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[ interlude: to ask a spirit ]
Jun. 3rd, 2024 12:15 pmCW for unreality/some mild psychological horror of the "there is someone at this mansion who can erase memories and knows when her name is spoken" variety.
Lan Wangji should begin investigating immediately. He is a cultivator. This death is far, very far, from the first that has struck him with its violence and senselessness. He has work to do. He should not become distracted. And yet he is reluctant to leave Wei Ying, to peel himself away from the warmth of Wei Ying's body and the comfort of his idle, persistent conversation. When Lan Wangji delivered him the news, his face turned steely, a palimpsest impression of the Yiling Patriarch behind his eyes. He knew without asking what Lan Wangji wanted from him. He has tolerated Lan Wangji kneeling behind him at his workstation, face to the back of his neck, winding his hair ribbon around his fingers and fitting his hands to the shape of his waist. Their time here has been the longest either of them has gone without brushing against death in some form. It might have been inevitable. Lan Wangji can no longer go where the chaos is. The chaos comes to them. Wei Ying talks, speculation about how commerce between Qinghe and Yunmeng might have changed in their absence, meandering nonsense about whether A-Yuan and A-Ling are getting along on their night-hunts, and Lan Wangji leans on him and loves him with every word.
Lan Wangji could make a spirit attraction flag himself; he has before. But when one is wed to the Yiling Patriarch, there is no need to go anywhere but directly to their inventor. It is done in very little time, and Lan Wangji kisses Wei Ying -- because Wei Ying is brilliant, because he trusts Wei Ying to fend for himself but does not trust the mansion itself, because it draws one precious, gasping laugh from Wei Ying when Lan Wangji bites the swell of his lower lip. He will sustain himself on that laugh.
With the freshly-painted flag in hand, he retreats down the hallway until he finds a new parlor, not one he has used before. Whatever energy this flag draws to him, he wants to leave all his familiar places free of that. He won't have the pall of death creeping into the room where Galahad first wonderingly touched the rabbits or where Laertes played him the viol or where Claudius sat and entrusted him with his breath. He plants the flag in an empty vase and draws Wangji from his back, a careful unwinding of its wrappings before he sits, the qin balanced across his lap.
He has to wait no longer than a moment. The presence of the spirit is insistent. Wangji's strings quiver without a single touch of Lan Wangji's qi. There is someone here, and they want badly to communicate. Lan Wangji puts his hands to the strings and begins as he always does: Who are you?
The response is immediate, ringing out with a volume the qin should never attain: Shen Yuan!!!
Lan Wangji lets out a measured breath. Shen Yuan, who has done nothing but aggravate and disappoint him, but whose friendship meant something irreplaceable to Magnus and Galahad and Sagramore. He should not have died. He must be furious that Lan Wangji is the person speaking with him. He was not happy all those months ago when Lan Wangji tried, unwittingly, to lay the child spirit Shen Yuan to rest.
The second question, like the first, is always the same: Who killed you?
Another instant answer plays itself on Wangji's strings. Aornis!!!
Lan Wangji frowns. He doesn't know this name. Perhaps this is a better outcome than discovering that some beloved person or pleasant acquaintance is Shen Yuan's killer, but it sends some jangling discomfiture through him. He packs up his qin again. He slips the spirit attraction flag into his qiankun pouch. He returns to their quarters. "Wei Ying." At the name, his husband looks up at him with a smile. His hair is loose now and he is wearing one of Lan Wangji's robes. "Have you met anyone here named Aornis?"
Wei Ying blinks at him, slow. There is a single syrupy pause. His smile gentles. "Lan Zhan, you look tired." He stands and slips his arms around Lan Wangji's shoulders, tipping his face up for a kiss. "Hanguang-jun has so much to worry about. Can't the dead wait one night?"
Wei Ying is beautiful, and Lan Wangji is weary. He carries Wei Ying to their bed. He will speak with Shen Yuan, such as he is, tomorrow.
--
The following morning, Lan Wangji awakens with fresh determination. Wei Ying's presence always refills him when he is depleted, smoothing his edges. He meditates, but for only a little time. He intends to ask Wei Ying for a spirit attraction flag, but when he reaches into his qiankun pouch, he finds one tucked inside it already, as if waiting for him. He has been tired and homesick recently. Perhaps his memory of the pouch’s contents failed him.
He retreats down the hallway until he finds a new parlor, not one he has used before. He plants the flag in an empty vase and draws Wangji from his back, a careful unwinding of its wrappings before he sits, the qin balanced across his lap.
Who are you?
If a spirit can play the qin with disrespect, this one is managing it: Shen Yuan.
Who killed you?
The answer, Aornis, comes with an air of weariness, the string of his qin plucked with seeming resignation. Lan Wangji has never heard the name before. He packs up his things and strides back down the hall to ask Wei Ying.
He intended to play Inquiry for Shen Yuan this morning, but time has slipped through his fingers. He refuses to be late for his training with Galahad. It will have to come later.
--
Who are you? Who killed you?
The answers come quickly, like Shen Yuan's spirit has been coiled in wait, but the name of his killer is not the name of anyone at this mansion. Wei Ying is clever. Wei Ying might know.
--
Who are you? Who killed you?
It is unlike Lan Wangji to fail at anything he has set himself. Wei Ying is entangled with him, half-sprawled across his lap and nursing a jar of wine, when the realization wrenches him: he has yet to speak with Shen Yuan's spirit. It is one simple task, basic musical cultivation. Why is he putting it off?
"Wei Ying, I need a spirit attraction flag."
Wei Ying pouts at the interruption. "It's unlike you to be so rude, Lan Zhan. Anyway--" Flagrantly rude himself, he reaches into Lan Wangji's qiankun pouch and plucks a spirit attraction flag from its depths. "You mean this spirit attraction flag?"
Lan Wangji is uneasy as he walks down the mansion hallway.
--
Who are you? Who killed you?
Lan Wangji should begin investigating immediately. He is a cultivator. This death is far, very far, from the first that has struck him with its violence and senselessness. He has work to do. He should not become distracted. And yet he is reluctant to leave Wei Ying, to peel himself away from the warmth of Wei Ying's body and the comfort of his idle, persistent conversation. When Lan Wangji delivered him the news, his face turned steely, a palimpsest impression of the Yiling Patriarch behind his eyes. He knew without asking what Lan Wangji wanted from him. He has tolerated Lan Wangji kneeling behind him at his workstation, face to the back of his neck, winding his hair ribbon around his fingers and fitting his hands to the shape of his waist. Their time here has been the longest either of them has gone without brushing against death in some form. It might have been inevitable. Lan Wangji can no longer go where the chaos is. The chaos comes to them. Wei Ying talks, speculation about how commerce between Qinghe and Yunmeng might have changed in their absence, meandering nonsense about whether A-Yuan and A-Ling are getting along on their night-hunts, and Lan Wangji leans on him and loves him with every word.
Lan Wangji could make a spirit attraction flag himself; he has before. But when one is wed to the Yiling Patriarch, there is no need to go anywhere but directly to their inventor. It is done in very little time, and Lan Wangji kisses Wei Ying -- because Wei Ying is brilliant, because he trusts Wei Ying to fend for himself but does not trust the mansion itself, because it draws one precious, gasping laugh from Wei Ying when Lan Wangji bites the swell of his lower lip. He will sustain himself on that laugh.
With the freshly-painted flag in hand, he retreats down the hallway until he finds a new parlor, not one he has used before. Whatever energy this flag draws to him, he wants to leave all his familiar places free of that. He won't have the pall of death creeping into the room where Galahad first wonderingly touched the rabbits or where Laertes played him the viol or where Claudius sat and entrusted him with his breath. He plants the flag in an empty vase and draws Wangji from his back, a careful unwinding of its wrappings before he sits, the qin balanced across his lap.
He has to wait no longer than a moment. The presence of the spirit is insistent. Wangji's strings quiver without a single touch of Lan Wangji's qi. There is someone here, and they want badly to communicate. Lan Wangji puts his hands to the strings and begins as he always does: Who are you?
The response is immediate, ringing out with a volume the qin should never attain: Shen Yuan!!!
Lan Wangji lets out a measured breath. Shen Yuan, who has done nothing but aggravate and disappoint him, but whose friendship meant something irreplaceable to Magnus and Galahad and Sagramore. He should not have died. He must be furious that Lan Wangji is the person speaking with him. He was not happy all those months ago when Lan Wangji tried, unwittingly, to lay the child spirit Shen Yuan to rest.
The second question, like the first, is always the same: Who killed you?
Another instant answer plays itself on Wangji's strings. Aornis!!!
Lan Wangji frowns. He doesn't know this name. Perhaps this is a better outcome than discovering that some beloved person or pleasant acquaintance is Shen Yuan's killer, but it sends some jangling discomfiture through him. He packs up his qin again. He slips the spirit attraction flag into his qiankun pouch. He returns to their quarters. "Wei Ying." At the name, his husband looks up at him with a smile. His hair is loose now and he is wearing one of Lan Wangji's robes. "Have you met anyone here named Aornis?"
Wei Ying blinks at him, slow. There is a single syrupy pause. His smile gentles. "Lan Zhan, you look tired." He stands and slips his arms around Lan Wangji's shoulders, tipping his face up for a kiss. "Hanguang-jun has so much to worry about. Can't the dead wait one night?"
Wei Ying is beautiful, and Lan Wangji is weary. He carries Wei Ying to their bed. He will speak with Shen Yuan, such as he is, tomorrow.
The following morning, Lan Wangji awakens with fresh determination. Wei Ying's presence always refills him when he is depleted, smoothing his edges. He meditates, but for only a little time. He intends to ask Wei Ying for a spirit attraction flag, but when he reaches into his qiankun pouch, he finds one tucked inside it already, as if waiting for him. He has been tired and homesick recently. Perhaps his memory of the pouch’s contents failed him.
He retreats down the hallway until he finds a new parlor, not one he has used before. He plants the flag in an empty vase and draws Wangji from his back, a careful unwinding of its wrappings before he sits, the qin balanced across his lap.
Who are you?
If a spirit can play the qin with disrespect, this one is managing it: Shen Yuan.
Who killed you?
The answer, Aornis, comes with an air of weariness, the string of his qin plucked with seeming resignation. Lan Wangji has never heard the name before. He packs up his things and strides back down the hall to ask Wei Ying.
He intended to play Inquiry for Shen Yuan this morning, but time has slipped through his fingers. He refuses to be late for his training with Galahad. It will have to come later.
Who are you? Who killed you?
The answers come quickly, like Shen Yuan's spirit has been coiled in wait, but the name of his killer is not the name of anyone at this mansion. Wei Ying is clever. Wei Ying might know.
Who are you? Who killed you?
It is unlike Lan Wangji to fail at anything he has set himself. Wei Ying is entangled with him, half-sprawled across his lap and nursing a jar of wine, when the realization wrenches him: he has yet to speak with Shen Yuan's spirit. It is one simple task, basic musical cultivation. Why is he putting it off?
"Wei Ying, I need a spirit attraction flag."
Wei Ying pouts at the interruption. "It's unlike you to be so rude, Lan Zhan. Anyway--" Flagrantly rude himself, he reaches into Lan Wangji's qiankun pouch and plucks a spirit attraction flag from its depths. "You mean this spirit attraction flag?"
Lan Wangji is uneasy as he walks down the mansion hallway.
Who are you? Who killed you?
