Chapter Text
Every night, he played Inquiry.
It was almost a ritual at this point. Not a single night went by without Lan Wangji carefully tuning his guqin, and playing the melancholy melody that would draw forth spirits of the dead. Draw them forth, and entice them to answer his question. Only one question, with only two answers. Ever since Wei Ying’s death, he had heard only one of those answers from every spirit he summoned — and yet he kept asking them.
The moonlight filling his rooms was as cold as the air that flooded in through the open door. It rippled through Lan Wangji’s unbound hair, blowing it back gently from his fair face. He raised his eyes towards the stars shining icily above him, his fingers moving over the strings without conscious thought. He had played it so many times — so many, many times — that he could have played it backwards without missing a note.
He would never stop. He would play Inquiry every night until he died, searching for some shred of Wei Ying that still existed. And… he didn’t want to think about the possibility that he would never be answered.
Yet those ghostly hopes never dulled the pain that struck his heart every night. It was as raw and painful as it had been the day when he had heard that Wei Ying was dead — that the man he had loved more than life itself was gone. Many had tried to summon him, to make sure he wouldn’t take terrible revenge against those who had wronged him in life. But none of them felt a searing pain in their soul whenever they failed.
The strings fell silent under his slender fingers. Lan Wangji’s lips parted, and his breath quickened.
Then he felt the spirit near him — and a feeling of unease crept through him. This spirit was far more powerful than the ones that usually drifted through the mountains around Gusu, the lingering souls of farmers and wanderers who might still have some attachments that kept them from moving onward to reincarnate. Perhaps this spirit was that of a cultivator — and if his strength was any indication, he had been very powerful.
Do you know where Wei Wuxian has gone?
He waited. A part of him expected the answer to be the same as always — a resolute “no.” And yet… he still asked it, hoping against hope to be given the answer he craved. Some hint that the man he loved still existed, somewhere.
The spirit took a long time to answer — so long that Lan Wangji began to wonder if his command over it was incomplete. Then the strings of his guqin began to play of their own accord.
Why do you want to know?
Lan Wangji’s eyes widened. Most spirits immediately answered more concrete questions — what their names were, the cause of their deaths, the location of their corpses, and other such inquiries. Answering a question with a question… that was… uncommon.
But he couldn’t bring himself to admit the truth to a strange presence who didn’t even know him. That he wanted to know because he loved Wei Ying even now, as fiercely as he had every day since he had been fifteen years old. That though Wei Ying had rejected him, that even though he had died… Lan Wangji still wanted to know that something of the man he loved was still there.
I want to know if he still exists, he played in the guqin language.
He could feel the ghost flickering on the edges of his own mind, darting to and fro like a foxfire in the night air. Elusive, unsnareable, unbound by Lan Wangji’s own power. It was unlike any ghost he had called upon with Inquiry over the past ten years — and though he knew he should be alarmed that a ghost had eluded his control, he couldn’t resist waiting for the ghost’s reply.
Why does it matter? the spirit said finally. He’s dead, after all. That’s what everyone wanted.
Not everyone. Not him, Lan Wangji thought silently. Even if he was the only one.
Oh? The spirit’s tone was faintly mocking. Who is there who mourns Wei Wuxian, the terrible Yiling Patriarch?
There is always someone who mourns, Lan Wangji responded, his fingers trembling as he played.
That’s not true. No one mourns me. Countless people in this world are unmourned when they die. Does anyone living still mourn the Wen Clan?
Lan Wangji’s hands shook on his guqin, almost making him play a discordant note as he responded. There is one person who mourns Wei Wuxian, he said quietly.
Who are they?
Lan Wangji’s hands hesitated over the strings. His chest felt as though those same strings were cutting into his heart — and yet, he couldn’t say the words. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes, but he forced himself to blink them away. Do you know where he is? Do you know if he — his fingers faltered — still exists?
No one knows where he is, the spirit said. Plenty of people have tried to summon him, but none of them have succeeded. Doesn’t that mean his very spirit was probably torn apart?
The words jabbed into Lan Wangji like shards of broken ice. He swallowed convulsively, and for a moment he thought about terminating this Inquiry. It hurt. It hurt just to hear those answers, which seemed to rip open his wounds and let them bleed all over again. The spirit had so casually whispered the words that had haunted him for ten years — the terrible, unspoken fear that Wei Ying’s soul had been destroyed, that the man he loved would never be reborn or move on. That when Lan Wangji one day died himself, he would never be able to find Wei Ying beyond…
I need to know, he replied.
What would you do if you did know?
Lan Wangji couldn’t truly answer that, because he had never thought that far. What could he do, really, if he found evidence of Wei Ying lingering in the world as a ghost?
I do not know, he replied somberly.
Didn’t you dislike him when he was alive? the spirit asked, seeming to come closer. You always opposed him… you avoided him… you hated his heretical path. You hated him. Everyone knew.
Lan Wangji’s fingers curled into fists. All that was true. He had feared that Wei Ying was slipping into corruption and darkness… and had wanted to bring him to Gusu to protect him from those who would inevitably turn on him for his power. And in his youth, he had often avoided the other boy, fearful of his feelings and his uncle’s warnings… even though his heart had yearned to see that bright smile and those dancing eyes, hear that unbridled laughter ringing out through the air.
But he had never once disliked Wei Ying. He had craved the other man’s presence, and every moment they had spent together had been like a warm fire for someone lost in a blizzard. Even when Wei Ying had dismissed him, or flirted with girls in front of him. Even when he had told Lan Wangji to “get lost,” slicing his heart to ribbons with those words. Even then.
The silence stretched on, his limited words not able to coalesce on his tongue. He couldn’t explain it — couldn’t find a way to say that Wei Ying had been the moon and sun that lit his entire life, and without him, the world was dark and cold. That knowing that Wei Ying still existed would be some small comfort to him, even if he never saw him again… even if Lan Wangji spent the rest of his existence alone…
The spirit was quiet as well, drifting around him but not speaking on its own again — even though he suspected that it could. At last, it said, I haven’t seen Wei Wuxian. Forget him.
And it was gone, swept away into the night like a wisp of cloud in the wind. Lan Wangji’s fingers touched the strings, ready to ask more questions — but he knew that the spirit had gone without needing his dismissal. Just as it had come of its own free will.
“I cannot,” he said quietly.
Another night. Another Inquiry. He would keep trying, until the day came — if it ever came — when someone brought him word of Wei Ying.