei Ying protested, laughing.
“There are 4800 of them and at least one quarter contradict the others. They teach the core principles and a certain amount of valuable mental agility. At least, that is how my teacher explained it to me.”
“Are there still rabbits?” Wei Ying asked. “They were very cute.”
“There are still rabbits,” Lan Zhan said, his face going soft and then sad.
“It must be hard,” Wei Ying said, after a bit, “being away from home for so long.”
Lan Zhan nodded, sunk in thought.
“You must miss your family,” Wei Ying said.
“I miss my brother,” Lan Zhan said.
“You have a brother?”
“Yes. Shichun. He is our grandfather’s heir. He will make a good sect leader, I think.”
“He must miss you,” Wei Ying said.
Lan Zhan nodded. “But he understands. He understands why I must come.”
There was something sharp in Lan Zhan’s tone, almost bitter. “Your grandfather doesn’t understand?” Wei Ying hazarded a guess.
“He did not want me to come here,” Lan Zhan said with a shake of his head.
“He must have been afraid for you,” Wei Ying said.
“Maybe,” Lan Zhan said, as if that thought had not until now occurred to him. “Maybe that as well. That’s not what we fought over, though. He thinks the modern city is a wasteland. Not worth saving. All he cares about is in the library pavilion and the hall of ancient treasures. He thinks I am abandoning it, turning my back on it all.” The edge of bitterness was definitely there now.
“But you’re not,” Wei Ying said, not liking to see Lan Zhan sitting stiff and unhappy. “You’re not at all. It is with you all the time, I can tell.”
Lan Zhan gave a little exhale. “It is.”
“Is there… is there anyone else? Back at Gusu, who you miss. Anyone waiting for you to come home?” Wei Ying asked, taking care not to wonder why he was asking.
“My teachers would love for me to come home so they could explain how they were right about my never leaving,” Lan Zhan said sourly.
“But, no one else?” Wei Ying couldn’t help pushing.
“My old tutor is dead. And our nurse, who looked after us when we were small. I have an aunt and a second cousin. I'm sure they would be happy to see me back, but Shichun lets them know I am well.”
“Oh,” Wei Ying said, cheering right up. “That’s good then. That you aren’t making anyone terribly sad being here.”
“My brother knows why I am here. He says grandfather misses me. Apparently it makes him very bad tempered, so I daresay there are plenty of other elders who now wish I would come back and spare them this. It doesn’t matter. I am where I need to be.”
Wei Ying was very, very glad that Lan Zhan was here. “I’ve finished the compass,” he said, digging it out of his jacket and handing it back. “Maybe we could go out later. Not to night hunt properly, but just to see how it works?”
“Thank you,” Lan Zhan looked the compass over. “I would like to make sure I understand its new functions.”
“Was Yu-guniang… okay?” Wei Ying asked.
“Yes,” Lan Zhan said. “She was sorry to have upset you, I think. She has a temper. But we talked about it. She is right. We cannot share the map with the police. The risk is too great.”
“What did she say about the Book Men?”
Lan Zhan hesitated. “Most of what she said about the Book Men is not something I would be comfortable repeating on a public street.”
“They’re no good?” Wei Ying asked.
“I believe one of the milder phrases used was the opinion that they ‘would not piss on you if you were on fire’. With the caveat that if you were anywhere near their archives at the time you’d be drowned, I think the implication was, in piss.”
“She doesn’t like them?”
“No,” Lan Zhan said. “I believe she felt that they could have done more, during the purges. They have, or had, connections with powerful people. Perhaps also that they do not value the sort of cultivation that is practiced by her family? I am not completely clear.”
“She doesn’t trust them, then?”
“No, but she didn’t veto it when I suggested I talk to Mr Mo, so the dislike does not come with the sense that they are an actual, active threat to us.”
“Just that they are a bunch of–” Wei Ying interpreted.
“So on and so forth,” Lan Zhan filled in. “She did seem to think that they might be able to help in the manner suggested. Manage the information from the map, tracking the patterns from the various levels of activity there. They have as much to lose as anyone, or nearly so, if there is a massive crackdown on the cultivation world. If things get out of control.”
“They wouldn’t tell the police? Or make those alterations to track cultivators?”
“I think she thinks they might. Make the alterations, I mean. But not with a view to sharing the information, just to have it.”
“That is what the monks said,” Wen Ning said, “about the Book Men. They said they valued knowledge over souls.”
“Yu Xiaohong said there is a spirit that the Book Men serve, but no one gets to see it.”
“But you’re a Lan,” Wei Ying protested. “Surely if anyone gets to see the spirit of, you know, the Laws and Records it should be a Lan.”
Lan Zhan looked a little shamefaced. “I had a letter of introduction,” he said. “To Mr Mo. From one of the Lan archivists. But no one explained. I thought of Mo as just a normal surname. I didn’t think ‘ink’, but it seems that he is Master Ink. Not unlike Granny Fruit.”
“Oh, and I bet you said something stupid about helping living people when you met him and failed the test.”
“I must have done,” Lan Zhan said.
“Well, that’s a good thing!” Wei Ying said. “It’s good that you care. It’s good that you would…” Some last, residual shred of Wei Ying’s self-regulation managed to step in at this point and prevent him from asserting that Lan Zhan would piss on him if he was on fire. Retrospective horror at what he had almost uttered, however, rendered him mute and he just sort of spluttered to a halt.
Possibly intuiting the nature of Wei Ying’s collapse, Wen Ning made another one of his rare contributions. “But you have been working with Master Ink. Do you trust him?”
“With the benefit of hindsight,” Lan Zhan said, “I can see that our contact has been largely based on the exchange of information. The Book Men are keen, as we are, to track the movement of artefacts or power and the channels by which prohibited knowledge is being distributed. If we were clear on the nature of the exchange and the obligations then I think they could prove a reliable partner.”
“We would need to ensure that they still needed us to get information out of the map,” Wei Ying said. “If they didn’t need our input, they would have no motivation to share outputs.”
“Mn. We will have to think about that. You are right, that their preference would be, I think, for a closed shop with no outsiders involved.”
“They will always want new knowledge,” Wen Ning chipped in diffidently. “If knowledge is what they most prize. You cannot generate that in a closed shop.”
Lan Zhan nodded. “Because the world does not stand still. If they want to track everything, to know all about what is going on, they need people who are out in the world. In the thick of things. That must be why Mr Mo, the Ink Master, still talks with me, even though I have proved unworthy to meet the spirit he serves.”
“You aren’t unworthy,” Wei Ying said, indignantly. “It’s just that librarians never really like to let anyone in their libraries.”
“This is true,” Lan Zhan said.
“You can’t blame them. I put dirty pictures in between the leaves of some of the books in your library when I was a student.”
“What?”
“It was your fault! The past you. You tore up my spring book. It was a waste otherwise. I put the pictures that were left in, here and there, to brighten someone’s day in the future.”
“I said to Yu Xiaohong that I would take you to meet Master Ink and talk about the map,” Lan Zhan said, changing the subject, his ears red again.
“I won’t mention dirty pictures,” Wei Ying said, making his best contrite face.
Lan Zhan did not dignify this statement with any acknowledgement. “She was also able to get an artefact of power for you to work with, but, well.” Now his ears were really flaming.
Wei Ying was very curious. “Well, what?” Wei Ying said, after Lan Zhan’s pause didn’t seem to be resolving.
“It is a Blade of Purity,” Lan Zhan said.
“A what?”
“A Blade of Purity. I thought it would work because there is power involved and it only works in interaction with a user.”
“But what does it do?” Wei Ying persisted.
“It is,” Lan Zhan glanced over at Mrs Yue, who was snoozing on her stool in the sun, leaning back against the wall, an equally supine grey cat in her lap. Reassured, he drew out a rather ornate dagger from what had to be a pocket of his coat with qiankun enchantments and handed it over.
Wei Ying took the dagger. Its sheath seemed to be horn of some kind, a lustrous oyster colour, with gold mounts. The guard was also gold, formed into two foxes heads. Wei Ying couldn’t feel any power emanating from it. He slid the blade from its sheath. There it was, a thrum of power.
“It is an enchanted blade that can only be drawn by a virgin,” Wen Ning said, helpfully.
Wei Ying snapped the blade back into its sheath. He felt his cheeks flush. “Well,” he said, “Look. I had a lot on. With war and everything.”
“I thought. But you’re the Yiling Laozu,” Lan Zhan said, looking surprised, “despoiler of, well… it was implied.”
Wei Ying shook his head a little sheepishly. “Nope. No despoiling.”
“But you said you put, um, pornographic pictures into the books at Cloud Recesses, when you were a student?”
“Everyone likes a joke,” Wei Ying said. “Well, not everyone. Not most of the Lan. But that’s what made it funny. To me, anyway.”
Lan Zhan just stared at him.
“Wei-gongzi only read spring books for the jokes,” Wen Ning said.
“A-Niiiiing,” Wei Ying whined, red faced. “Well,” he thrust the dagger at Lan Zhan, “I need to be able to study it in its closed state too, to see how the power is masked. You try and open it and let me see what happens.”
Lan Zhan’s ears were flaming. “It will be the same,” he said stiffly, warding the dagger off. “I can also open it.”
“Oh,” Wei Ying said. “But you’re so, um… ”
“I was sixteen when I died,” Wen Ning said.
“Do we really need to not be able to open it?” Lan Zhan asked, a little desperately.
“Yes, to fully understand how it works. Maybe it even opens like normal for everyone,” Wei Ying said. “We might be wasting our time trying to analyse it. Who even makes a weapon to tell if people are virgins or not?”
“They were used in the wedding rites of some clans. To demonstrate chastity,” Wen Ning said. “If either party was proved to be unchaste they could be slain by their chaste partner.”
“That’s a bit dark,” Wei Ying said, looking askance at the knife in his hand. “The thing is, I need to be able to study the transition states, you know, what it’s doing when a… a non-virgin tries to draw it as well as when it opens for a… anyway.”
The three of them looked at one another.
“Mrs Yue has a son,” Wen Ning pointed out.
“A-Ning!” Wei Ying wheezed, while Lan Zhan made a sort of distressed tea kettle noise.
“You don’t have to tell her what it’s for. Though there is nothing shameful about being a married woman with a son,” Wen Ning reasoned.
“One of us will just have to lose our virginity,” Wei Ying announced.
Lan Zhan’s eyes bugged.
“As I am dead, I don’t think it would be ethical for me to take part in this,” Wen Ning said.
“No, not you A-Ning. And we don’t know how your being dead might be affecting things anyway. But, we have to understand both operations of the thing, if we’re going to figure out how the power is hidden in it. Is there even power in it or is it more like a conduit, like Chenqing or Wangji? I think it must have power within it, to maintain its function.”
“I suppose we should at least ascertain, first off, if a… a person who, a person who is not us, can open it or not,” Lan Zhan conceded awkwardly. “If you think it’s necessary.”
“Well, if it works, something must be going on,” Wei Ying argued. “An artefact that can read your mind, read your conscience, or something. Then there must be power in there and there must be a mechanism to release that power. But I’m not going to be able to analyse it properly if we can’t fully engage it.”
“I see,” Lan Zhan said.
“It can’t be that difficult to lose your virginity,” Wei Ying said, thinking aloud. “All sorts of idiots do it.”
“I don’t think,” Lan Zhan said stiffly, “that should be necessary. I’m sure there are other avenues–”.
“It’s intriguing though,” Wei Ying said, sliding the dagger in and out of its sheath, feeling for the power signature there. “How is it that power and intention housed in an object is not externally palpable? I made the Yin Tiger Tally and I still don’t know. I never wondered before. The way a spiritual sword will lock itself, not even through any active enchantment on the part of their wielder. No one else can draw Bichen, right? ”
Lan Zhan gave a nod. “Perhaps there is a condition, a condition to demarcate the wielder? Singular in the case of a spiritual weapon and somehow selectively plural in the case of tools like the Blade of Purity.”
“Yes,” Wei Ying agreed. “Any tracking device would have to have some way of replicating that condition.”
“That might not be possible. If every object has its own conditions.”
“Yeah, like your jade spirit. Our hypothesis is that it is unlocking its own grave goods, more like you drawing Bichen. In a way, it's the power of the original wielder being imbued, meshed somehow with the object. But the dagger is a tool, maybe not at all like the objects housing dangerous spirit we are really looking to track.”
“So you could be wasting your time, looking at the dagger?” Lan Zhan asked.
“Maybe–”
“So it is not necessary for you to have sex with anyone,” Lan Zhan said quickly.
“Well,” Wei Ying said. “It might still be useful?”
“There is Mr Lu. We could ask him,” Wen Ning suggested. “He also has a son. We would know then if the dagger works.”
“Yes!” Wei Ying said, “we should find that out at least.” He jumped up and intercepted Mr Lu on his way out to his afternoon weiqi game with his friends in the park.
“Mr Lu, can you open this? I don’t know if it’s just a bit stiff or broken or something,” Wei Ying said.
Mr Lu took the knife. “Huh, this looks quite old. Is that real gold?”
“No, no, it’s just a costume thing,” Wei Ying said hastily. It wouldn’t be a good idea if word got around that Wei Ying had a collection of valuable antiques. “I just got it. Online. For fancy dress.”
“Ah,” Mr Lu nodded.
“Can you open it?”
“What, you can’t ask those two strong young men?” Mr Lu nodded at Wen Ning and Lan Zhan.
“I annoyed them and now they won’t help,” Wei Ying improvised quickly.
“Ah,” Mr Lu said again, and tugged the blade. Then he tugged again, putting more force behind it. “You need to wait until your friends have forgotten why they are mad at you. Buy ‘em a drink,” Mr Lu advised.
“I guess I’ll have to. Thank you, Mr Lu.” Wei Ying turned back towards the others.
That was when he noticed. Lan Zhan had Da-ge in his lap now and he was stroking him. “But that’s Da-ge!” he exclaimed. “No one strokes Da-ge without getting bitten.”
Lan Zhan looked down at the cat in his lap, as if he almost hadn’t noticed it was there. He scratched its head and Da-ge tipped his head back to get the scritch where he wanted it.
“Hey,” Wei Ying complained.
“Da-ge respects natural dominance,” Wen Ning suggested.
“I have natural dominance,” Wei Ying asserted.
Wen Ning and Lan Zhan just looked at him and didn’t say anything.
Wei Ying could swear even Mrs Yue looked at him, and she had been asleep. And she was blind.
Mr Lu patted him on the shoulder.
“Pfft,” Wei Ying said and he stalked inside, with some dignity, to examine the dagger in his own room. What did they know?
But he heard Lan Zhan’s tread in the hall behind him and he couldn’t help the way his lips twitched into a smile.
*
Sun in the east!
This lovely man
Is in my house,
Is in my home,
His foot is upon my doorstep.
Moon in the east!
This lovely man
Is in my bower,
Is in my bower,
His foot is upon my threshold.
from The Book of Songs
Chapter 12
Notes:
Helloooo - thank you all for your patience over the summer. Having a break was really restorative. I had a month off and then got back to writing, so I have four chapters in the can, which needed to be written together before posting to make sure the plotting hung together. I'll be posting these weekly and then you'll be back to whatever rate of writing I can sustain over the autumn.
Thank you to everyone who has been supporting this story - I hope you enjoy the next arc! <3
Thanks from the bottom of my heart to cypressey and keriarentikai for their invaluable beta and sounding-board services. <3 If you spot any typos it is my fault because I messed up a bit integrating the edits I received from them :P
Chapter Text
“I’m glad you could come out, Hanguang-Jun,” Ma Guoqing said, stepping away from the group of uniformed officers he had been talking to. Lan Wangji nodded. They were standing outside a fairly new apartment building, indistinguishable from a whole lot of others, out in a western suburb.
“Okay, so the background is that uniforms were called out here this morning,” Ma Guoqing said. “Dangerous dog allegation from a neighbour.” He gestured to Lan Wangji to follow him into the building. “Responding officers couldn’t get access to the property and they reported non-dog-like ‘roaring’ coming from behind the door. Animal specialist unit was called in and identified the roaring as definitely not dog and suggested an identification as adult male lion. At that juncture firearms support was called in.”
As they talked they entered the building and took the lift to the eighteenth floor.
“Residents remained non-cooperative. Team gained entry by force. Residents and the lion-adjacent animal became agitated. Armed officer threatened to shoot the lion. Lady in the flat, who was apparently ‘holding the lion back’, told everyone to leave, and the senior officer on scene did a rapid risk assessment and concurred. They put the call through to us.” Ma Guoqing gave a long-suffering sigh. “It better not be just a bloody dog.”
“Has anyone been injured by the creature?” Lan Wangji asked.
“Nope. At least, not as far as we know. Original complaint was based on noises from within the flat. The flat is owned by a Mrs Li Song,” Ma Guoqing nodded towards the door at the end of the landing, with a front door that showed signs of the earlier forced entry. It was clearly propped shut from the inside. “She’s fifty-eight years old. No previous convictions. And no dog licence.”
“But it is almost certainly not a dog?” Lan Wangji asked.
Ma Guoqing shrugged. “I haven’t seen it. But, yes, either not a dog or five officers subject to some sort of mass panic.”
When they exited the lift there were more officers milling about.
“We’ve evacuated the other flats on this floor,” Ma Guoqing said. “Thought you could maybe take a quick look and make an evaluation about whether we need to evac the whole building?”
Lan Wangji nodded and drew out his compass. From the corner of his eye he noticed one of the officers flinch when he watched Lan Wangji reach into his pocket. There had been a time when ‘civilian assets’, like Lan Wangji, excited only mild curiosity. With the escalation of hostile events in the city, more and more officers had been exposed to the work of the SPU or to street cultivators. Perhaps it was inevitable that not everyone would automatically distinguish between threat and salvation.
Thanks to Wei Ying’s modifications he was able to read the absence of notable yin energy sources at all levels. “It is not registering as demonic,” Lan Wangji said.
“So, what, it’s a normal lion?” Ma Guoqing asked.
“There are various options,” Lan Wangji replied. “It could be a spirit animal or place spirit. Or it could be a dog dressed as a lion.”
Ma Guoqing rolled his eyes.
“You, yourself, told me about your colleagues arresting a senior citizen riding a motorized wheelchair rigged out as a qilin.”
“That was called in by the public as a qilin. It was a not an officer identification,” Ma Guoqing grumbled. “Anyway, this spirit thing, is it dangerous?”
“I will attempt to communicate with it. Please withdraw your men to the stairwell, in case it becomes agitated and I need room to manoeuvre."
The officers were shuffled back so they could secure the stairwell and manage an evacuation if required. Lan Wangji drew his guqin from his qiankun pocket. He heard a little noise from one of the officers. Not, this time, of fear but of wonder.
Ma Guoqing stood just back from him with his baton out. They had not yet had the conversation about reevaluating safe distances for all non-cultivators. Lan Wangji plucked out a simple set of notes.
Who is there?
The answer came in a roar of sound. In the ringing in his ears, Lan Wangji could make out something close enough to the qin language to parse.
“It is a guardian spirit,” he relayed to Ma Guoqing.
“Why does this apartment have a guardian spirit?”
Lan Wangji played again and the beast roared. “It was summoned to keep the occupants safe. It will not let us in without permission. It is not, I think, otherwise hostile.”
“Right,” Ma Guoqing said, popping the visor up on his helmet. “Can you let the thing know that I’m coming to the door? Just to talk to the, uh, owner.”
After Lan Wangji had relayed this information, they both advanced to the door and Ma Guoqing knocked. “Mrs Li? Mrs Li Song? I am Superintendent Ma from the Security Bureau, SPU17. We’d like to talk to you about your” – he glanced over his shoulder at the officers behind – “about the current situation.”
“What do you want?” a woman’s voice called thinly from within the apartment.
“First, can I check if anyone in the flat with you is injured or requires medical assistance?”
“We’re fine,” the woman called. “Only the lock’s been smashed in. I don’t think I should have to pay for that.”
“Can we come in now?” Ma Guoqing asked. “No guns. Just me and a… specialist. He can… assess your, um…”
“Is he the one who was playing? Got Baobao all excited.”
“Yes, he can communicate with, uh, 'Baobao'. Baobao says he is guarding you. We can assure you that we mean you no harm. Only, you will understand that we need to assess the situation.”
“He’s not dangerous.”
“Yes, Mrs Li. But we will need to evaluate that ourselves. If you could just let me and my colleague in, we will take as little of your time as possible."
“And who’s going to pay for the door? You smashed the lock right off.”
“There are channels,” Ma Guoqing said, keeping his tone remarkably calm. “For making a claim for reimbursements. We aren’t going to go away, Mrs Li, and it would be much more comfortable if we could have this conversation not shouted through a doorway.”
“Well, if you insist.”
There were steps from beyond the door and a sound of furniture being dragged and a small woman peered at them around the splintered edge of her door.
“What do you want?”
Lan Wangji’s already high estimation of Ma Guoqing’s professionalism only increased when Ma Guoqing restrained his usual sarcasm and only stated: “We are here in relation to a complaint that you are keeping an unlicensed animal on the premises in contravention of the city ordinances.”
“There wasn’t a box for it,” the woman, presumably Mrs Li Song, said.
“Sorry?” Ma Guoqing asked.
“I went on the website to register him and there wasn’t a box for spirit dog.”
“Ma’am, if there isn’t a box, it's because it isn’t allowed.”
Ma Guoqing’s patience was clearly beginning to fray so Lan Wangji stepped in. “Madam Li, I am a cultivator and I would like to meet your spirit dog so I can help my colleague understand the situation better.”
“You better come in,” Li Song said grudgingly. “Only no guns and none of those noose-on-a-stick things like that other man had. Baobao didn’t like it. You wouldn’t like it either.”
“No madam,” Lan Wangji agreed as they were shown in, down the corridor to a living room that showed considerable signs of damage. There appeared to be a chunk taken out of the arm of one of the sofas.
“Did the officers come as far as this,” Ma Guoqing asked in some consternation, looking at the sorry remains of a large coffee table that stood forlorn in a corner with one leg splintered off and a pale crack of fibreboard showing through the black laminate.
“No. Baobao gets boisterous sometimes and my daughter won’t let me take him outside. He just needs a runaround. But we can’t get a licence." She glared at Ma Guoqing as if holding him personally responsible.
“May I see him?” Lan Wangji asked.
“Yulu!” Li Song called.
A tired looking woman, younger than Li Song, entered the room, attempting to slow the progress of an enormous spirit beast, by gripping onto its furry scruff as it bounded into the room.
“This is Baobao,” Li Song said, beaming fondly at the creature. “And my daughter Li Yulu.”
“Madam,” Lan Wangji said, looking at the beast whose head was of a height with Ma Guoqing, “that is not a spirit dog.”
The beast had a long and luxurious coat of vibrant red fur, with a white chest and feet. The paws were not unlike those of Wei Ying’s Bootie the cat, only the size of tea trays. The beast seemed friendly enough, with large, round, golden eyes.
“Well, he’s not a normal dog,” Li Song argued. “He bit through the Formica counter top in the kitchen.”
“Not a normal dog,” Ma Guoqing murmured to himself.
“This is a Guardian Spirit,” Lan Wangji said, bowing slightly to the beast. “May I ask how you came to be living with him?”
“I bought him,” Li Song said. “Off a man.”
Ma Guoqing tore his eyes away from ‘Baobao’. “Do we need a full evac?”
“No,” Lan Wangji said. “I do not think so. How long has Baobao lived with you?”
Li Song looked unaccountably shifty. “About six months.”
“You’ve been keeping this in your apartment for six months?” Ma Guoqing asked, with some incredulity.
“He wasn’t so big before.”
“I’m afraid you will not be able to keep him,” Lan Wangji said, and the daughter drew closer to the beast, which emitted a basso rumble. “He is still growing. It is likely that he will eventually be the size of a two-storey house.”
Both women sagged slightly.
“There are records, possibly apocryphal, of Guardian Spirits eating whole mountains. They were summoned to guard temples and palaces in times of war. I’m afraid that he must be returned to the spirit realm that he came from.”
“But he doesn’t hardly eat anything,” Li Song argued, but Lan Wangji could tell even she was daunted by the prospect of Baobao being house-sized. “Only apples. And he loves sweets. But we don’t give him many. In case it's bad for him. Like you can’t give dogs chocolate.”
“It really isn’t good for him being here,” Lan Wangji explained and, at Ma Guoqing’s protesting noise, “it is also not permitted by the Public Security Bureau.”
A wailing noise erupted and shortly after a young girl of maybe four or five entered the room, from the same door as Mrs Li Song’s daughter and Baobao. She was hefting a red-faced baby, who was the source of the wailing.
“Yuxi, I told you to stay there and watch your sister!” Li Yulu scolded, scooping the baby out of her daughter’s arms.
“I am watching her. That’s why I brought her,” the child said mutinously. “She was crying already.”
Relieved of her squalling burden, the child stepped forward to throw her arms around the beast’s front leg. Lan Wangji saw, from the corner of his eye, Ma Guoqing flinch, as he started forwards to stop her and then restrained himself.
“Baobao is my friend,” the girl asserted, head almost entirely buried in the creature’s fur.
“He is,” Lan Wangji agreed. “But he doesn’t belong here.”
“He does!”
“You heard the man. Hanguang-Jun’s an expert. He says Baobao is going to grow to the size of a house. He won’t fit here,” Ma Guoqing said.
“Baobao,” the girl wailed, joining the cacophony of her little sister, who was being bounced and cooed to by their mother.
“Oh well,” Mrs Li Song said “Better get it over with. Are you going to take him away?”
“I will send him back to the Spirit Realm,” Lan Wangji said. “If you could also give him the instruction to go. It would be much simpler and less traumatic,” he looked pointedly at the little girl, “if I did not have to do a banishment.”
“Come here, Yuxi,” Mrs Li Song said, drawing the child away. “It’s been nice to have Baobao, but he’s already too big isn’t he? He broke your bed. And remember how upset you were when he chewed up your Ultraman?”
The girl buried her face in her grandmother’s lap. Her mother appeared ready to acquiesce with the general judgement.
“I will draw an array on the landing outside,” Lan Wangji explained. “It will be easier outside the boundaries of the home. Then I will ask that you tell Baobao that you wish him to go home.”
Mrs Li Song was the only one who acknowledged this. Everyone else was gathered around Baobao. Even the baby had stopped crying. Sitting on its mother’s knee, one pudgy hand fisted in the beast’s long coat. Lan Wangji stepped outside and bent to flip the door mat over the threshold to clear the floor area. He then moved on to clear the doorway of the next flat.
“Shall I?” A young uniformed officer was indicating the doormats and shoes outside the opposite neighbour’s door.
“Mn,” Lan Wangji nodded. “If you could clear everything to the end of the corridor.” With the floor area clear he drew out a stick of cinnabar and began to draw a large array. He was fairly sure he could remember the array design for the opening of passage to the spirit realm. He hoped that the instruction from Mrs Li Song for the beast to return there would be enough, because he was far less certain about recalling the alignment of the array with a powerful enough banishment.
Just to be sure, Lan Wangji texted a photograph of the array to Wei Ying with a short summary of what he intended. Wei Ying almost never had his phone on silent, like Lan Wangji did. Sometimes not even when he was in the library. He said that the librarians all loved him anyway because he took out so many books, returned them promptly and would chat with them about what he’d read.
Lan Wangji could well believe that all the librarians loved Wei Ying. He hoped very much that they were all middle-aged lady librarians, but so far he had restrained himself from visiting the library to check.
Wei Ying’s reply came after only a couple of minutes. He had annotated Lan Wangji’s photograph with a few extra lines – which Lan Wangji did not know you could do with phone photos. Lan Wangji made the suggested adjustments and then told Ma Guoqing he was ready.
The officers, who had all been drifting forwards to see what he was doing, were ushered back to their station defending the stairwell. Ma Guoqing stood half way across the landing. He’d put his visor back down.
Circling the array, Lan Wangji entered the flat again and explained again to Mrs Li Song that he needed her to release Baobao from his service and send him home.
“How do I do that?”
“Just tell him. And mean it. Remember that you cannot keep him here and he will be happier in his own realm.”
Mrs Li Song nodded grimly.
Lan Wangji stepped back outside. He could see, through the open door, Mrs Li Song murmuring to Baobao, while her daughter and granddaughter cried. After a few minutes, the beast swung around, knocking the final surviving framed photo off the hall wall with its tail as it turned.
It trotted towards the array, pausing on the threshold. Lan Wangji heard a few gasps from the officers who had not previously seen the beast. He remained standing on the other side of the array and bowed to it, the beast gave a little shake, settling its coat and stepped into the array.
Lan Wangji hadn’t known for certain whether he would need to power the array himself, but as soon as the beast was ensconced within the circle it blazed into light. The array markings glowed blue and swirls of golden sparks like fireflies began to rise and circulate around the beast.
Lan Wangji had never seen an array do that. Perhaps it was the power of the spirit beast. Though the suspicion crossed his mind that it might also be connected to the changes suggested by Wei Ying, which might not have been functional corrections so much as artistic additions.
Even as he thought this, the beast gave a roar and dissolved in a burst of golden light, leaving the array smoking gently on the floor. Another effect Lan Wangji had never seen.
The Li family were all crying now, inside their flat. Apart from the baby, which was waving its hands and shouting excitedly. Ma Guoqing approached as Lan Wangji swiped through the array with his foot to break it. “Can it come back?” he asked.
“Not via this array,” Lan Wangji replied. “But we do not yet know how it came to be summoned.”
“I’ll have to do follow up with the family,” Ma Guoqing replied. “But not now. They are too upset. And I’ll need a trained officer to interview the child.” He looked down at the array. “Good work. Thanks for your help today.”
Lan Wangji nodded.
“We can do clean-up here. And I’ll let you know what I learn about where that thing came from.”
Lan Wangji nodded again and turned to leave. As he was waiting for the lift, he became aware of a figure hovering at his elbow. It was the young officer from before.
“Mr… Hanguang-Jun, sir,” he began, when he caught Lan Wangji’s eye. “That was so cool. What was that? What was it you did? Is that… is there training for that? Is SPU17 recruiting at all? Was that real magic?”
Lan Wangji looked at him for a moment, sorting through the clauses. The lift dinged to indicate arrival. “The training is extensive. You will need to speak with Superintendent Ma about SPU recruitment.”
The lift doors opened.
“Can the Superintendent do magic too?”
Lan Wangji thought about the baton Ma Guoqing carried and the things he had seen him do. It was not real cultivation practice, but he had hesitated too long and the officer’s eyes had gone wide in anticipation.
Lan Wangji gave up on formulating an answer and stepped into the lift just as the doors were closing.
*
Lan Wangji surfaced from beneath the water and reached for the robe he had left lying by as he climbed out of the cold springs. There were unlikely to be disciples on the path to the cold spring pool this early in the morning, but he covered himself out of habit, the white silk sticking to his damp skin.
The trees reared tall and in full leaf around the pool. This late in spring it was never silent. Birds calling to one another and the beginnings of what would be the summer drone of insects. He did not bother to use his qi to dry the water from his skin and hair, as he wrapped himself in further layers. He would go down to the practice yard now and drill there.
He followed the familiar flagged path down the mountain. The stones looked like they had been renewed. Familiar and not familiar. Maybe this had been done since he had been away in Beijing? Had his brother mentioned this? The practice yard too. The palisade and benches were the bright gold of new wood. Not the grey, sun-bleached, frost-hardened wood he remembered.
The yard was the same though. Earth beaten hard and smooth by generations of feet, so that even in high summer there was hardly any dust. Hard enough that you felt it if you were thrown, but more forgiving than stone. Just. He drew Bichen and began to work through the forms, his feet pacing the familiar steps. His weight shifted back and forth between one foot and the other, one empty, one full, yin and yang.
He levelled Bichen, swung, and felt an unfamiliar pull across his back. Pivot, palm push, swing. There again, a tightness, a restriction in his range of movement. Familiar and strange.
Lan Wangji stirred in his sleep, became aware of the cotton beneath his cheek. He opened his eyes. His room in Beijing. By the fall of light he could tell it was nearly time to rise. He lay there. It had been a strange dream. A distorted picture of places he knew so well. Maybe he had been lying awkwardly or cricked his neck the day before? Maybe that was what had given him that dream sensation of tightness across his back?
He would have to pay close attention to his neck and shoulders during his morning routine. Work out any stiffness. He rolled over and sat up. When he put his feet down on the cold floor he still had the strange mirror sensation of the beaten earth of the practice ground beneath his soles.
*
Wei Ying sat on his bed in Wen Ning's room and regarded his new flute. It was not very elegant looking, but there was nothing he could do about that now. He had tried with a western-style metal flute, but he just didn’t vibe with it. A traditional bamboo dizi proved almost completely inert when it came to integration with the lightning path. He had, on a whim, wrapped copper wire at intervals in bands around the body of the flute.
It looked… kind of crappy, to be honest, but he comforted himself that if he got good with it, he could find a craftsman to do a better job. Metal inlay would probably work. The current instrument was ‘good enough’ for now. He'd thought about adding a red tassel for old time’s sake, but in the end he had added a purple one. A nod to Zidian, perhaps, or a return by some means, to the righteous path.
Wei Ying smiled to himself as he twirled the flute between his fingers. It was funny. His mind remembered very well how to play but at first his fingering had been stumbling, no muscle memory to draw upon. He had had to practice. Finger exercises to build up the muscles before he could be sure of not embarrassing himself. Lan Zhan had said he should have a good instrument. He wanted to look like he knew what he was doing.
He had shown Lan Zhan a little of what he was able to do with the lightning path, but had had to keep the demonstration very small on account of being in a built-up urban area. Tonight they were planning to head back to the industrial park, where they had tested the map, to work on techniques that needed a bit more space.
Wei Ying was excited to show Lan Zhan what he was capable of. He knew Lan Zhan admired his inventions, but Lan Zhan had never seen him fight. He wanted Lan Zhan to know that he wasn't just… some funny little guy. In case that was what Lan Zhan thought. Because Wei Ying sometimes said dumb things when Lan Zhan was around, so he couldn't be sure.
Wei Ying had called his new flute Leiluo, from a line in a poem in which an old sage offered advice to a young, headstrong friend. The older man proffered counsel on how to put one's talents to good use, but without any expectation of being heeded by the younger. Wei Ying had been the younger man before, but now, older (a bit), and wiser (benefits of hindsight mostly) he hoped to put his genius to work in an open and upright fashion.
The industrial park was slated for redevelopment and so most of the businesses had already moved out. This made it ideal for practising urban combat. Wei Ying was itching to really put Leiluo through her paces for the first time. He had started to explain his plans as soon as Lan Zhan arrived to pick him up.
He was talking too fast. Maybe he was nervous? Why would he be nervous? Of sparring with Lan Zhan? Lan Zhan was blinking at him, confused, as Wei Ying explained (excused) the makeshift copper-work on Leiluo. Wei Ying sort of knew he was covering too much information too fast, but couldn't seem to stop.
After a minute or two Lan Zhan seemed to decide to just usher him outside rather than try to stem the flow of words. Wei Ying agreed because he loved flying with Lan Zhan on Bichen more than anything. And he also hoped that, when they were in the air, the late Spring wind might shock him into shutting up. Standing on Bichen, with Lan Zhan’s arm wrapped around him, holding him snug to his chest, the frenetic crackle and pop of Wei Ying’s brain was finally overlaid by a warm fuzz and he fell silent. So, it must have worked.
He missed flying. He wondered idly how long it would take for his golden core to develop enough to wield a new spiritual sword. Lan Zhan had said there were no new ones, of course. He would have to find one or make one from scratch. He wondered where Suibian was now. What had become of it?
Much as he liked flying with Lan Zhan, there would be times when that wasn’t convenient. If he was making another spiritual tool from scratch, it wouldn’t need to be a sword necessarily. If Leiluo was sufficient for his combat needs, maybe he could rig something else for flying? Wei Ying's brain looped easily, no longer frenetic. Lan Zhan's chest was really warm, even with the cold wind. Must be his big, soft coat. Maybe he could rig a skateboard to fly? That would be cool. It would be fun to spar with Lan Zhan again though. Properly. He'd need a sword for that.
Lan Zhan alighted in the pool of light cast over the entrances to one of the abandoned warehouses. He did not sheathe Bichen, only stepped back to give Wei Ying room. “Will you show me the blocks and shields you have been developing?” he said.
“Sure,” Wei Ying said, taking a few steps back. He drew his shield talisman. “Have at it!”
Lan Zhan raised Bichen and swung carefully at Wei Ying, testing. He was very much pulling his strike and it glanced silently off the barrier Wei Ying had erected without so much as a spark. Lan Zhan kept up a steady stream of targeted strikes, slowly increasing the force and spiritual energy he put behind the blows.
“You can go at it harder,” Wei Ying said. They were going to be here all night if Lan Zhan didn't stop being so careful.
“I prefer this,” Lan Zhan said. “I am learning its constituency.”
“Boring,” Wei Ying said. “How did the array work?”
“It was effective,” Lan Zhan replied, varying the angle of his approach and testing for the outer boundaries of the shield. The joke was on Lan Zhan, because it was a sphere. Which he would realise soon enough, but it was more fun not to tell him.
“Somewhat more pyrotechnic visually than I was expecting,” Lan Zhan added.
“Well, if you are going to do cool stuff in front of people who don’t understand how cool it is, I always like to add a bit of sparkle.”
Lan Zhan frowned minutely as his next strike clipped the edge of the shield sphere and ghosted round it. Wei Ying grinned.
“It is a complete globe?” Lan Zhan asked.
Wei Ying added a small variant and the shield crackled all over with purple light, revealing its form. “The old razzle dazzle.”
Lan Zhan looked down and closed his eyes briefly, but Wei Ying thought he saw the tiny uptick on one side of his mouth.
Lan Zhan attacked the shield more forcefully at last and Wei Ying began to need to draw more energy to reinforce it. The steel of Bichen’s blade began to glow and throw off icy blue sparks where it hit the shield.
“Do you know yet where they got the Guardian Spirit from?” Wei Ying asked.
“Ma Guoqing says enquiries are on-going, but Mrs Li claims that she got a kit off the internet, from a site advertised in a magazine.”
Lan Wangji’s voice was tight and not, Wei Ying thought, through shortness of breath. “A kit?” Wei Ying asked incredulously.
“Apparently so. Advertised as ‘family protections’. It came in a box, not the spirit of course, but a summoning array, along with a set of talismans to put up on the wall. Some chants and some powder to sprinkle.”
“Powder?”
“I would assume that did nothing,” Lan Wangji said, striking hard at the bottom of Wei Ying’s shield causing the whole thing to bounce a meter back, taking Wei Ying with it.
Wei Ying whooped in surprise and had to use a burst of lightness to regain his balance. “I’ll need to do something about that.”
“Indeed,” Lan Zhan said.
He was eyeing the shield as if considering whether the right swing and clip could send Wei Ying up into space. Wei Ying decided to preempt this, sending another surge of energy downwards to float himself and his shield backwards and up onto the roof of the warehouse behind them.
“The talismans were certainly completely bogus,” Lan Zhan said, soaring up after him. “Ma Guoqing sent me a picture of a couple.” Lan Zhan landed lightly on the rooftop, the skirts of his white coat settling around him and his sword extended.
Wei Ying felt a flutter of excitement and wished again that he was ready to wield a sword. “But the array must have worked,” he said.
“Indeed. Mrs Li claims the instructions said that it was supposed to be a spirit dog and it was only quite small at first.”
“Wow. And you are certain it was a Guardian Spirit?”
“It was the size of a small horse,” Lan Zhan said. “Also the power radiating off it was like nothing I have ever experienced.”
“Aww, next time you have to call me,” Wei Ying complained.
“I hope there will not be a next time,” Lan Zhan said. He sent a series of palm strikes against Wei Ying’s barrier, forcing it back across the roof until Wei Ying changed its shape from a sphere to a dome, fixing its base to the floor.
“It doesn’t sound like it did any harm,” Wei Ying said. “It was just hanging out.”
“The police have a record of a couple of noise disturbance calls to the home of Mrs Li’s daughter and her husband over the past two years. Screaming and crying.”
“Yeah?”
“Police are trying to trace the husband. He hasn’t been seen, so far as we can tell, for a number of months. The daughter and her family moved in with Mrs Li six months ago.”
“Well, doesn’t sound like he’s any loss to anyone,” Wei Ying said as Lan Zhan’s strikes bounced off his shield.
“Perhaps not in this particular instance, but it is not appropriate for members of the public to have the ability to eat people. The SPU are trying to trace the original website. The summoning of a spirit of this strength and binding of it to the protection of a temple or fortress is known in the historical record, but no record of the summoning array survives. It is important that the source of the information be traced.”
“Are they going to get in trouble?” Wei Ying asked. “The family? You said there were two little girls.”
“I asked that. Ma Guoqing says not. In the absence of either a body or a weapon there is no case.”
“That’s handy then, if your weapon has eaten the body and then been banished,” Wei Ying said.
“Handy,” Lan Zhan agreed.
“Hey, do you want to try Chord Assassination?” Wei Ying asked. “The shield is holding up pretty good to Bichen.”
“I would like to practice first,” Lan Zhan nodded, sheathing Bichen. “I have not used Chord Assassination before and I would not like to try on a person, however well-shielded, until I have more perfect control.”
“What about that metal chimney thing there?” Wei Ying suggested.
Lan Zhan returned Bichen to its sword seal and drew forth Wangji. Wei Ying watched as Lan Zhan stood, poised before the guqin, and closed his eyes. Lan Zhan treated both Bichen and Wangji with great respect, but there was a softness in his handling of Wangji, even when wielded as a weapon. Wei Ying sort of hoped that in one of his lives Lan Zhan might be able to be a musician whose instrument was only for making music.
Wei Ying waited while Lan Zhan readied himself. He wondered what it would be like to be someone like that. Someone who waited, considered and knew when to do the right thing. Not someone who just found themselves halfway through doing a thing and only found out some time later if it had been a good idea or not.
Finally, Lan Zhan opened his eyes and raised his head. He placed his hands on Wangji. He struck the strings with the same carefully measured precision as he'd used to probe the lightning barrier, and played a short set of chords. The chords merged and swelled into a glowing blue cable of power. Spirit and power.
Lan Zhan caught the cable, halfway between music and a tangible thing. It seemed to be able to sustain an everlasting note even as he took it up and ran his hands experimentally over it. Wei Ying held his breath. There was a furrow of intense concentration in Lan Zhan’s brow. Slowly, Lan Zhan began to manipulate the chord between his hands and Wei Ying saw it lengthen as Lan Zhan sent it out in wider and wider sweeps. The same, singing note seeming to reverberate with greater and greater power. He was doing it!
At last, with a flick of a wrist, Lan Zhan released one end of the cable and it lashed forwards in a directed strike, scything through the metal chimney without even any sound of shearing metal.
Wei Ying whooped with delight as the chimney toppled with a clatter onto the roof. Lan Zhan was frowning in dissatisfaction at a longish gouge in the roof which he had presumably scored unintentionally as he recalled the cable.
“Well done!” Wei Ying was thrilled. Lan Zhan had done it. Wei Ying knew he could, but he had had the feeling that Lan Zhan had not been so sure.
“The return lacked control,” Lan Zhan said.
“Come on, Lan Zhan! If what you said about Gusu is true, that’s probably, like, the first time anyone has practised that technique in maybe two hundred or three hundred years.”
Lan Zhan looked down at the glowing cable still in his hands and nodded stiffly.
“And you only learned it from a book.”
“I suppose, yes,” Lan Zhan said slowly. “I think perhaps also–” he paused and looked a little embarrassed. “I think that Wangji knew what to do.”
Wei Ying considered this. “An ancient spiritual tool? And one that practised that technique before under your hand. Under your soul’s hand at least. I don’t think that is too outlandish a theory.”
Lan Zhan nodded again, looking down at the guqin.
“I wonder if Suibian would still know me?” Wei Ying said. “If I ever found it. I’ve got a different body now. A different core.”
“My body is different,” Lan Zhan countered. “And this core. Though the relationship between the soul and core is a question that is heavily contested.”
“I can imagine,” Wei Ying said.
“There is going to be a new discussion conference at Gusu,” Lan Zhan said. “Relations are beginning to be renewed between the sects. I can ask my brother to suggest to our archivists that they enquire of their Jiang counterparts if the whereabouts of Suibian is still known?”
Wei Ying sucked in a breath. That would be a thing. A step towards a reconnection to a past he was not sure he felt equipped to handle. “I don’t know.”
“As you wish,” Lan Zhan said. He placed his hands flat on the strings of Wangji and the glowing, blue cable of the assassination technique flared and was absorbed back into the instrument.
“You aren’t going to practice any more?”
“I would like to work on my finer control before I undertake any further field tests. I am also keen to see what you have been working on with your musical cultivation,” Lan Zhan said.
“Oh. Okay,” Wei Ying said, drawing out Leiluo. “It’s all sort of a work-in-progress,” he explained, “both the practice and the design. But I think I’m getting there.” He sent out a trill of notes, seeking for connection to the great web of power that lay across the city.
Once connected, it was a matter of imbuing the notes with that power and with his will simultaneously. Purple and blue light began to crackle around him as he drew the power in tighter and tighter. He was pretty certain that his talisman shield was his best option defensively. Leiluo’s role would be offensive and, potentially, for other functions, like communication with spirits. If Lan Zhan didn’t get too pissed off at him for bootlegging Lan tunes.
He sent a couple of warning strikes at Lan Zhan’s feet, causing him to spring back. Wei Ying waggled his eyebrows in a manner he hoped communicated ‘let’s spar’. He had not yet developed a solid enough sustain, so that if he stopped playing, the power rapidly dissipated.
Wei Ying took a step closer and Lan Zhan drew Bichen again. Wei Ying grinned around the mouthpiece of the flute, which caused him to blow a bum note, then it was on. Wei Ying knew his strikes were still fairly haphazard and not particularly strong, but unlike Lan Zhan, the best way for him to improve his control was simply to keep doing the thing until it landed the way he wanted.
Lan Zhan quickly gauged the limitations of Wei Ying’s strikes and barely raised Bichen, in favour of jumping this way and that while Wei Ying tried in vain to blast him. It was clear from Lan Zhan’s expression that the primary damage he was being dealt was emotional pain at some of the noises Wei Ying was producing from the dizi as Wei Ying concentrated on attempting to direct his power and keep from laughing too much to play.
“I’m sorry, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying spluttered to a stop, no longer able to keep his breath for both playing and chasing Lan Zhan across the roofs. “Gods,” he rested his hand on his knees and bent over wheezing.
“You need to improve your stamina,” Lan Zhan said, floating over in a graceful leap to land beside him.
“No shit,” Wei Ying wheezed.
“The power you are able to control is already quite impressive,” Lan Zhan said.
“It’s getting there. Needs more practice,” Wei Ying agreed, secretly preening. “But also, I need to find a way to keep the power summoned during gaps in playing. Right now I need to play constantly to just keep it in place and that takes a lot of wind.”
“Mn,” Lan Zhan said thoughtfully. “What did you do before?”
“You mean with demonic cultivation?”
Lan Zhan nodded.
“Ah, well, I just kind of absorbed it into my body,” Wei Ying said. “There was room, what with my core gone and all my spiritual veins empty. I’m not sure it would be a good idea to do that with the electricity though.”
Lan Zhan looked concerned.
“I don’t know, but if I fry myself it would be a bit embarrassing.”
“Wei Ying.” Lan Zhan seemed to be struggling to find words. “You…”
“I said I wasn’t going to try it,” Wei Ying said.
“No,” Lan Zhan said, still looking pained. “Before.”
“Oh, the resentful energy?”
Lan Zhan reached towards him and got zapped by some of the residual crackle still hanging around Wei Ying. He drew his hand back promptly.
“Sorry, that was an accident!” Wei Ying said, flapping his hand to disperse the lingering electrical charge. “It wasn’t such a big deal,” he said when Lan Zhan continued to stare at him in consternation.
“But, the spiritual pollution?” Lan Zhan faltered.
Wei Ying let out a soft sigh. “That ship had already sailed. When I was thrown into the Burial Mounds, it was from a li or so up in the air. I had no core. I only did not die immediately because of the resentful energy I pulled into my body to hold it together.”
It was a relief, really, to spell it out. Lan Zhan already knew about the core. The Wens knew about the core, but he wasn't completely sure even Wen Qing understood how shattered his body had been, how much the miasma of demonic energy he was cloaked in was not an affectation, but a necessity.
Lan Zhan let out a small noise of consternation.
“You’re worried about the health of my spiritual veins, but there was already resentment in my marrow holding my bones together. It was that or death, right from that moment. I didn’t have a choice.” It was good that Lan Zhan would be the one to understand, finally, Wei Ying hadn't been revenge-mad or power-hungry. He'd been a desperate young man with a promise to fulfil.
Lan Zhan stood still as a statue, silhouetted against the moon.
“No, okay, I did have a choice,” Wei Ying said, interpreting Lan Zhan's silence as disapproval. “I could have chosen death. You would have. But I was barely conscious of choosing anything. I don’t even know how I reached out, how I clawed that much resentful energy into my body? I guess I was always a bit of a bad egg.”
“No,” Lan Zhan said quietly.
“But after I made my choice there was no place to draw the line. I had made myself go on living with resentful energy because I wanted to fight. I wanted to fight back. So I did that with resentful energy too. When people needed me. How could I say that I would save my own life, but not theirs?”
“Wei Ying.” Lan Zhan said. It was funny to be concerned about something that happened so long ago.
“It’s okay. I’ve got a new body now anyway,” Wei Ying said, trying to sound cheerful.
“Why didn’t you tell anyone?” Lan Zhan asked.
Why hadn’t he told anyone?
“We were in the middle of a war. And then… and then.” Wei Ying looked away, remembering. “People flinched away from me like I was a monster. Just for using the techniques they could see. Maybe I didn’t want them to know, it wasn’t just a perverted choice. The same resentment was making my heart beat, holding my vertebrae in line. Maybe I didn’t want them to understand how much of a monster I was?”
“I…” Lan Zhan said. “I am sorry.”
“What?” Wei Ying was seized by the sudden fear that this was a prelude to something awful. ‘I’m sorry I cannot work with you any more.’ ‘I’m sorry I had not realised you were like this.’
But Lan Zhan cut him off before his thoughts could spiral any further. “I’m sorry you had to go through that. Alone. I’m sorry there was no one you could tell.”
“Oh,” Wei Ying said. “Well, I had Wen Qing and Wen Ning until near the end. I never told them everything, but they knew I had no core as a starting point.”
“I am glad you were not completely alone,” Lan Zhan said solemnly.
“I couldn’t tell anyone else,” Wei Ying said, thinking of Lan Zhan back then and his shijie. “Anyone who might have understood. We were all up to our eyeballs in war and then rebuilding shattered sects. And it would have meant… Jiang Cheng… and he probably would have killed me, hah,” Wei Ying laughed weakly. He did not say, maybe could not say, the deepest and most abiding fear, that perhaps they would not have been able to understand. Confusion and anger was one thing, but not disgust.
Lan Zhan was looking down at the roof beneath his feet, his face in shadow.
“Anyhow!” Wei Ying said. “I want you to show me Chord Assassination again. You don’t have to do anything showy. I want to see how you sustain the chord in your hands so long after the note is struck.”
Lan Zhan looked up at him then, his gaze opaque for a moment or two, and then nodded.
“Thanks, Lan Zhan.”
*
“I will stay tonight,” Lan Zhan said when they alighted on the roof of Mrs Yue’s house.
“Oh, you don’t have to,” Wei Ying said. “You must be tired too.”
“I do not sleep well in the morning hours. I will rest later.”
Wei Ying looked at the dark sky around them. It did not look like morning to him. But if Lan Zhan wanted to stay…
They floated down from the roof to land silently in the alley, observed only by the blinking eyes of a couple of cats on the top of the wall.
In Wei Ying’s room, Wei Ying shrugged off his jacket and hung it on one of the hooks by the door. He and Wen Ning had been making an attempt at maintaining a higher degree of domestic order, now that they had a regular visitor. They had put up the hooks for clothes he was wearing and Wei Ying had two tubs, one for clean clothes and one for dirty clothes.
Nearly all his clothes were on the hooks. But, hey, at least they weren’t on the floor. Wei Ying spied his socks and underwear from yesterday laying on the floor at the foot of the bed and quickly snagged them up to drop in the dirty washing. The new system meant that the one chair was now, mostly, free to sit on.
Wei Ying shifted the notepad and half-eaten apple off the chair to the shelf. “I’ll just,” he scooped up a couple of garments to sleep in and nodded towards the bathroom.
“Mn.” Lan Zhan hung his coat on the one free, 'for Lan Zhan' hook and sat down to wait.
Wei Ying had learned that Lan Zhan got highly embarrassed if Wei Ying stripped and changed for bed in front of him. He would turn and face the wall with bright red ears. The Lans were so modest.
When Wei Ying returned from the bathroom Lan Zhan was meditating. He opened his eyes as Wei Ying passed and something in his gaze made Wei Ying speed up to a scuttle and jump into bed. Maybe he should have grabbed pyjamas and not underpants.
“I am going to see a house tomorrow,” Lan Zhan said. “Later today, I should say.”
“Is it haunted?”
“No. I’m thinking of moving.”
“Oh. Cool?” Wei Ying was trying to figure out what Lan Zhan was trying to communicate, because Lan Zhan was talking to him whilst looking over at the wall somewhere to the left of his head. “Where?” Wei Ying hazarded.
“It is quite near here,” Lan Zhan said. Still to the wall.
Wei Ying tried for an encouraging and enquiring hum.
“It is larger than my old rooms,” Lan Zhan said. “It is half of one of these siheyuan. The owner has renovated it. They live in the other half, with shared use of the courtyard.” When Wei Ying didn’t say anything, Lan Zhan continued. “There are living quarters and then a studio… I thought it might be a workshop.”
“Yeah?” Wei Ying said.
“I thought,” Lan Zhan said, visibly steeling himself, “I thought you might use it. As work space. Here, there is not…”. He looked around Wei Ying’s small room.
“I mostly work in Mrs Yue’s kitchen,” Wei Ying said. “But I can only do that when she is not using it and I have to clear stuff away all the time.”
“The house is two streets to the north,” Lan Zhan said.
“That’s great.”
“You could come with me to look,” Lan Zhan said. “If you like. See if it is… suitable.”
“That could be really great,” Wei Ying said, his mind now galloping through the possibilities. “I want to start building new compasses. Yu Xiaohong said hers had made a big difference. It didn't take long, so we can make a bunch and distribute them to cultivators across the city. Mr Lu used to work in a machine shop. He says he knows a guy who can cast me small runs of the metal parts I need, cases and stuff, but I need space to assemble them.”
“That’s good,” Lan Zhan nodded, looking at him properly now.
“I was thinking,” Wei Ying said, “Mr Lu is pretty handy. I saw him making this mechanical toy for his granddaughter. His son has had a baby. Anyway, I was thinking about getting him to help me? He’s kind of bored. I think, if he wasn’t so bored, he wouldn’t smoke so much or buy so many scratch cards.”
“But Mr Lu is not…?”
“He’s not a cultivator, no. But there was always an overlap between the making of cultivation tools and regular crafts people. I know Cloud Recesses was always relatively removed from Caiyi town, but Lotus Pier and Yunmeng were pretty closely integrated. And I know that the Nie were all too combat-mad to house anything but the weapons foundry within the fortress. Everything else was made in Qinghe. Huaisang used to whine about it. They didn’t even bind their own books.”
“Oh,” Lan Zhan said. “I suppose. I never thought.”
“Such a model young gentleman,” Wei Ying teased. “You never hung around in the backstreets.”
“We were not allowed to go down into Caiyi,” Lan Zhan said. “The wards that maintained the mists around Cloud Recesses could not be crossed, except by special permission from the sect leader.”
“You made everything yourselves?”
“No. Someone must have left regularly to purchase things we did not make. But it must have been one of the elders. No one I knew ever left. Except…” Lan Wangji fell abruptly silent.
Wei Ying watched as Lan Zhan’s face shuttered and he looked down at his hands folded in his lap. Wei Ying was just about to keep talking about the workshop or anything else to let Lan Zhan know he wasn’t expected to share anything when Lan Zhan spoke.
“My mother left,” he said, still looking at his clasped hands. “She got a message from friends in Shanghai. There was trouble there. They asked Cloud Recesses, as the nearest sect, for help. No one would go.”
Wei Ying sat in bed, totally still, afraid to break the mood with movement.
“She went. My father opened the wards. But he didn’t go with her and…” Lan Zhan’s voice was low and controlled, but Wei Ying could see a faint tremor in the silk of his loose white shirt.
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said softly, making rapid sense of the mention only of a brother and, more ambivalently, a grandfather.
Lan Zhan looked up and his eyes were blazing. It was not grief making him tremble, but anger.
“Is that why you…?”
Lan Zhan nodded.
“But not Shanghai?”
“The trouble there is not so acute now. The suppression of cultivators was not so extensive and they have better relations to the south, Guangdong and through there to Taiwan. They were quicker, I think, to benefit from the thawing of the prohibitions.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes.
“I think she would be proud of you,” Wei Ying said.
Lan Zhan gave a sharp and painful nod in acknowledgement but said nothing more.
Eventually Wei Ying spoke again. "I am sorry she had to go alone. I am sorry you did."
"I am not alone now," Lan Zhan said quietly.
"No!" Wei Ying agreed. "And together we can sort this."
"Wei Ying's compasses will help a lot."
"And I'm working on protective talismans," Wei Ying said. "You know, like the ones I put on the Yang family home? Talismans to make an area safe and also something that can be used to hold a spirit in place until someone strong enough gets there to deal with it. Yu Xiaohong says there are people, not strong enough to night hunt, but with the skills to, like, fire-watch. They can use the compasses and they can send up flares or set barriers."
"That is good," Lan Zhan said. His eyes were very bright, glowing in the low light.
"Yeah," Wei Ying said. "And I think it should be possible to develop banishment talismans. Maybe not for the high order stuff, but for simple ghosts. Then anyone from the Old Community can keep their neighbourhoods safe without needing weapons. If the talismans were pre-powered.
"I thought," Wei Ying broke into a huge yawn that disrupted his train of thought for a moment, "not enough cultivators, but what if you didn't need to be a cultivator?"
"Wei Ying should sleep now," Lan Zhan said, rising from his chair.
"But even ordinary people could have protections on their homes. Maybe there's a way to…"
But Lan Zhan had sat on the edge of the bed now and taken his wrist. Lan Zhan's fingers were always so warm, the rough catch of calluses from sword and guqin against the soft skin of Wei Ying's wrists. Wei Ying fell silent.
He told himself it was only polite, when Lan Zhan was sharing his spiritual energy, helping Wei Ying to calm his qi-flow for sleep. It was only polite to be quiet and not disturb him, to concentrate on his qi flow, like Lan Zhan instructed.
He always tried. But it was easier to concentrate on Lan Zhan. On the sweep of his eyelashes across his cheeks, the moue of concentration his lips formed. And, when trying not to think about Lan Zhan's lips, on the warm flow of his energy. It was funny, Wei Ying thought sleepily, how warm Lan Zhan's qi felt in his meridians, when the timbre of his qi through Bichen or Wangji was always so crisp and frosty with that Lan precision to it.
Maybe it was just that, even in this new body, he remembered the icy slide of resentful energy through his scoured meridians. The howling wastes of his empty core and deep chill of resentment in his bones. Wei Ying shivered, even as he fell asleep.
*
Wei Ying did not appear to sleep soundly that night. Maybe, like Lan Zhan, it was too late in the morning to commence rest. Lan Zhan took out Wangji and tried to soothe him. He played to comfort himself also. In the dark room, the only person still awake, the past felt too near. He had not told anyone in Beijing about his mother, even in so brief an outline.
Everyone at Cloud Recesses already knew it, of course. Maybe he was getting too close, sharing too much. He had not known Wei Ying long. But, then again, Wei Ying had also told him things. Shared things about his past that were not known to many. Perhaps it was not too close. Only a closeness he had not known before, except with his brother. Though, with Wei Ying, it was different.
A noise from Wei Ying broke in on his musing. A high whimper of remembered pain.
Lan Wangji lifted his hands from where they had come to rest on the strings and plucked the first chords of Rest. Perhaps because he himself was not feeling tranquil of mind, Wei Ying’s sleep remained disturbed.
Wei Ying quieted a little but did not fall back into peaceful slumber. Instead, whenever Lan Wangji stopped playing Wei Ying would toss and turn, occasionally muttering to himself until Lan Wangji played again. After a few repetitions of this, Lan Wangji banished Wangji and went to sit on the edge of Wei Ying’s bed again.
He gently drew one of Wei Ying’s wrists out, from where it was fisted in the blankets under his chin. After all, that had appeared to work earlier. Wei Ying's skin was cold and clammy. Lan Wangji fed a light stream of spiritual energy into Wei Ying’s meridian. Wei Ying seemed to relax and after a few minutes the skin beneath Lan Wangji’s fingers felt warmer.
But, again, when he withdrew his spiritual energy, it was a matter of minutes before Wei Ying was whimpering and shivering again in his sleep. He must have exhausted himself experimenting with the lightning path. Lan Wangji also felt somewhat exhausted, but he could not think of leaving Wei Ying to solitary, unquiet slumber.
Wei Ying was still shivering and Lan Wangji felt his own energy flagging. Maybe he too had overexerted himself wielding Chord Assassination for the first time? He hesitated, but then allowed the fatigue of the night without sleep, the new cultivation techniques and emotional conversation to cloud his better judgement.
He slipped under the covers beside Wei Ying, who mumbled but didn’t protest as Lan Wangji shuffled him gently towards the wall and then spooned up behind him. He felt Wei Ying uncurl from his frozen prawn position and settle back against his chest. He wrapped his arm around Wei Ying and took his wrist again.
He could maintain a little trickle of spiritual energy as he meditated and keep Wei Ying warm at the same time. He was wearing a shirt and trousers. It was not so very inappropriate.
“Lan Zhan s’warm,” Wei Ying murmured and tucked a cold foot back between Lan Wangji’s calves.
Lan Wangji curled around Wei Ying. He did not meditate but fell fast asleep.
*
“Hurry up, Zhanzhan. Mama is waiting.” His brother reached out a hand to tug him along the familiar path.
Lan Zhan hesitated. He had looked forward to today so hard and for so long, he was briefly paralysed by the fear that something would be wrong. What if mama was not the same? What if she was not pleased to see him, but looked at him with the same empty bewilderment as baba did? It would be too terrible.
His feet slowed further on the stones of the path.
“What’s the matter?” his brother asked. “Don’t you want to see mama?”
Lan Zhan couldn’t speak. He shook his head and then nodded.
“Come on, then. Mama will be so happy to see you.”
Lan Zhan took a few tentative steps forward and then froze again.
“Do you remember the paper frogs she made last time?” brother asked. "How they jumped?"
Lan Zhan nodded.
“She said she would make something different next time. What animal do you think she will make you?”
“Rabbit.”
“She might. It might be a rabbit. Or a fish or an owl?”
“Rabbit,” Lan Zhan said. He liked rabbits best. Mama knew he liked rabbits.
“Well, come along and see. If it isn’t a rabbit, I will ask if Lan Xiaochou can make you one next week. Lan Xiaochou is very good at paper craft."
Lan Zhan wrinkled his nose. He didn’t like Lan Xiaochou. Lan Xiaochou was a bigger boy and Lan Zhan did not like that when he was around, brother would forget that Lan Zhan was there and would talk only to Lan Xiaochou. Still, he allowed his brother to tow him along, irritation at Lan Xiaochou just enough to hold at bay the strange sick feeling he had in his stomach.
There was the house, surrounded by blue gentians, with the paper screens in the windows giving it a blank-faced look and making the light inside soft and shadowy.
Brother was running now and, before Lan Zhan could decide if he wanted to follow or not, the door was opening and there was a figure in the doorway. First a silhouette and then the sun hit her face and it was mama and she was smiling and holding out her arms to them. And Lan Zhan was running.
It was only on waking that Lan Wangji realised in some puzzlement that the boy in the dream had not been his brother and the house had not been his mother’s house, but the Jingshi.
*
My dear drunken young friend,
You draw your sword to strike the ground and sing your plaint.
I can help you to end
Your grief and develop your talent without restraint.
You are a giant tree on which sunbeams would quiver,
Or a leviathan whale to make upsurge a river.
So why should you strike the ground with your sword and shiver?
If you go west to cross the River of Brocade,
On whose door would you lean and on whose balustrade?
The tower for talents is built in vernal hue,
All longing eyes are singing and waiting for you,
But in your eyes I’m an old man. What can I do?
Du Fu, ‘For a Young Friend’
Chapter Text
“This is Superintendent Ma of the Public Security Bureau, Special Unit 17, and Constable Hu Zhi, can you let us in please?”
“What do you want? Master Gao is in seclusion.” The voice on the other side of the door was querulous.
“Mr Gao Yanfeng? This is the police. I need you to open the door.”
There was muttering from behind the door and the rattle of bolts being drawn back before the door was opened a crack and a middle-aged man peered out from behind a curtain of long, lank hair and a straggly goatee.
Ma Guoqing stuck his warrant card out for inspection but, Lan Wangji noticed, also stuck the steel toe of his police-issue boot in the door.
Either the card or the boot did the trick and the door opened fully to admit them.
“I’m Gao Yanfeng. What do you want?” the man said.
“We’d like a word regarding your business activities,” Ma Guoqing said.
Mr Gao grumbled to himself, but led them down a corridor to the living room at the far end. As well as the long, loose hair, Mr Gao wore an imperfectly-clean robe with voluminous sleeves that trailed along the floor behind him.
The room he showed them to would have been bright, if it hadn’t been for the red silk curtains hung over all the windows, which gave it an overall pink gloom. The room was also remarkably disordered, with boxes of all sorts and sizes, piles of papers, strewn cushions and more furniture than the room could reasonably hold.
Lan Wangji’s attention was captured by the large… array, or perhaps a mandala, painted directly onto the wall. He stared at it trying to make sense of the pattern until concluding it was just that: a drawing by someone who had seen both cultivation arrays and Buddhist mandala and had made no effort to distinguish between the two, let alone focus on a single function.
Ma Guoqing was checking Mr Gao’s ID card. Hu Zhi was the same young constable who had spoken to Lan Wangji after the banishing of the Spirit Guardian. He was carrying a large evidence case. He had presumably followed Lan Wangji’s advice and asked Ma Guoqing about working with the SPU. He was looking around with wide-eyed wonder. He reached out towards a small statuette of a dancing woman that stood, precariously, on a pile of magazines.
“Hu!” Ma Guoqing must have caught the movement from the corner of his eye. “You want to last more than five minutes in the SPU, do not touch anything until Hanguang-Jun explicitly clears it.”
Constable Hu Zhi snatched back his hand.
“Who’s he, anyway?” Mr Gao grumbled, indicating Lan Wangji.
“He is a civilian specialist. We bring him in on cases like this,” Ma Guoqing said.
“What case? I pay my taxes,” Mr Gao whined.
“Well, let’s start with illegal weapons trafficking.”
Mr Gao's mouth fell open in shock.
“If you are supremely cooperative and furnish us with all the information we could possibly want, it might just stop there,” Ma Guoqing continued.
“What? I never!”
Ma Guoqing steamrollered over these protests. “On the 15th of December last year, you sold Mrs Li Song a ‘Family Protection Pact’. We have the emails and payment records.”
“But that’s just charms and stuff. Some special incense.”
“What’s special about it?”
“Nothing!” Mr Gao said quickly. “It’s just normal, jasmine incense. I put it in a nice paper packet.”
“And an array for summoning a Spirit Dog?” Ma Guoqing continued.
“Yeah, but that doesn’t really work. It’s just, like, a nice extra. The charm calls for blood and nobody who wants a family protection set really wants to do that.”
“Really?” Ma Guoqing said. “Then it may surprise you to know that ten days ago there was an incident involving firearms officers, the animal welfare unit and SPU 17, and also a Guardian Spirit with the potential to grow to the size of a house. An incident which has been traced back to you and the instructions you sold to a member of the public.”
“It wasn’t me,” Mr Gao said, reflexively. “It must have been someone else. My arrays don’t work like that, they are just good luck charms and things. Making people feel good. The other stuff is just for ambience.”
“So fraudulent mis-selling?”
“Nooo,” Mr Gao whined again.
“I would like to see the array that you include in your pack, Mr Gao,” Lan Wangji said.
“I don’t have any more.”
“Fraud is the best case scenario, Mr Gao. If you do not cooperate fully, I will follow through on a weapons trafficking charge.”
Mr Gao blanched and then immediately turned around and began rifling through piles of paper. One of the stacks collapsed, sending printed flyers advertising spiritual healing cascading across the floor. Lan Wangji’s sinuses itched at the unpleasant scent of cheap, synthetic jasmine that hung in the air. Burnt-out joss sticks had left sticky dust and burn marks on every surface and haphazardly placed candles amid so much paper and cardboard made it a wonder that Mr Gao had not self-immolated before now.
“Here,” Mr Gao said at last. “That’s the home protections one.” He held out a photocopied sheet, on one side of which was an array design and on the other a set of instructions.
Lan Wangji looked it over. The instructions were a mixture of nonsense and correct procedure. He noted that the nonsense, like directions to wear red and the bows and chants, would not have disrupted the core procedure. The careful orientation of the array was quite clearly explained. He had seen instructions like this, regarding the use of blood, in the forbidden section of the Lan library. The array design itself was intriguingly strange, but not in the manner of the bogus mandala.
“Where did you get this design?” Lan Wangji asked.
“Um, I’ve got some old books. I mainly copy things out of there.”
Lan Wangji stared pointedly until Mr Gao resumed digging in the mixed piles of merchandise.
“It might have been in one of these. Or, wait, maybe in the falling-apart one. I keep that in a plastic wotsit.” Mr Gao proffered a couple of aged and tattered stitch-bound books.
Lan Wangji examined them. Woodblock-printed cultivation texts, probably early-to-mid-Qing, and intended for a general readership. Most of the information was too generic to be of any use to a would-be cultivator.
Mr Gao made a sound of triumph and pulled a ziplock plastic folder from an overstuffed desk drawer. “It’s fallen apart a bit,” he said. And indeed the plastic seemed to be full of tan-coloured paper fragments.
Lan Wangji handed the books he had been looking at to Constable Hu, who pulled out an evidence bag to put them in. Lan Wangji opened the ziplock and peered in. “I think this should not be handled without gloves. It looks very old.”
“Constable Hu,” Ma Guoqing said.
Hu Zhi was already digging in the evidence case and handed Lan Wangji a pair of forensic gloves.
The hemp paper was brown with age and very fragile when Lan Wangji drew it out of the plastic envelope. It was not a printed text, but hand copied. Faint horizontal lines of flowing calligraphy, possibly Khotanese, with interlinear notation in classical Chinese of a later date, though still centuries old. Mr Gao presumably could read it or had succeeded in looking it up.
It was accordion bound, but Lan Wangji dared only examine the surviving front page because of the fragility and obvious value of the book. It was not the original front page, which presumably lay in fragments within the plastic folder. A truly ancient text and, from what he could see, a genuine cultivation text.
“Where did you get this?” Lan Wangji asked.
“I got it off a man I know. He got it off the internet somewhere. I don’t know,” Mr Gao said.
Ma Guoqing went over to continue questioning him. Meanwhile Lan Wangji carefully wrapped the book in a clean handkerchief and then applied a number of preservative charms to it and the plastic pocket of fragments before slipping them gently into his qiankun pocket.
“Sir, those need to go in an evidence bag,” Constable Hu said.
“This is too valuable to go into police custody,” Lan Wangji said. “It requires specialist preservation.”
“But…” Hu persevered bravely.
“Hu, I’m sending it off for expert analysis. Which is him,” Ma Guoqing explained.
“Yes, Superintendent,” Hu said, crestfallen.
Having put the book away, Lan Wangji returned to examining the photocopied array instructions. “You refer here to ‘magical spirit powder’,” he said. “What is that?”
“It’s a sort of powder. You add blood to it and it makes, like, sparks,” Mr Gao said reluctantly.
“Show us,” Ma Guoqing ordered.
Dragging his feet, Mr Gao went over to a small, white unit in the corner of the room. “It’s kind of weird, so I keep it in this freezer. I don’t know. I had the freezer, from some other stuff I’d been doing,” he looked aside shiftily and then quickly continued. “Anyway, when I got the powder, I didn’t like it. It’s a bit… anyway, as I had the freezer, I decided to keep it in there. Keep it, like, frozen. Otherwise it sort of bothered me, having it about.”
“Please step away from the freezer, sir,” Ma Guoqing said. “You too, Constable.”
Lan Wangji checked the area with his compass, but there was no read on anything. Keeping a barrier talisman at the ready, he swung the freezer door open and stepped back. With the door open, the sense of resentful energy was palpable. He checked the compass and there was a solid reading.
He would have to tell Wei Ying about the freezer cabinet being able to deaden the reading, Lan Wangji thought. He would be interested in that fact. In any case the freezer was empty, apart from a plastic tupperware box.
“I put a spoon of that stuff in a little sample pot,” Mr Gao said. He gestured vaguely at an ordinary steel spoon on the shelf in the freezer, next to the tub.
“This all from the same supplier?” Ma Guoqing asked.
“Yeah. He knew I, uh, worked in this field. Love charms, fortune telling, that sort of thing. All harmless stuff. He thought I would be interested, because it's like magic stuff. I don’t know where he got it from. He wasn’t asking much for it and I thought it added, you know, verisimilitude. Gravitas.”
“I think these are human remains,” Lan Wangji said.
Mr Gao moaned.
“Cuff him,” Ma Guoqing said with a tired nod to Hu Zhi.
Lan Wangji was not paying attention. He had drawn out Wangji and settled himself on the floor. He sent out the notes of Inquiry cautiously, with very little power behind them. The room seemed to stir with a hot, dry wind.
Ma Guoqing muttered something that might have been ‘fuck my life’.
“What is your name?” Lan Wangji asked.
The reply was a garbled slash across the string and a wave of cold resentment. Lan Wangji tried again, but again the reply was unclear and the room was buffeted by waves of desert wind and cold resentment that did not shift any of the papers lying in drifts, but chilled the heart.
Mr Gao whimpered. “I only open the freezer to take out a small spoonful.”
“And send it out to unsuspecting members of the public,” Ma Guoqing growled.
“Only a little bit. I mix it with flour.”
“I can confirm human remains, possibly of more than one individual,” Lan Wangji said. “This is not a safe location for a lengthy examination and I would prefer to examine this further off site.”
“Yup,” Ma Guoqing said. “Be my guest.”
Lan Wangji sent a pulse of spiritual energy to knock the freezer door closed and everyone relaxed. He advanced on the freezer and drew out a stick of cinnabar to write a number of sealing talismans on each face.
“Is there anything else?” Ma Guoqing asked, rounding on Mr Gao. “Any more weird shit you didn’t just make up yourself? Think very carefully before you answer. If you say no but any of my officers find anything hokey, so help me, I’m going to hit you with a domestic terrorism charge.”
“No, no,” Mr Gao stammered. “I got the books. They were useful for fleshing out my designs. Made them stand out. But I didn’t like that other stuff and I didn't buy any more. I thought it was bollocks. It was only after I had it for a few days that it started making me feel weird and I put it in the freezer. I didn’t want anything else after that. I swear.”
“Constable, I want you to call it in. We need Scene of Crime officers to do a sweep. Bag up everything. But I want you to arrange delivery of that,” he indicated the freezer, “to him,” he indicated Lan Wangji, “without more than sixty seconds interruption to the power supply to that freezer. You got it?”
“On it, Super,” Hu Zhi said, pulling out his phone.
“I do not think it is necessarily the temperature. It may be something in the materials or seal,” Lan Wangji began, but Ma Guoqing did not evince any signs of intellectual curiosity about this point. “In any case, I would like to stay here and accompany the freezer through any transportation.”
Hu Zhi was on his phone already, communicating what appeared to be mainly a set of acronyms. Mr Gao was sitting on the sofa, staring at his cuffed hands. He looked woebegone and crumpled. He did not look like much of a threat. But then Lan Wangji remembered the malevolent power in the ‘powder’ and the children living with Mrs Li Song.
Presumably the sheer power in the ashes, awakened by human blood, assuming that is what Mrs Li had done, was enough to activate the array for a non-cultivator. The original array had called on traditional spiritual cultivation, but it appeared that, in this instance, it was as Wei Ying had said: power was power.
This did not align with the principles of cultivation he had been taught. Resentful energy should not have been able to summon so benign a creature. But the Spirit Guardian had been real. Mrs Li had no cultivation and had said she had no further assistance. She could be lying. But there was Wen Qionglin, animated with resentful energy, but similarly benign. And there was Wei Ying.
Ma Guoqing had wandered into the hall with his phone clamped to his ear. Lan Wangji began studying the array design on the photocopy again. Mr Gao had managed to transcribe the array more or less faithfully, but Lan Wangji was itching to study the original again. He wondered if the text portions of the array were originally written in Khotanese (or whatever the original language was). They had vanishingly little evidence of knowledge exchange between Chinese cultivators and adjacent traditions further west. He knew at least one archivist in Cloud Recesses who would give her right arm to possess such a document. He thought also of the Bookmen. Access to recovered material like this could well be another bargaining chip in their negotiations.
Where had the manuscript come from, that it had evaded the collections of any of the major clans thus far? Or had it? He didn’t know how effectively other clan archives had been maintained over recent centuries. It had become obvious that municipal archives and museum stores across the country were not as secure from theft as could be wished. Were sect archives similarly compromised?
His train of thought was interrupted when Ma Guoqing marched back into the room. “Hu, you’re in charge of the scene until the SOCOs get here. Then you can take him in,” he nodded towards Mr Gao. “You can start with possession of stolen goods. Hanguang-Jun, with me. Now.”
Lan Wangji was not used to such brusque orders from Ma Guoqing, so he assumed it was urgent. He nodded to Hu Zhi, folded the photocopy he was carrying and tucked it in his pocket and followed where Ma Guoqing had already strode off down the corridor.
“I’m taking the car,” Ma Guoqing shouted from the entrance to the flat, presumably for Hu Zhi’s benefit. Ma Guoqing was stabbing the lift button impatiently when Lan Wangji caught up.
“I’ve just had a call. We’ve got a potential identification on the Jade Thief,” Ma Guoqing said. “I’m going to call Xiaohong just in case. We’ve been waiting weeks for this and, if it is that thing, we need to get the location locked down and deal with it.” They jogged from the lift to the police car, Ma Guoqing with his phone again to his ear, speaking to Yu Xiaohong.
‘Dealing with it’ was going to be easier said than done. He had not been strong enough last time. And now? The spirit was potentially even stronger. Lan Wangji felt a swell of fear in his chest. If he wasn’t strong enough what would they do? Then he remembered Wei Ying saying that everyone felt that fear before a battle. The fear they wouldn’t have what it takes. And he remembered Wei Ying’s certainty that Lan Wangji would succeed. And he had the Chord Assassination technique now and had had someone fast and strong to practice against. Someone who believed in him.
Ma Guoqing peeled away from the curb, blue lights flashing. “We’ve had colleagues from Art Theft combing through auction house listings, exhibition loans, art business, looking for any purchases of Hongshan jade going back decades and then interviewing collectors. Needle in a haystack stuff, but there isn’t that much of the stuff floating about.
“One of these follow-up interviewers has just reported a weird interaction and a refusal of access. The buyer is some sort of pharmaceutical mogul and he has a mansion out in Tongzhou. He might just be super-rich weird, but it’s worth checking out. It’s going to take at least half an hour, this time of day, even with lights and sirens. We’ll pick up Xiaohong at one of the eastern metro stations on the way.”
Lan Wangji asked for the address they were heading to. “I would like to alert my community contacts. We have been extending our network and there might be some local assistance.”
“So long as they know to keep their distance from this thing,” Ma Guoqing said. “They’re all members of the public as far as I’m concerned.”
Lan Wangji inclined his head. He knew of no one else he would send up against the Jade Thief. Yang Xuedong was experienced, but did not have anything like the strength for an opponent on this level. Wei Ying… Wei Ying had good defensive strength, but his offensive skills were still haphazard. Wei Ying was also the only man with the knowledge to turn the tide in this conflict. He could not be risked. Lan Wangji told himself this and chose to ignore the surge of fear that rose at even the idea of Wei Ying facing off against the Jade Thief.
Yu Xiaohong may have done so already, but Lan Wangji texted their street cultivator contact for the Eastern districts to let them know what was going on, that they might start monitoring their compasses. Yu Xiaohong also texted him from the metro and they worked out which station they would best intersect with, picking her up when they were ten minutes out from the house.
“You’re not going in like that,” she said to Ma Guoqing as she climbed in the back.
“I’ve got a go-bag in the boot,” Ma Guoqing grumbled. “I’ll get kitted up when we’re ready to approach.”
Yu Xiaohong snorted but then began texting rapidly on her phone in response to a series of notification alerts. “The Wang sisters live out that way,” she said to Lan Wangji. “They got one of Xiao Wei’s compasses a week ago. They got a top-end reading for a few minutes on the first day, but when they went to check it out it disappeared. They assumed they had probably just made some error when they were first operating the device.”
Xiao Wei, Lan Wangji thought. The Yiling Laozu was now known as Xiao Wei.
“I’ve sent them the address, but told them to respect any police lines. They are going to send through any readings, but they have no martial skills,” Yu Xiaohong said.
Lan Wangji nodded. “That momentary high reading could align with Wei Ying’s theory that the reason we cannot track the spirit is because it can return to the artefacts that house its power. We still have not found a way to trace power that is contained within inanimate objects.”
“That sounds like this could really be it then,” Ma Guoqing said grimly. “I’m going to escalate this to major operation status. Could be nothing, but things went pear-shaped pretty quickly last time and I don’t want to be caught on the hop.” He drew out his radio and began issuing instructions.
“The Art Theft guys are still in the vicinity,” he said, putting his radio away. “We should check in with them. You may have questions for them we haven’t thought to ask. It will take uniforms at least thirty minutes to get the roads closed and neighbours out.”
They swung around a couple of corners and pulled up next to another police car.
“Superintendent Pan Ying?” Ma Guoqing asked, getting out of the car.
The two police officers standing by the second car turned. One of them was a woman and she held out her hand to Ma Guoqing.
“These are my colleagues, Lan Wangji and Yu Xiaohong.” Ma Guoqing did not leave time for anything but nods of acknowledgement. “Can you give us a quick rundown of your contact with the potential witness and what you have on file for him?”
Pan Ying nodded. She flipped open the black leather folder she was carrying, which was in fact a tablet computer, and opened it on the roof of the car. “Xia Chunming. Born 1941. CEO of Sunshine Pharmaceuticals. He fell under the scope of this inquiry because of a purchase in 1988 of a Hongshan jade article. A small human figure.”
She flipped through files to show a scan of a photograph from an auction house catalogue: a small, smoothly carved figure in milky green stone. “We haven’t traced any further sales records to him, but in 2020 he lent this figure, a selection of jade bi and a small tortoise, all listed as Hongshan jade, to a small exhibition in Changzhou museum, his hometown. He presumably purchased the other pieces privately. Legally or otherwise.”
Lan Wangji peered at the item listings in the next scanned exhibition catalogue image. There was no illustration, but the descriptions were all small items. Small enough to be tucked into the palm of the hand, as had been suggested by the way the Jade Thief had held his hands and by Professor Zhang’s description of the arrangement of the grave goods for high-status, presumed-shamanic burials.
“What happened when you called on Mr Xia?” Ma Guoqing asked.
“It was strange,” Pan Ying said. “At first there was no answer at all, but we kept leaning on the buzzer. It’s unusual for a place of this size to be left entirely unstaffed even if the owners are away. Eventually we were answered by an older man on the entry phone who told us to go away. We requested an interview with Mr Xia and he identified himself as Mr Xia and said he couldn’t talk to us. ‘It wasn’t safe,’ he said. He was sort of whispering. He sounded distressed and refused to open the gate.
“I don't need to tell you that it's weird for someone as rich as Mr Xia to answer his own gate entry phone. We said we were here to advise him on the security of his collection following a number of recent thefts and he became upset. I think he might have been crying. He kept saying we had to go and that ‘he’ could come back at any time. We’ve got colleagues trying to reach his son, but he’s abroad at the moment. The wife’s dead.”
Ma Guoqing, Yu Xiaohong and Lan Wangji all looked at one another.
Ma Guoqing said. “Sounds like we’re up. I’m gonna go get kitted up. I’m going to get absolutely reamed if this is just an old guy with paranoia, but we can’t risk it. I’m assuming you guys don’t have body armour with you,” he said to Pan Ying, “so I’m going to need you to pull back behind the perimeter too. Keep trying to track down any family or friends of Mr Xia.”
*
While they waited for the police to set up the perimeter Lan Wangji and Yu Xiaohong decided to set up Wei Ying’s experimental containment array. The mansion was a pretty perfect test subject, as it was a private plot with its own perimeter wall. Talismans could be pasted to this wall at regular intervals without entering the premises at all. Thanks to another of Yu Xiaohong’s non-Guoqing-approved street cultivator tricks, the private security cameras around the manor’s gates could also be rendered non-functional for the thirty seconds it took to place talismans on the two sets of gates at front and rear.
On a blank portion of the wall towards the rear of the property, overshadowed by a large tree so that there was surely no view from the house or its internal security system, Lan Wangji placed the last talisman and ignited the array. Wei Ying’s idea had been to pre-charge the talismans with power from the lightning path, so that even low level cultivators could set up such boundaries to keep in or keep out malevolent spirits. They had tested that there was no problem integrating power from the lightning path with traditional, spiritual energy. The charge was strong but, thinking of the Jade Thief, Lan Wangji boosted it with an infusion of power of his own.
Then they waited. The business of evacuating nearby houses, getting police spotters in place and everything else took time. Lan Wangji sat in Ma Guoqing’s car and meditated until Ma Guoqing rapped on the window to say it was time.
Lan Wangji looked at his phone. If it came to a confrontation with the Jade Thief again, it could be dangerous. It could be something he did not come back from. He opened his messages to Wei Ying. I have enjoyed working with you, Lan Wangji wrote and deleted. Please, he wrote and then paused. Please what? Do what you can to end this if I cannot? Please remember me? He deleted it.
We think we have discovered the Jade Thief. We are going in now. I hope I will see you again. He thought about deleting the last bit, but he had wavered for too long already so he just sent it and then powered off his phone.
Ma Guoqing was waiting, fully kitted up. "I think it'd be better if we enter the house quietly from the rear. Try and find out what sort of a state Mr Xia is in without alerting him. Or anything else."
Lan Wangji nodded and they made their way to the back gate. Lan Wangji flew Ma Guoqing over on Bichen while Yu Xiaohong used her cultivation-augmented qi gong to run up and over the wall. Yu Xiaohong had a neat little talisman that would pop the tumblers on any lock she placed it on. Ma Guoqing always looked studiously up at the sky when she used that one.
The kitchen was very large. More suitable for catering for large gatherings than for a family. It had a dishevelled air, a number of cupboard doors standing open and occasional soiled plates and glasses set down here and there. Yu Xiaohong pulled open the large refrigerator as she passed. It was almost empty. Shelves of empty racks. There could be another refrigerator somewhere of course, or even another kitchen entirely.
There was a small saucepan standing on the six-ring hob. Ma Guoqing lifted the lid to reveal the remains of rice, hard and yellowed, stuck around the sides of the pan. "Lives of the rich and shameless," he muttered.
They moved silently down the corridor from the kitchen. Well, Lan Wangji and Yu Xiaohong moved silently. Ma Guoqing moved as silently as a man in full body armour and no qi-boosted lightness could move, which to be fair to him was pretty quiet.
Lan Wangji and Yu Xiaohong had their compasses out, checking frequently for any surges in resentful energy, but there was nothing. The kitchen corridor opened from the service side of the house into a long marble hall that seemed to run right through the centre of the mansion.
They rounded the side of the stairs and saw a crumpled figure on the floor near the front door. There was still no sign of the Jade Thief. Lan Wangji drew Bichen and approached cautiously. The figure was that of an old man. He was sitting slumped against the wall, wearing a stained polo shirt and trousers. He seemed to be staring down at his hands, slack in his lap. He smelled of stale sweat, but none of the other scents associated with a recently vacated body.
"Mr Xia," Lan Wangji said softly. There was no response. "Mr Xia," he tried again. Then again, more loudly still, "Mr Xia, I am here with the Beijing police."
Very slowly the man raised his eyes and looked round. His stare was blank and baffled, no sign of consternation at seeing a stranger in his home holding a sword.
"Are you Mr Xia? Xia Chunming?" Lan Wangji asked.
Very slowly, the man nodded. His skin was an unhealthy putty colour and the lines on his face were deeply etched. His eyes were bloodshot with deep, bruise-like shadows beneath.
"We are here to help you," Lan Wangji said, crouching down next to him. "We think you may be possessed by an ancient spirit."
The man's eyes widened. "You know?" he rasped. Lan Wangji could see blood welling in the dry cracks in his lips.
"I am a cultivator. I am here to cleanse the spirit."
"He's not here now. It's harder for him to come if I stay awake," Mr Xia whispered, his eyes were watery. "I've tried not to sleep. But sometimes I can't help it."
"Of course," Lan Wangji said. "Where is the jade?"
"I tried to get rid of it. The first two pieces. I dropped them in the river. But he made me get them back." Mr Xia's voice was weak.
"Where is it now?"
"Table." Mr Xia gestured vaguely across the hallway. "Tried locking it in the safe, but he tore the door off."
"Is there anyone else in the house?" Yu Xiaohong asked. She had come up to stand beside where Lan Wangji was crouched. She had a shield talisman ready in her hand.
"Sent them all away," Mr Xia said, and gave a dry cough. "Didn't want anyone getting hurt."
Lan Wangji reached out for Mr Xia's wrist. There was no suggestion of spiritual energy, only a faint pulse and hot, papery skin. "When did you last eat or drink anything?"
"Don't know," Mr Xia mumbled.
Lan Wangji looked up at Yu Xiaohong. She was in the process of glancing over at Ma Guoqing, who had his visor up and was preparing to unstrap his helmet.
"Don't you dare," Yu Xiaohong snapped at him.
"Can't interview a vulnerable witness in full Public Order gear," Ma Guoqing retorted.
"Can't do anything with a snapped neck," Yu Xiaohong said with a snarl. "Go and get a glass of water and anything sugary you can find in the kitchen."
Ma Guoqing opened his mouth to protest but then pinched his lips together and spun around to head back to the kitchen. He didn't like it, but he understood who was the most vulnerable here.
Lan Wangji was torn. The old man was clearly unwell, but he was also the earthly vessel for a dangerously powerful spirit, one they were not at all sure they could deal with. They needed as much information as they could get and they could not afford to let paramedics in or Mr Xia out until they had a handle on the situation. Still, he could not leave him sprawled on the marble floor of his hallway like this. "Are you injured, Mr Xia?"
"Injured? No…" Mr Xia seemed confused.
"Then I would like to move you somewhere more comfortable."
"There are sofas in here," Yu Xiaohong said, peering in the door Mr Xia had gestured towards when asked about the jade.
"I am going to lift you up and take you to another room," Lan Wangji said, then he vanished Bichen and lifted Mr Xia up and carried him across the hall.
Ma Guoqing had returned and Yu Xiaohong steadied the cup of water he had brought in Mr Xia's hand.
"It was mostly dried goods left in the kitchen. I found this honey though," Ma Guoqing held out a jar about a third full and a spoon.
Yu Xiaohong dug out a spoonful and held it out to Mr Xia. "Try and eat some of this. It'll give you a bit of energy and we need your help."
"We need to understand as much as we can so that we can free you from this spirit," Lan Wangji said. "Did you summon it?"
"No, no." Mr Xia was immediately agitated by this question. "It just came. When the stones were united."
"How long has it been here?" Lan Wangji asked.
"December," Mr Xia said, sipping more of the water. "Last year. Yuanming, my friend, said he knew someone who could sell me a piece that matched my tortoise. He arranged a viewing at his house. As soon as I saw it, I knew it was a true pair. I bought it and that night he came."
"What does he want?"
"I don't know. I don't think… It was different at first. Just confused dreams. I started sleep walking. Waking up lying on the grass somewhere or on the kitchen floor with food all around me."
Yu Xiaohong fed him another spoonful of honey. "Then what happened?"
"I didn't know what was going on. I thought maybe that it was the beginning of some brain disease. I carried the stones everywhere with me and then there were longer and longer stretches of time I couldn't account for. Then," Mr Xia hesitated and glanced towards Ma Guoqing, still attempting not to loom in his body armour. "My friend bought another piece. He showed me. We always used to show one another our new purchases.
"It was a Hongshan jade bangle. And that thing wanted it. I could feel it at once. I offered to buy it, but my friend didn't understand. He didn't want to sell. So we came back. At night. And… and took it." Mr Xia's hand shook as he took another sip of water.
"That was Mr Gong's collection," Yu Xiaohong said. "Where you took the bangle?"
"Yes, Yuanming. He was my friend," Mr Xia said, shaking his head.
"Was it you or the spirit who smashed everything up?" Yu Xiaohong asked.
"Both, I think. Maybe mostly me," Mr Xia sighed. "I was angry with Yuanming. If it hadn't been for him I wouldn't have seen the second tortoise in the first place and none of this would have happened."
"Is that what it felt like?" Lan Wangji asked. "It started with the reunion of the tortoise stones?"
"Yes. But I think he was always there, just a little. I've had that first tortoise since the eighties. I didn't even collect jade then. I just saw it and knew I had to have it. It was always… important. With the bangle, though, the balance tipped. He became stronger than me. I was afraid then. I didn't know what to do. I tried to get rid of the jade, but it was too late. I sent everyone away. I tried to lock myself up in here."
"But he got out," Lan Wangji said.
Mr Xia nodded sadly. "He knew when the next pieces arrived in Beijing. A collection from Taiwan that Christie's were putting up for sale here. I thought, as he hadn't been able to sense them so far across the sea... I thought maybe I should hire a private plane, drop the stones over the ocean. But before I could do that…" he tailed off.
"We were at the auction house. Do you remember?"
"No, no. I can't remember," Mr Xia said, but his eyes looked haunted.
"He killed the security guard there. He nearly killed us," Yu Xiaohong said.
"I tried to stop him. He doesn't listen to me."
"He got a lot stronger once he got those bi disks," Lan Wangji said.
Mr Xia nodded. "I don't think he will need me for very much longer. I think he will be free."
"Do you know what he wants to do?" Yu Xiaohong asked.
"He wants to be free," Mr Xia said.
"To do what?"
"I don't know," Mr Xia said. "I don't think… his thoughts are not very clear. I don't think he has a plan."
"A five thousand year old spirit such as this is unprecedented, apart from nature spirits, mountains and rivers and so on,” Lan Wangji said. “For the spirit of an individual to last this long, it is remarkable that it has retained any coherence."
"Can you make him leave?" Mr Xia whispered. "Please."
"I'll keep an eye on him," Yu Xiaohong said, indicating Mr Xia.
Lan Wangji and Ma Guoqing made their way over to the large table where the stones were set out. There were the two large bi disks from Christie's and the dragon bangle from the Gong mansion. In addition there were two small, round stones in the forms of tortoises, their necks curled back around themselves, with the natural mottling of the stone creating a sense of the plates of their shells. They were set out like the photographs of burial excavations Professor Zhang had show him: the disks side by side, the bangle and smaller pieces below, where they would have lain when the body disintegrated.
The objects were all fairly small, innocuous looking. Even the bi disks were only the size of Lan Wangji’s palm. The jade had the milky sheen of well-worn stone, rubbed smooth by loving craftsmanship so it no longer seemed like something that had come out of the ground. The illusion of the warmth of skin. It begged to be held. Ma Guoqing was even in the process of putting his hand out towards it. Lan Wangji caught his wrist.
Ma Guoqing grimaced and pulled back his hand. "If we destroy this stuff, will the spirit disappear?"
"I don't know," Lan Wangji said. "But the power was very much amplified by the stones coming together."
"Maybe we can just separate them?" Ma Guoqing mused. "But we can't risk sending these off in five different cars and not knowing which one the spirit might choose to house itself in. And that's assuming he doesn't work out what's going on as soon as anyone touches anything."
"I could attempt to talk to the spirit first," Lan Wangji suggested. "But if he proves not to be amenable, I am not completely confident in my ability to handle him at his full strength."
"Right," Ma Guoqing said. "I think we'd better destroy as much as we can and then deal with whatever we have to deal with."
They were priceless neolithic antiquities, Lan Wangji reflected, but one man had died already and Mr Xia was badly ill. The Lan had guarded their treasures through the centuries, books and instruments of incalculable value, but at what cost? Such things were objects that could not be replaced, whose secrets of making had been lost. But people had made them and without people they were inert. Tools that could no longer be used. Instruments that were no longer played and texts no one was allowed to read. Lives were more important. He nodded.
Ma Guoqing stepped back, lowered the visor of his helmet and drew his baton. Lan Wangji drew Bichen. Glancing back he saw that Yu Xiaohong was watching them and would know to be at the ready.
Jade was a hard stone and there was no knowing how much additional strength the stone might have by virtue of being imbued with the strength of the spirit. Lan Wangji breathed and circulated his qi, ready to send it into Bichen.
He raised the sword over his head and then brought the blade down on one of the large disks that lay near the centre of the table. A sound like a crack of thunder rolled around the room and Lan Wangji's ears popped as the air pressure in the room dropped.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ma Guoqing stagger. He thought he might have heard Yu Xiaohong shout, but only faintly through the ringing in his ears. The disk was split in two and he was already raising Bichen again to strike at the second one when he was bowled aside.
He dug Bichen into the parquet to stop his slide across the floor and got his other palm against the hilt to form a shield just as the neolithic shaman spirit threw the dining table at him. It was over three meters tall and its skin, where it showed beneath the ghostly outline of animal furs, was the milky smoothness of the jade.
There was no sign of Mr Xia. Perhaps the spirit had incorporated him so thoroughly there was no visible sign of him anymore. Perhaps it didn't even need him. Looking round urgently, Lan Wangji could see neither Ma Guoqing or Yu Xiaohong, so presumably they had got under cover.
Not that soft furnishings were going to offer that much protection from the enraged spirit. Lan Wangji leapt backwards as the spirit strode towards him, hefting a three-seater sofa at him as it went. Even as he leapt, Lan Wangji could see that the headdress of the spirit shaman was missing one of its disks.
The diminution of power, if there was one, was not giving them much of an advantage at present. Thunder seemed to roll continuously around the room. Then the spirit raised its fist and sent a bolt of lightning at Lan Wangji.
Wei Ying would like to see that, Lan Wangji thought absurdly as he was thrown backwards by the force of the lightning striking his shield. The deflected blast still had enough strength in it to blow out the wall of french windows that opened onto the garden.
He had to separate the spirit from more of the jade pieces. That was the only plan he had come up with and there certainly was not time for further reflection. At least while it was occupied fighting him, Yu Xiaohong and Ma Guoqing could escape. Just as he was thinking this, two explosive talismans detonated near the spirit's head. Not escape then.
Lan Wangji didn't waste the distraction. He exchanged Bichen for Wangji and as soon as he struck the notes for Chord Assassination, he caught the cable and began to work it between his hands. A bright orange flare shot past the shaman's head from the other side of the room. Ma Guoqing had clearly kitted himself out with something other than a handgun this time.
The shaman spirit spun around and sent another bolt of lighting. It hit the wall above the fireplace and the brick chimney breast exploded, bringing down a huge portion of ornamental plasterwork from the ceiling with a crash. As the spirit turned, Lan Wangji focussed on the second bi disk and hurled the cable of power created by Chord Assassination singing after it. It was a small moving target and the air was full of plaster and brick dust. He saw the crouched figure of Yu Xiaohong sprinting behind the spirit to the portion of collapsed wall where Ma Guoqing had been firing from.
The strike of the cable was going wide, Lan Wangji tried to redirect it mid-flow and the shaman spirit turned at the same time. Instead of slicing the second disk free, the cable ended up wrapped around the spirit’s now-all-too-solid neck and shoulder. For a split second Lan Wangji hesitated between withdrawing for a second attempt and holding fast. He remembered Wei Ying telling him how his namesake, the first incarnation of his soul, had almost decapitated the Xuanwu of Slaughter. Had Ma Guoqing been caught beneath the fallen wall? He didn’t know. He needed to bring the spirit down. End it now.
The spirit raised its huge hand, its arm muscles bulging around the jade bangle, as it reached up to wrench the chord free. Lan Wangji braced his feet and poured more power into the cable chord, though he could barely hear its resonance over the tumult in the room. He felt the tremor of the spirit's power reverberate down the chord, but it held fast. Lan Wangji tugged and he saw the chord begin to bite into the side of the spirit's neck. But was the spirit flesh and blood or stone? Was this injury in fact to Mr Xia? Would he have to kill him?
As it happened, he did not have any more time to dwell on this. The spirit gave one more tug on the cable, failed to dislodge it, and then turned and ran across the room and out of the blasted glass doors into the garden. Lan Wangji refused to let go, so he was dragged along in its wake.
Summoning and stepping onto Bichen hands-free was something Lan Wangji had practised. More in anticipation of carrying someone to safety than being hauled at speed behind a fleeing, elder-world spirit, but at least it meant he wasn't being dragged along on his face.
With Bichen under him, he began to pull back on the chord cable, pouring spiritual energy down it to subdue the spirit. He was only able to slow the great strides of the shaman spirit a little. As they neared the garden wall Lan Wangji braced himself. He really did not know if the containing ward would be strong enough. They did not want to lose the spirit again.
As the spirit neared the wall it crouched and leapt. Lan Wangji saw as it hit the invisible barrier. He saw the crackle of the purple that characterised Wei Ying's lightning power and sensed the familiar note of his own qi with which he'd boosted the wards.
That’s good, he thought before the spirit tumbled and rolled, the Chord Assassination cable twisted in turn in his hands and he, in turn, was spun out sideways, barrelling through a set of garden furniture. He struck something with his shoulder hard, but didn’t lose his grip on the cable or his connection to Bichen. He gritted his teeth. He had kept his chin tucked to protect his head at least. And besides, there was so much adrenalin coursing through his system he doubted he'd really feel anything unless he lost a limb.
The spirit had staggered back to its feet and roared in rage. Black and purple clouds swirled in a rapid vortex overhead and Lan Wangji had a sudden, urgent premonition of the need to move. He shot upwards on Bichen, whilst hauling with all his might on the chord cable, to propel himself up and away from where he had been. Just in time as, with another deafening boom, a thunderbolt from overhead turned the heap of garden furniture into a smouldering crater.
Lan Wangji began shortening the chord cable, sending his power down it in great waves. The current situation was very much not sustainable. If he got closer he could strike at the second disk, or even the bangle with Bichen. He could weaken the spirit, at least, before… whatever was going to happen when his strength gave out. The spirit was already turning again, loping off to another section of the wall. It raised its fists to smash out the rear gate. Wei Ying’s barrier held with a crackle of power, but it too could not hold forever.
The garden was in gloom now, black and purple clouds roiling overhead with the almost constant boom of thunder all but drowning the song of the Chord Assassination cable. Heavy rain had begun to fall. A spotlight raked across the dark lawn from above. Lan Wangji risked a glance up to see a helicopter overhead, impossible to hear above the thunder. Police maybe, or press. The spirit saw it too, it waved its arm in the manner of someone waving off a troublesome wasp and Lan Wangji saw the helicopter pitch sideways and tumble away across the sky.
Lan Wangji could not let this spirit loose on the city of Beijing. Whatever it cost him or Mr Xia. Lan Wangji began hauling in the chord cable hand over hand, dragging himself closer through the driving rain. Delving deep into his core he made the cable sing as loud as he could, willing it to cut through the resentment that held together this stone giant. The Jade Thief turned away from the wall to face him as it registered the increased bite of the cable around its shoulder. Lan Wangji knew he had scant time to act. His reserves were no match for this spirit. His mind and body were more agile, but that advantage would diminish as he tired. And disappear if he was injured.
The spirit’s long ghostly hair was whipping around its head in the swirling winds and its stone skin glistened in the rain, marked with brown veins, like the jade that housed its power. Its eyes, where it tracked Lan Wangji, were black and empty, with just the smallest pinpricks of light, like the sky in winter. Not the sky in Beijing of course, but the sky before there was any other light source on the earth.
Lan Wangji was close now. He darted left on Bichen, but it was intended as a feint. He reverse pivoted the sword beneath his feet and, using the tug of the ever-shortening chord, swung right to try to wrap the chord around the spirit's torso and trap its arm. This meant coming up behind the spirit on the side that still bore a disk on the headdress. He released the chord, kicked Bichen into his hands and swung the blade as hard as he could at the disk, channeling what remained of his qi into the strike.
Lan Wangji heard the crack of the stone and the same percussive boom of power release as when he'd smashed the first one. Which was great. What was less great was that the ricochet of Bichen off the stone sent his sword arm wide and he was also three meters up in thin air and there was no time to spring away before the spirit arm that was not wrapped in the chord came up to smack him.
He had a split second to send what remained of his qi to try to reinforce his ribcage and his spine before he felt the shooting pain of the impact across his upper body and then he was flying through the blackness. He was braced, expecting things to get still worse when he landed. Instead he hit something soft and firm and, inexplicably, smelling of damp wool.
"Hello, Hanguang-Jun," Wen Qionglin said his arms coming up to hold Lan Wangji as he lowered them slowly to the grass.
"Lan Zhan," a familiar voice exclaimed, "are you alright?"
*
"Wei Ying?"
Wei Ying was bending over him where he sprawled in Wen Qionglin's lap. His eyes were round and dark, when the flashes of lightning illuminated his face. His lips were moving, but Lan Wangji couldn't make out what he was saying. His ears were still ringing and his chest ached.
There was an even louder boom overhead as the jade spirit struck at Wei Ying's shield, under which all three of them were sheltering.
Lan Wangji shook his head, trying to clear it. Wei Ying and Wen Qionglin were here? He should… he should? With Wei Ying's shield in place he could perhaps try to calm the spirit with Wangji. He felt dazed. He did not think he had struck his head? His chest hurt.
"Do you think you can get the bangle, A-Ning?" he could hear Wei Ying now.
Wen Qionglin set Lan Wangji gently down on his knees beside Wei Ying on the wet grass. Lan Wangji peered out past the crackle of Wei Ying's shield into the driving rain. The sky seemed a little brighter. Perhaps it was a trick of the gloom, but the jade spirit also seemed less solid. At times it seemed like he could make out the figure of Mr Xia within the outline of the ancient shaman beating its fists against their barrier.
"Dangerous," Lan Wangji managed to murmur as Wen Qionglin slipped out beyond the barrier. It was strange, in a way, to watch with so much concern, the foray of a man already 1500 years dead. Wen Qionglin slipped out like a shadow, seemingly unnoticed by the jade spirit.
Wei Ying increased the brightness of the shield, creating a dazzling fritz of purple sparks across the surface when the spirit next struck it. Lan Wangji didn't know how he knew this was a ploy on Wei Ying's part, not a weakening of his shield, but he was sure. He had tested that shield himself and without the power that had been sequestered in the jade disks the spirit was not as strong. There were no more bolts of lightning.
Lan Wangji drew out Wangji. He would ready himself to play once the bangle had been seized or Wen Qionglin had withdrawn. As he straightened his posture to lay his hands on the strings he felt a grind and drag to his shoulder that caused him to suck in his breath.
Of course Wei Ying noticed. "What is it, Lan Zhan?"
"It is nothing," Lan Wangji said. "If you need to break the shield to use Leiluo I can make a barrier." 'Probably', he did not add. And he certainly would not try to use Bichen. The thought of moving his upper arm more than fractionally made him feel a little sick.
Wen Qionglin was a flicker of black in the darkness and then he struck, the heel of his palm catching the edge of the bangle. This time, when the jade shattered, there was not the same percussive boom, but a chime like a bronze bell. The tone got sweeter and sweeter for one unbearable second until the stone fissured and the two halves of the bangle fell onto the grass.
Thunder rolled overhead, but the sound was that of a passing storm. The rain continued to beat down, but it was on the bare back and balding head of an elderly man, standing, fists balled in the downpour.
Lan Wangji clenched his teeth and played the first notes of Rest. It took a lot of concentration, more than normal, to keep his qi focussed and his notes clear and laden with power. But at least dexterity was mostly needed in the fingers, smaller shifts in the forearms and relatively little movement or strength required in the shoulder.
He hoped it would not take too long. Mr Xia did not look well and the unpleasant grind in his left shoulder was starting to seep into numbness that would be resistant to willpower. His notes of Rest felt weak, not imbued with the depth of power he would have preferred for communicating with a 5000-year-old shaman spirit. He steadied his breathing and reached for more power. The secret was to refuse to believe there was no more his body could give.
He played and the storm abated to a drizzle and then he sent his first Inquiry. He had given some thought to this. After 5000 years, what could names possibly mean? Who are you? he asked.
There was a sensation of stubborn resistance and so he breathed out through his nose and asked again, reaching for his power not at all like a man nearing the end of his resources.
Who are you?
It didn't matter who the spirit was or thought he was. Not anymore. It was not unlike the way Ma Guoqing got each suspect and each witness to confirm their name, address and date of birth. Information he invariably already knew. It was an imposition of a certain dynamic: who owned the questions and who owed the answers.
Who are you?
"I am Man, of the River people!" the spirit asserted. The sustain of the notes was strange, unfamiliar. Qin language was usually capable of bypassing differences in mother tongue, being a language of the spirit. Perhaps over 5000 years the human spirit really had changed enough for there to be this effort of translation?
Or maybe the shaman had been in the process of becoming something else, something no longer human? There were records of scholar cultivators learning the language of trees and rivers. Of mountains.
Lan Wangji wrenched his attention back on track.
What do you want?
"To be unbound."
Did you not bind yourself to the stones?
"I bound myself to the stones that come from the water. To return to the water. To the great river. Forever."
Lan Wangji was clawing for power now, diverting it from healing, diverting it from augmenting his sight and hearing in the driving rain. He gritted his teeth. Let me unbind you from the stone. Your soul will pass. Wherever it is meant to pass to.
"I bound myself to the river. So I could guide my people. Forever."
It has been 5000 years. Your people are now the nation of China. You are free to go.
The strings felt oddly slick under his hands. Lan Wangji forced his eyes open and blinked a few times, struggling to focus. Blood? Blood on the fret board. That was unfortunate. But he was nearly finished.
He felt Wei Ying's arm around his waist, steadying him.
It is time for your soul to pass on.
"Unbound?" the spirit asked.
There is no binding that passes the Naihe Bridge.
Lan Zhan's fingers slid over the strings, mangling the last syllables. Something was nagging at him, but he couldn't place it and he couldn't spare it any more attention. It was getting harder and harder to control the fingers of his left hand. His arm felt heavy and cold.
"Lan Zhan, let me finish this."
Wei Ying's voice in his ear.
Lan Zhan opened his mouth to say no and choked as his body took the opportunity to expel a gout of bad blood. He needed to finish the Cleansing. To send the spirit on. He coughed again and as he bowed forwards his left shoulder roared from numbness into fiery pain. Wangji slid sideways on his knees onto the grass.
Beside him, he sensed Wei Ying standing. The shield was gone, which was bad. But Wen Qionglin stood protectively beside them. Wei Ying had Leiluo raised to his lips, addressing the spirit. The notes were not the qin language exactly, but they were familiar in some way.
Mr Xia was facing Wei Ying, swaying slightly on his feet in the drizzle. His hands were still clenched and his eyes still the night-sky black of the shaman spirit. But his head was tilted, listening.
Through the not-qin-language notes of the flute Lan Wangji got an image of vast skies above grassland plains and the shaman, almost a god, running alongside beasts that were constellations of stars. The sun and moon wheeling overhead and his body dissolving into the wind. Hills rising and falling like a breathing chest. A sigh. The exhalation of the earth.
Mr Xia's hands relaxed and the stones dropped silently into the grass. Half a second later, Mr Xia crumpled to the ground.
Someone needed to help him. Lan Wangji attempted to move but, again, the slight shift sent agony into his shoulder and he had to still and close his eyes as the garden swung alarmingly sideways.
He felt a hand on his right wrist, soft gentle fingers and then a warm curl of qi. Wei Ying's qi, a thin silver thread, that lent more comfort than strength. Lan Zhan wanted to tell Wei Ying that he appreciated it and to ask how Wei Ying had been able to communicate with the spirit. But his mouth felt claggy with black blood and he was afraid if he opened his mouth he would start coughing again and it would hurt, so he didn't. He concentrated on the thin stream of his qi and incorporating Wei Ying's qi as far as he could reach.
After a little while of circulating his qi and stabilising whatever was adrift in his shoulder, Lan Wangji felt a little more present. Wei Ying was dabbing the blood from his mouth with the cuff of his sweater and speaking to him. Lan Wangji tried again to concentrate on the words.
"…says yi-em-tees are coming, whatever that is?" Wei Ying was saying. "Just sit still."
Lan Wangji opened his eyes and blinked. The sky was clear again. Only the rain glistening on the grass indicated that there had even been a thunderstorm. Yu Xiaohong was bent over Mr Xia doing chest compressions. Ma Guoqing sat beside them on the grass, grey from chin to toe in plaster dust. His helmet lay on the grass beside him with a massive crack in the plastic surface.
Ma Guoqing saw him looking and nodded. "You doing okay, Hanguang-Jun?"
Lan Wangji decided just in time against nodding in return. "Yes. You?"
"Probably got a concussion again," Ma Guoqing said dismally, gesturing at his helmet. "Got a bastard headache."
The first EMTs were hurrying across the lawn, carrying equipment cases. When they arrived Ma Guoqing and Yu Xiaohong scooted back to give them room to work on Mr Xia.
"Are you okay, Hanguang-Jun?" Yu Xiaohong asked too. She was also covered in plaster dust. There were old tear tracks through the caked dirt on her face, which Lan Wangji decided to never mention. "Sorry I wasn't able to help you. I was digging that sadsack out from under a wall."
"I'm thinking about maybe Fraud or Cyber Crime. Nice desk job," Ma Guoqing muttered. "Buildings that stay up."
"You know you could still lead SPU17, but stay inside the fucking van," Yu Xiaohong said.
Ma Guoqing pouted mulishly where he sat, swaying slightly, on the ground. His unfocused gaze came to rest on Wei Ying and Wen Qionglin. "Hi, we haven't met before? I'm Superintendent Ma, Special Unit for weird shit."
Beside him, Wei Ying gave a high, nervous laugh. "Hi, I'm Wei Ying. I'm Lan Zhan's friend. This is Wen Ning, he's my friend. Well, Lan Zhan's friend too, of course." When Ma Guoqing continued to look at him like he was not exactly following but willing to wait, Wei Ying continued. "Wen Ning's a security guard. I used to live in a swamp with my grandmother. With no electricity."
Lan Wangji felt the need to correct this outright lie. "Wei Ying is the resurrected soul of the Yiling Laozu, who was the founder of demonic cultivation, but he has renounced the crooked path and is helping to cleanse the city. Wen Qionglin is a fierce corpse, but Wei Ying bound his soul back to his body so that he is almost entirely human. He is also helping to protect the city.”
Ma Guoqing stared at Lan Wangji and then back at Wei Ying and Wen Qionglin. After a minute, or possibly two, he said, "I'm going to go with off-duty security guard and swamp boy." After another minute he added, "Or I might not remember any of this. I have a concussion."
*
The bugle is blown and rouses the marchers
With a great hubbub the marchers rise
The wailing notes set the horses neighing
As they struggle across the Golden River
The sun dropping down to the desert’s rim
Martial sounds among smoke and dust
We will get the rope around that great king’s neck
Then home to do homage to our Emperor.
“Marching Song” Wang Wei
Chapter 14
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Wei Ying cursed himself again for not having immediately checked his phone when he had half-heard the notification beep. He had finished up what he was doing and only then seen that message. Lan Zhan, heading into battle, without him and sending what sounded almost like a goodbye.
He had freaked out and called Lan Zhan back, only to have his call go straight to answer machine. The same with Yu Xiaohong. Then he’d panicked some more and called Wen Ning, who had suggested Mr Yang and Mr Yang had made a few calls and they had an address.
Now, Wei Ying clung onto Wen Ning's back as Wen Ning ran, far faster than any normal man. Wei Ying’s head was bursting, as it had been for the last thirty minutes, with threats of the vengeance he would extract if anything happened to Lan Zhan and promises to the universe of good things he would do if he was safe. There was also a fair amount of rage at Lan Zhan for going into danger without him. But rage was good. He could work with that. You didn’t learn your cultivation with the Jiang and hone it in the Burial Mounds without learning the value of rage.
As soon as they had exited the nearest metro they had no longer needed the address. They were able to see the unnatural swirl of black clouds concentrated in the distance. As they neared the site of the confrontation they saw police cars and barriers set up. Ignoring these, Wen Ning leapt to run lightly along the wall of a neighbouring mansion and then, with a great spring, he covered the distance to the wall that surrounded the house under the storm cloud.
The police manning the barricades were all looking up at the storm cloud, the threat in front of them, not behind. They might have shouted at them to stop when they saw, but their voices were drowned in the near-constant growl of thunder overhead, like great stones rolling round and round in a metal drum.
Then Wei Ying saw Lan Zhan down in the garden. The eerie purple light of the thunderstorm made Lan Zhan appear as a glowing, white figure in the gloom. He was mounted on Bichen, flying low, both hands gripping the shining blue chord of the Chord Assassination technique. The thing on the other end must be the jade spirit.
The spirit was fully corporeal and running for the far side of the garden, dragging Lan Zhan along despite the effort he was clearly putting in to slow it. Wen Ning jumped down into the garden just as the spirit tried to leap the boundary wall and was thrown back. Wei Ying recognised the qi signature of his newly created boundary talisman, mixed with Lan Zhan's power. He had a moment to be proud that they had contained the spirit before he saw that, in falling back, rebuffed by the ward, the spirit had spun and flung Lan Zhan across the garden. And then directed a bolt of lightning at him!
Wei Ying couldn’t even hear his own scream over the thunder, but Lan Zhan sprung away just in time. With both hands occupied hanging onto the cable of Chord Assassination, Lan Zhan had not shielded himself from the flying debris of exploded garden furniture. Wei Ying could see blood beginning to run down the side of Lan Zhan's face as well as blooming through a rent in his coat sleeve. A bloodied, white-robed figure in the rain.
Shijie lying in Jiang Cheng’s arms.
"A-Ning," Wei Ying howled above the storm.
Wen Ning refused to just drop him, though Wei Ying wriggled to be let go. He slowed down and only then let Wei Ying slip from his back. In those precious seconds they saw Lan Zhan close with the jade spirit, face grim with determination. Lan Zhan tugged the cable tight. Wei Ying could feel the resonance of the power Lan Zhan was feeding into it as he swooped, commanding the spirit's attention. Then he saw Lan Zhan twisted on Bichen, forcing the sword around. He wrapped one of the spirit's arms to its side with the cable, then did a kick flip to grab Bichen out of the air and slam the blade into the spirit's headdress.
The jade disk fixed there shattered and Wei Ying felt the wave of demonic energy it released wash over him, familiar like an old cloak. The spirit roared in anger and despair. Wen Ning was already running. Wei Ying was too far away. And the black sky overhead and the rain pelting down. He couldn’t watch Lan Zhan die too. Without thinking, Wei Ying was already wrapping the loosed demonic energy around himself when the spirit struck back at Lan Zhan and Lan Zhan went flying backwards through the air. Wei Ying was running. He saw Wen Ning leap to catch Lan Zhan.
"Lan Zhan! Lan Zhan, are you okay?" Wei Ying gasped, skidding in the wet grass to Wen Ning’s side.
Lan Zhan turned to him. There was blood in his mouth when he spoke. "Wei Ying?" Then his eyes slid shut again but Wei Ying had his wrist by then and he was alive. Wei Ying breathed and let his grip on the swell of resentful energy he had been in the process of gathering loosen.
Wei Ying’s mind stuttered, just slightly ajar from himself, as he set up a shield over the three of them. He used the lightning path, not the power of the ancient dead because Lan Zhan would not like that. Lan Zhan hadn’t liked that and Lan Zhan was alive. And now Lan Zhan was not dead, he did not need to seize control of Wen Ning and decimate this jade spirit and possibly this entire neighbourhood and… Wei Ying shook his head and pushed his wet hair out of Lan Zhan’s face. He had promised he wouldn’t do that. He had promised Wen Ning. He did not want to do that. For the first time in months, in the waking world at least, he felt the uneasy slip-slide of his past life brush up against the new life he’d made in Junyue’s body.
But shijie was dead and so was A-Cheng and Jin Ling and his A-Yuan. All dead, so, so long ago. He only had Lan Zhan and Wen Ning. And he would lose them both if he let go and ground this spirit into dust with five-thousand-year-old-resentment. There was a reason he was not doing this again. He had to remember. Because Lan Zhan was alive.
"Lan Zhan?" Wei Ying patted at Lan Zhan's body, looking for he didn't know what, knowing only that Lan Zhan should open his eyes and look at him again. Lan Zhan was alive and Wen Ning was his friend. Rage was one thing, but he couldn’t let fear steal everything from him. Not again.
The spirit was thumping its fists down on his shield, but Wei Ying could see now how its form had been diminished. It was more insubstantial and he could feel the strength ebbing out of the storm.
"Hey,” Wei Ying said softly when Lan Zhan opened his eyes again. "I think we'd better take it from here. You don't look so hot." Lan Zhan stared at him, blinking with incomprehension. Blood caked on his perfect face.
"Do you think you can get the bangle, A-Ning?” Wei Ying said, turning. “It's on its arm."
Wen Ning shifted Lan Zhan so he knelt on the grass half-supported by Wei Ying, before he slipped out from behind Wei Ying's shield. Wei Ying wondered how much Wen Ning had been able to sense of Wei Ying’s momentary lapse onto the demonic path. Wei Ying made a pretty display of crackling purple light run over the surface of his shield to keep the spirit's attention. He wrapped an arm around Lan Zhan. He would… he would explain. Everything. After.
Lan Zhan frowned. At first Wei Ying thought it was in pain, but then Lan Zhan murmured that it was dangerous and his eyes were fixed on Wen Ning. Wei Ying's heart swam with affection at the idea that Lan Zhan was worried for Wen Ning. He wrapped his arm tighter around Lan Zhan's waist, but after a moment Lan Zhan shrugged him off. Lan Zhan was frowning in concentration and drawing out his qin. The cut on his forehead had not stopped bleeding. Usually a strong cultivator would staunch small wounds without even thinking.
Wen Ning was brilliant, of course. As one would expect of the Ghost General. He crept up on the jade spirit and with one well-timed strike shattered the jade bangle. Wei Ying felt the next enormous wash of resentful energy that dissipated. So much power. Animal sacrifices. And human. A man who had made himself a god. Because his people needed him. A man who had thought that was necessary, who had done what was necessary. Wei Ying let the resentment pass through him, tugging at him like a long-forgotten memory, and let it go. Best forgotten.
Wen Ning turned to look back at Wei Ying. At a nod, Wen Ning would have continued and shattered the remaining jades, but that would certainly kill the human vessel and the released spirit could have drifted anywhere from there. And anyway, Lan Zhan was already playing. There was something uncomfortably familiar about the qin language for speaking with the dead too and Wei Ying shuddered. It had been played during the Sunshot campaign and again in Nightless City and the Burial Mounds, as Lan warriors tried to quiet the fierce corpses. Wei Ying had heard it through his own ears and, simultaneously, through the connection with his own raised dead. Elegant, but unyielding. Righteous but unrelenting. Devastating.
Lan Zhan played it well, of course, like he did everything else, but the power he was putting into it now was wavering, Wei Ying, sitting so close, could feel it fluttering like one of his LED lights as it ran out of charge. Still Lan Zhan persevered, putting his will into the notes, even as his qi failed and he coughed blood across the fret board.
Lan Zhan began to list to the side and Wei Ying steadied him. "Lan Zhan, let me finish this."
Probably Lan Zhan would have tried to stop him and finish the banishment himself, but he was in no state to. They needed to get this over with so that Lan Zhan could rest, so that he could stop trying to do everything himself. Wei Ying drew Leiluo and stood to play. He had not used her to talk with spirits yet, but he was more than familiar with the dead. It was still different from Chenqing. There was more of an element of translation. Resentment spoke to the dead in their own tongue. Still, it was a tongue Wei Ying was more than well enough versed in to transpose into a new song, with a little borrowing from the Lan and a little improvisation.
The jade thief mourned the loss of his power, so carefully husbanded over the course of his life, through so many sacrifices, in the ritual stones. He had meant to join their god ancestors and watch over his people forever and now he had failed. Wei Ying felt a pang of empathy in his chest. They all failed in the end. No matter how strong you got.
Not failed, Wei Ying said. You have seen this city. A city without edges, that never sleeps. A city without stars. New gods watch over your people now.
Not quite true. Not quite a lie. Not something you could speak in the Lan qin language certainly, but Wei Ying was nothing if not adaptable.
"New gods?" the spirit asked.
New gods and the people flourish.
"They have much meat," the spirit agreed.
That was something Wei Ying could definitely agree with. Meat and sweets and a lot of pretty good TV.
It is time to let go.
"Where will I go?"
Where you are meant to go.
"Is that true?"
It happened to me.
And that was at least true. He had died and been blasted from the earth as he deserved. But he had also come back. Eventually.
It is time. Wei Ying put more power into the notes, more command. He felt the spirit wavering. He felt it pick through his notes for the tunes it remembered and he lent it his wind. Notes for the unbroken skies it had lived under and the spirit beasts it had led into battle. The songs that had been sung for it and the good grain liquor poured. The blood of the sacrifice and the wild, dust-laden wind out of the west.
Wei Ying played out the notes and, with a last, lilting breath, the spirit let go. Wei Ying gasped at the final resonance along the connection they shared, the flash of recognition. That moment of letting go. The promise of it. Release. No more striving, loneliness and pain. He had reached out for that release once before himself and he swayed with the echo of it, that last exhale.
Wei Ying turned back to his Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan had his eyes clenched in pain and looked like he was staying upright by willpower alone. The cut on his head was still seeping and Wangji was fallen to one side on the grass. Wei Ying saw Lan Zhan's hand twitch a few times in the gesture of recall before the spiritual instrument was finally drawn behind its seal. Wei Ying fell quickly to his knees beside Lan Zhan and tucked himself against Lan Zhan's side, propping him up.
Lan Zhan made another little pained noise and held one arm tight against his side. Wei Ying carefully took the other wrist, slowly so Lan Zhan could indicate if it hurt him, and felt for Lan Zhan's qi. Feeling out along Lan Zhan's meridians, there was a worrying lack of response. Wei Ying fed in a little of his own qi and was relieved to feel a flicker of Lan Zhan's qi in return.
He could do this little thing, even though his qi was still weak. That was the miracle. Not watch people he loved die in front of him. With nothing in him that could help. Worth living for. Worth everything.
Even as depleted as he was, Lan Zhan did not grasp for Wei Ying's qi. Instead, he welcomed it into his drained meridians and met it politely with the fine remnants of his own qi. Wei Ying was suddenly afraid for him. Lan Zhan was too good. Lan Zhan had even tried to get up and help the old man, the spirit's vessel, who was probably dead anyway. He had fought the jade spirit alone, pushing himself to the end because he thought there was no one else.
This Lan Zhan had never been in war. He had been a student in a closed sect and then he had come to the city to fight because his mother had, because he believed it was right. And it was right. It was right, but that was not how war worked. Wei Ying was afraid because no one had taught Lan Zhan about the rotten business of war. The necessary sacrifices. Lan Zhan was too honourable and without a sect to support him, he would only sacrifice himself.
This Lan Zhan didn't know. He had never seen men screaming and trampling their brothers underfoot. Wei Ying had seen Chifung-Zun, in his blood rage, cut through men on his own side to get to the enemy. He had seen Zewu-Jun hold his forces back, as men died in swathes before him, because his strike would be more effective if he waited. And he would lose fewer of his own.
War needed that. You needed men like Chifung-Zun, worth one hundred men on the field. You needed unsentimental calculation. And, of course, you needed a certain flexibility of morality. Wei Ying knew that. He had seen righteous cultivators look on in satisfaction as his fierce corpses tore through the Wen. He had seen even Zewu-Jun and the Lan elders shudder and look away, but allow it all to continue. Because war made it necessary.
He had not seen what Lan Zhan had looked like then. Whether he had watched or turned away in disgust. He had been very, very careful never to see that. But, if it came to it, he knew now that he might do it again, if he had to. Even if Lan Zhan was disgusted with him. Because Lan Zhan now didn't have a sect, he only had Wei Ying.
Wei Ying held Lan Zhan in the wet grass and tried to stop thinking about what might have happened. It hadn't happened. He wondered, instead, how the spirit had managed to gather such a storm and control thunderbolts. That was quite something and would definitely bear thinking about. Too late to ask it now. Lan Zhan's core was flickering to life again, but weakly. Wei Ying wished he was stronger in his cultivation. He wished he could pour strength into Lan Zhan, just like Lan Zhan had with him — fill him up and mend all his hurts.
A man was stumbling from the house, or rather being dragged by another figure. Yu-guniang, Wei Ying recognised after a moment. She had the man's arm over her shoulder and they were both filthy. They made their way over.
"He alright?" Yu-guniang shouted to him, her eyes on Lan Zhan, as they approached.
"I think so," Wei Ying said. "Qi depletion mainly. You okay?"
Yu-guniang grimaced and nodded in confirmation. When the man she was helping saw the old man lying in the grass he swore, unhooked his arm from Yu-guniang's shoulder and staggered over to him. He pulled off his gloves and started checking the body.
"I'll do that," Yu-guniang said, nudging him aside.
"Oh good," the man said, "Think I'm gonna be sick." He shuffled a little way away and threw up in the grass while Yu-guniang started, well, it looked like she was kissing the old man and then trying to break his ribs?
Wei Ying couldn't ask because Lan Zhan made a 'hrk' noise and coughed up another gout of bad blood. It was good to expel the waste blood, but the movement must have hurt him, jarred whatever was wrong with his arm, because Lan Zhan's last cough had sounded a lot like a whimper.
Wei Ying settled him back and used the cuff of his sweater to wipe the streaks of blood from Lan Zhan's chin. Lan Zhan's skin was clammy and his eyes glassy and unfocussed.
"Ee-men-tees are on their way," the man sitting in the grass said, like that was a good thing?
Lan Zhan blinked a few times and slowly his eyes came back into focus and began talking with the man at the same time as some more men arrived with bags and started fussing animatedly over the dead old man. Field medics of some kind, Wei Ying guessed.
From the conversation Wei Ying gathered that the first man was actually the leader of the police unit Lan Zhan worked with. Wei Ying suddenly realised that they had not made any plans for how this should go. Lan Zhan had said he wouldn't tell the police about him and Wen Ning. That was as far as they had got.
Wen Ning had drawn close, standing silently behind him and Lan Zhan in that way he had, so that somehow no one really noticed the six foot tall man in black standing in the middle of the lawn. Should they run? But then who would take care of Lan Zhan?
The policeman introduced himself as Ma Guoqing. Oh well, Wei Ying would have to wing it.
*
Lan Zhan didn't want to go to hospital again, even though one of the police medics told him he had a broken collarbone and put his arm in a sling. They had taken the old man away. Miraculously, he seemed to have survived, and the garden was now swarming with police.
Lan Zhan stood up and tried to leave, but then his lips went sort of grey and he stumbled. Wei Ying couldn't support his weight on his own, but luckily Wen Ning was there and caught both of them.
Ma Guoqing stopped his own argument with another doctor, who wanted to shine a small torch in his eyes, long enough to yell at everyone that Lan Zhan didn't have to go to hospital if he didn't want to. Ma Guoqing did a lot of shouting.
"I can take Mr Hanguang-Jun home, sir," a younger police officer volunteered.
Yu-guniang was busy arguing with Ma Guoqing about wearing the big foam collar around his neck that the doctor wanted him to wear. "Can you keep an eye on him, Xiao-Wei?" she said. "I need to go with this pillock to the hospital. I'll come by as soon as I can. Let me know how he's doing. Call Mr Yang if you need help."
"It would really be better…" the doctor tried to insist again, but everyone glared at him and thus Wen Ning, Wei Ying and Lan Zhan followed the younger police officer out of the garden.
The policeman was very annoying and Wei Ying tried to ignore him on the ride home. The policeman had seen Lan Zhan work before and was going on about how cool it was and how it had made him want to join the SPU. As if anyone cared. Even if Lan Zhan was very cool, it was still annoying. And unprofessional, Wei Ying thought. But at least he drove them very fast back to Lan Zhan's house and used the blue flashing light and the siren on the car so he could cut through traffic.
Wei Ying sat with Lan Zhan in the back and fed him his qi over the course of the ride. He was pleased to see a little bit of colour return to Lan Zhan's lips. Lan Zhan's qi was still very weak and he made a pained noise when they turned corners too fast. This gave Wei Ying the excuse to tell the policeman to shut up and concentrate on driving carefully so he didn't jostle Hanguang-Jun like a sack of radishes in the back of a cart.
"Are you sure you don't want me to take you to a hospital?" the policeman asked after they had navigated the narrow alley to Lan Zhan's door. He was twisting around in his seat to look at Lan Zhan behind him. "He doesn't look too good."
"We have our own methods of healing," Wei Ying snapped. "We don't need your hospitals."
The policeman raised his eyebrows, but still got out of the car to open Lan Zhan's door for him. And help him out because Wei Ying couldn't get out on his side and round the car fast enough. He even had the temerity to ask Lan Zhan which pocket his keys were in and fish them out for him and open his gate.
"Thanks, you can go now," Wei Ying said, finally able to squirm between them.
"If need anything, you can just give me a call," the policeman said to Lan Zhan, holding up his phone.
Lan Zhan just nodded vaguely. Wei Ying scowled. Wen Ning, however, proffered his phone to take the number.
"What a prick," Wei Ying opined, when they had crossed the smooth grey flagstones of the courtyard of Lan Zhan's new house, past Wei Ying's workshop, to Lan Zhan's rooms. "Who wants his stupid number."
"Well, none of us can drive," Wen Ning said. "It might be useful."
Wei Ying huffed then turned to Lan Zhan. "I think you had better lie down," he said to Lan Zhan, once they reached the cool quiet of Lan Zhan's room.
"Should meditate," Lan Zhan said.
"I really think you should sleep first."
"Can't go to bed," Lan Zhan said, a little forlornly, "I'm filthy."
It was true. In the newly furnished and orderly space of Lan Zhan's room he did look pretty dishevelled. The Lan charms on his coat had comprehensively failed and it was torn, grass stained and bloody, as was his shirt. He had dirt and leaves in his hair and stuck to the dried blood and sweat on his face.
"How about you take a shower and go to bed. I'll call Mr Yang and he can pick up a recipe from Granny Fruit for qi depletion. I'll cook for you while you sleep."
Wen Ning coughed.
"Wen Ning will cook. I'll keep on supplementing your qi."
Lan Zhan wavered and then nodded.
Lan Zhan's bathroom was the same grey stone and brick as the courtyard. It was all done by the architect who lived and worked in the other half of the yard. He showed it to clients occasionally and was very enthusiastic about Wei Ying doing his tai chi in the courtyard garden, for ambience. Lan Zhan's bathroom had a large and very fancy walk-in shower, which you could fit the whole of Mrs Yue's bathroom into, the whole of Wei Ying’s old room in fact. But there were a lot of hard surfaces. What if Lan Zhan should feel faint again? Wei Ying followed him into the bathroom. Wen Ning did not.
"I'll help," Wei Ying said. "You were a bit wobbly earlier and you don't want to move that arm if you can help it."
"Mn," Lan Zhan said, sitting down heavily on the closed lid of the toilet.
Wei Ying knelt down to tug off Lan Zhan's shoes. They wouldn't come.
"Laces," Lan Zhan pointed out.
"Of course you would tie your laces tight," Wei Ying said.
"Ankle support," Lan Zhan said.
Wei Ying got the sneakers off eventually and, while he was there, peeled Lan Zhan's socks off. Lan Zhan had nice feet. Big, which wasn't a surprise, but elegant. Long toes. Also surprisingly dexterous, which Wei Ying found out because he had just dropped the socks on the floor and Lan Zhan picked them up with his feet so that he could put them properly in the laundry basket.
"It'll be easier to get everything else off without jarring your shoulder if you stand."
The doctor had already got Lan Zhan's coat off the bad arm, so that it was just draped over his shoulder on that side. Wei Ying helped him slip the long wool coat back off the shoulder and his other arm.
"Ruined," Lan Zhan observed. "Again. "
"Have you considered maybe not white?" Wei Ying asked.
"I like white," Lan Zhan said. "The other coats are boring. Black or sandy coloured. Brown." The latter said with a tone of deep disgust.
Wei Ying laughed. "It's a good job you are rich then."
"The charms never work well when they are not woven in the cloth."
"It'll be summer soon and you won't need a coat."
Lan Zhan looked a little mulish.
"You wear a coat in summer too, don't you?"
"Not wool."
Wei Ying grinned at him. Lan Zhan was so cute. "We're going to have to take off the sling. We can put it back on when you are clean."
Lan Zhan nodded and Wei Ying gently undid the sling. Lan Zhan closed his eyes when his shoulder had to bear the weight of his arm again. They would have to be quick.
Wei Ying reached up to start undoing the buttons on Lan Zhan's shirt. His cheeks began to grow a bit hot. He was helping. Obviously. Lan Zhan only had use of one arm, he couldn't do buttons. But still.
At least, after the first glimpse of throat and clavicle, it became clear Lan Zhan was wearing an undershirt. This was good for Wei Ying's peace of mind because it meant there was at least one more layer of fabric his knuckles were brushing up against, not bare chest. But it was bad for Lan Zhan because it meant they would have to figure out how to get it off without jarring his broken collarbone.
Working the shirt off also revealed the laceration to Lan Zhan's arm. The skin was not fully closed, but at least it was not still bleeding. Lan Zhan looked at it, perplexed.
"I think it happened when the garden furniture exploded."
Lan Zhan nodded and then looked down at his undershirt.
"I think," Wei Ying said slowly, "the best thing to do would be to cut it off. There's no way to work it off without you having to move your arm quite a bit. Do you have scissors or something? I think I've got some in the workshop."
Lan Zhan nodded towards the drawer under his sink unit. In it Wei Ying found a pair of nail scissors. This seemed fine, since they would totally cut thin cotton, until Wei Ying realised it was not fine. Because now he was stood a scant distance away from barefoot Lan Zhan, painstakingly sawing away half a centimetre at a time, up from the hem of his shirt. His knuckles brushing against the planes of Lan Zhan's stomach and then his chest.
Wei Ying felt sweat prickle along his hairline. It was too intimate, that was all. And what if Lan Zhan was faint again and Wei Ying stabbed him in the stomach with nail scissors, what then? Wei Ying was concentrating very hard on not stabbing Lan Zhan, but that didn't mean he didn't sometimes glimpse the slowly expanding view of Lan Zhan's stomach and the trail of hair into the waistband of his trousers.
He thought it would get better when he got to mid chest, but that meant working his way to upper chest and sooner or later that meant reaching the top and having to look up at Lan Zhan. Then Lan Zhan would see him, all sweaty and flustered, after nail-scissor-nibbling his way through Lan Zhan's undershirt for what felt like forty five minutes.
Maybe it would be better to not wait so long to make eye contact? Maybe, now that he was reaching mid-chest, sort of nipple-height, he should just glance up. Casually. Make sure Lan Zhan was okay with this. Maybe share an eye-roll about how slow it all was?
Oh no. Wrong call. There was no eye-roll. Only Lan Zhan looking intently down at him. Maybe it wasn't just Wei Ying. It was hot in this bathroom. Lan Zhan had more colour in his cheeks than before. And Wei Ying couldn't keep cutting. Not when he wasn't looking. He might accidentally jab him. So he was just standing there, staring up at Lan Zhan, with a handspan of white cotton to go, which might as well be a thousand li.
Wei Ying gave a grimacing grin and made a bit of a business about shaking off his scissor wielding hand, like it had a cramp. Lan Zhan just kept staring down at him. Wei Ying stopped grinning and licked his lip before sucking it between his teeth. Lan Zhan's gaze fell. Was he looking at Wei Ying's mouth?
Wei Ying laughed. About nothing. Like a loon. And bent his head to carry on cutting. Stupid Lan Zhan and his stupid, high quality cotton undershirts. If he had cheap flimsy ones Wei Ying could just rip it. With his teeth. No! Get a grip.
Somehow Wei Ying managed to get through the shirt and then slide the remains carefully from Lan Zhan's shoulders. Lan Zhan had very broad shoulders. All that sword work. Wei Ying should really think about taking some more exercise. Lan Zhan fumbled one-handed with the button on his trousers.
"Let me," Wei Ying said. "I'll just…" But what he would 'just' he never figured out because the trail of dark hair that went from Lan Zhan's navel down into the waistband of his trousers was unexpectedly silky and then the button was unexpectedly difficult. Because it was back to front for him, of course. And Lan Zhan had done up the little secondary, security button in the lining. Also of course.
Wei Ying slid the trousers down Lan Zhan's thighs and let them drop to the floor. Lan Zhan had good thighs, not sort of spindly like Wei Ying’s new body. Maybe he should do squats or something? Wei Ying stood too quickly and felt a bit light headed for a moment. Then he pulled himself together and put Lan Zhan's good hand on his shoulder. "Just step out carefully. If you lose your balance, we're both going down."
Lan Zhan didn't say anything, but stepped carefully, as instructed, out of the trousers pooled around his ankles.
"I think," Wei Ying said quickly, "you should keep your underpants on. I mean, you can take them off at the end. But, like, I need to help you wash your hair and stuff and I think you'll be more comfortable…"
Lan Zhan nodded.
"You know what, I'm going to go and grab a stool from the workshop. You can sit in the shower and then I can reach your hair and clean your cuts and stuff without you having to stand the whole time." He helped Lan Zhan to sit back on the toilet seat. "Be right back!"
Wei Ying sprinted out of the bathroom and back across the yard.
"Is everything okay?" Wen Ning asked as Wei Ying ran past.
"Fine!"
When he returned with the stool, Lan Zhan was still sitting patiently. He looked sort of grey again.
"What have you been doing?" Wei Ying asked, quickly crossing to take Lan Zhan's wrist. Lan Zhan's meridians were hollow, with only the faintest flicker when Wei Ying reached deep towards his core.
"I was trying to heal the bone," Lan Zhan muttered.
"Well, you can't. You've got to rest. Come on, Lan Zhan. You'll hurt yourself. Get in the shower. I'll help you get clean, then you can sleep and eat and Mr Yang will check your meridians properly. But my guess is that you've over-used your core and that's just going to take a bit of time to re-balance."
Lan Zhan's brow furrowed and his bottom lip started to stick out before he pulled it back in again. He sighed but acquiesced as Wei Ying helped him up and led him to sit in the shower.
Even just getting the water the right temperature wetted Wei Ying's sleeves to the elbows and the bottoms of his trousers, so he decided the only thing to do was to strip down to his underpants too. Luckily his were black, so they didn't go see through like Lan Zhan's white ones. Which was kind of… a thing. Lan Zhan didn't only have big feet, Wei Ying couldn't help noticing.
It was good when Lan Zhan bent forward to rest his forearm across his lap. That meant his shoulder didn't have to bear weight and also his lap was covered. For modesty.
Lan Zhan's shampoo smelled very nice. Wei Ying worked the dirt and twigs out and then lathered up a second time because Lan Zhan had got pretty filthy and because of the way the tension went out of Lan Zhan's neck when Wei Ying massaged his scalp. The conditioner, which Lan Zhan explained was another product that went on after the shampoo, smelled even nicer and made his hair even softer under Wei Ying's fingers.
Wei Ying was tempted to go round again with the conditioner, but Lan Zhan was tired so he shouldn't indulge. Instead he went on to washing the rest of Lan Zhan gently. With yet another bottle of different stuff, that also smelled very nice. If Wei Ying ever had a shower here he might never come out. There were so many bottles he hadn't even got to yet. There were two just for Lan Zhan's face!
Wei Ying rubbed his hands gently over Lan Zhan's shoulders and neck, avoiding the lump where the broken bone sat wrongly beneath the skin. Slowly his fingers massaged away the grime and sweat and dried blood. The skin of the laceration on Lan Zhan's arm was closed now, but a thin, fragile pink. He knelt down to wash Lan Zhan's legs and feet too. If you were washing someone, you should do it properly. Lan Zhan had a lot of dark hair on his shins, like Wei Ying had used to have, in his old body. Junyue's body hair was much finer.
"Okay, time to get up," Wei Ying said.
Lan Zhan tilted his head, listening but making no move.
"Upsie daisy," Wei Ying said, getting to his own feet and then tugging gently on Lan Zhan's good arm.
Lan Zhan gave a small sigh and got to his feet.
Wow, had he got taller somehow? For an insane moment Wei Ying thought Lan Zhan was bending down to kiss him. Then he realised that of course, Lan Zhan was just swaying with fatigue. He put a hand on his chest to push him upright again. "Whoa there, big man," he said, nonsensically, "nearly done now."
Wei Ying carefully revolved Lan Zhan away from him to face the shower and guided him to brace his good arm against the wall for balance. "I'm going to slip these down," he said, hooking his fingers illustratively in the elastic waistband of Lan Zhan's briefs. "Then I'm going to grab you a towel. You can just, you know, and then I'll get you dry."
Lan Zhan didn't say anything, just continued to stand there patiently, so Wei Ying tugged the underpants down over Lan Zhan's hips and the swell of his arse. Unlike the trousers, the wet underpants did not slide and fall to the floor on their own, but rolled themselves up into an unhelpfully tight band of white cotton. They required to be tugged further down Lan Zhan's thighs to nearly his knees until they gave up and flopped onto the stone floor of the shower.
Wei Ying discovered that it was really not possible to be bent over with both your hands near the sides of a man's knees without your face being seriously quite close to his naked arse. Unless you had arms like a gibbon. Wei Ying did not have arms like a gibbon. Lan Zhan's arse was very there. As you would expect of a swordsman. Lots of lunges.
Red-faced, Wei Ying went for a couple of towels. He gave Lan Zhan a few minutes and then he turned around. Lan Zhan wasn't doing anything. Just standing under the spray. Completely naked. Lan Zhan really was… unfairly…
Lan Zhan was also swaying slightly, so Wei Ying hurried over and shut off the water. He wrapped Lan Zhan around the waist with the towel from behind, so that he was decently covered and then he sat him on the toilet seat lid again to gently towel off his hair. After patting his torso dry, Wei Ying re-fixed the sling in place. Lan Zhan insisted on brushing his teeth before he would let Wei Ying help him to his bedroom.
Wei Ying got Lan Zhan's pyjama bottoms on, which was potentially more awkward than taking his trousers off, but they at least had the towel as a modesty drape. They both agreed that a pyjama top was more trouble than it was worth and Wei Ying helped Lan Zhan to lie down.
Lan Zhan's bed was a lot bigger than Wei Ying's, which was the narrowest single bed you could get. This made sense because Lan Zhan's bedroom was also much bigger. This meant there was plenty of room for Wei Ying to sit on the edge of the bed and take Lan Zhan's good wrist, once he had Lan Zhan comfortable.
He reached out with his qi, channelling it into Lan Zhan's near-empty-again meridians. He could sense Lan Zhan settling. Wei Ying didn't have anything like the well of power Lan Zhan did. He couldn't flood Lan Zhan's meridians in that nice way Lan Zhan did to him.
But he could sit with Lan Zhan as he fell asleep, so he would know he was not alone. Lan Zhan's weakened qi was ebbing and flowing with his breaths. Wei Ying found, if he matched his breaths, he could send the still-slender thread of his own qi deeper and deeper. He could not revolve it around Lan Zhan's core, like Lan Zhan had with him. But still, he was able to be there with Lan Zhan, encouraging the small fire of Lan Zhan's depleted qi.
He had meant to sit up and feed Lan Zhan qi for as long as he was able, but instead Wei Ying woke to find Lan Zhan stirring beneath him. Somehow he had fallen asleep himself and tucked himself up under Lan Zhan's good arm. Someone, and it could only be Wen Ning, had taken his boots off him.
But it was still dark and he would disturb Lan Zhan if he moved, because Lan Zhan had his good arm clamped around Wei Ying. Lan Zhan needed his sleep, so Wei Ying rested his head back down on the only slightly drooly patch on Lan Zhan's warm chest and went back to sleep.
*
The next day Lan Zhan looked quite a bit better, but his qi was still nowhere near recovered. He insisted that Wei Ying help him to get dressed though, including putting a shirt on, before he would eat. Wen Ning had made a thick congee with a lot of different grains and sweet potato and shiitake mushrooms. And there was an egg on the top. It was really good.
Wei Ying had to sit up close to Lan Zhan in case he needed help with anything, eating with just his left hand. Lan Zhan had insisted on feeding himself with a spoon, though Wei Ying had offered to feed him. Wen Ning said that Granny Fruit had also made Mr Yang promise to at least ask Lan Zhan if he would eat some chicken or fish. Mr Yang had had to go and so he had made Wen Ning promise to ask in his stead.
"Apologies, Hanguang-Jun," Wen Ning said.
Lan Zhan just nodded and told Wen Ning that his cooking was very good.
Yu-guniang came round before they were finished, which meant she could have some too. She looked exhausted. "Guoqing has a confirmed concussion and a couple of cracked ribs," she said. "They are keeping him at the hospital. Largely, I think, because that's the only way they can physically stop him from going into the office."
"Mr Xia?" Lan Zhan asked.
"He's in intensive care," Yu-guniang said. "Had a heart attack, apparently, on top of exhaustion, malnourishment and dehydration. But he could still pull through. Guoqing was bitching about how tanked his career is going to be if he or the original owners sue the police department for the value of the jades you destroyed."
"It was necessary," Lan Zhan said.
"Guoqing knows that," Yu-guniang said tiredly.
"Would you like some tea, Yu-guniang?" Wen Ning asked.
Yu-guniang startled. "How do you do that?"
"Do what, Yu-guniang?"
"Just be there without anyone noticing you."
Wen Ning thought for a moment. "I stood with the statues in the temple on and off for about a thousand years?"
Yu-guniang nodded. "I guess that would… probably…" She shrugged. "Tea would be great."
"Perhaps you should sleep?" Lan Zhan suggested.
"Oh, I will," Yu-guniang said. "I wanted to check how you were first. Guoqing is not going to be back on the job for at least a month. They won't be able to keep him out of the office that long, but he's not coming on night hunts and I'm going to break his legs if he tries."
Wei Ying let out a bark of laughter and everyone startled, including him. "Sorry! Just, my shidi used to say that. He… anyway, it's nothing." Wei Ying had been about to say it was how you knew he cared about you, but just in time he recognised that maybe Yu-guniang would not welcome that observation.
"I think we will need to revisit the operational protocols," Lan Zhan said. "Ma Guoqing is too vulnerable in cases where we are up against threats in the top categories."
"He's going to fucking hate it," Yu-guniang said.
"We have time to discuss it," Lan Zhan said. "I have a qi depletion." He said it shamefacedly, like someone owning up to a venereal disease. "It will take perhaps some weeks before I am able to night hunt myself."
Yu-guniang pressed her lips together and nodded. "We'll just have to manage without you, Hanguang-Jun."
"But the containment wards worked really well. Did you see?" Wei Ying broke in. "Lan Zhan reinforced them, but even without that I think we can start to set up safe zones around the city."
"The jade spirit went up against the wards?" Yu-guniang asked.
"Yes! It was thrown right back. Twice! If everyone who can contributes a bit of qi then they can even be reinforced, like Lan Zhan did."
"I can put the idea out across the families I know," Yu-guniang said. "It won't be hard to persuade everyone to give it a try. Your compasses are already making a big difference."
Wei Ying beamed. "Okay, so I was thinking, safe zones for retreat and a variant talisman that could be thrown, like a net, to contain spirits that are too strong for the cultivators on the scene to manage. I think I can figure out something that will bind the talisman to the grid where it is thrown, draw its power from there and anchor the spirit in place."
Yu-guniang huffed out a breath. "That would be great. At the moment I know people are spotting things and then having to just let them go because they are bigger than what they can handle."
"You do not need to wait for me to be strong again," Lan Zhan said. "Wei Ying banished the jade spirit. His new cultivation is very powerful."
"You did that?" Yu-guniang asked.
"Ah," Wei Ying shrugged, "Lan Zhan and A-Ning had already destroyed the jades, so it wasn't really so powerful any more."
"It was still a category three at least," Lan Zhan said.
"We're going to have to stop calling you Xiao Wei and start calling you the Lightning Grandmaster." Yu-guniang grinned.
"I think I prefer Xiao Wei," Wei Ying said. In the past, well, it had been a strategy to inspire awe, but maybe also pride. It had felt like his due, to be recognised for his prowess, his strength, even if he couldn't be recognised for the price he had paid for it. But, in the end, it had only made it easier for his enemies.
"Well, in that case, you really need to stop calling me Yu-guniang. If you can't stretch to just calling me Xiaohong, you can call me Yu-jie."
"Okay, Yu-jie," Wei Ying grinned. They had got off to a shaky start, but since then he had taken care to ask Yu-jie what she needed and to tailor his plans around her knowledge of what had worked before in the city.
"I've given up trying get this one to call me anything other than my full name," Yu-jie said, indicating Lan Zhan.
"Would you prefer if I called you Yu-meimei?" Lan Zhan asked, raising an eyebrow. He must be feeling better if he was up for a little dry piss-taking.
"No! We're the same age. Forget I said anything."
"Can I call you gege, Lan-er-gege?" Wei Ying tried, bumping his shoulder very gently.
"I really do not need to know what you call him," Yu-jie said, holding up her hands. Which was weird because everyone had heard him call Lan Zhan by his name?
"Wei Ying!" Lan Zhan also admonished him. "I have been thinking about the police," he said, changing the subject.
"You're also supposed to be on medical leave, you know," Yu-jie said. "You're as bad as Guoqing."
Lan Zhan ignored this and continued. "Everyone there from the Security Bureau, including Ma Guoqing, was in danger and to very little purpose."
"They didn't stop Wen Ning and me entering," Wei Ying said. "And if your warding barrier had failed, they wouldn't have been able to do anything to stop the spirit going where it wanted."
"Sooner or later their people will start getting hurt and I am worried about what it will do to their stance on the cultivation world."
"You don't think we should work with the SPU anymore?" Yu-jie asked. She looked conflicted.
"I am worried what will happen when they fully realise how powerless they are. What they might do to stamp out such a perceived threat."
"But what can we do about that? They are powerless," Yu-jie said. She was scowling now.
"I don't know, but I think it would be better if the dangers of the spirit world and the demonic were handled by those who understand such things and who are properly equipped," Lan Zhan said. "I think we need to consider how the direct involvement of the Security Bureau can be scaled back. They are brave and I do not doubt their determination to keep people safe, but as you have always said, it is a precarious relationship."
"In the old days, the cultivation world took care of all that. We didn't meddle in politics and, in turn, the Emperor and his yashu didn't interfere in cultivation matters," Wei Ying said.
"You aren't going to get the Security Bureau to agree to that," Yu-jie said, shaking her head.
"But what if the problem just went away?" Wei Ying said.
"Like how?"
"Like, if there are fewer and fewer spirit attacks. So people like Ma Guoqing and his policemen are called out less and less. Like, 'oh neat, I guess all the bad things just went away'."
"But they're not going away?" Yu-jie said, then rubbed her forehead. "I'm too tired for this."
"We can work on safe zones and lighting traps first," Wei Ying said, warming to the topic. "Make sure that everyone who can use one has a compass and traps to hand and knows how to get backup if they need it. Maybe we go back to the map idea, with the Book Men, to monitor things, start tracking down these demonic cultivators? We just don't tell the police all about what we are doing, so as far as they are concerned, shit just stops happening."
"The power needed to map the city and maintain traps…" Lan Zhan started.
At the same time, Yu-jie was saying, "Something like that is going to cost money…"
"I don't mean over night," Wei Ying said. "But that's something we can work towards: city-wide wards and a network of cultivators who can stamp out anything that slips through. Then we can concentrate on rooting out the source trouble-makers. Maybe with the police too. If stuff is being stolen from museums, that's the business of thief-takers."
Lan Zhan and Yu-jie were silent, thinking.
"A plan like that," Yu-jie said slowly, "is bigger than just getting the folks I know to rally round. We'd need to speak to a bunch more people."
"You mean the Book Men?" Wei Ying asked.
"Them and the other spirit guardians," Yu-jie nodded. "I think there are also others, cultivator families and incomers in other parts of the city I don't know well, who cut themselves off when the trouble started. Granny Fruit might know?"
"We should go and talk to her," Wei Ying said. "Ask what she thinks too."
"I don't know, though." Yu-jie looked doubtful. "The Old Community hasn't worked well together in the past. There's a lot of bad blood, from how things went down before."
"But it would be worth it," Lan Zhan said, "if trust could be rebuilt, to take back control for the Old Community. Protect everyone and preserve what should be preserved. We cannot make decisions for the entire city, just us three. If we end up bringing the wrath of the Security Bureau down on everyone, it will be worse."
Yu-jie was sitting hunched and scowling like a thundercloud. Wei Ying was beginning to recognise that as worry.
"We could try, at least," Wei Ying said. "Give people an opportunity to be part of it. To know what's going on. Have a say."
"This is all definitely above my pay grade," Yu-jie said with a huff. "I'll talk with the folks I know. You should go and talk to Granny Fruit."
*
Heavens,
Of all the cities in your domain,
Precincts up & down the land
Which city is
Without an armed garrison?
If one could but smelt the arms
Turn the armour to tools for farmers
Every inch of fallow field
Given over to an ox
To Plough
When the oxen have done their job
The silkworms too
Would have been
Bounteous
Overgiven.
We shall no longer have
Brave men crying for woe.
Brave men we shall not have.
But men with grain
Women with silk
Will walk along & sing.
“Ballad of the Silkworm and Grains” Du Fu. Trans. Wong May
Notes:
If you are interested in an author's commentary, I'm adding some reflections on the text and and the world-building at the end of each chapter of Auntieiroh's podfic of this story, starting from chapter 12. Linked below as as inspired by work.
One question related to what Wei Ying's new body looked like and here, if you are interested, is my headcanon for Wei Ying's resurrected body: Zhou Yiran
Chapter Text
Wen Ning came to check on Lan Zhan again that evening on his way to work. At least, Wei Ying had assumed that when Wen Ning appeared in his work room.
“Oh, hi, A-Ning,” Wei Ying said. “How long have you been standing there? Lan Zhan is meditating. He’s been doing it for hours.”
“That is good,” Wen Ning said. “What is that?” He indicated the papers strewn over Wei Ying’s workbench.
“Oh, nothing really,” Wei Ying became uncomfortably aware that the topic of his current workshopping might not have been such a good idea. He turned the paper over and shuffled the others under the blank sheet. “I was just bored, you know? I mean, there are probably people who would buy tickets to watch Lan Zhan sit in a patch of sunlight and meditate, but after the first hour or so… Anyway.”
“Will you show me?” Wen Ning asked, tipping his head to the side.
Wei Ying put his hand protectively over the papers and laughed. He was going to repeat that it was really nothing, make a joke, but then he saw Wen Ning’s face. He looked solemn and sad. Had he read Wei Ying’s array design before Wei Ying noticed he was there? Was he sad about something else? Did he know?
Wei Ying’s smile died on his lips. He’d taken too long to respond anyway. “Are you… is everything okay?” he asked.
“Are you alright, Wei-gongzi?” Wen Ning asked.
“Me? I’m fine,” Wei Ying said brightly. “Lan Zhan and that policeman are the ones who got hurt. I didn’t even hardly arrive until it was all over.” Wen Ning was not saying anything. “What, A-Ning?”
Wen Ning gazed at him sadly.
“I’m fine,” Wei Ying said, less brightly than before. He started fiddling with the papers again, before he remembered he was supposed to be deflecting attention away from them. “I got a bit of a fright, that’s all. I thought… Lan Zhan… but he was fine. Well, not fine, but he’s okay. So that’s all okay.”
“What are you working on?” Wen Ning asked.
“It’s nothing. It’s just an idea.”
“When you are frightened,” Wen Ning said carefully, “you don’t always have the best ideas.”
“What do you mean? I thrive under pressure,” Wei Ying tried for a playfully indignant tone, but he wasn’t sure it landed. It came out maybe a bit too plaintive.
“Will you tell me what you are working on?” Wen Ning asked.
Wei Ying let out a huff that was more of a sigh. “Well, you know when Lan Zhan smashed the jade disk and when you later broke the bangle? That huge reservoir of demonic energy was just released. Well, I was thinking that that was pretty dangerous. If we were fighting a group of demonic cultivators they could easily gather it right up again. There needs to be a way to make sure someone we are fighting doesn’t just do that.”
Wen Ning nodded, frowning.
“So, I was… just playing around with ideas.”
“What ideas?”
“Like, a tool for the rapid absorption of yin energy. And then a controlled release or destruction later.” Wei Ying fiddled around with his papers.
“A tool?”
“Yeah. I mean… yeah. Or a person.”
“Wei-gongzi.”
Wei Ying risked a glance up. He was afraid Wen Ning would be looking sad and disappointed. But it was worse. He was looking understanding.
“I could have done it,” Wei Ying whispered. “It was there at my fingertips. I could have… and, with that power, if Lan Zhan had…”
“But you didn’t,” Wen Ning said.
“He was okay. But I might have. I promised I wouldn’t ever use you as a weapon again, but I was so afraid might have. I might have lost control again. We might have… it might have been really bad.” Wei Ying felt the clench of guilt in his stomach. “I’m sorry,” he breathed.
“That would have been bad,” Wen Ning agreed. “But you did not do those things.”
“I nearly did. I need a way of locking it away. It’s better that I should have it than anyone else, but then it needs to be sealed.” Wei Ying curled over himself. “If anything happened to Lan Zhan, I don’t know what I might do.” He blinked at the memory, the slumped figure in bloodied white robes. Lan Zhan. Shijie. The mangled bodies of Jiang Fengmian and Madam Yu and his shidimei. He began to bounce his leg, discomfort twisting through him.
“But you didn’t,” Wen Ning repeated more firmly. “You cannot punish yourself for something you did not do.”
“But I…”
“You cannot punish yourself for an idea.”
Wei Ying sighed heavily. He was not so sure.
“Do you wish to fight evil in the city just for Hanguang-Jun?” Wen Ning asked.
“For Lan Zhan? No. I want to fight with him.”
“But would you no longer care to do so, if he was killed? Now he is injured. If he does not recover, will you give up?”
“No!”
Wen Ning nodded. “Then I do not think you should develop plans that risk your own destruction. If Hanguang-Jun is hurt, you wish to carry on his work. If he is not hurt, I think he will be very unhappy with the human-slop-pail-of-evil plan.”
Wei Ying opened his mouth to argue, but found his mouth was just hanging open, not coming up with the words. “Human-slop-pail?” he said eventually.
“I think it is a very bad plan,” Wen Ning said.
“I just…”
“I think that if you have designs that you would not like to show me or Hanguang-Jun you should probably destroy them,” Wen Ning said firmly.
“They are just ideas.”
Wen Ning nodded at him. “That array design, to summon a soul to do your bidding at the price of the summoner’s own soul’s destruction? That was just an idea. Chen Junyue's soul has been shattered. Even the jade spirit might have another chance. Another life. Eventually redeem itself. Chen Junyue will never have that.”
Wei Ying looked down at his own hands.
“From what I understand, you tried to destroy the Yin Tiger Tally and the backlash of the demonic energy not only killed you, but scattered your soul so completely that it did not find its way back into the cycle of life until that summoning. You should take care, I think, not to immediately do that again. Hanguang-Jun has waited a very long time.”
*
The next day Lan Zhan was well enough to make the planned visit to Granny Fruit.
"What you been doing with yourself, Ji’er?" Granny Fruit demanded when they walked in.
Lan Zhan bowed his head, accepting the rebuke.
"But he was super-brave, Granny!" Wei Ying protested. "He took down a 5000-year-old spirit who's been running amok all over the city. Single handed."
"Bit off more than he could chew," Granny grumbled.
“It was not single handed. Wei Ying banished the spirit in the end. And Wen Qionglin,” Lan Zhan added.
"Come here. Let me look at you. Show me your tongue."
Lan Zhan obediently allowed himself to be examined. "Humph. Mountain boys always bounce back. It’s the hard frosts while you're young. You'll feel it in your knees later though. Do you have a handkerchief?"
"Yes, Granny Fruit, I…" Lan Zhan began.
"Well, don't just stand there talking about it," Granny scolded, "get it out. I don't want blood on my floor."
"What?" Wei Ying was asking and Lan Zhan was still fishing in his inside pocket when Granny swung him round by the elbow and hit him hard in the mid-back. Lan Zhan brought the handkerchief to his mouth just in time to catch the gout of dark blood he coughed up.
"Granny, you can't hit him! He has a broken collar bone. Look at the sling!"
"He'll heal better with that cleared. And he's a big boy. Not like some people. Are you even eating?"
"I am eating all the time!" Wei Ying whined. "I'm just not getting any bigger. This body is just small, I think. Not that I don't appreciate it. It's a great body! And I've been exercising. Look." Wei Ying flexed his bicep and Granny dissolved into giggles.
"He is eating," Lan Zhan confirmed, wiping his mouth delicately. "I don't know where it all goes."
"And you've been watching, I suppose," Granny said, raising her eyebrows meaningfully.
Lan Zhan folded his handkerchief slowly and carefully so the blood was on the inside and put it away in his pocket. "Madam Granny Fruit, thank you for your care and advice." He bowed. "We have also come to talk to you about other matters."
"Oh? Well, you'd better come and sit down," Granny said. She ushered them into one of the backrooms where there was a couch and a few stools. One of Granny's daughters brought tea. Through an archway, the room looked out onto the inner courtyard where the Apple Tree Spirit stood.
Two more of Granny's daughters were working together, one of them holding a step ladder and the other up in the branches of the tree.
"What are they doing?" Wei Ying asked.
"Thinning the fruit," Granny said. "Many fruit set this year, more than for a long time. Good omen. But they will crowd each other, so some are cut away. Mostly," Granny added with a sly glance, "the small ones."
"Grannnny," Wei Ying pouted.
"We have a proposal," Lan Zhan broke in. He outlined the bones of their plan. That the Old Community should come together and develop a strategy for their own defence and the defence of the city. "That way we will not be dependent on the Security Bureau and hence powerless if they should one day lump us all in with the threat."
Granny snorted. "They couldn't touch me last time! Even they can't stop the seasons turning. Even they need to eat."
"Maybe not, but it will be better this way. Better for everyone, the Old Community and the people. You care about that, right?" Wei Ying said.
Granny only made a harrumphing noise, but she was listening, her dark robin-eyes intent.
"Wei Ying has a plan to create a network of protections which can stretch across the whole city. This will enable us to keep at bay the malevolent spirits that are being summoned and drawn here," Lan Zhan said.
"Put Dong’er out of business?"
"No, Mr Yang and all the old families will be at the heart of this," Lan Zhan said. "But we'll work on giving them better tools and more protections. With the chaos under control, it should be possible to weed out the sources of the trouble."
"Bad apples," Granny said.
"Exactly," Wei Ying said. "At the moment it's all a mess. We can't tell the bad apples apart from people who have just stumbled upon things that should never have been out in circulation. I think I can find ways to make things manageable. Tip the balance in our favour at least. You don't like necromancers, right? Kids unleashing curses and waking old ghosts?"
"What would you know? You're a kid yourself," Granny said.
"I keep saying," Wei Ying said, with a huff, "I was nearly twenty-four. And now I've lived another, what, four months or so. That makes me at least twenty-four."
Granny rocked back on the sofa laughing at him. Sometimes, Wei Ying thought, he missed the aura of power and menace he'd been able to wield as the Yiling Laozu.
"I think the main point is that Wei Ying can do it, however old he is," Lan Zhan said, interrupting Granny's laughter. "He is young. But he is brilliant. I have seen what he can do. With his new lightning path and with his knowledge from before, he has built new spiritual tools, written new talismans. New and old power together. He played a new song to quiet the 5000 year old spirit and he powered it with his lightning path."
"I heard that song," Granny said, tilting her head to one side. "That was you, boy?"
"That was me."
"Who taught you to sing to the dead like that?"
"I was taught the elements of cultivation by Jiang Fengmian of the Jiang Clan and spiritual combat by Madam Yu of the Meishan Yu. I was taught principles of cultivation by Lan Qiren of the Gusu Lan. I heard the qin and the xiao played in battle by the warriors of the Lan, but really it was the dead who taught me to speak to them. It was only polite to learn their songs when they were holding my bones together. We only had each other for company for a long time."
"Maybe," Granny conceded, "you are not so green as you look. Play me this new song of yours."
"Okay, Granny." Wei Ying drew out Leiluo and put it to his lips. He blew his first note and reached for the power that ran in wire veins through the stones of the city. He couldn't grasp it. Something held it all beyond his reach.
Granny grinned wickedly at him.
He blew another note, feeling out the edges of the barrier and then further, a sideways slip and there was something else. Another source of power, deeper in the earth of this place. He essayed a little trill. It would not be polite to just take.
Granny was watching him sharply now and Wei Ying bobbed his head in a little bow as he kept playing. He reached out again, a few more notes and then a hesitation, waiting to see if the power would withdraw itself, but it did not. It was not like talking to the dead. For one thing, this was not a power you asked questions of.
But it let Wei Ying pass and seemed benign in the face of his playing, so he played some more. It was not a power he could hold in his hands and wield, but he could use its light to cast shadows on the walls, echoes of clouds passing overhead, of flowers dancing in the wind. The power let his song weave back to when there had been nothing, no city here, only grasslands as far as the eye could see.
Wei Ying brought his song to a close and opened his eyes. He was standing in the archway facing the Apple Tree Spirit. Granny's daughters had stopped in their work and were watching him. In archways around the courtyard he saw more gathered. As his song dispersed on the breeze they all turned and disappeared back into the shadows of the house, their skirts fluttering pink and white like blossoms.
Wei Ying put away Leiluo and got down on his knees to bow to the Apple Tree Spirit.
"Hmm," he heard Granny say as he got to his feet. "I wonder who you were before."
"I was Wei Ying," Wei Ying said.
"No, I mean before that," Granny said. "Well, it doesn't matter. You have a rare gift, whoever you got it from. I suggest you try to remember that last time they killed you for it."
"Oh, I'll remember, Granny."
"You keep an eye on him, Ji'er," Granny said, turning away. "Get himself into trouble."
"Yes, Granny," Lan Zhan said.
Wei Ying risked a look at Lan Zhan then. He didn't know why it felt risky. But he had yet again strayed from the true path of cultivation. He had been different again and the Lan had never liked that. But Lan Zhan was just looking at him and Wei Ying couldn't make out the meaning of the intense stare.
"Even with his gifts it will not be easy to do what you propose," Granny said.
"We know that," Lan Zhan said, turning away from Wei Ying.
Wei Ying found he missed that gaze, whatever it was.
"We need your help," Lan Zhan was saying. "The Yu family and the Yang family do not know everyone in the city, like you do. I had thought to talk to the Book Men also."
Granny's nose wrinkled in distaste, so Wei Ying hastily added, "Who do you think we should talk to, Granny, if we want to gather all the powers of the Old Community together?"
Granny Fruit sat back in her couch, brow still furrowed. "You will need their help, I suspect. The Book Men. They'll make you pay for it though. Everyone will make you pay."
"How do you mean?" Wei Ying asked.
"The old spirits," Granny said. "You won't get something for nothing. Not from the Book Men. Nor from the Masons neither."
"Who are the masons?"
"The stone men," Granny said. "I liked the Wrights better, but all the trees were cut down and people need somewhere to live, like they always need to eat. Don't need to read, though," she added, which had the flavour of an old argument. "Stone Master Jian is fat and wealthy now. Always hungry for new land. Where do they think the food for all these people is going to come from?"
"I see, Granny," Wei Ying said.
"If you go to Master Mo before the Stone Master, the Stone Master won't talk to you."
"Okay."
"But if you go to the Masons first, good luck getting your toe in the door of the House of Records."
"Ah."
"It's a good thing you came to me first," Granny said, satisfied. "I always came first."
"Of course, Granny," Wei Ying and Lan Zhan said together.
"Best thing would be to call a gathering. Invite everybody at the same time. Then people will come because they are afraid of being left out. Some people will stay away. They'll want to see which way the wind blows. Dancers might come."
"Who are the dancers?" Wei Ying asked.
"Calls herself Lady Silk now," Granny snorted. "All about buying and selling. But I remember when it was mainly about taking it off, not putting it on. Still, I wouldn't mention that. Diplomacy and all."
"Yes, Granny."
"She's alright really. Just a few too many airs and graces. She can find you somewhere to hold the gathering. She loves hosting parties. Probably throw a tantrum if you don't let her, in fact."
"And everyone else will be okay with that?" Lan Zhan asked.
"Everyone likes a party," Granny said with a shrug. "Even the Book Men. If they never see anybody, they run out of people to bitch about. Yes, I'll speak to Si-mei, Lady Silk, for you. Write an invitation and leave it here. Everyone will see it."
"Thank you, Madam Granny Fruit," Lan Zhan bowed and Wei Ying quickly followed suit.
"Humph," Granny said, but she sounded satisfied. "Haven't been to a party in ages."
"Surely you aren't running out of people to bitch about, Granny?" Wei Ying said as they made their way back into the shop.
"Cheek!" Granny said. "Give him more lemons," she instructed one of her granddaughters in the shop.
Wei Ying groaned. "Mercy, Granny. No more lemons."
"And these are for you." Granny handed Lan Zhan a punnet of ripe peaches. "Something to get your teeth into while you're waiting for him." She indicated Wei Ying with a nod and a twinkle.
"Waiting for what?" Wei Ying asked.
"Granny," the granddaughter said warningly, handing Wei Ying a paper bag of lemons.
"Thank you for your generosity and support, Madam Granny Fruit," Lan Zhan said, bowing again and sounding very formal.
Granny took the opportunity, while his head was lowered, to pinch Lan Zhan's cheek fondly. Lan Zhan looked so resigned, getting his cheek pinched, Wei Ying almost burst out laughing. Poor Hanguang-Jun and his dignity.
"Thank you for your advice, Granny," Wei Ying said, stifling his laughter and also bowing. "I will heed it."
"Doubtful," Granny said. "But you've got your wits and this big, strong boy to look out for you. With his righteous heart and his bright sword and his big…"
"Granny!" the granddaughter snapped and Granny cackled.
*
Because of Lan Zhan's qi depletion, his arm was still in the sling for over a week. Of course, Wei Ying had to stay with him, because he couldn't be expected to just manage on his own with one hand. Wei Ying was there most of the time anyway, working in the workshop on compasses and new array designs, so it made sense.
Mr Lu came every day now. He wasn't allowed to smoke in the house or in the courtyard, only out on the street, so he didn't smoke nearly as much anymore, though he did have an unlit cigarette clamped in his mouth most of the time. He said they had to play the radio in the workshop or he couldn't concentrate. He also made what he called 'proper tea' which was strong and black and which Wei Ying really liked. If Lan Zhan had more than one cup his hand started shaking. So now they also kept 'boss tea' alongside 'proper tea'.
Mr Lu called Lan Zhan 'boss' because he said he wasn't about to start calling anyone Hanguang-Jun.
"But I am not the boss," Lan Zhan had said.
"It's your place, isn't it?" Mr Lu had said with a shrug and kept on calling him 'boss'.
Because it would be far too complicated to try and keep the cultivation side of the workshop a secret, Wei Ying explained to Mr Lu that they were making cultivation tools. The compasses, which Mr Lu assembled, and the talismans that Wei Ying worked on were for distribution to cultivators across the city.
Mr Lu had just nodded. Wei Ying wasn't sure he really believed him or if he thought he and Lan Zhan were fantasists, running a cult or some kind of long con. He didn't seem worried by any of it though. Yu Xiaohong also came round often to collect compasses and talismans and Wei Ying was starting to teach her the principles of talisman design, so she could make adaptations on the ones her family used.
Wei Ying had tried to explain to Lan Zhan how mad he was that Lan Zhan had not thought to call him and Wen Ning to help, had only sent that nearly-farewell-message.
“I did not think,” Lan Zhan began.
“What? You didn’t think I was up to it? I showed you. I thought I showed you what I can do,” Wei Ying said, trying to keep his temper as the remembered fear bubbled up.
“But…”
“I know my control of the lightning path isn’t always that great yet. But my shields are fucking strong. I know you know that. And Wen Ning. He’s a fierce corpse. How could you not think to call on us?”
“I did not…” Lan Zhan paused.
“What?” Wei Ying demanded. “You think Yu-jie is stronger than I am? That policeman?”
“No,” Lan Zhan said, visibly struggling to find words. “But it is their city.”
“You don’t think it’s my fight?” Wei Ying was seriously annoyed now. “You don’t think I’m invested? What makes it your fight and not mine, Lan Zhan? And Wen Ning has lived here longer than all of us.”
“Dangerous,” Lan Zhan said.
“You think I’m a coward?”
“No, no.” Lan Zhan looked pained.
“I’m not.”
“I know that. Please.” Lan Zhan had his hands held up, placating, while he searched for words.
Wei Ying swallowed and tamped down on his frustration with a sigh.
“Yu Xiaohong and Ma Guoqing were already part of the fight when I arrived in the city. Mr Yang also. I have never… I have never asked if they would fight alongside me. I did not… it did not occur to me that I could. Or that I should. I am sorry.”
“Well, now you know,” Wei Ying said, still hurt.
“It happened very quickly. We had not talked about such things.”
“We sparred. We worked together.”
“I did not know you could command spirits like that. With Leiluo,” Lan Zhan said.
“Well, I didn’t exactly know myself until I gave it a shot,” Wei Ying said.
Lan Zhan looked faintly aghast.
“Yiling Laozu,” Wei Ying gestures at himself. “I was reasonably confident.”
“But if you were hurt. It would have been my fault,” Lan Zhan said quietly.
“And if you had been hurt, or killed? When I got your message and I couldn’t get through to you, I thought… I was so afraid. If we hadn’t got there in time? That spirit on the loose, the city without its strongest cultivator. That would have been worse, right?”
Lan Zhan’s brow was puckered in consternation, but there was a jut to his bottom lip.
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said more gently. “I know you don’t want me to get hurt. You don’t want anyone to get hurt. But I don’t want you to get hurt either and you can’t do this all on your own. Not when things are escalating like this. Remember, our plan is to all work together. That doesn’t just mean pooling resources. It means pooling risk.”
Lan Zhan looked down and Wei Ying grabbed his good wrist, tugging on it gently to get him to look up again. “We’re working together. That’s the point. It’s my fight now too. My city. And you,” he punctuated his words with further tugs, “Are. Not. Alone. Any. More.”
Lan Zhan stared at him, lips parted. What he might have said Wei Ying never knew because Wen Ning called that dinner was ready and Mr Lu came out of the workshop, wiping oily hands on his apron. So all Lan Zhan did was nod and they all headed into the kitchen to eat.
Wen Ning came and cooked them a meal most days, before he went to work, because it was difficult for Lan Zhan to manage one-handed and he was supposed to keep wearing the sling most of the time. Also Wen Ning remained very committed to making sure Wei Ying ate. He liked working in Lan Zhan's kitchen, which was bigger than Mrs Yue's and had counters that were a comfortable height for a very tall man, not a very tiny old lady.
Mrs Yue also came for supper most days because it felt unfair to leave her to eat alone, when they had used to eat all together. Wei Ying would go to fetch her and Mr Lu would walk her back when he left for the evening. So everyone got to stretch their legs.
Wei Ying did not have so many clothes. Most of them had migrated over to Lan Zhan’s over the course of that first week. There was a utility room off Lan Zhan’s kitchen with a washing machine and a drying machine. You didn’t even have to hang the wet clothes up! Wei Ying did something wrong though, so all his clothes got small. Lan Zhan immediately took him shopping, but Wei Ying thought it was a waste to throw things out when some of the t-shirts still more-or-less fit. They were a bit tight. And a bit short. Now, when Lan Zhan leaned to look at his designs, and his hand rested on the small of Wei Ying’s back, Wei Ying could feel the palm warm against his skin. Wei Ying sort of liked the way Lan Zhan’s eyes would sometimes drift to his midriff when they were talking.
Of course, there was no bed in the workshop. There was a long bench and Wei Ying had planned to sleep there. But inevitably, at the end of each day, the bench was covered in stuff Wei Ying was working on. Everything was covered in stuff Wei Ying was working on. The workshop wasn't really a good place to sleep.
There was also the mini-freezer of evil which had been delivered by the police. Wei Ying had thought he could deal with it, but Lan Zhan had wanted to be up to strength in order to assist before he tried. It was plugged in and covered in suppression talismans, so it was probably okay, but you didn't really want to sleep next to it. Wei Ying definitely could have. He'd slept in the Demon Subduing Cave next to a blood pool of corpses, but…
So, Wei Ying was sharing with Lan Zhan. And Lan Zhan’s amazing shower. When he had remembered what Wen Ning had said about hot water costing money and apologised for taking too long, Lan Zhan had said he could shower as long as he liked. Wei Ying had still tried to be careful, but he still tended to lose track of time. It was just as amazing as he had imagined, showering in Lan Zhan’s shower.
His voice sounded good in there, so tonight he'd sung through as many old Yunmeng tunes as he could remember. Hopefully the dialect was thick enough that Lan Zhan wouldn't be embarrassed by the bawdy songs. Wei Ying mostly could only remember the dirty alternative lyrics that the disciples had liked to sing, even to the classical songs.
The patter on his skin and the noise of the water, the nice smells of Lan Zhan's many bottles. The shower really was a great place to be. When Wei Ying came out finally he felt sort of soupy. Maybe he had diluted himself with too much water?
Lan Zhan thought the opposite, that he was perhaps dehydrated. His fingers and toes were certainly very pruney. Lan Zhan made him drink a glass of water and then said he should come to bed. Lan Zhan was already ready for bed. Usually Wei Ying came to bed much later, staying up tinkering with something or reading, but tonight he felt so insanely relaxed from the shower that he agreed.
Lan Zhan slept on his back, still and reposed like a revered corpse. One of the reasons Wei Ying came to bed so late was because of wanting to wait until he was tired enough to just drop straight off without fidgeting around too much in case it was annoying. It was good he was there during the nights, though. Lan Zhan must have been more afraid during his battle with the jade spirit than he had looked because he kept having nightmares about it. Some men were like that. Held it together in battle and then paid for it in their sleep.
Not that Lan Zhan was very loud about it. Quite a few times now, though, Wei Ying had been woken in the pre-dawn by Lan Zhan twitching beside him, his body tensed and making small sounds of distress. Wei Ying would murmur some sleepy reassurances and pat Lan Zhan's chest and he would settle and fall back into deep sleep.
They never talked about the nightmares. Everyone had them. Wei Ying was grateful that his usual screaming nightmares seemed to be in abeyance just now. Maybe Lan Zhan's bed was just that comfortable? And maybe it didn't matter that he tended to drift from his designated edge of the bed to somewhere a lot closer to Lan Zhan. It meant he didn't sleep through Lan Zhan's nightmares and could help, so that was good.
That night, though, Lan Zhan wasn't so easy to soothe. His body remained tense, shaking even, and when Wei Ying raised himself on his elbow he saw tear tracks on Lan Zhan's sleeping face illuminated by the lightening sky outside.
Wei Ying felt a pang that his… his friend, should be suffering so. "Hey, Lan Zhan, it's okay," he said a little louder than before, raising himself up on one elbow. "It's just a dream."
Lan Zhan took in a shuddering breath, almost a sob. His brow was pinched, lips moving as if in silent speech, and tears were leaking down the sides of his face. Wei Ying shuffled closer, pressing up against Lan Zhan’s side, in the hopes that he might sense that Wei Ying was there and feel comforted by it, but he didn’t wake or cease crying.
"Lan Zhan, wake up." Wei Ying used his hand on Lan Zhan's chest to shake him gently, not wanting to jar his shoulder.
Lan Zhan's hand shot up, grasping Wei Ying's wrist and pressing Wei Ying's hand to his chest. At the same time, his eyes flew open.
"Wei Ying!" Lan Zhan said, his voice breaking, sounding distraught. His eyes staring, unseeing.
"I'm here, I'm here," Wei Ying said quickly. "It's okay. You're okay. You're safe."
"Wei Ying?" Lan Zhan blinked, his eyes coming into focus. "Wei Ying." And, unexpectedly, Lan Zhan reached up and crushed Wei Ying down against his chest, wrapping his arms around him. Wei Ying could feel Lan Zhan trembling underneath him.
"It's okay, Lan Zhan," Wei Ying said into Lan Zhan's neck, tasting salt on his lips. "It's all okay." He could feel Lan Zhan's heart hammering in his own chest.
"You were dead," Lan Zhan finally whispered.
"I'm here, I'm fine," Wei Ying said. Poor Lan Zhan, thinking he had died in the battle with the jade spirit. "You're awake now. I’m right here." He tried to shift out of Lan Zhan's grip, give him some space. Lan Zhan wouldn't let him go, even when his heart rate began to slow. In the end they both fell back asleep, Lan Zhan holding him fast.
*
"How's the head?" Wei Ying asked. He was trying to be on his best behaviour with Lan Zhan’s police friend.
"Could be worse," Ma Guoqing shrugged. "The helmet took the brunt of it."
"Guess that's their job," Wei Ying laughed and then decided it was probably weird to laugh and stopped.
They were seated around a table in the courtyard. The summer had turned warm early, but the courtyard was pleasantly shaded by the old scholar tree that had survived the renovation.
“I understand,” Ma Guoqing drummed his fingers on the table and then seemed to notice what he was doing and stopped. “That we are all very lucky that you showed up when you did. Xiaohong explained. About banishing the spirit. I’m sorry I missed it.”
“Hah, well.” Wei Ying said. How long was it going to take Lan Zhan to make tea?
“You have the gratitude of the Security Bureau,” Ma Guoqing said, quite formally.
“Not at all,” Wei Ying said meaninglessly.
“Unofficially,” Ma Guoqing clarified. “Because of the whole resurrected demonic cultivator thing.”
“You remember that bit?” Wei Ying asked ruefully. “Not the swamp bit?”
“Unfortunately, I do. Fortunately, not well enough to be included in the official report. Hence, unofficially thanking you. So, thanks,” Ma Guoqing finished up. He looked battle-worn, with the sort of deeply etched bags under his eyes that suggested they were a permanent feature.
“Well,” Wei Ying said. “Really powerful ancient spirits like that. Probably best for everyone to send them on their way. Possession and stuff. How’s the old guy? I don’t remember his name.”
“Mr Xia,” Ma Guoqing heaved a disgruntled sigh. “He’s pulled through. But his kids have whisked him away, put him in a psychiatric unit. Could be that he is off his head now, with what he went through. But that means we can’t even interview him. Can’t progress the case at all for now.”
“That sucks.”
“And I’m on mandatory sick leave,” Ma Guoqing said morosely.
“Lan Zhan is really pissy about his shoulder too,” Wei Ying said. “But maybe, some time off is good? I don’t know about you, but Lan Zhan was fucking exhausted.”
Ma Guoqing nodded to himself a bit, but then shot Wei Ying a sideways look. “You and Hanguang-Jun, you’re old friends?”
“Oh yeah, we studied… Well, it’s kind of complicated. Old friends, yeah.”
“You been out of town? Only I haven’t seen you around.”
“Well, sort of,” Wei Ying agreed. “Really, really out of town. But I’m back now.”
Ma Guoqing squinted at him. “The swamp?”
“That was more of a metaphor.”
“You were in some kind of trouble?”
Wei Ying opened his mouth and then paused.
“My sort of trouble? Police,” Ma Guoqing clarified. “Or your sort. Cultivation.”
“Oh, just cultivation stuff. Some people,” Wei Ying shrugged. “A lot of people. But that was all a loooong time ago. Now I’m squeaky clean. Not even overdue library books.”
Ma Guoqing looked at him. “The long time ago,” he said slowly, “How long are we talking about? Because I have to say, I kind of struggle to get my head around the, um, resurrection side of things.”
"Well,” Wei Ying said. “I was alive about 1500 years ago and then I died. Around the end of January this year I was resurrected here. Which was a surprise. By some guy I didn't know. And here I am."
"Since the end of January? And you and Hanguang-Jun?"
“Me and Lan Zhan what?”
"How long have you two been, what, lovers?" Ma Guoqing asked neutrally.
"What? No!" Wei Ying could feel his cheeks immediately heating up. He looked around to see if Lan Zhan was there. If he heard. "We're… we're friends." Telling this man, with his shrewd, tired eyes, about his zhiji was too much, even if he was Lan Zhan’s friend. Could he see that Wei Ying… that Wei Ying might… "We work together," he said firmly.
"Okay,” Ma Guoqing said easily. “Sorry for poking my nose in. It comes with being police. But I've worked with Hanguang-Jun for five years and he still uses the formal term of address with me. And everyone else he works with."
Wei Ying laughed, a little too loudly. "He's such a fuddy duddy."
"And you're living with him and he sure isn't formal around you. So I wondered."
He was sort of living with Lan Zhan. But sort of not officially and they hadn't really talked about it. Wei Ying skirted the question. "No one uses the formal address with me," he said with an exaggerated pout. "Even little kids."
"Well, you kinda look like you're fifteen," Ma Guoqing said. "Wait," he said, sitting suddenly upright, "you aren't fifteen?"
Wei Ying gave a long-suffering sigh. "I have been alive for twenty-four years, only not all consecutively."
Ma Guoqing was still frowning at him.
"This body was eighteen last week."
Ma Guoqing relaxed back into his chair. "Okay. Because Hanguang-Jun or not, I can't just hand-wave him shacking up with minors. Wait," Ma Guoqing sat up again. "What do you mean 'this body'."
"The guy who resurrected me gave me this body."
"Where did he get it from?" Ma Guoqing sounded alarmed.
"Oh, it was his."
"Where's he then?"
"Dead. More than dead really. Kind of obliterated. Wiped out of the cycle of reincarnation. The whole thing."
"What? Why?"
"That's kind of, like, the deal," Wei Ying explained. "With a sacrificial summoning array like the one he used. You offer up your body and immortal soul and the subject you summon is bound to fulfil your last wishes. Which in his case was the death of the man and woman in the flat with him. His family maybe? At least, I guess that was it, because by the next day the curse marks dissolved. Anyway, it definitely kind of sucks."
"The ghost path," Lan Zhan said, returning with a tray with the tea carried carefully in one hand. He set it down on the table. "There is always a price. And it is always too high."
"Hey, not always," Wei Ying argued.
"You think it was fair, the price he paid?" Lan Zhan frowned.
"Fuck no," Wei Ying said. "He definitely had some bad advice there."
"Okay, but I think we need to get back to the double, possibly triple homicide?" Ma Guoqing said.
"What homicide?" Wei Ying asked, turning back to Ma Guoqing, confused.
"The man you say died to resurrect you," he gestured at Wei Ying, "and the two other people you just told me you were contracted to kill?"
"I didn't kill anyone," Wei Ying squeaked. How had they got here? He had just been wrong-footed by the suggestion that he and Lan Zhan were cut-sleeves and he’d blurted out a few things, and now this?
"Wei Ying didn't kill anyone," Lan Zhan said at the same time.
"Junyue killed himself by drawing that array," Wei Ying said quickly. "And the other two were killed by the guai. The terms of the curse didn’t care who killed them. Junyue wanted them dead and then they were dead. But it wasn’t me."
"What guai?" Ma Guoqing’s brows were pinched, like his head was starting to ache.
"There was a guai. In the apartment. It appeared about thirty minutes after I woke up."
"And it was the guai that killed those two people you were bound by the curse thing to kill?” Ma Guoqing asked.
"Well, yeah."
"That’s… quite a coincidence," Ma Guoqing said slowly, like he was sort of hoping someone might hit him on the head again so that he didn’t have to deal with it.
"How many array scenes have we seen cleared by a guai attack?" Lan Zhan interjected. "Junyue did not invent that array. He found it or bought it or was given it. I think it likely that there was also a hidden spirit lure involved."
"It nearly got me too," Wei Ying said. "The guai."
"Then it would have been like so many of the scenes we have visited," Lan Zhan went on. "Fragments of evidence. Everyone dead. All data wiped. Someone tidying up after themselves. Not Wei Ying," he said firmly.
"How come the guai didn't get you too?"
"My friend came."
"Your friend? I thought you said you'd been dead for 1500 years. How'd you have a friend already?"
"He's… he's a ghost."
Ma Guoqing closed his eyes. "From 1500 years ago?"
"Yes."
"Who just happened to be hanging around?"
"Well, yes. He… he was at work, actually. He works as a security guard."
Ma Guoqing opened his eyes again. "That goth guy? That guy is a 1500 year old ghost."
"Yes." Wei Ying clenched his teeth. So much for playing nicely with Lan Zhan’s police friends. He hoped this wasn’t all going to blow up in his face.
Ma Guoqing stared at Wei Ying and then at Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan nodded at him.
Ma Guoqing thunked his head back against the backrest of the chair and then winced like he wished he hadn't done it. It was a little while before he spoke again. “The last thing I want is to stir up unnecessary shit. We’ve got enough on our plate. You did us a solid, getting rid of that thing at Mr Xia’s mansion.
"But see, anyone who wants to join the SPU, even those with long service, are specially vetted. We go through everything. Their school records, social media, multiple interviews, family and friends. The works. But what you’ve just told me, ah, I mean…”
Wei Ying was frozen in his seat. What if Lan Zhan agreed. Lan Zhan had taken his word on what happened because Mr Yang had. But what if he’d never really thought about it? What if he agreed with this policeman that it was suspicious…
"We are not police," Lan Zhan said, steadily, before Wei Ying’s thoughts could spiral further. "Who I work with is not the concern of the SPU. I have always worked independently. You know that. It has never been suggested that you needed to vet my… associates."
"Yeah, but he's in your house. He's obviously," Ma Guoqing waved a hand around. "You’re obviously… I’m not interested in your domestic arrangements. But, I have to think about operational security. Everyone’s safety. Including yours."
Please, thought Wei Ying. Please don’t say that thing about us being lovers. Because they weren’t, of course. And he didn’t want to see what might happen to Lan Zhan’s face if someone suggested it. Didn’t think he could bear it.
"I understand your concern," Lan Zhan said, his face carefully blank and Wei Ying was suddenly and forcefully reminded of Zewu-Jun. "But, if you met a man and he claimed to have trained with the Beijing police," Lan Zhan continued, "and you spent a few months working alongside him, do you think you would know if he was lying to you?"
Ma Guoqing opened his mouth reflexively, then shut it. "Okay, yeah. I reckon I would know," he said eventually.
"This is a cultivation matter," Lan Zhan said, firmly. "I know Wei Ying is who he says he is. Because, from working with him, based on my extensive understanding of cultivation practice and cultivation history, it is not credible that he is assuming a pose. That is my professional opinion.”
Ma Guoqing took a deep breath and nodded to himself.
"Additionally,” Lan Zhan continued. “If his intention was to ingratiate himself with me through some ruse, it would have been a ludicrous plan to assume the identity of a historical figure with a legendary antagonism to my sect. Still less to show up with a fierce corpse."
"Ghost," Ma Guoqing said to Wei Ying. "You definitely said ghost."
"Ghost General?" Wei Ying shrugged.
"As a deception it makes no sense at all," Lan Zhan continued. "Further more, his actions speak for themselves, as do Wen Qionglin's. They have caused no harm in this city and have, rather, provided valuable assistance at a time when the forces of order and chaos hang in the balance. I hope this is enough to allay your concerns and I am happy to answer any further questions you might have. But, if it is not, then I am afraid you have no choice but to review my security clearance and the information you chose to share with me accordingly."
Wei Ying felt his breath catch and trap in the top of his chest. Ma Guoqing's lips were set in a thin line as he nodded again in confirmation that he understood.
Wei Ying was still. He thought he should maybe be feeling bad that he was the source of this tension between Lan Zhan and this man who had been his friend and comrade in Beijing these last five years. But mainly he was just overwhelmed at how Lan Zhan had taken his part so unflinchingly. Lan Zhan had not hesitated to place himself at Wei Ying’s side, to trust him and take him at his word. For Wei Ying, that was a lot.
He was suddenly certain that didn’t want this trust to cost Lan Zhan. Anything. He didn’t want it to damage Lan Zhan’s relationship with one of his few friends. He could even see where Ma Guoqing was coming from. It was a strange story. Too many coincidences. And that was even without the additional knowledge that he had known Lan Zhan, his namesake and soul 1500 years before.
"Look, I know it sounds weird. Coming back from the dead and stuff. But, I promise you I only want to help," Wei Ying said, putting as much sincerity into his words as he could. "I fucked up pretty badly the last time I was alive, even though I didn't mean to. And I want to do better. I want to help people, the regular people, who shouldn't have things like guai busting into their apartments. Fuck, people like Junyue shouldn't know how to barter away their whole souls! I promise I’m legit. I only want to make things better. I promise I won't fuck things up for you or Lan Zhan."
Ma Guoqing tipped his head back, looking at the clouds scudding overhead in the square of sky above the courtyard. He looked kind of pasty and Wei Ying noticed sweat standing out on his temples, even though it was not such a warm day as that. Eventually he spoke again.
"Doctor said if I get a third concussion I'll be looking at permanent brain damage." Another pause. "The work is piling up but every case just generates more enquiries and no answers.” Ma Guoqing cut himself off in a long sigh, lips pursed.
"I don't know. I used to think it was important that we were there, even with all this weird shit we couldn't do much about. That it was important to log it, create a record, so that we could eventually piece through to make sense of things. Like we do with every other crime. But I've been doing it for seven years now and it still makes no fucking sense. It makes less sense than it did at the beginning.”
“It is important work,” Lan Zhan said. “It is only by continuing to collect all the pieces that we can make sense of the pattern.”
“What if there isn’t a pattern? That piece of shit, Guo, the leads have all gone cold. He bought that spooky shit off a random guy, a known fence, who got it from a contact in Tianjin. Police there are following up, but it’s water running into the sand. Best case is we get a handful of wankers for dealing in stolen goods. There is no pattern."
Wei Ying and Lan Zhan sat silently as Ma Guoqing continued to address the sparrows hopping between the roof line of the courtyard and the branches of the old tree.
"They say 'follow the money', that's what's always at the bottom of things, but that… that thing, the jade spirit, was just… It was just a freak, fucking accident, wasn't it? That Mr Xia had one of these relics for twenty years and then he came across another one, enough for the thing to start manifesting and gather itself together. And then there was sweet fuck all I could do about it. If you hadn't been there. Both of you." His lips twitched in a bitter smile. “I guess I’m really not in any position to make demands.”
"I do not want you to get another concussion," Lan Zhan said.
"Fuck," Ma Guoqing said, under his breath.
"It is not pointless what you do. What the SPU has been doing," Lan Zhan said, placing one of the cups of tea he had made in front of Ma Guoqing. "It is not pointless to prevent Mr Guo and his ilk from adding to the spiritual pollution of the city. Your dictum 'to follow the money' is not wrong. Mr Guo was motivated solely by money, it seems. Dangerous relics entered the collections of Mr Xia and Mr Gong as part of the illegal dealing in artefacts, quite possibly stolen from museums. That is all police business."
Ma Guoqing nodded sharply then winced. “Yeah. I’m going to extend the unit’s cooperation with Art Theft. Their methods for tracking artefacts and their industry contacts could be useful. All this stuff, manuscripts and amulets and whatnot, has to be coming from somewhere. Probably a bunch of somewheres.”
“You are still on sick leave, Guoqing,” Lan Zhan said.
“Guoqing? Fuck, I must really look like shit,” Ma Guoqing grimaced.
“I am on sick leave too,” Lan Zhan offered, indicating his sling.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, sipping their tea.
“It’s a nice place you’ve got here,” Ma Guoqing said eventually, looking around the courtyard. “Suits you.” There was something in the way Ma Guoqing glanced over at Wei Ying that made him feel he was included in that statement.
Ma Guoqing had taken up one of the small lotus-seed cakes that Lan Zhan had brought out with the tea. Wen Ning had made them a few days ago. Ma Guoqing began slowly crumbling the cake onto his plate, seemingly without noticing what he was doing. A few crumbs bounced from the plate to land on the table.
A bold sparrow darted down from the tree and landed on the other side of the table. It hopped tentatively towards the crumb. Ma Guoqing threw a crumb towards it, but the movement of his hand startled it and it fluttered away and up to its companions overhead.
Wei Ying whistled, putting just the smallest amount of power into it. Two birds flew down from the roof, heads cocked, looking at him. One of them decided he might as well scoff a crumb while he was there. Wei Ying kept whistling and soon there were five or six sparrows hopping around on the table.
Ma Guoqing scattered a few more crumbs across the table top and though a few of the birds startled and flapped a little, soon they were all settled again. Wei Ying stopped whistling and the birds stayed to peck up the crumbs and then flew off.
"Huh," Ma Guoqing said.
"We used to use that to lure ducks when I was a junior disciple in Yunmeng," Wei Ying said. "Guess it works on hungry sparrows too."
*
In this frontier city there are many sudden alarms
Urgent military messages come from the North,
While tribesmen attack from all directions.
He races up a steep hill
One long ride and he dominates the Xiongnu
Then he looks to his left and vanquishes the Xianbei
He lives on the knife-edge of danger
How can he think of his own well being?
He cares little for his mother and father,
Even less for his wife and child.
With his name on the roll of great men
He has no time for private matters
He sacrifices his body to save the nation
And sees his own death as a sweet homecoming.
From “On the White Horse,” by Cao Zhi
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Jomo_Life on Chapter 1 Mon 24 Feb 2025 03:18PM UTC
Last Edited Mon 24 Feb 2025 03:19PM UTC
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