Work Text:
It’s no longer strange to hear a forlorn song floating under the night sky of the Cloud Recesses. It’s a tentative yet desperate calling, a demanding yet gentle question.
Lan Wangji’s fingers dance over the guqin strings, while his mind is calling into the void.
Wei Ying…
Can you hear me?
Please answer me…
How have you been?
Will you…come back?
No one ever answers, but every night without fail, he repeats the motions, repeats the questions. He doesn’t know why he does it—whether merely out of guilt, regret, or something else. But as long as he does so, there is hope that Wei Wuxian will answer and there can be some reprieve.
The song coming to an end, Wangji places his hands on the strings. They vibrate against his palm and quiet down. The last few notes echo throughout the empty chamber before dying away.
Serenity returns and Wangji is still alone.
Then the candle beside him flickers. A silver glint flashes past.
Wangji narrows his eyes, only to see a silver butterfly rest on a string of his guqin. Its wings flutter twice before it slowly materializes into a spirit. It is so transparent and insubstantial that it merely looks as if a haze has appeared before Wangji. Yet he can vaguely make out a head of long black hair, so much red, and dots of silver.
“Who are you?”
“Okay, I’m guessing you weren’t asking for me.”
“Who are you?” Wangji repeats.
“I have no name.” The spirit looks around and settles into a comfortable position on the ground before Wangji. He barely has distinctive features, but his aura is somehow overwhelming.
“Why are you here?”
The nameless spirit shrugs. “I heard your song and it attracted me, so I followed it here.”
Wangji studies the spirit, but the harder he tries, the less he can see. He ends up looking through it to the night sky outside.
“You could…hear the song?”
“Well, yes. It’s different from all the other sounds you hear in the world of the dead. It stands out.” The spirit seems to cock his head. “If he’s still nearby, then he’ll definitely hear it too. Either he’s not ready yet, or he has left.”
Wangji sighs. “I understand.”
Spirits who stay close to the living world are all tied here for a reason, usually resentment. He knows it’s selfish to wish Wuxian’s spirit is still within reach, still tied to this world, but he can’t stop the yearning.
“What would you even ask him if he answers to your call?” The spirit is conversational, either bored from being a lone ghost or finds Wangji’s predicament interesting for whatever reason.
“I don’t know,” Wangji answers truthfully.
“Then why do you want to see him?”
“I want to protect him.”
The spirit laughs at that. “He’s already dead.”
Wangji finally meets the nameless spirit’s eye. “I still wish to protect him.”
“Why?”
“He…” Wangji pauses. Images of Wuxian flashes past his mind. His cold yet confident expression as he declared that he knew what he was doing, before turning his back to the entire world and forging on alone. “Because he never did so.”
The spirit laughs again. Amidst tinkles of silver chains and bells, it almost sounds like an old friend saying, I understand what you mean.
“Did he try to save the world, but the world turned on him? And he thought sacrificing himself would make things better? Did he sacrifice himself even though he knew that there was no point in trying, but he still had to try?”
“Yes.”
“Those types are easy to love, aren’t they?”
Wangji doesn’t answer as immediately as before, but in the end, he still says, “Yes.”
The spirit’s features move, but it’s hard to tell if it’s a scoff or endearing smile.
“Why are you here?” Wangji asks again, but he means it differently this time.
The spirit understands as well. “Someone is waiting for me,” he answers. “Someone I must protect.”
Wangji nods.
“What will you do if he comes back?”
“Stand with him,” Wangji answers readily. “No matter what path he chooses.”
“Noble idiots are so easy to love,” the nameless spirit murmurs to himself. “But so damn hard.”
The haze flickers in and out. Wangji catches a glimpse of a bright eye and coldly beautiful features, before it breaks down, transforming back into a silver butterfly.
It flutters over and dips down on Wangji’s middle finger for a second. Then it’s gone, melted away in the darkness.
A tingling feeling remains and Wangji just knows that the man on the other end of the red string of fate is still there.