lightbearinglord | [ open post: Lan Wangji and guests ]

Grantaire is walking by, passes the room, realizes what he actually saw in the brief glance as he walked by, and returns, standing in the doorway.

"Small friends?"

Lan Wangji stands when he sees Grantaire; Danding is used to this, and remains tucked into his arm. He bows to the best of his abilities when one arm is immobile. "Mn. Danding." He nods toward the rabbit currently in his possession. "Xiaoxue." This nod goes toward the rabbit huddled next to the qin, now staring at Grantaire with ears cautiously quirked.

He nods and looks between the two. "I think Xiaoxue is quietly judging me." He sounds more amused by the prospect than anything, though.

"Xiaoxue is the more timid of the two." Lan Wangji gives Grantaire a prompting, open sort of glance. "You may come to meet them." He would, actually, like it if the rabbits became more accustomed to the variety of people who inhabit the mansion.

He nods and enters the room, walking over. "I've never really interacted with rabbits." Or at least not living ones. "Is there anything in particular I should do to make their acquaintance?"

"Be gentle and move slowly. They are easily startled." With a flicker of warmth in his eyes, Lan Wangji sits again and pulls the qiankun pouch from his waist. He finds a lettuce leaf and offers it to Grantaire. "This may also help."

He moves carefully over and takes the lettuce leaf, crouching down to look at Xiaoxue as he slowly extends the leaf to him, speaking quietly. "Monsieur Xiaoxue, I come bearing offerings."

Naturally, Xiaoxue remains cautious, but he is still an exceptionally sweet-tempered little rabbit. They both are. Xiaoxue begins nibbling the edge of the leaf, eyes fixed on Grantaire. Lan Wangji watches, still petting Danding's head with two fingers.

He smiles a little. "Clearly a rabbit of discerning taste. Only the freshest of meals for you, I see. The crispiness of the leaf offers a refreshing feel on the palate. You are indeed ever so discerning."

This display is impossibly charming. The corner of Lan Wangji's mouth twitches upward for a fraction of a moment. Growing accustomed to Grantaire's voice and his patter, Xiaoxue sets to consuming that lettuce with greater enthusiasm.

"Ah, of course, sir. I see you are a gourmet of the highest order. It is truly a pleasure to see you enjoying your dining experience this afternoon. The cuisine is unparalleled and I will relay your compliments to the chef."

Once the lettuce has vanished, Xiaoxue begins snuffling with interest at Grantaire's fingers. It is partly a quest for further snacks, but only partly; he is also now, plainly, simply curious about this new human. Lan Wangji observes this, then says, "You may touch him."

Grantaire nods and lets Xiaoxue continue to snuffle at his fingers while he lifts his other hand and carefully strokes a fingertip between the rabbit's ears. "Impressively soft, young monsieur. You could almost certainly win awards for it, were there awards to be won."

If some sort of competition of softness were to open up at this mansion, Lan Wangji would seemingly need to enter his rabbits. The number of people who have commented on said softness is remarkable, and perpetually increasing. Again, he is not quite smiling, but there's an indulgent curl somewhere in the set of his mouth as he watches Grantaire and Xiaoxue.

"I can see it now," he says easily. "No cups of precious metal, of course, for they would hardly interest the participants. A luxurious spread of fresh fruits and vegetables for the winner, though, to browse at his convenience, arranged in an aesthetically pleasing manner. And slightly smaller ones for the runners-up, of course, for one would hardly wish to deprive other worthy competitors. Such a thought would be unfathomable."

It is almost a shame to interrupt, but then, Lan Wangji is generally familiar with the optimal strategy for interacting with such men. Occasionally offering a little fuel for the fire of their words is usually welcomed. "They particularly like melons," he says.

The tone of his voice immediately brightens, although he still keeps his volume reasonably subdued in deference to the rabbits. "Melons! Well, that would certainly make for quite the colorful tableau, should a sufficient variety be obtained. Not that the reward would skimp on the leaves, one cannot subside on only sugar, even if one is a terribly soft and well-behaved rabbit. I can hardly fault your taste, though, small monsieur."

Xiaoxue nudges Grantaire's hand with his head, rather imperious for a creature who was so nervous mere moments ago. "Too much fruit is not ideal," Lan Wangji agrees. "Hay and vegetables are safer."

Grantaire promptly gives Xiaoxue slightly firmer scritches, allowing another finger to stroke down one of his ears. "All things in moderation," he says with a nod. But, since he's, of course, himself, he makes sure to add, "moderation itself included."

"Naturally," Lan Wangji says dryly. He could argue, but even he has been known to indulge in certain excesses.

"And all things in moderation for well-behaved rabbits. Except for pets, in which they can indulge all they like. Yes, small monsieur, I shall continue until you desire no more."

"He likes you," Lan Wangji points out calmly. In order to prevent Danding from staging an outright revolt, he retrieves another piece of lettuce and begins feeding it to the rabbit still in his own arms.

"Of course he does; I'm extremely likable," he says dryly, continuing to give Xiaoxue all the pets he deserves. "Or at least provide adequate enough head scratches."

Xiaoxue, quite happy with the situation in which he's found himself, has begun to happily melt into a neatly-tucked bundle of rabbit. The visual remains wildly endearing.

Grantaire then risks carefully picking Xiaoxue up and holding him against his chest, continuing the scratches all the while. "Why yes, small monsieur. You are in fact due the lap of luxury, far more than any man ever has, possibly especially the ones who have received it. Greens and melons and affection for as far as your bright shining eyes can see. I would say recreation as well, but I know not what games rabbits play, and I know the ones I am most familiar with would not suit at all. But in my continuing education into entertainment, should I find one, I will most certainly come find you and tell you all about it. You seem a discerning individual, and would undoubtedly outstrip me at it in no time."

Grantaire is most likely not paying attention to Lan Wangji's face and will not see the glimmer of a smile that crosses his features. Still, it is worth noting. "Typically, they play by chewing on the wooden toys my husband whittles for them. You are welcome to try that."

He nods sagely. "Ah, wood. Not my customary medium, although I could make an attempt. Poorness of form would I'm sure be forgiven by the distinguished recipient as long as the wood of choice was properly chewable. Clearly a soft wood, good for the lapine teeth."

"Mn," Lan Wangji says, in acknowledgement that the form of the wood in question matters considerably less than its palatability for chewing. "I was suggesting that you could join them in the chewing, if you are dedicated to a thorough study of entertainments."

Oh and that is a challenge if he's ever heard one. He very briefly diverts his gaze from Xiaoxue to Lan Wangji, a mischievous grin spreading on his face. "Of course, it would be entirely irresponsible of me not to. Testing for splinters and the like, and exploring rabbit entertainment in my compilation."

Lan Wangji, of course, meets Grantaire's gaze with unimpeachable impassivity. "How does the rest of your compilation fare?"

He continues petting Xiaoxue as he quite happily answers. "It's been a quite charming variety of old mainstays from back home, new variations on those old mainstays, and entirely new discoveries. The game room is certainly a multifaceted delight."

"I have rarely been." There are several reasons for this, his persistent distaste for Shen Yuan chief among them.

Grantaire shrugs very slightly, in deference to the rabbit still against his chest. "That's fair. Not everything is going to be for everyone, obviously." He pauses. "Possibly except for making the acquaintance of rabbits, because I cannot fathom how that would not be beneficial for all mankind."

"They are calming companions," Lan Wangji agrees. He gives Danding an affectionate stroke all down his spine, starting just between the ears. "Do you know weiqi?"

His eyebrows rise curiously. "I have not. What is it?"

"A game of strategy, and one of the four gentlemanly arts." Surely any respectable compilation of games and entertainments would need to begin with weiqi.

"I'm not the most strategic¹, but I'm intrigued. How do you play?"

¹Technically true although he's selling himself short², at least when it comes to game playing, as needed.
²I know. Shocking.

"It is a game of territory. One player utilizes white stones; the other, black. The aim is to control the greatest portion of the board, and to capture one's opponent's stones to achieve that aim." Lan Wangji is still methodically petting Danding as he describes this. "The rules are simple, but it is not an easy game."

Grantaire is of course still petting Xiaoxue in turn. "How large is the board? I imagine it must be sizable if it's particularly difficult."

"It contains nineteen lines in each direction. That creates three hundred and sixty-one spaces for the stones. There are smaller boards for beginners."

"I'm sure there are, but why use one of those and be intimidated anew every time you ascend to a larger one when you could instead be intimidated all in one go while you simultaneously manage to work through the phase of learning something where you're awful at it? There's efficiency to be found."

Lan Wangji would like to put Grantaire and Wei Ying in a room together, make himself a pot of tea, and spend the next several incense times listening in complete silence. He imagines they could talk directly until nightfall. "Mn," he says, not himself inclined toward attempting to meet Grantaire's impressive verbosity. "I can teach you."

They would undoubtedly have the ability to talk even longer. Grantaire shrugs. "If it wouldn't take you away overmuch from the rabbit husbandry, I can probably attempt to learn. Although in return, I'd like to teach you a game as well."

Obviously, rabbit husbandry does not somehow take up every moment of Lan Wangji's day. If it did, he would not have rabbits, given his duties at husband husbandry. He doesn't bother saying that. "What game?"

"Oh, there are a few good options." He contemplates. Dominoes is out, because matching one seated table game with another would just be redundant. Billiards is a reasonable choice, but... the contrast between Lan Wangji's entire demeanor and another option is just too good to resist.

"Pinball, I think."

The word means nothing to him, of course. Lan Wangji pictures something like cuju, but cannot imagine where the pin comes in. "I don't know of it." He gives Danding's cheek a fond stroke, letting him rub his face against his fingers. He is willing to learn.

He grins, lightly ruffling Xioxue's ears. "I didn't know of it until I got here either. It's from after my time, so it was novel to me. I liked it immediately, even before I figured out how it actually worked."

"Then I would like to learn." In some ways, it's a monumental thing to admit. Weiqi is the only game that he learned at his uncle's behest, because it is cerebral and gentlemanly. Others were unsuited for the Cloud Recesses.

His grin somehow brightens. "It's a deal, then. I get to learn gentlemanly strategy and you get to the delight of a perfectly-timed multiball around all the bells and flashes. It should be quite the juxtaposition."

Lan Wangji's eyebrows quirk up a little at this description of bells and flashes, but he imagines he will discover the meaning in time and so does not ask. "Tell me when you want to begin."

He shrugs. "You have many more demands on your time than I do. Whenever you'd like, really."

Most of the demands on Lan Wangji's time are, strictly speaking, self-imposed, aside from the demands of caring for Wei Ying, which he would not shirk for anything in the world. He nods. "Soon."

"Soon, then." He absently scratches Xiaoxue's chin. "Is there anything I should do to prepare in advance?"

"You will need only a keen mind, and patience." Lan Wangji gives Grantaire a blithe sort of look -- or, at least, blithe by his standards. "And for your pinball?"

"Having not much of either¹, I'm likely doomed from the outset," he says with a barely suppressed laugh, "although I'll certainly try regardless. As for pinball, quick reflexes and the ability to focus around distractions."

¹Citation needed.

Naturally, the look on Lan Wangji's face does not change whatsoever. He still has very little idea of what to expect from Grantaire's game, but if those are the necessary skills, he considers himself prepared. "I am a cultivator."

Grantaire has read Cultivation 101 from the welcome table, so even if the finer brushstrokes of that picture elude him, he knows what Lan Wangji means by that enough that it doesn't at all seem like a non sequitur. "Oh, there's little question in my mind that you'll do well once you understand how it works. I'm mostly curious to see how well."

It would be insufferably arrogant to expound on the strength of his cultivation, so Lan Wangji only nods, persistently solemn. "As am I."

"Good!" He looks down at Xiaoxue. "Do you have more lettuce, or would another leaf be too much right now?"

"I have more, and he may have more," Lan Wangji assures Grantaire. To prove it, he produces a fresh lettuce leaf and tears it in half. One half for Xiaoxue, one for Danding. He passes Xiaoxue's half over.

"Thank you." Grantaire promptly takes the lettuce and offers it to Xiaoxue. "More for you, monsieur. I hope you are delighted."

Indeed, Xiaoxue is entirely delighted, and sets to demolishing this lettuce with tidy efficiency. Lan Wangji sets Danding into his lap, on his knee specifically, and feeds him his own portion without delay, out of fairness. This leaves him free to actually, finally, put his hands to his qin and begin playing.

He looks over as Lan Wangji starts to play. It's a curious sound, not quite like any instrument he's heard before, either in tone or how the music itself sounds.

Now, of course he hardly hesitates to interrupt speech if he feels the need, but there's nothing to rebut or scoff at in music, so he just carefully shifts, mindful of the rabbit still in his arms, and stretches out comfortably on the floor, settling Xiaoxue on his chest and absently stroking his head with his fingertips along to the music.

Honestly, Lan Wangji is not certain whether he actually expected Grantaire to settle in response to the sound of the qin, but he is glad that he did. His music has rarely been for the benefit of an audience of greater than one or two, except in the heat of battle or an attempted exorcism. He has yet to find himself craving more.

With Danding occupied and peaceful on his knee and Xiaoxue tucking himself into equal calm on Grantaire's chest, he plays. He works his way through a few slow but complex melodies of his own composition, meant to be set to words from the Shijing, the work of his youth when he would spend days doing nothing but sitting with the qin and studying its theory.

Grantaire lies there and listens. A few snippets of lyrics of his own invention flit through his head for a while, but they're hard to come by when he doesn't know the melody, so he eventually just listens.

He's not a man inclined to nap¹ as a rule, but the slow and soothing notes of the qin coupled with the warmth of Xiaoxue on his chest are almost impossible to resist as his breathing evens out and he drifts off.

¹Passing out drunk doesn't count.

Edited 2024-03-12 18:34 (UTC)

Lan Wangji notices nearly at the very moment that sleep claims Grantaire. It comes close to coaxing him into a smile. Xiaoxue, too, is on the verge of sleep, satiated and content, and Danding is wakeful but at peace.

He continues to play, unwilling to disturb Grantaire. He is pleased enough to persist with his music as a backdrop for restfulness.

Galahad is used to finding Lan Wangji here, and indeed was planning on finding him here today. He has his sketchbook as usual, and he's wearing the cloud-soft, sky-blue sweater Magnus picked for him; he has to roll the sleeves up over his hands or they're too long, but there's something pleasing about the sensation.

He hasn't seen Lan Wangji since Enjolras' meeting. He comes in quietly and sits nearby -- at a respectful distance from the table and Lan Wangji -- and flips open his sketchbook. In the last two weeks all his drawings have taken on a blasphemous cast: he keeps adding hagiography to his portraits, lambs and doves, croziers and aspergillum, vestments and symbols (Laertes with a discipline, Gideon in her skull paint with her sword aflame; Tress holding spores in her hand the way St Lucy holds her eyes, Claudius with great angelic wings; all of them haloed). There's something soothing about taking this language that he knows so intimately and using it to write about the people here, knowing God would hate it.

The latest sketch is Lan Wangji. With the rabbits and the qin he already looks like a saint surrounded by his associated objects, the way St Cuthbert is always shown with the otters who warmed his feet while he prayed in the north sea at night.

Edited 2024-03-08 17:13 (UTC)

Lan Wangji takes in the sight of Galahad with a nearly imperceptible softening of his features. When he comes to care for someone, there is almost a single moment, sharp and sudden like a needle pricking one's finger, at which a fierce protective impulse comes into focus. He remembers it a little shamefully with Wei Ying, who knelt in punishment after his fight with Jin Zixuan, sharper still years later with Chenqing twirling in his hands. He remembers it with A-Yuan, wide-eyed and heeding a Cloud Recesses rule at a restaurant in Yiling. With Claudius, it must have been watching as he held Shen Yuan's gaze, by far the most vulnerable man in a room with two cultivators, and met Shen Yuan's disregard for his life with bravery and wit. That moment was impossible to miss as he sat beside Galahad in the café and watched his careful breathing.

For a time, he lets the quiet remain between them. He feeds Danding his own piece of lettuce, and patiently moves Xiaoxue aside as the rabbit makes a move to begin chewing on a qin string. Then, however, he sets Danding beside his brother and turns to face Galahad. Without rising, he arranges himself into an otherwise formal bow. "I owe you my congratulations."

He looks up. He's noticed that Lan Wangji rarely changes his expression, and so he's given himself permission not to try to figure out what he should do with his own face when they speak; as a result, he doesn't smile, and his voice is as grave as ever, when he says, "Thank you." Still, Lan Wangji is a perceptive man, so perhaps he can tell how happy Galahad is.

Even if he could not detect that subtle but unmistakable joy, Lan Wangji would know. He knows the way that Claudius speaks of Galahad; he knows the way that Galahad looks at Claudius across a room, as if everything has gone dark but one shining beacon of a man. It is the most familiar thing in the world to him. "I wish you a hundred years of happiness." It's a rote recitation of words he was taught by his uncle, but he means it.

It has the feeling of a benediction, and he crosses himself reflexively. "He said you'd be his best man."

That, too, is an unexpected joy, particularly after reading the words of Emily Post and realizing what a valuable responsibility has been handed to him. "Mn. Along with Crowley," Lan Wangji adds, because he feels beholden to truthfulness.

Galahad nods; he knew this, but, even more, he expected it. Lan Wangji and Crowley are Claudius' best friends.

Lan Wangji waits, then, patiently, to see if Galahad would like to continue speaking or if he would prefer to sit quietly for the time being. In the meantime, to prevent further trouble and danger to his qin, he scoops both rabbits neatly into his lap.

After a few moments, he asks, "Do you love only Wei Wuxian?"

Arguably, the answer is no. Lan Wangji loves his brother, his uncle, Lan Sizhui, and an increasing number of people he has met at this mansion. He understands Galahad's meaning, however, and will not attempt to play games. "Nearly all my life," he answers, easy but very serious.

He nods again. It's reassuring to think that, if it's strange of him to be in love with Claudius alone, it's a strangeness he shares with Lan Wangji. He glances back down at his drawing, where Lan Wangji holds Xiaoxue in the crook of one arm and lifts the other in a Christogram.

Half a year ago he can't imagine he would have found comfort in the idea of being like Lan Wangji. Now he's pleased by the symmetry between them.

Even a few months prior, Lan Wangji would have had no context for this question whatsoever. He understands now that things here do not work the way he is accustomed to them working, but he can no more imagine wanting anyone but Wei Ying than he can imagine Luo Binghe suffering a sudden change of heart and begging for forgiveness. Before Wei Ying returned to him, he had presumed he might live hundreds of years and never again touch anyone with the desire that consumed him at Phoenix Mountain.

He doesn't know how to speak of that. Facing the enormity of his own feelings can still easily threaten to overwhelm him. "You are the same," he says instead, almost gentle, not quite a question.

"Yes."

Lan Wangji has never before met someone so like himself. He is at once unsettled and comforted, as if discovering a door at the back of the jingshi that he had never noticed and sliding it open to find only his most familiar belongings. "Mn." He pets one rabbit with each hand, gentle still.

Galahad looks at his drawing. Only Adam was made in the likeness of God, and only mankind may ascend to heaven and know life with the Most Holy Trinity: there is no place for rabbits in fellowship with Christ. He begins sketching a small halo around Xiaoxue's head.

"It's uncommon?" he asks Lan Wangji.

Lan Wangji watches the movements of Galahad's sketching with subdued interest. He is also uncertain how to answer this question. It may well be that most are like Laertes and Sagramore, free with their affections and open with others about that fact. That scenario is more palatable than a world of crude, grasping men like Jin Guangshan. He thinks of his own father. No one could accuse Qingheng-jun of lacking devotion. "If it is," he says, "then I am uncommon."

Edited 2024-03-08 21:59 (UTC)

It's a satisfying enough answer. Lan Wangji is uncommon, and so is Galahad. He shades the halo in.

For a moment or two longer, Lan Wangji continues to observe silently as Galahad works. He recognizes his own likeness, even upside-down, and allows himself to indulge in the memory of a fifteen-year-old Wei Ying presenting him with a drawing of himself, a flower behind his ear.

Curious, he holds up a hand, mimicking the gesture that the drawing is making. "What is that?"

Galahad copies it as well, reflexively. "It's the name of Christ. Saints make it in pictures."

Lan Wangji considers this as he tucks his hand away, setting it at Danding's back. "It is like a mudra." He looks again at Galahad's sketch, noting the halo around Xiaoxue's head. Uncle would not like this. Lan Wangji should not, either, but he thinks he does.

"This is blasphemous," he says, touching the page very lightly. "God would be disappointed."

At that, Lan Wangji looks up, his gaze settling on Galahad's face instead of his art. "This is the god who punished humankind for acquiring knowledge of good and evil."

"Yes. Because we ate of the fruit."

Lan Wangji's brows draw together, a minute but distinct frown. "And this god has power enough to punish all of humanity?"

"He is all-powerful."

The frown persists, his mouth setting in a hard line as he turns this over in his mind. "That is difficult for me to believe."

"Yes," quietly. "He is powerful, but even in scripture it is written: Then he took his eldest son that should have reigned in his stead, and offered him for a burnt offering upon the wall. And there was great indignation against Israel: and they departed from him, and returned to their own land. His chosen people are defeated by the God of the Moabites. I think He has power only over the people who worship Him." He pauses. "That is also blasphemy."

Lan Wangji keeps his gaze trained on Galahad's face. Whether this is or is not blasphemy has no bearing on him, because he doesn't believe it is true, but it is very clear that it is true to Galahad. "If worship gives this god power, why is he cruel to those who worship him?"

Galahad, for his part, does not drop his eyes from Lan Wangji's. He betrays no emotion. It feels like being tested on his catechism to be asked these questions, except that Galahad sees God differently from the way he did as a boy, and instead of reciting back the answers he learned and memorized he's telling Lan Wangji his own beliefs, citing scripture when it's relevant.

"Sometimes God tests our faith. The book of Job tells how God and His Adversary argued and the Adversary challenged God, saying that His faithful servant Job was only faithful because of the blessings God had heaped upon him. God allowed the Adversary to take those blessings -- to slay his livestock, blight his fields, murder his children, and steal his health, and leave only his life. Job's wife counsels him to renounce God. His friends tell him it must be his own sin that has led to his suffering. But Job tells how he is innocent, and good, and though he longs to confront God and speak on his own behalf, he will not curse God. Finally God speaks to him and tells him that he cannot understand God's reasoning because he is only a man. No man has the ability to know what God knows or discern why He chooses what He does. Job is humble and repents. God is angry with Job's friends for their presumptuous and ignorant counsel, but Job intercedes for them, and God chooses to spare them. He then gives Job back twice as much as he took from him before."

Galahad pauses.

"This story teaches us many things. It teaches that we cannot understand God's choices, and that He may inflict suffering upon us for reasons beyond our knowing. It teaches us that if we remain faithful in the face of suffering, we will be rewarded. And it teaches us that God is not unfeeling; He hears our intercessions and He may choose to be graceful with those for whom we plead.

"It also teaches us that God can be provoked by His enemy," he continues, as quiet and even as always. "He will permit misfortune to befall someone who loves Him if it proves his loyalty. He is easily angered, and changeable."

Edited 2024-03-09 18:05 (UTC)

Galahad's stony face, the evenness and surety of his words, are so like Lan Wangji himself -- or, at least, so like the boy that Lan Wangji once was. He was his uncle's brightest and most dutiful pupil. Lan Qiren could call on him with any question, in any class, and Lan Wangji could stand and answer just like this, back straight and words measured.

He listens, utterly focused. The rabbits are settling, tucking their limbs under themselves, in his lap. They seem to find Galahad a soothing presence, perhaps because they are so used to being with Lan Wangji. The story itself is horrific, another tale of a god who exerts power through dispensation of pain and inscrutable tests. Suffering is necessary, and a part of the ebbing, flowing balance of the universe, but it need not be meted out in this way, as if humans are helpless children who must be cowed and, at once, forces for evil who cannot find their way without punishment.

Lan Wangji's frown has cleared, leaving his own features icy-smooth again, but there is a little hint of how troubling he finds this when he speaks. "Must the universe be ordered by one changeable god? The breath of Heaven is no different from the breath of men."

"We exist in communion with God, and are made in His image, but we cannot be the same. All things come from Him and are ordered by Him, and though He has set us in dominion over His other creations we are still subordinate to Him. He is perfect, and we are imperfect. We are sinful and He is without sin. We are mortal unless we are reborn in Him to life everlasting." He tilts his head very slightly. "And yet. Magnus's father is another kind of god. Gideon's order serves a god who can be killed by a special weapon. Claudius says there is a god here now. Even in scripture it is written thou shalt have no other gods before me. The church teaches that there is only one God, but I now believe that must be incorrect."

Edited 2024-03-09 20:20 (UTC)

It is tempting to note that a being who allowed the murder of children when he could have prevented it sounds far from perfect or sinless. Wei Ying would never be able to resist. Even Lan Wangji finds himself biting his tongue, a rare necessity for him. "It must be," he agrees grimly. "I know of many gods, but not this god. I know of no god who supercedes the Tao."

"What is that?"

Edited 2024-03-09 21:07 (UTC)

He might have expected this question, and yet Lan Wangji feels a tiny unfurling of surprise. "It is the natural order of the universe. I have spoken of qi to you. Qi is the energy underlying all of existence. The Tao is what orders it and keeps it harmonious."

"Will you tell me more?"

"Something mysteriously formed, born before Heaven and Earth," Lan Wangji says, his own calm and precise recitation. "In the silence and the void, standing alone and unchanging, ever present and in motion. Perhaps it is the mother of ten thousand things. I do not know its name: call it Tao.¹"

¹This is specifically the Gia-Fu Feng and Jane English translation of the Tao Te Ching.

"It is a presence?" He doesn't entirely understand, but he sits attentively, back perfectly straight.

"In a sense. It is impossible to define, by its nature." Lan Wangji considers how best to phrase this. Danding's chin is tucked against his knee, and Xiaoxue is quietly grooming himself. "Everything flows from it. Qi, yin and yang, beauty and ugliness, strength and weakness."

"That is like the Holy Spirit."

"The Holy Spirit?" Lan Wangji prompts.

"The Holy Spirit is a presence that emanates from God. It is what allows men to perform miracles and be filled with charisms. The fire inside my body is from the Holy Ghost. It is of a substance with God and Christ."

"Tao emanates from nothing but itself. It simply is." A pause. He is taking Galahad's words seriously, as little as he believes the truth of them. "It nourishes the ten thousand things, and yet is not their lord. It has no aim; it is very small."

It makes him think of himself telling Gideon how he looked for small choices, small purposes. To be a life-giving force, in communion with all things, but to be equally very small, with no great desires -- it would be nice, to be holy, to matter, but for that mattering to be beneath the notice of most people.

"How is it honored?" he asks.

"Stillness. Meditation. Self-cultivation." There are a hundred possible answers he could give. "Laozi taught that the three treasures are compassion, simplicity, and humility."

Galahad nods.

"From compassion comes courage. From simplicity comes generosity. From humility comes leadership." In his lap, Xiaoxue is also settling and beginning to doze a little. He pets the rabbit's cheek lightly, not enough to stir him back to wakefulness, only enough to soothe him.

These are teachings, not Lan Wangji's own words, Galahad thinks. He listens quietly. It feels important that Lan Wangji would share his own scriptures and rules, knowing that Galahad doesn't believe them -- it's important for him to hear.

Lan Wangji takes a little pause after that. He could, theoretically, simply recite the entirety of the Tao Te Ching, but if Galahad truly wants to pursue that, the mansion library will most likely offer up a copy to him. "These teachings, and those of the Buddha, are the foundation of my cultivation," he says, then, at length. "My clan was founded by Lan An, who was once a renowned monk."

"Did you know him? Or was it before your time?"

"He lived several hundred years before my time. He left his temple and resumed a worldly life to pursue music. When he met his fated cultivation partner, he founded the Gusu Lan clan." The faintest hint of a smile pulls at Lan Wangji's mouth. Long ago, Wei Ying and his friends teased him about this story, asking how such a romantic ancestor could produce such an unromantic descendant.

"His cultivation partner?"

"As Wei Ying is to me." Another short pause. Lan Wangji wants to describe this accurately. Once, he was terrified to love in the way that he does. He saw what it did to his father, the way the elders spoke of his parents. It means something to him to think of his ancestor in this way now. "We are married; we share life and death. We walk the same path and seek the same truths. Wherever our path leads, we will find that end together."

"Is cultivation love?"

"No." He has known too many cruel and powerful cultivators to mistake the two. "Most cultivation is undertaken in solitude."

"What is cultivation?"

"Cultivation is the practice of gathering and refining qi." For Galahad, and because he is caught in the rhythm of their exchange, Lan Wangji doesn't succumb to any of his occasional irritation at having to explain this yet again. "Meditation and discipline strengthen one's spiritual power."

"If qi is like breath, how can it be refined?"

"With patience and practice, it is possible to expand the capacity of one's lungs, to breathe more deeply and for longer. In the same way, through meditation, it is possible to expand the capacity of one's meridians, and ultimately to form a golden core that acts as a permanent store of spiritual power."

"Is spiritual power what lets you fly on your sword?"

"Yes. Bichen has its own qi, and it answers to me."

"Can a person like me learn cultivation?" It's not something he wants to learn: he's just trying to be clear on what kind of person can do so.

Regardless, Lan Wangji takes the question at face value and considers Galahad for a moment, assessing him. He is focused, his qi is uncommonly powerful for someone who is not a cultivator, and he takes his endeavors seriously. "It would not be easy to begin at your age, but it might be possible."

"Then it's something that requires a long time studying?"

"Mn. I began as a child." The most powerful cultivator he knows of who began past childhood is Wen Zhuliu, who is long dead now.

"The ritual that brought Wei Wuxian back to life -- was that cultivation?"

Lan Wangji is silent for a much longer moment this time. He had not forgotten letting this information slip to Galahad under that truth curse, but it feels like something that happened much longer ago than it truly did. He looks down, at the rabbits, and takes in a breath. "That ritual is forbidden. It should never have been performed."

"Was it cultivation?"

"It was not the cultivation I described to you. It destroys the soul of the summoner."

"He destroyed himself so Wei Wuxian could have his body?"

"Yes." His face remains mostly blank, but there's something a little grim in the set of his jaw and mouth. He has turned this over in his mind a hundred times, possibly a thousand, and never found his way out of a selfish and cruel gratitude for Mo Xuanyu's sacrifice. His life was worth something, too, and should not have been thrown away -- but it was, and the weakening, shocking joy of hearing that song, inexpertly piped through crudely-cut bamboo, will never leave Lan Wangji.

Galahad considers. "That body he has isn't the one he was born with."

"His first was destroyed," Lan Wangji says, a confirmation.

"Is it hard? Or does it not matter, because it's him?"

The question almost strikes him as ridiculous, because the idea of Wei Ying returning and Lan Wangji meeting him with anything but desire seems incomprehensible -- but it is a fair one. The physicality of his feelings for Wei Ying was one of the first aspects of their acquaintance that truly unraveled him. He remembers every detail of the gleam in Wei Ying's eyes, the nimbleness of his body along the Cloud Recesses walls, the flick of his ponytail like something beckoning to Lan Wangji, daring him to take hold of it and pull until Wei Ying could no longer escape him.

Then came his cleverness, his generosity to others, his wit and his insatiable curiosity. Lan Wangji must have known he had sealed his own demise the first time he sat down at his qin, able to think of nothing but Wei Ying flirting with the women of Gusu and effortlessly outsmarting water spirits, and began to compose a song with no spiritual trappings but those of his overburdened adolescent heart.

"Once I recognized him," he says, "it no longer mattered."

Hearing Lan Wangji say so makes him think of Claudius in Aziraphale's body -- how he could almost immediately recognize Claudius' physicality in that body's movements, Claudius' inflections in that body's voice. He thinks of watching Claudius spread out those huge white wings and how it made heat tremble through him from his face to his groin. If Claudius were confined to that body forever, Galahad wouldn't love or want him any less. Lan Wangji is right: it would no longer matter.

Lan Wangji glances back up, then. He thinks he sees understanding in Galahad's still face. He expected no less. He remembers the first night with Wei Ying in the jingshi, carrying on about his captivity at Hanguang-jun's cruel behest, the heat of his hands as he tried to steal the jade token and the flash of his wide-eyed expression in the dark as Lan Wangji blew out the candles and the incense. It all came back to him then, cleaving him through with love and desire that had been growing slowly tame with grief for over a decade.

He's quiet, hands light at the rabbits' backs, waiting in the event that Galahad has further questions.

In truth he's done with questions for the moment: Lan Wangji's answers have only solidified his feelings of similarity, and as he flips the sketchbook to a new page and begins to draw just the rabbits this time he lets that sameness rest in him.

Very well, then. Lan Wangji is used to answering questions from curious young men, but those questions usually keep to the topic of cultivation and meditation rather than straying into personal matters. The silence is welcome enough. With care not to dislodge the rabbits, who are mostly asleep now, he angles his body back toward the qin. The song that drifts from his hands and out from the strings is hardly a surprise.

It's at least twenty minutes before he looks up again. "Did Claudius tell you about Sir Lancelot?"

Edited 2024-03-12 20:18 (UTC)

By this time, the song he wrote for Wei Ying has ended, and Lan Wangji is simply experimenting with some of his newer ideas. There are echoes of some of the pieces he heard at Sagramore and Laertes' wedding dance. He looks up. About Sir Lancelot could mean several things, including the drink he and Claudius shared at the feast, but he thinks that is not what Galahad means. "Magnus did."

"It's all right between us," he says, picking his words carefully -- he remembers how Laertes reacted when he'd said he'd apologized to Lancelot. "He asked for my forgiveness and I gave it to him. He's choosing to be someone different."

Lan Wangji takes this in with a little skepticism, but some understanding as well. Another second chance. That matters, and so does forgiveness granted with open eyes. So he asks only about the most pertinent component of the issue: "He will not harm you again?"

"No."

After another, shorter pause to consider, Lan Wangji nods in acceptance of this new information. He has visited no cruelty upon Lancelot and has merely avoided him to the best of his abilities. Perhaps he can relax that standard.

He's glad -- as long as anyone dislikes Lancelot on his account, he feels some sense of responsibility towards him, and a little of that eases. He returns to his drawing.

Hands hovering over Wangji's strings, Lan Wangji watches Galahad for just a breath or two longer. He is peaceful company, and admirably focused on his sketching. It reminds Lan Wangji that he still needs to teach both painting and calligraphy to Magnus. Perhaps Galahad would like to join them for one or both of those pursuits. For now, however, he resumes his music.

Kade walks past! He's whistling a tune. Someone who knows something about music as a tool might be able to parse out that this tune is a communication, for all that Kade hasn't wanted--and therefore hasn't bothered--to look for the usual pan-pipes. (He's not actually talking to anyone; it's just a nigh-automatic recitation of one of the Court of the Rainbow Princess's ballads as he tries to excise it from being stuck in his mind.)

He's also still trying to be more present in this place. When he sees the open door, he pokes his head in.

The music snags Lan Wangji's attention first and foremost, unsurprisingly. He is already looking up and directly at Kade when Kade glances inside the room. Because they barely know one another, he takes the time to set Danding next to Xiaoxue so that he can stand and bow properly, respectful. "Young master West."

"Lan Wangji," with a deep nod. "Cute bunnies."

"Mn," Lan Wangji agrees. They are indeed exceptionally cute. He lifts his eyebrows the smallest amount, inviting Kade to come in and meet them if he is so inclined.

Oh, sure. Kade ducks into the room and kneels down, sinking back onto his heels. "Are they new?"

"New enough. Claudius and Crowley brought them to me midway through Antimachus." Xiaoxue, simultaneously wary and intrigued by a new human, twitches his nose at Kade as Lan Wangji observes.

"I gotta admit," Kade says, extending a hand for the bunnies to sniff at, "I still haven't figured out how the calendar here works."

Xiaoxue hops neatly right over Lan Wangji's qin in order to begin industriously sniffing at Kade's hand. Lan Wangji sets Danding down alongside him, so that they have equal opportunity to greet Kade. "It is unlike anything I have ever known. The year is unnaturally long."

"Short weeks, long months..." Kade holds very still, trying not to twitch at the feeling of whiskers against the side of his fingers. "I've been places with remarkably different... structures to the year, shall we say, but never long enough for it to really hit."

"In your travel between worlds?" This reminds Lan Wangji that he is still irritated with Shen Yuan for erroneously telling Kade that his entire world is somehow named after the concept of mo dao, but that is not Kade's fault, so he keeps it to himself.

"Yep." Kade slowly straightens his fingers, brushing the tips against the bunny's face. "What are their names?"

"Xiaoxue." Lan Wangji touches the head of the white rabbit, gentle and between the ears. "Danding." And the same identifying little tap for the brown rabbit.

"Xiaoxue and Danding," Kade repeats. "They're real cuties."

"Mn," Lan Wangji says, in grave acknowledgement that the rabbits are, indeed, real cuties. He's briefly quiet, but then he decides to offer something trivial, given that Kade has taken the time to come and sit with him: "The back hills of my home are populated with rabbits."

"Oh yeah?" Kade smiles at the thought. "There's a lot of critters around my school, but not a ton of rabbits. Some of my students keep pets--ESAs, really. Emotional support animals." Carefully, carefully, he strokes Xiaoxue's ear. "Would you tell me more about your home?"

Lan Wangji tucks that phrase away to pass onto Wei Ying later. He will presumably agree that Jin Ling and Fairy qualify for that description. As Xiaoxue twitches an ear and then lightly bumps his nose into Kade's hand, Lan Wangji says, "I come from the Cloud Recesses, in Gusu. It is a remote mountain shrouded in mist. We teach and study cultivation."

"Night hunts, musical communication with spirits, and addressing evil, right?" Kade remembers. He purses his lips. "The musical communication was specific to your sect."

"Mn." The rabbits are occupied investigating Kade, so Lan Wangji puts his hands lightly against the strings of his qin, not forceful enough to create any sound. "It is not only communication. I can lay spirits to rest, too."

Their little whiskers are so ticklish. Kade gently strokes Danding's ear, too. "How's that?"

"Spirits that cannot move on will accumulate resentful energy. Rest soothes that energy." Demonstrative, Lan Wangji plucks a few low chords of Rest, gentle enough not to startle the rabbits.

Kade closes his eyes, trying to parse through the sounds and see if he can pick up any phrasing, but it's pretty different to the pan music he learned in Prism, and he can only get the faintest suggestion of meaning. One thing is clear, though: "It does sound soothing."

Lan Wangji catches Kade's eye for a moment in a nonverbal acknowledgement of the description, then shifts smoothly into a different piece. "Evocation draws a spirit into an array."

Kade's eyes fly open. "That phrase," he says. "The one you just played. It's a beckoning, yeah?"

Lan Wangji's own expression registers faint surprise. "Mn," he confirms. "You could tell?"

Kade chuckles, partly in disbelief. "It's like you're speaking a totally different dialect from the pan-pipes," he says. "Same family of language, but not necessarily mutually intelligible. But some passages are still pretty close."

When last they spoke of this, Kade told Lan Wangji that it had been years since his time in Prism. He plays another few soft chords of Evocation. "Your pipe language. Is it for the living to communicate with one another?"

"Hm? Oh, yeah. The dead are just dead, where I come from."

Lan Wangji's interest is piqued, actually. "No matter the circumstances of their deaths?" Danding is now nudging Kade's hand with his nose, in search of either food or further attention.

"Nope! Neither in Prism nor on Earth," Kade says, and then reconsiders. "I suppose sometimes the souls of the dead can be retrieved from Underworlds, if you have a Door and are singularly motivated." After all, that's how he and his friends had brought Sumi back. "But you'd need their body and their spirit, too, and if all that's left is bones, then that's all you have. Other Worlds have other rules."

If you have a Door and are singularly motivated. Would Lan Wangji have gone looking to retrieve Wei Ying's soul, if he could have, if such things were possible in his world? He suspects not. He believed that Wei Ying's spirit was destroyed, beyond recovery or reincarnation. Since he has lapsed into silence contemplating this, he plucks a lettuce leaf from his qiankun pouch and proffers it to Kade.

"Oh, I'm not hungry," Kade jokes, even as he takes the leaf and tears it carefully in half.

Danding wastes no time in sitting up on his hind legs, clearly awaiting the snack he so richly deserves. Xiaoxue is huddled beside him, but his eyes are also fixed on the lettuce.

Kade offers half the lettuce leaf to each of them, watching avidly as they start to eat.

As ever, this is a charming sight. Lan Wangji watches, then returns his hands to the qin. The rabbits are used to his playing, as long as it does it with care and is not too abrupt with the sounds, and aren't particularly bothered by him beginning the Song of Clarity.

"That's an interesting one," Kade observes, quietly, when the leaf is about half-eaten. "It reminds me of--" he trails off.

Still quiet, Lan Wangji looks up. He doesn't need to look to play this song; in fact, he doesn't even need to be touching the strings, though he currently is. He does not actually ask Kade to continue. He merely makes the space for him to do so, if he wants.

Kade, of course, is remembering Nancy--once a first love, always a first love, or however the saying goes--but he shakes his head. "Hey, maybe this is similar," he says, instead: "My best friend had a bone flute made out of his ulna that only the dead could hear. He could call any skeletons to dance with it."

Kade is obviously changing the subject, but Lan Wangji lets it go easily. There are many things he wouldn't care to discuss with a relative stranger. If he feels any surprise at this tale of a flute that can be heard only by the dead, it extinguishes itself before it can make any alterations to his expression. "My husband plays the dizi," he says. "His dizi and my qin together lead to stronger musical cultivation."

"The dizi," Kade repeats. "Another instrument, I gather?"

"The flute, blown from the side rather than the top." Clearly, musical education outside of Lan Wangji's own world is sorely lacking.

Oh, so a regular flute then. It must be a difference in naming conventions. "And it works different in concert with your qin, huh," Kade says. "Is the effect additive, or multiplicative?"

That is not the question he expected, but he weighs it with all due consideration. "Additive, I believe. My brother plays the xiao¹ and the effect is similar if we work together."

¹Genuinely sorry to Kade about the cornucopia of Chinese flutes.

"The xiao?"

"Also a flute, blown from the top."

Kade laughs, rueful. "It seems my knowledge of international woodwinds is sorely lacking."

Lan Wangji gives him a look of just-tolerant amusement. "You are welcome to educate me on instruments from your home that I do not know."

Kade's eyes twinkle. "Okay," he says, and jokes: "What instruments do you not know about?"

Lan Wangji meets that look with a perfectly inscrutable and immobile expression of his own. "Which do you know about?"

"Besides the panpipes? Not enough about enough, probably," Kade admits. "Lemme see... Guitar?"

"I do not know that one." There is an infinitesimal shift to Lan Wangji's posture that indicates he is interested in hearing about it, though.

"It's a stringed instrument. I--have actually never had to describe one before. They're generally yay big," he gestures, "with long necks." He mimes playing one, fairly badly.

As a player of a stringed instrument himself, Lan Wangji can tell that this demonstration is imprecise, but he nods regardless. "There is a music room here," he offers. "It may house a guitar." He has rarely visited, because he is content with his own instrument, but he knows that it exists.

"I wouldn't know how to play it if it did," Kade acknowledges. "But I could still name some things."

Lan Wangji glances down at the rabbits, fondly. He reaches to pet Danding's cheek, and then the top of Xiaoxue's head. "At a time when these two are not with me, I would appreciate your expertise."

"Such as it is," Kade says. "Cool. I'm in."

"Hanguang-jun, hello." Nightingale raises a hand in greeting as he passes by, then doubles back to look more closely at the scene. "New arrivals?"

Lan Wangji, somewhat invisibly pleased to see Nightingale, rises to his feet and bows, although it is not quite as impeccable as it might be due to the rabbit perched atop his arm and preventing him from putting his hands together properly. "Detective Chief Inspector." He pauses, bordering on rueful. "They are new. The angel Aziraphale created them recently."

"Very sweet." He smiles. "Another attempt at stage magic or were they more intentional?"

There's the slightest twitch of amusement somewhere around Lan Wangji's eyebrows as he recalls Aziraphale's talent show performance. "Claudius requested them for me," he clarifies. There is a fairly ridiculous story that goes along with that fact, but he chooses not to dwell on it.

"That illuminates very little," he says with a laugh. "May I meet them?"

Lan Wangji nods, indicating that Nightingale may indeed come in and meet them, and resumes his seat as an invitation for him to sit opposite Lan Wangji. Now having a general sense of the best way to engineer a successful meeting between the rabbits and a new human, he is already plucking a few fresh lettuce leaves from the qiankun pouch at his waist.

Nightingale sits with a nod and holds out his hand for some lettuce. "Hello there," he says very seriously to the young bunnies.

Of course, Lan Wangji passes Nightingale the lettuce, which has the rabbits approaching him without delay. Xiaoxue hops directly over the qin; Danding slips under the table to make his way over so he can receive his offering. "The white rabbit is named Xiaoxue," Lan Wangji informs Nightingale. "The brown rabbit, Danding."

"Xiaoxue, Danding." Nightingale bows to each of them as he repeats their names, presenting their leafy tribute with a flourish. "What charming little creatures they are. Have you had pets before?"

Nightingale is instantly on the verge of making two very small friends for life. Lan Wangji watches with banked fondness as they set to the task of destroying that lettuce. "Not in this way. The back hills of the Cloud Recesses are populated with rabbits. I cared for them when possible." Sizhui must be doing the same in his absence.

"How wonderful." He wiggles his fingers a little as Danding snuffles them for more treats. "London is quite overrun with foxes but they tend to themselves for the most part."

Lan Wangji hands Nightingale one more lettuce leaf. The rabbits' desires truly are difficult to deny. "And none are kept as pets?" He has read of London, by now, and knows that it is a large and industrial kind of city. The thought of foxes populating it is somewhat charming.

"It's not permitted under our laws." Nightingale touches a fuzzy little ear with a small smile. "Foxes are considered too wild, in spite of their propensity to trot around the city scavenging for fried chicken and chips. Though I think many people cultivate friendly relationships with foxes that have chosen their gardens to live in."

Keeping animals as pets is also, as per the rules, forbidden at the Cloud Recesses. Lan Wangji kept the rabbits that Wei Ying foisted upon him anyway. He's quiet for a beat or two, eyes on the rabbits, before he speaks again. "Claudius told me that you may be hosting an event for the discussion of magic."

"It's been on my mind, yes." He offers up another lettuce leaf. "I think it might turn out to be important for us to know exactly what we're capable of as a group."

The rabbits, naturally, are thrilled with this new offering. Lan Wangji's own expression is on the slightly graver side. "Mn. It seems the rules are different for everyone." This is not his favorite aspect of the mansion. He prefers rules to be knowable and fixed.

Upon seeing Lan Wangji in the parlor, Nina has decided to test out the name that Magnus told her he likes to be called. "Hi, Hanguang-jun, it's been a while since-- Who are these?" She immediately stops short upon seeing the two small rabbits, though, interrupting herself.

Lan Wangji, who has just gently nudged Xiaoxue aside in pursuit of actually putting his hands to the strings of his qin, looks up, glad to see Nina despite how little that shows on his face. He notes the use of his title, wondering if he has Magnus to thank for that, but doesn't comment on it. "Young mistress Nina," he says, but he relents immediately and answers, glancing at each rabbit in turn as he names them: "Xiaoxue and Danding."

Nina comes a step closer and crouches down to look at them. "They're so small! Where did they come from?"

"Aziraphale created them," Lan Wangji admits. Both rabbits have their attention on Nina now, Danding with slightly less overt caution, his eyes brightly interested in this new person. Thus far in his short life, new people have nearly always proven sources of food and attention.

"Oh, that's right. I suppose he can do that, can't he," Nina says. She did get a display when she first met him, after all. But now it's time to coo at the rabbits. "Hi. Aren't the two of you the sweetest things?"

Lan Wangji rummages in his qiankun pouch and produces a few more pieces of lettuce. He offers these to Nina over the rabbits' heads; the rabbits, naturally, watch the potential food source with interest. "If you feed them, they will trust you more quickly."

"Of course," Nina says, with a smile. "I'm the same way." She gently offers the lettuce to both Danding and Xiaoxue.

Danding, immediately friendly and eager, begins to eat the lettuce without hesitation, a rather endearing sight as his small but majestic whiskers move along with the movements of his mouth. After a moment, Xiaoxue follows suit, seeing that his brother has not been immediately poisoned or subject to treachery at Nina's hands. Lan Wangji gives Nina a look of subdued warmth about it, and then says to the rabbits, "Young mistress Nina is kind. You need not fear her."

"What he said," Nina says, then sits in silence and watches them for a short while. "They look so soft. I've never had any animals before."

"You may touch them," Lan Wangji prompts. He trusts that Nina will know to be gentle with them. "There were several rabbits living in the back hills of my home, but these are the first two I have kept in this way."

Nina lightly strokes Danding on the top of his head with two fingers, since he seems the less nervous of the two. "Are they... angelic rabbits? Since an angel created them?"

As Nina noted, Danding is the bolder of the two, and happily accepts the attention as he continues to work through the lettuce. Lan Wangji, meanwhile, ponders the question as he watches this play out. "Perhaps. They do not seem to have any exceptional abilities."

"Except being exceptionally cute, of course," Nina says, giving Xiaoxue a gentle pet on the head as well. "It's been a while since we've talked. How are you? The switching of the bodies...?" She trails off slightly, bringing her gaze up from the rabbits to him. She fared fine but she doesn't want him to feel obligated to talk about it if he had a difficult time.

Lan Wangji is faintly surprised that Nina is asking, but he knows that it constitutes a kindness on her part. He recalls doing the same to Claudius after the truth spell and the attack of the fierce corpses. He does, however, hesitate before he answers. "I traded with young mistress Gu." He lets the silence after that fill in its own blanks. Nina has been subjected to far too much personal information from him already. She can make the leap that Gu Xiang awoke in bed with Wei Ying without him saying so.

Nina's eyes widen slightly; she only spoke with Gu Xiang briefly at the birthday party but she knows that that wasn't a trade that was a good fit. "At least she's..." She searches for the correct word. Nice isn't quite it. Not responsible either. She likes Gu Xiang, so she feels bad that she's searching so much. "...Not terrible? She can be sweet."

It is true that Gu Xiang is not terrible. Actually, Lan Wangji quite likes her; he just did not like ceding control of his body to her for a day. He nods, a bit on the grim side. "No permanent harm befell either of us."

"Good. I was a cat," Nina volunteers, petting Danding again. "Mothwing. I caught a fish in the pond for Drosera."

All manner of absurd things have befallen Lan Wangji in his life, and yet this gives him a little pause. It stands to reason. Mothwing is an intelligent creature in her own right. He nods. "Did Mothwing fare well on two legs?"

Presumably, Nina and Mothwing were very sensible and met up again at sunset as promised, to check in on the state of their own bodies. She nods with a little smile. "Yes, I think she really enjoyed it. Both Sagramore and Susan made her human food-- twoleg food, as she calls it."

It's something of a balm to hear that some people here, at the least, enjoyed their time in bodies not their own, and it is endearing to imagine Mothwing in Nina's form sampling various human foods. Twoleg foods, that is. He glances at Xiaoxue, who is sniffing Nina's fingers studiously. "At least these two remained themselves."

Well, okay, she pets Xiaoxue as well. "That's a good thing because they're perfect the way they are," Nina declares. "During the first body swap, I kept running up to someone only to discover that they were someone else. It was a little embarrassing." She doesn't seem too hung up on it, though. Even though she ran into Aleksander in Luo Binghe's body, it all worked out in the end.

For as much as Lan Wangji likes Aleksander, he has made a conscious effort never to mention Nina to him. He met Nina first, and he knows the wariness she feels about her own Grisha abilities, not to mention her entirely legitimate fear about the jurda parem. For that reason, he does not mention Luo Binghe's efforts to toy with both him and Claudius -- but his jaw does tighten a little. "Mn." He releases a breath. "I meant to speak with Sir Sagramore and found Master Asmodean instead."

“Oh, I did the same,” she says, with a little smile. “It was a little awkward at first but it was fine. I think I’m lucky in that I get along with most of the people here.” Nina sometimes wonders if she truly does or if there’s something in her that craves approval and belonging, enough that she turns on charm when she needs to. It’s almost conniving in a way. Kaz would be proud.

“Not that I haven’t had some false starts with people,” she confides. She thinks of Claudius — and Galahad too.

On the whole, Lan Wangji would say the same for himself. After a lifetime of cordial but distant relations with nearly everyone but his own family, he is perpetually and repeatedly surprised at the number of people here whose company he enjoys and who, even more surprisingly, seem to enjoy his. Then again, there are a few obvious and glaring exceptions.

He gives Nina a gently prompting look. She doesn't need to tell him about those false starts, but she may if she is comfortable doing so.

"One of them was Claudius." Nina leans in closer, though it isn't much of a secret. She suspects Claudius wouldn't mind the retelling; it's water under the bridge at this point and much less touchy than her conversations with Galahad. She even gives Lan Wangji a small smile to note that it's not serious. "We were both in an awful mood when I first arrived. I was stressed. He was exhausted. I cried to get out of the telling him too much about myself."

Lan Wangji takes the time to picture this with something like amusement. Claudius greeted him with such aplomb, and Lan Wangji became irrevocably fond of him so quickly thereafter, that it requires a little additional effort of imagination on his part. Wei Ying once very memorably tried the crying to get out of something trick on him. Lan Wangji paid it no mind. "New arrivals are often distraught," he says. "I was."

"He was brewing something with a lot of herbs. It was a little creepy. And I was so paranoid, I briefly went by a different name when I first arrived." Nina laughs a little and gives both of the rabbits and extra little scritch on their soft heads. "I helped him pick out a watch for Galahad recently. We're fine now."

The rabbits are predictably beginning to settle in Nina's presence, their noses gently twitching and their ears relaxed. Lan Wangji notes this with a little invisible fondness for all three parties. Claudius brewing something with several herbs sounds perfectly everyday to him, but people do arrive here from a wide variety of unusual contexts, so he nods. "I had lost track of my husband and my students when I arrived." The rest of that, the and therefore I was panicking completely beneath my moderately calm exterior, seems too obvious to bother vocalizing.

“That must have been really disconcerting. I’m glad he’s here now,” Nina sympathizes. She suddenly realizes something. “You know, the second before I came here I was actually in a different body. Slimmer. Blonde. Maybe that added to the disruption.”

Lan Wangji looks back up at Nina's face with immediate surprise, muted though it may be. "A different body?"

Nina hesitates, just for a moment. “In my world, there are Tailors, who are able to change appearances a little bit little, using pigments and other supplies to help their work. I used to be able to do their work, even though I wasn’t trained in it — except under jurda parem, I was able to transform someone into someone else with what was basically the snap of two fingers.” She only hazily remembers that. Kaz’s request. Wylan’s agreement. His blonde hair darkening into Kuwei’s black hair.

“I was under cover before I came here. For my country and my King. I suppose I looked too Ravkan because they made me more Fjerdan to blend in — but when I arrived, the changes were gone.”

If Lan Wangji had a slightly worse grasp on self-control, he might glance down, at this juncture, at the qiankun pouch at his waist. The jurda parem is tucked inside of it, as it has been since the day Nina passed it to him. But he does not. He studies Nina's face. "You would not rather still look Fjerdan, would you?"

"I like what I look like," Nina says, easily. "I wouldn't change it for the world.¹"

¹Some may say she eventually does rediscover "her world" and discover that staying in her Fjerdan form is worth it, but that's an alternate universe now.

Lan Wangji gives her a little nod, then, of approval. He has some mixed feelings on this subject, but he keeps them to himself. Asking himself, or Wei Ying, whether he would rather Wei Ying have stayed in his original form is a passage to endless unanswerable questions. "Then that was not your first experience in a body not your own."

"No, though a cat is significantly different," she says, laughing a little. She considers telling him that Luo Binghe made her a delicious broth but does not, turning thoughtful instead. "At the end of the day, though, even though I prefer this body, I think if I found the right person or the right situation I'd be happy with a different one. Wylan-- the person that I transformed-- Jesper fell in love with him while he was transformed. He was eventually returned to what he looked like at the start, but it didn't really matter to either of them."

"Mn." Shen Yuan knows this already, so it is likely useless to keep it from anyone he actually likes. Lan Wangji exercises a little conscious effort of will to work past his instinct to hoard and defend every scrap of information about his husband. "Wei Ying is in his second body."

"I see," Nina says. It's mostly in earnest and only quite mildly in jest (with a dash of Nina picking up on the quirks of people she speaks with), but she does give him a familiar open look, as if to invite him to say more if he wishes.

Lan Wangji watches the rabbits, the way they snuffle at Nina's hands and then tuck their limbs beneath themselves. There is no gentle way to say this. "He died. When he returned, it was not in the same form."

Edited 2024-03-18 05:27 (UTC)

Nina frowns. "Saints, I'm sorry. But... you still love him. And he's here now." That doesn't take away the pain of it, she understands, but it's a balm at least.

Lan Wangji looks back up at Nina, then. He wonders about the people she described, Wylan and Jesper, and whether she misses them. She must. "I did not anticipate seeing him again after his death. His shape hardly mattered."

"That makes sense," Nina says quietly, more subdued. "You're very lucky. I hoped the person I loved would come on the day of the visitors. He didn't. Now I'm afraid he'll come after I've finally..." She trails off. Gotten over him? Never. Recovered? Wrong word. Healed? ...Maybe.

Lan Wangji is impossibly lucky, a fact to which he returns almost every day. Few people get a second chance in this particular way. Lan Wangji never forgot Wei Ying across all those long, mundane, grueling, fruitful years, and never loved anyone else, but he did, slowly, heal. That took nothing away from the strength of his feelings when they reunited. He tries, now, to choose his words carefully. "Thirteen years had passed. I had changed. When I recognized him, I still loved him."

Nina nods, understanding. "I think that's why I didn't see him on visitor's day. Maybe I'll never see him again, even here. It might not be right for me." She considers something for a moment before taking a sudden, different tack. "Do you... believe in gods? Or any kind of religion?"

If the abrupt switch of topic fazes Lan Wangji, he doesn't indicate it whatsoever. Apparently his religious inclinations are of great interest today. "There are gods in my culture. I follow the teachings of Laozi and the Buddha."

"Magnus told me what gods are," she informs him. "We have Saints. My best friend Inej worshipped them, believed that if you did the right things, the Saints would bless you. I don't think I believe in anything." This does relate back to fate and winding up with who you belong with. A miracle. In the depths of her gut, though, Nina knows that she will most likely never see Matthias again; she has to control her own fate.

If these Saints are anything like the god whose cruelty has caused such suffering for Galahad, for Claudius, and for Crowley, then Lan Wangji can hardly blame Nina for doubting them. They may exist; that does need mean they command a necessity of belief. He looks at her and nods. "I prefer to determine what is right for myself."

Nina fidgets with the hem of her dress for a second. "What about... helping others determine what's right for them?"

Lan Wangji passes Nina another leaf of lettuce, much to the interest of the otherwise oblivious rabbits. It gives him the time to think of how to word his answer. "It can be a noble thing to serve as a guide," he says, slowly, "but it is impossible to make another person's choices."

Nina carefully tears the lettuce leaf in half, thinking. "The people of Fjerda... they're so frightened of the Grisha. And fear causes nothing but anger and hatred. Before I came here, I ...um, may have performed a little trick." She offers one half to Danding and one half to Xiaoxue. "I turned my friends into Saints. We did save a whole town," she says in a rush, as if to explain. "It wasn't unearned. The only extra thing I did was ...something with my abilities." Worship is better than death.

Lan Wangji watched the cultivation world tear Wei Ying apart because of their fear. He listens to this story calmly. The rabbits receive their gift of lettuce only a little bit less calmly. "You saved a town. Good."

She gives him a bright smile. "I did. Now the residents of Elling will always give thanks to Sankta Leoni of the Waters and Sankt Adrik the Uneven."

As usual, Lan Wangji doesn't smile in return, but there is something warm to be found there. He is aware of how much trust Nina has placed in him, with the jurda parem and with the pieces of her past that she has revealed. He is resolved not to betray that trust. "Perhaps those are worthier targets for belief."

"I think so. It's a shame I came here immediately afterwards and couldn't see what happened." She frowns slightly. "I hope Ravka is doing okay. And... and Fjerda, I suppose." After all these years, she's grown to love Fjerda. The cold weather, the language that she's fluent in only second to Ravka, and the people who live there. Even thinking about the smell of the fish markets on the docks and the way the citizens single-mindedly worship Djel sparks a sense of nostalgia in her rather than disgust.

Lan Wangji nods, agreement that he hopes her home is well and acknowledgement of the difficulty that comes with the inability to know. It does not escape him that while he can write to his brother, the reverse is untrue. He would never know if the cultivation world broke into another war or if something befell one of his loved ones there. "Did someone come for you that day?"

Nina lets out a short laugh. "I thought it would be Matthias or one of my close friends but instead, Kaz Brekker showed up that day. I wouldn't call him a friend but... he did help me work through some things. He has one of the most brilliant minds I know but he's an absolute bastard."

Edited 2024-03-22 22:00 (UTC)

Lan Wangji knows at least a few men who fit that description. Bemused, he wonders at what the logic of the visitors could possibly be. "I visited with my brother." Thus far, he is the only person he knows who was granted the ability to return to his home, even for a short time.

"Your brother!" Nina brightens. "You were able to go and see him? What's he like?"

"We look alike," Lan Wangji says, "but my brother is often smiling." Other than that, and the difference in their eye colors, they are nearly identical. "He is a kind man."

"I'm glad you got to see him again," Nina tells him. "It probbaly gave you some sort of... closure, I suppose?"

Closure might be an accurate enough term. He would have liked to see more -- more of the Cloud Recesses, more of the people there, more of his brother, who has been scattered and melancholy since Jin Guangyao's betrayal. But it was peaceful, too, and more than he could have expected. He reaches to pet between Xiaoxue's ears. "Mn."

Nina idly wonders if not seeing Matthias is a version of closure for her as well. She gives Danding a pet, just because that seems fair, but she's content to just sit and keep company with him and the rabbits.

Sagramore is determined to stop being so miserable around everyone, and that includes Lan Wangji, who has had to listen to far too much pitiousness about Asmodean. As an apology for said pitiousness, he's brought spicy arugula for the rabbits, wrapped in a paper towel, and coffee for himself -- he knows Lan Wangji will have tea for himself.

"Good morning."

It goes without saying, but if Lan Wangji were privy to any of these delusions of piteousness, he would be utterly baffled. Since he is not, he only looks up at Sagramore with a glimmer of warmth somewhere around the eyes. Since he currently has one rabbit on each knee, he half-bows without actually standing, and then nods to indicate that Sagramore is very welcome to sit with him.

He sinks down to the floor and takes a drink of his coffee. "You were playing that when we first met, I think."

"Mn." Lan Wangji scoops Danding up with care and sets him on the ground with a gentle nudge on the rear. That is all the encouragement the rabbit needs to head under the table and directly for Sagramore, whom he recognizes. Their first meeting feels impossibly long ago, longer ago than it truly was. "I have played it most of my life."

Sagramore unwraps the paper towel, which is damp from washing the lettuce, and offers it to Danding. "How long has that been, precisely?"

Sagramore has an instantly receptive audience for his vegetable offering, which may also have gone without saying. Lan Wangji, meanwhile, betrays a little amusement at the question. "My life? Thirty-eight years."

At that he looks up and grins. "Oh, I'm only a year older than you. Thank you for not going on with young master Sagramore."

Given the recent influx of ridiculously young people, there is some relief in learning that Sagramore is around his own age. "Among cultivators, age can be difficult to determine at a glance. When one is unsure, it is polite to err on the side of a presumption of youth." Typically, people he knows are likely to look younger than they are -- much as he does -- rather than older, but it is generally difficult to be certain.

"Oh, is that what it is? Fair enough." He watches Danding munch on the arugula leaf for a few moments of uncharacteristic silence, and then says, diffidently, "If you like, you can call me by my title. Sir Sagramore, I mean."

So many people here have explicitly requested that he not use a title that Lan Wangji looks at Sagramore with faint surprise. "Thank you," he says after a beat. He wants almost to explain himself -- to say something about his upbringing, about the three thousand rules that became four thousand, about his uncle and the simultaneous weight and comfort of all his perfectly precise expectations. Something about the way Wei Ying used his birth name without asking, a ploy to get his attention that worked better than he ever meant it to. As usual, the words stick somewhere around the height of his sternum. He strokes Xiaoxue's head, between his ears.

Sagramore glances up. "Don't use all the titles, though. It'll get too long in a hurry."

"Sir Sagramore the Reckless, the Rash, the Unruly, the Desirous, the Impetuous, of the Desert," Lan Wangji recites, perfectly deadpan and straight-faced. "Mn. I take your point."

"It's unwieldy," he agrees. "But your memory is excellent."

Ah; that provides a less circuitous opening. "My sect has four thousand rules that must be followed within the Cloud Recesses walls. When I was a child, three thousand."

"Be serious," Sagramore says, before he can stop himself. "--I'm sorry, I know you are. That's an incredible output."

Of course Lan Wangji is serious. He straightens his spine, although this is as unnecessary as it usually is, and says, "No vulgar language. Do not walk too fast. Do not be picky with food. Do not succumb to rage. Be respectful and humble."

"Jesu Christ, I'd be out on my ear."

The look Lan Wangji gives Sagramore could be described as fond, if the onlooker happened to be paying close attention. "No. You would be my guest." His tone does slide into more overt fondness, now. "Wei Ying can hardly go half an incense time without breaking a Cloud Recesses rule."

"I'm not surprised in the slightest." Carefully, he strokes between Danding's ears with two fingers. "What a man."

Edited 2024-03-14 03:04 (UTC)

Obviously, saying good things about Wei Ying is an easy way to Lan Wangji's heart. The perpetual sting of a world that threw celebratory feasts for the occasion of his death has yet to fade. "Mn," he says, managing to pack at least two decades of unrelenting love into a single understated syllable.

Sagramore sits with the warmth of that love, so economically expressed and yet so obviously vast, for several long moments. "So guests get an exception to the rules?"

"No," Lan Wangji admits, glancing at Sagramore. Not if you ask his uncle, anyway. "But my brother is the sect leader." And he is Hanguang-jun, his reputation only recently tarnished by his poor marital choices.

He laughs. "I see. The power of good connections."

This configuration of connections has, yet again, left Gusu Lan with a sect leader in seclusion, but if Lan Wangji dwells on that little parallel, he will lose his enjoyment of Sagramore's company, so he chooses not to. "Wei Ying studied at the Cloud Recesses when we were young. He was perpetually sent for punishment."

"That wouldn't happen to have been your job, would it?"

"It was," Lan Wangji says, this second admission delivered with a little more embarrassment than the first one.

He laughs. "That seems like an easy way to fall in love with someone, watching them make trouble."

It was ridiculously easy, so easy that Lan Wangji only knew it was happening because he fought it with everything in him. Nothing he did had any effect. "I..." A little uncharacteristically, he hesitates mid-sentence. What can he say? He had never met anyone like Wei Wuxian. He never did again. He had believed with utter sincerity for weeks on end that he was losing his mind and that clarity of thought would be inaccessible to him for the rest of time. "Yes," he agrees, after that little pause, with slightly more obvious feeling than usual. "He did not listen to me."

"If you were used to rule followers and some dashing fellow came in and defied you and over and over you wound up together for his punishment -- Christ, it probably felt like flirting. It must have been maddening and delirious." He laughs. "I think I was someone else's Wei Wuxian from time to time."

Maddening and delirious could hardly be a more apt description. Lan Wangji nods, then gives Sagramore a faintly curious look, head cocked the tiniest bit to one side, to see if he wants to elaborate on that final thought.

"Oh, I was horrible," laughing again. "I shouldn't even say was. I was such an impatient boy, and angry and stupid and looking for trouble. Not," he amends quickly, "that Wei Wuxian was angry or stupid. Just that I did like finding rules to flout."

Calmly, Lan Wangji takes this in. "Wei Ying was not stupid," he agrees. "Nor were you." There is another small stretch of silence as he thinks. "I had never met anyone so alive."

Sagramore cocks his head in that doglike way, smiling.

Lan Wangji allows himself one more hesitation, then relents. He ducks his head to hide his own smile, which is considerably smaller and shorter-lived. "He believed I hated him. I believed I hated him, at first. Still, he would not leave me be."

There's something deeply pleasing about listening to Lan Wangji talk about Wei Wuxian, with all the subtle tells for warmth that show up in his face and voice. For once, Sagramore doesn't say anything: he's waiting for Lan Wangji to continue.

This will take another few breaths, time to weigh what he might say next. To truly explain what it meant to meet Wei Ying would necessitate explaining the death of his mother, and Lan Wangji is not willing to discuss her, if only because he finds that he becomes rude and prickly when he does so. "I first met him because he was breaking curfew. He intended to bring alcohol into the Cloud Recesses; it is forbidden there. We fought, although fighting on the premises is also forbidden." Lan Wangji had been unable to control himself around Wei Ying from the jump, driven to impossible rage and desire within moments of the first time Wei Ying opened his mouth.

A soft laugh. "He must have made you mad."

"Mad and delirious," Lan Wangji says, a more fervent agreement than he might usually issue.

"What made you realize you loved him?"

Lan Wangji glances toward his qin, which is currently serving mostly as decor for Xiaoxue. He strokes the rabbit's back with the side of a finger. "I knew it when I found myself writing a song."

The only time anyone has ever written a song about Sagramore it was Dinadan, and the song was very rude, which as it turns out is sufficient to make Sagramore feel very sentimental about the idea. His smile gets softer and fonder. "Did you?"

"Mn. You heard a portion of it that morning that we met." Only a portion, but that is still more than Lan Wangji played for anyone but himself for a very long time.

"I'm honored that you played it for me when I was a stranger."

Gently moving Xiaoxue out of the way and onto his lap instead, Lan Wangji whisks back his sleeves so that they do not drape and sets his hands to the strings of his qin. He plucks a few slow notes, the opening of the song in question, and then directs his gaze back up at Sagramore. "When Wei Ying returned from death, I knew him by this song."

"You taught him the song? Or had he heard you play it?" He suddenly remembers the rest of the arugula and offers Danding another piece.

Danding, who cares very little about the romantic story on offer as long as Wei Wuxian continues whittling toys for him and Xiaoxue in his spare time, accepts the arugula eagerly. Lan Wangji nudges Xiaoxue off his knee in case he is also interested in approaching Sagramore for food. "I sang it for him, once. He was feverish. When he played it, I knew it was him. No one else had ever heard it."

"Christ, that's beautiful," softly, holding another leaf in his other hand for Xiaoxue.

One day, it is possible that this memory will wear thin for Lan Wangji, but such a day seems vanishingly far off. Thirteen years do not dissipate so quickly, nor do the preceding eight. He is briefly quiet, sitting with the thought of Wei Ying's new face, the familiar cleverness behind those unfamiliar eyes. It is easy enough to put his hands back to the qin and resume the piece.

And, just as he did the first time, Sagramore listens quietly -- though the first time he was thinking of how he'd guard his heart against the trouble of love, and now he's thinking of his husband, and how he'd recognize him if had been lost. He thinks of the sicanje on Laertes' arm, and how it marks them as a family, with their fir trees and doubled stars; he thinks of the way Laertes looks when he's tousled and sleepy, when he's flushed with the pleasure of some new project, the light in his eyes when he looks at Szarka, the soft thoughtful face he makes while he's reading. He thinks of what an act of love it is for Laertes to be his master, and how much he wants to be Laertes' in return, and give him everything he needs or wants.

Edited 2024-03-16 04:27 (UTC)

If Lan Wangji wrote this same song today, it might well be markedly different. He hears, when he plays it, the rough edges, the technical imperfections he could have smoothed out with another two decades of study, the desperation that overtook him as he composed it. He hears Wei Ying saying Lan Wangji! Wangji-xiong! Lan Zhan! and he hears Wei Ying screaming at him in a cave in Yiling, ordering him to leave, and he hears Wei Ying's new voice laughing over the words I'm much more attracted to people like Hanguang-jun. He would not change even one note, now.

It is less a performance, this time, as compared to playing for Claudius and Crowley. Sagramore did not ask this of him, and it is only the two of them, a moment shared with a friend. Still, there is no melody his hands know better than this one.

It's so different from listening to Asmodean play, and yet that does spring to mind, inevitably -- but there must be something about the love song, or Lan Wangji's calming presence, because instead of feeling pained by the thought he just thinks about how much he loves Asmodean too, how it felt that first day to lie on the blanket under the tree and listen to him play the harp, and to feel for the first time in decades as if something new and good had happened to him. Sagramore watches the rabbits eat and listens. Everything will be all right, he thinks. He will learn to hate himself less, and Laertes will wait for him to learn, patient and loving as he always is, and in the meantime it will be all right.

Before too terribly long, it comes to an end. The qin is a quiet instrument; there is no especially grand finale, only the last notes echoing lowly throughout the parlor. Lan Wangji composed this song believing that he was sentencing himself to madness over one boy for the rest of his life, and he was right, but he might like to see the look on his own fifteen-year-old face if he could speak to that young man and tell him that one day Wei Wuxian would be in his bed every night, would yield to him in all the ways that he wants and defy him to the same standard, would kiss him through a smile several times a day.

Lan Wangji lets the silence creep in afterward, his own attention now on the happily-snacking rabbits.

As the song ends, Sagramore smiles, watching the rabbits eat, before he glances up at Lan Wangji.

"In Camelot, I had a friend who played the rebec and wrote songs. His name is Dinadan. He's one of the only people I wish was here."

Lan Wangji doesn't quite smile back at Sagramore, but the impression of warmth is there. "I hope that he comes for you."

He lets the ends of the arugula drop, and leans back on his hands. "I hope he doesn't. He was perfectly happy with his lot. I don't think his fate needs to be changed the way mine did, no matter how much I miss him."

After a careful pause, Lan Wangji asks, "Your fate?"

"Oh, I'm sure I was destined to die in the next few years if I had stayed. I was really miserable, and I was often alone. I always thought I'd be killed falling down the stairs drunk, or perhaps getting stabbed to death in some stupid quarrel, or-- something trivial, you understand. The man I loved most had done with me; I had nothing." He says it easily -- it feels bearable to say, now.

"Mn." Another pause follows, this one longer. The rabbits are polishing off the last of the arugula. "Then I am glad you came here instead."

"So am I. I've never imagined being happy like this before."

Before Lan Wangji came here, he was happy. He recalls that happiness easily: he was married, a new and unbelievable boon; Sizhui was bright and promising and sweet, freshly exploring his ancestry with Wen Qionglin; his students were good, diligent and thoughtful even when they failed. The happiness of this mansion is less steady, and it is a happiness he could never have even known he might want. Dancing with Wei Ying without fear for any cruel eyes on them, playing weiqi with Claudius, Magnus' uncomplicated trust in him. These, too, are gifts of fate. "Nor have I," he says quietly.

There are things he's considered telling Lan Wangji, now that they're friends -- things about himself he rarely shares, but which he knows Lan Wangji is unlikely to repeat, things he would tuck away as if within his qiankun pouch and carry forever. But the moment is so pleasant that Sagramore can't bear to. Instead he's quiet, watching the rabbits, and letting his happiness rest.

Out of curiosity, Aleksander peered into the room he was passing by and was delighted to spot Lan Wangji. His smile widened as he noticed there were two small guests. His heart was quite irrevocably given to Szarka but the rabbits were rather adorable in their own rights.

"Hello Hanguang-jun and friends," he said warmly. "Am I interrupting?"

Lan Wangji is, frankly, equally pleased to see Aleksander, and especially pleased to see him when he is not plagued by distraction as a result of the incorrect body. He stands, setting Danding beside Xiaoxue on the table, so that he can bow with all his usual attendant politeness. "Young master Morozova," he says, just a little warmly. "You are not interrupting."

Aleksander returned the bow elegantly then stepped inside. "I am glad to see you. No ill effects from the switch, I hope."

"No." The greatest injury was to Lan Wangji's pride, and -- temporarily -- to his marriage, but there was no lasting damage. "You fared worse than I did." He sits again, folding elegantly down with his legs freshly crossed and the layers of his robes coming along with him. His intention is that Aleksander should sit with him.

Aleksander smiled wryly but said nothing as he took Lan Wangji's cue and sat down across from him. He carefully rearranged his kefta so it wouldn't bunch up uncomfortably. "I am very glad to hear that. The Mansion is capable of being kind, after all."

"Mn." That is undeniably true. The house has provided them with food and shelter and an apparently endless supply of reading material. Lan Wangji gives Xiaoxue a gentle tap on the head, between the ears, with two fingers. The rabbit glances up and eyes Aleksander, interested and wary all at once. Danding follows suit, then hops tidily right over the qin to bring his tiny body closer to Aleksander for investigative purposes.

"Hello, lapushka¹," Aleksander said to the braver of the two rabbits. He smiled and slowly held out his hand, not wanting to startle either, to allow for further investigation. "Who might you be?"

¹Darling.

Danding applies himself industriously to the task of sniffing Aleksander's fingers, nose twitching at a somewhat remarkable rate as a result. "This is Danding," Lan Wangji offers, watching with an almost overtly soft look on his face. "The other is Xiaoxue."

"Hello, Danding," Aleksander greeted the rabbit with all of the deference one would give to an visiting dignitary. He looked over at Xioxue and greeted him just as deferentially. "It is an honor to meet the both of you."

As is his habit now, Lan Wangji passes over a few lettuce leaves to Aleksander, for his use in the endeavor of earning the rabbits' trust. He glances down at his qin, then. "You wanted to hear me play."

Moving slowly so as not to startle either rabbit, Aleksander accepted the pieces of lettuce. He gently offered one piece to Danding, keeping his hand steady and once that had been gobbled up, he offered another to Xioxue.

"I did," he said, looking up with a smile. "Would this be a good time?"

With only the faintest trace of amusement, Lan Wangji looks at his qin again, more pointedly this time. What better time? The rabbits are content. The qin is already out.

It is easiest to answer by shaking back his sleeves, setting his hands to the strings, and beginning to play.

That was answer enough and Aleksander sat back to listen, occasionally tearing off little bits of lettuce for the rabbits. Once the pieces were gone, he devoted his entire attention to Lan Wangji and his music. It was different then anything he'd ever heard before but he found it hauntingly beautiful.

This instrument has been at his side for so long that Lan Wangji believes he could play it blindfolded and in his sleep if necessary. He concentrates regardless, placing his fingers with precision against the strings as he finds the hui to play Flowing Water. Wangji is quiet when he plays it as a mere instrument rather than as a weapon, but it's the kind of quiet that rewards close attention.

Aleksander listened contentedly, absently petting Danding. The music reminded him of gently flowing water which in return reminded him of the streams and rivers of Ravka. He let the memories flow, something he hadn't done for a long time. And right up until he remembered Annika and the night at the lake, they were good memories.

He forcibly wrenched his attention back to the present moment, not wanting to dwell on the moment that had changed his path and that of Ravka's.

Once the song was done, he smiled warmly and applauded softly. "That was lovely."

The applause is a little bemusing, but Lan Wangji doesn't mind it, of course. He inclines his head for a moment in acknowledgement of the compliment, then withdraws his hands from the strings. He reaches to pet Xiaoxue's cheek with the backs of two fingers. "Thank you."

"Did you compose this yourself?" Aleksander asked curiously.

"No," Lan Wangji says with surprise. "That is a classic piece." He hesitates, but then does add, "I do compose."

Aleksander smiled ruefully. "I did say music was not one of my skills. I can say whether or not I enjoyed a piece but that is as far as it goes. I would like to hear something of your own if it would not be an imposition."

After another hesitation, a short one, Lan Wangji sets his hands back to Wangji's strings and, again, commences playing. It is not the song he wrote for Wei Ying -- he likes Aleksander, but they are only shortly into their acquaintance, and he has played that song often enough recently that he is beginning to feel protective of it again. It is, however, a piece he composed during the last year of his seclusion. It is slow, melancholy, and deliberate, like the feeling of rebuilding something broken piece by piece, and of knowing that its reconstruction will not make it the same, but that it is worth the trying regardless.

The first piece was beautiful but this one moved Aleksander. The notes spoke to something deep inside his heart, as though they were aware he had been shattering the pieces of himself that were monstrous and broken in attempt to become someone new. His past has left scars, there is no denying that but it did not need to be all he was.

And if Danding's fur was wet and he had to turn his head to discreetly wipe away tears once the song was done, then that could be considered progress towards the change he was trying to make.

Politely, Lan Wangji makes no mention of Aleksander's tears. They are subtle enough not to warrant intervention, and he himself would not appreciate having attention drawn at such a moment. He silences the strings with a careful flat hand and looks back up to Aleksander with a neutral expression. Out of continued politeness, he waits for him to gather himself.

Once Aleksander had regained control of himself, he looked back at Lan Wangji. "I am not sure I have words to express my feelings," he said slowly. "That was beautiful. Thank you for sharing that with me."

Lan Wangji ducks his head for a moment -- not quite abashed, but a little surprised at the strength of Aleksander's response. "Thank you," he echoes, and reaches to stroke Xiaoxue's head. He pauses, and then adds, "I was seeking something within myself when I wrote that."

Aleksander nodded thoughtfully. "The feeling I had was of putting one's self together, of a change that redefined the world and needing to come to terms with it. I don't mean to say that was your intention, only that is how the music made me feel. Whatever the way of it, you have a wonderful talent."

That description is enough to have Lan Wangji releasing a deliberate breath, his hand stilling on Xiaoxue's back. It would be polite to thank Aleksander again, but he finds it, abruptly, difficult to speak, even only to dispense some nicety about the long years of practice that led to the level of skill he has attained. He's silent, but appreciative.

Aleksander was content to sit in silence and continue to contemplate the themes of the music and pet Danding in the bargain. The little rabbits were growing on him and it was calming to run his fingers through Danding's soft fur and imagine what life must be like as a much loved and cossetted rabbit.

[ open post: Lan Wangji and guests ]

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