Archive of Our Own

Things change. There is a moment, just a second when things take a different course and heartbreak is dodged. It doesn’t happen in all universes. In some universes, blood is split and there is so much sin, the horror of it can’t be cleaned away. Xiao Xingchen’s soul never is reformed, Song Lan walks alone for the rest of his days and Xue Yang dies in the dust and blood like the feral dog he is.

But not here.

Here Xiao Xingchen is just that little more perceptive and just that little bit lonelier. And Xue Yang, just that little bit more fragile.

It starts like this as it always starts with Wen Ruohan and Wei Wuxian and Jin Guangyao but those are things that are consistent and constant. What changes is Xue Yang gets that little bit more hurt, Jin Guangyao’s knives and men carve that little bit deeper. Xue Yang loses the Stygian Tiger Seal. If Xue Yang was a wolf, he’d die of starvation. Instead, as always happens, Xiao Xingchen finds him in a ditch and carries him back with the little blind girl.

Xue Yang does not heal like he wants to. The wound in this thigh is much deeper than he first believes. The muscle is cut, a chunk missing. He thinks this is fine, he can heal. But then, despite Xiao Xingchen’s careful tending, it gets infected.

Xue Yang spends a week writhing and sweating, calling out for people he thinks he forgot a long time ago, swearing revenge on those who revenge has already been taken. In this rage of a fever, he cannot hide himself, not when he grasps Xiao Xingchen’s arms tight with both hands, not when Xiao Xingchen has to bathe him and inevitablely comes across that fake finger.

So this is what changes. Xiao Xingchen knows from the very start. Xue Yang does not heal as well as he does in other times. Instead, they make a trio of cripples, two blind and one seeing but barely able to walk, let alone fight. And so, they don’t night hunt together. Xiao Xingchen goes alone and brings back meagre bags of silver and copper.

Xue Yang seethes, curses Xiao Xingchen’s and is caustic towards A-Qing. The little girl beats him with her stick, accuracy unerring but Xue Yang, as much as he snarls can do little. He only settles when Xiao Xingchen offers him sweets and sits by him on his sick bed. It is like being close to some wounded animal, a slow gaining of trust.
Xue Yang doesn’t offer a name, not for a long time, and Xiao Xingchen doesn’t ask. He weathers the storm that Xue Yang is because the Coffin House is for once full of noise. He almost always knows where Xue Yang is. He is a restless man, energy burns under his skin, flies along his bones and in confinement, weak as he is, his presence is still strong. He has also perfected a pitch of voice that is ingratiating and needy. A-Qing yells at him when he does it and fights back when he gets too vicious and gets good at dodging whatever Xue Yang flings at her.

Xiao Xingchen thinks they get some enjoyment out of it and Xue Yang heals and his pain fades but never leaves, their sparring is just as brutal but it lacks the vicious sharpness it once did and Xiao Xingchen is certain he can hear something teasing in the undercurrents of Xue Yang ’s voice. A-Qing, he thinks too, softens though Xiao Xingchen is less sure of it but sometimes when they go to the market and Xiao Xingchen buys sweets, she will throw some of hers at Xue Yang ’s head upon their return. Xiao Xingchen likes to think they are getting along but Xiao Xingchen knows he likes to think a lot of things, but not all of them are true. Like Song Lan and how they would always be at each other’s sides. Xiao Xingchen tries to not think about Song Lan.

Xue Yang, in his abrasive way is a balm. He is nothing like Song Lan. Both men are intelligent, but Xue Yang is more cunning. Song Lan is rich earth, Xue Yang is fire and Xiao Xingchen can’t decide if it is a cleansing one or oily and thick.

Xiao Xingchen’s raw openness is papered over in fine rice paper but papered over all the same and he can ignore it for days until it rushes back in a cold, drenching wave. Xue Yang seems to know when that happens, his calls and insults get that little bit softer, a little more rounded in his mouth, a little more tentative. Xiao Xingchen sees the man that could have been had things been a little different, the world a little softer.

Xiao Xingchen often wonders if Xue Yang was born evil and he knows it’s foolish. No one is born evil, but when it is late and the stars are cold and bright and there is something missing from his side, Xiao Xingchen entertains it. Born evil. It’s Xiao Xingchen’s job to cleanse evil.

He spends more time than he likes to admit, in that first year with his sword resting naked across his knees, the moonlight and polish bringing her to a holy gleam. It would be easy. Xue Yang cannot run. His sword is in a guikan pouch he cannot reach . He has no Stygian Tiger Seal. Xiao Xingchen can imagine it. Xue Yang sleeps curled up on his side as not to rest on his leg wound. His arms and hands are always tucked against his chest, like he is afraid of being noticed. It would be easy. Xiao Xingchen could push him on his back, cut his throat in a whisper of steel or push his blade down through Xue Yang ’s chest, right the way through the mattress. Blood would soak down on to the stone floor. Xue Yang wouldn’t even wake. Xiao Xingchen thinks there is something unfair about that. Xue Yang should know his death is coming.

But as the first months of summer pass and Xue Yang takes his first wobbling steps like a new born calf and seems so delighted to have done so, Xiao Xingchen smiles even as A-Qing and Xue Yang snipe at each other. He can hear the happiness in Xue Yang’s voice and words. Even A-Qing seems happy as she calls him ‘Stranger’ and says it’s about time he got up and did some work.

This happiness takes time to come through. A-Qing is a suspicious child by nature and she sits close to Xiao Xingchen in Xue Yang’s presence.

“He’s a bad man,” she whispers when Xue Yang is sleeping.

Xiao Xingchen could lie to her and say that Xue Yang is not as dangerous as he seems. That would false. Xue Yang is much more dangerous than he seems and wounded animal’s attack is always the most desperate.

“Take care around him. If he does anything to frighten you. Tell me.”

She comes to him three times when Xue Yang has threatened a little too genuinely to pull her spine out through her throat. The resulting conversation between Xue Yang and Xiao Xingchen is pointed and full of heavy, disappointed words. Xue Yang stumbles away, not feeling regret because men like Xue Yang rarely do. He does, however, ease back on the threats because the thinning of Xiao Xingchen’s lips and the disappointed sigh is nothing something he enjoys.

It takes through to winter and half in to spring before Xue Yang is fully mobile though his gait is not so catlike as Xiao Xingchen remembers, not quite so predatory. He can always hear Xue Yang walking, an uneven walk that hitches and slopes. A-Qing insults him and he insults her back and whilst most of the time it is still fanged, it’s sliding towards something more brotherly and sisterly. Xiao Xingchen doesn’t dare mention it.

At the start of Spring , a limp still in his step but muscles stronger and core burning bright, Xue Yang offers a name.

Chengmei takes time to form but form it does and slowly Xue Yang as he had become the ‘Stranger’ becomes ‘Chengmei’ on Xiao Xingchen’s tongue. However, it’s always Xue Yang in his head. In winter, when they are huddled around the stove, feeling blue in heart and body with the deep nights and grey days, Xue Yang calls him friend and something warm blooms in Xiao Xingchen.

He feels guilty for weeks, keeps his distance from Xue Yang and his smiles are strained and forced. Xue Yang reacts like a spurned cat, haughty and hurt because he doesn’t understand. He folds back into himself and the cold makes his leg ache so he snaps more and it is almost a return to the first Xue Yang, all sharp edges and black pits. A-Qing shouts more, cries angry frustrated tears when Xue Yang pries deep and cracks open the things that hurt her most. He is good at that, digging deep and pulling out the darkest parts. He does it to Xiao Xingchen with a far too knowing voice and really, if Xiao Xingchen didn’t know already, he’d know from that sly cruelty. It takes all of that mountain training not to hit Xue Yang.

It peaks on the darkest night of the year, when they are huddled around the stove, nursing thin broth and unhappy feelings. Xiao Xingchen wishes he could see Xue Yang, knows he will be hunched around his bowl of broth, bad leg stretched out towards the heat. A-Qing sits on Xiao Xingchen’s other side, refusing to sit near Xue Yang after a particularly fierce exchange that had A-Qing throwing a jug at Xue Yang’s head and Xue Yang laughing high and unhinged.

Xiao Xingchen is mediator but he will admit he is tired too. The light is short and precious and he misses the heat of the sun on his skin like he misses Song Lan.

He has not touched Xue Yang in weeks, is careful with his touches, casual brushes of their fingers limited after their last hissed words. But tonight, Xiao Xingchen is tired and cold and he reaches out with his hand, patting a little hesitantly until he finds Xue Yang’s wrist. Xue Yang doesn’t stop him, doesn’t pull away and Xiao Xingchen knows the man has turned to look at him.

“I’m sorry,” Xiao Xingchen says with a gentle squeeze. Xue Yang doesn’t say anything for a long time and then pulls away. Xiao Xingchen takes the sting of the rejection, suddenly, for once, glad that he has no eyes because crying doesn’t come as easy as it did. But then Xue Yang laces their fingers together and the warmth bleeds back through Xiao Xingchen.

A-Qing huffs at them, but she settles and things are smoother for a while, especially when Xiao Xingchen makes medication to ease the cramping of the torn muscle of Xue Yang’s leg that has never healed right. The scar is ropey and rough, nearly always hot to the touch though Xiao Xingchen thinks Xue Yang just burns hot away. Xue Yang’s mood improves when Xiao Xingchen digs his fingers in and works out knots of spasmed, tight muscles. Xue Yang gasps and laughs because it hurts and Xiao Xingchen imagines him gasping for another reason. He doesn’t pull away.

Winter ends and things are easier. They step out into spring, blinking and a little sunshy but with the wonder of young children.

The earth is damp with snowmelt and Xue Yang is like a freed bird. He walks easier now, Xiao Xingchen’s hands and medicines working well.

Xue Yang comes to him each night before bed and Xiao Xingchen puts his hands on him and feels like a traitor though his hands never stray from Xue Yang’s leg. He knows it is a matter of time because he can feel the weight of Xue Yang’s stare on him and it doesn’t repulse him as it should.

It sits heavy in Xiao Xingchen’s chest and no matter how he pokes at it, prods at it or straight up ignores it, it is there. It lingers around his heart like a miasma, curling and slick. He can’t purge it. Time moves on, regardless of Xiao Xingchen’s heart and Xue Yang can dance about on the good days. On the bad days, when his leg aches that little bit more, he is whiney and sulky rather than bitter and feral. On those days, Xiao Xingchen brushes and braids his hair and Xue Yang sags and sighs, the most relaxed Xiao Xingchen has seen him.

With his leg improved and his mood exuberant, Xue Yang drags A-Qing to the market, claiming that she has freeloaded enough and should really do more for Xiao Xingchen. The argument is explosive but they still go together, bickering out the gates and Xiao Xingchen listens for the indignation of A-Qing and the mocking teasing of Xue Yang that almost, but never quite goes too far. The vegetable seller is wary of Xue Yang. Xiao Xingchen may be blind but he knows the sound of a dagger makes unsheathed. When Xue Yang is there, the vegetables are better quality.

Xue Yang and A-Qing come back with a full basket, Xue Yang seemingly incredibly proud of himself and A-Qing victorious. She says, “Don’t worry, Daozhang, that vegetable seller won’t be giving us trouble anymore.”

Xiao Xingchen doesn’t ask what they did but he has an idea. Xue Yang doesn’t smell of blood which means little in men like Xue Yang who can kill clean if they want but don’t choose to. A-Qing is too even tempered for the vegetable seller to be dead, her voice too full of child like satisfaction and righteous. There is no fear of Xue Yang, at least, not like there was. So Xiao Xingchen assumes, rightly, that they have terrorised the man further. He finds it hard not to smile because even he is sick of eating half spoiled cabbages and sprouting potatoes.

Spring as it does, goes to summer and summer to autumn and autumn to winter. Xue Yang asks in a roundabout way for his sword. It takes Xiao Xingchen three days to decide. It is midsummer and Xue Yang begins to practice sword forms until he sweats and limps and Xiao Xingchen has to help him to the river to bathe. Xiao Xingchen learns the hum that Jiangzai makes and the bright laughter that comes when Xue Yang completes a set of movements, blade steady. Winter comes in cold and hard and Xue Yang has regained the muscle he lost, not quite all of it but some of that cat like slinkiness is back in him and when they go to market, he prowls like it is his territory. But still, Xiao Xingchen always hears him coming and sometimes Xiao Xingchen wonders if Xue Yang lets him. It’s a kindness Xiao Xingchen can’t quite fathom, at least, not from Xue Yang.

Autumn is a little less panicked than it was last year. They’ve learned a little more about storing and pickling. Money is not plentiful and their stores are basic but Xiao Xingchen is more confident that this year, they’ll have full bellies more often than not. Xue Yang is difficult to deal with when hungry and A-Qing near impossible.

Winter is as cold and cruel as the last but their roof holds better and the walls let in less of the biting wind and Xiao Xingchen thinks that next year, they will have found all of the gaps. He has to sit with that for a while, Xue Yang teasing A-Qing with biting remarks and A-Qing flinging them back at him almost carelessly. But it isn’t careless, they sidestep the topics that burn the most and Xue Yang laughs now when A-Qing calls him cripple and says that at least he can see.

They are something of a family he supposes, and maybe there will be a next year.

When Xue Yang slides into his bed on the pretence of keeping warm, voice singsonging, Xiao Xingchen lets him because there will be a next year and they will patch the walls and check the roof and teach A-Qing how to wield a dagger. He touches more than Xue Yang’s leg and the guilt is less of a burden, more of a reminder.

Another year. They eat themselves sick at the Spring Festival, at least Xue Yang does. They plant a garden that doesn’t quite flourish but makes them proud. Xue Yang is especially proud of the yams. Xiao Xingchen thinks he holds them like a proud father but he can’t be sure. Xue Yang talks like a proud father for sure. Xue Yang asks Xiao Xingchen to cross blades because it is an honour to fight with the likes of Xiao Xingchen.

They spar and Xingchen wishes he could see because he remembers what Xue Yang looked like when he fought. Ferocious and vicious but with a grace that was almost breath-taking in its wildness. The bout ends with Shuanghua at Xue Yang’s throat and Jiangzai on the beaten earth. Xue Yang is breathing hard and there is probably sweat on his brow, the hollow of his throat. The air shimmers for a breath between them before it’s broken by A-Qing’s whooping victory cry.

“Ha! I knew Daozhang would beat you.”

Xue Yang is too happy to do more than half-heartedly threaten her with disembowelment. He makes Xiao Xingchen promise to spar with him again and they do, again and again. Xue Yang starts to win the bouts sometimes but never does Xiao Xingchen feel in danger, even with Jiangzai at his throat.

Spring is brief, Summer burns bright and hot, Autumn is fresh and colourful, Winter freezes the world. Spring arrives. So does Song Lan.

Xiao Xingchen is returning from the market when he hears A-Qing shouting and screaming. She is coming closer and she runs to him, slams into his legs, hands frantically grasping. She looks right up into his face and tells him there is a man in black and he and Xue Yang are fighting. Xue Yang is losing.

The run to the Coffin house is full of staggers and stumbles, A-Qing tugging on his hand as they scramble back home where the clanging of swords rises a terrible thunder.

He can smell blood, heavy and coppery and a lot of it.

He hears Song Lan’s voice, bitter like it was when they departed and Xue Yang’s wild laugh he’s never quite tamed. It gives him away each time he laughs but now Xiao Xingchen always listens for it and smiles when he hears it. This laugh though, is tinged with mania and fear.

“Zichen.”

He hasn’t said that name in three years and it is old and rusty on his tongue but is so achingly familiar he chokes on his next breath.

He has to say it again, louder.

“Zichen.”

“Xingchen.”

He hears A-Qing shout, the scrape of Xue Yang’s feet across the dusty earth and if he lives he’ll limp again, Xiao Xingchen knows.

Xiao Xingchen moves and gets his sword up between them. Jiangzai slides against Shuanghua with a screech of live divine steel.

Xue Yang freezes and Song Lan moves.

“No.”

Xiao Xingchen flings out a hand to stop him, fingers grasping tight in Song Lan’s robes. Song Lan stops. He dislikes touch but this is necessary.

“No.”

“But he is Xue Yang.”

“I know.”

“You know?”

Song Lan’s voice is thick with betrayal and disbelief and the weight in Xiao Xingchen’s chest feels catastrophic, if he moves, it might crack his ribs and flatten his heart. He can’t breathe.

“Xiao Xingchen.”

Xue Yang. Panting hard with wet shallow breathes, grip softening on Jiangzai. The blade slips from Shuanghua.

“Breathe, Xiao Xingchen.”

His voice pleads and Xiao Xingchen just can’t quite get that breath though he wants to. He really wants to. The weight turns suffocating and crawls up his throat, in to his legs and arms, all along his spine. His knees give out and everything goes far, far away.

He wakes to raised voices and it is odd to hear Song Lan shout. It’s not so odd to hear A-Qing shout. Her voice is high with distress and he knows she is crying and angry with herself for those tears. Xiao Xingchen cannot hear Xue Yang’s snarl and he struggles to sit up, lightheaded and cold to the bone with fear.

The raised voices cut off abruptly and there are two sets of hands on him, one actually touching and gripping with a tender ferocity and the other set ghosting over his arm as if unsure of their welcome. Xiao Xingchen reaches for both sets, holds them tight and asks where Xue Yang is. There is a breath of silence, a hesitation and Xiao Xingchen’s whole body clenches in a white flash of panic. He asks again, voice breaking and it’s A-Qing who tells him soothingly in a soft voice she rarely uses that Xue Yang is sleeping, wounded but alive.

Xiao Xingchen knows she is glaring over his head at Song Lan, he can hear the edge to her voice that means tears aren’t far off again.

Song Lan’s hands flex, tightening to the point of pain before all at once relaxing, almost limp. Xiao Xingchen turns his face to him. He can smell Song Lan and it’s familiar and earthy and that pang of guilt lances through Xiao Xingchen’s chest. He reaches out though, palm up, reaching for Song Lan’s face. Song Lan catches Xiao Xingchen’s hand and guides it to his cheek. Song Lan bows his head, clings to Xiao Xingchen and Xiao Xingchen can feel the minute tremors that run through the other man. Song Lan cries silently but the tears are heavy and hot on Xiao Xingchen’s hand. Song Lan apologies in a scraped rough voice, heart spilling out of his mouth with three years’ of words and regrets behind it.

Xiao Xingchen draws Song Lan closer and Song Lan is not one for touch but he allows Xiao Xingchen to press their foreheads together and Xiao Xingchen’s hand to stay on his wet cheek.

Song Lan is still whispering apologies but he quietens and his sobs quieten with him until he is just breathing wetly. They stay like this until A-Qing grows impatient and demands to know who Song Lan is in Xiao Xingchen’s own words.

A friend, a dear friend, a partner, close to his heart. Song Lan takes in these words with trembling gasps and the tremors grow until he has to excuse himself. He steps outside and Xiao Xingchen lets him go. Now that he is here, Xiao Xingchen knows he won’t leave, at least not without saying goodbye.

It occurs to Xiao Xingchen later, that if Song Lan left, Xiao Xingchen might not go with him.

Xue Yang wakes soon after, after A-Qing and Song Lan have settled some, A-Qing no longer as close to tears as she was and Song Lan’s face scrubbed clean of salt and emotion. Xue Yang wakes with dread creeping up on him, panic tight in his chest because Xiao Xingchen is not in the bed beside him.

Xiao Xingchen hears him calling and goes to him in a flurry of white robes, cutting his and Song Lan’s stilted conversation short. Things are not quite right and he knows Song Lan has questions but he won’t ask them in front of A-Qing who clings close to Xiao Xingchen’s side.

Xue Yang sounds desperate and frightened and Xiao Xingchen allows himself to be reeled in and checked over by shaking hands. The heaviness in his chest lightens then turns to that dead weight when he hears Song Lan’s footsteps at the door. Xue Yang bristles and stiffens in the way that always precedes a fight. Xue Yang is wounded, fairly seriously but that won’t stop him. He hisses and spits at Song Lan with vitriol, a possessive arm wrapped around Xiao Xingchen.

Song Lan spits back and it devolves into shouting and threats, Song Lan’s hand on Fuxue’s hilt and Xiao Xingchen in between, torn impossibly between a familiar past and the glimmer of a new future.

Song Lan and Xue Yang are like two tom cats, hackles up and teeth bared. Song Lan is quieter in his violence, Xue Yang much more expressive. There’s a heavy certainty in Song Lan’s words when he says he’ll kill Xue Yang. Xue Yang is flippant, says Xiao Xingchen chose him over Song Lan but Xiao Xingchen can tell there is fear in him.

Xue Yang doesn’t trust that Xiao Xingchen will choose his side, can’t believe that Xiao Xingchen knew along, believes that Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen will leave with A-Qing at their side and Xue Yang dead in the dust.

And Xiao Xingchen can’t reassure him, at least not now, because who is he to stop Song Lan’s righteous vengeance on a man who deserves little mercy? Who is he to step in Song Lan’s way?

Xue Yang and Xiao Xingchen have had whispered conversations before about their past. Told in half-truths and full silences. Xue Yang knows Xiao Xingchen’s history more fully than Xiao Xingchen knows his. Xiao Xingchen just knows the story of a boy, a cruel man and a cart. Xue Yang knows what Song Lan is to Xiao Xingchen and hates Song Lan for it with a bitterness that hasn’t lessened or weakened.

The day after Song Lan’s arrival goes little better than the day of his arrival. Things are fraught, A-Qing silent and wary. Xiao Xingchen thinks over what she says, wonders how she knew Song Lan dressed in black. He tries to bring it up and she shies away so hard he doesn’t bring it up again.

Song Lan and Xue Yang don’t speak, or rather Song Lan refuses to speak to Xue Yang and Xue Yang makes comments about abandonment and sacrifices, voice saccharine poison. Every line of Song Lan tightens and tightens and it is left to Xiao Xingchen to defuse and calm. Putting Song Lan to work helps. Song Lan gets through a lot of firewood on that second day.

Xue Yang is dealt with too, plied with sweets until his fingertips are sticky where they hold Xiao Xingchen’s hand or touch his face as Xiao Xingchen changes the bandages on his flank. Song Lan had almost run him through but Xue Yang is slippery. The wound will not kill him if infection is kept at bay. After the last time, Xiao Xingchen is almost too attentive. He presses his hand gently against the wound every so often over the bandages to check for excess heat, or holds his wrist to Xue Yang’s forehead to see if he is feverish. Xue Yang submits to the treatment with a smug softness. He says that Xiao Xingchen is so gentle with to him, so kind, it’s good Xiao Xingchen cares for him so, just loud enough so he knows Song Lan will hear.

Their meals are taken in almost silence, even Xue Yang is quiet and watchful. A-Qing doesn’t know what to say to break the animosity that hangs over their coffin house. Xiao Xingchen tries for a serenity which is a lie because his heart is beating too hard and fast, his mind tumbling over itself as it tries to understand that Song Lan is here, Xue Yang is alive and Xiao Xingchen can’t say he’ll let Song Lan kill Xue Yang.

When night comes, Xue Yang is curled in their bed, tired and aching. A-Qing has long disappeared into her own bed and Song Lan stands beside the blanket and spare mattress that had been on Xiao Xingchen’s bed.

Xiao Xingchen hesitates and Song Lan sees him to do. Song Lan asks him if they can talk and Xiao Xingchen agrees though he is tried and his empty eye sockets ache like he wants to cry.

They go outside because Xue Yang and A-Qing are sleeping and this is a conversation better had in private. It will open the wound that Xiao Xingchen has papered over with layers of rice paper and three years of distance. They sit under the stars and it’s early enough in the spring that their breath mists and hangs in the air like a secret.

Song Lan asks why and that single word asks so much, why him, why here, why not Song Lan?

Xiao Xingchen feels very old and worn. When he came down off the mountain, goodness and purity in his heart and the goal of ridding the world of evil, he’d been so much younger, so much lighter. Then, the path was clear and now it’s muck and mire and he still has to walk it in his white robes. The mud clings, he can wash it off but it always stains. He is no longer pristine and he has lost his way.

He wishes he had Song Lan’s morality, the certainty of right and wrong, of good and evil but it slips and slides in Xiao Xingchen’s fingers and just when he thinks he understands, it slips again and the complexities of humanity are lost to him. This is mostly Xue Yang’s fault. And Xiao Xingchen has spent three years trying to understand and he has still yet to do it. He had distance on the mountain and now everything bad and good and raw about this world is touchable and in his bed.

“I was lonely,” he says to Song Lan and lets the gaps between his words tell Song Lan the rest. I was lonely, you left me, hurt me when I only wanted to help. I gave up my eyes for you and you gave me up.

He doesn’t say it but he wants to in a way that is deeply selfish. He wants to wound Song Lan like Song Lan wounded him and the ferocity of it surprises him. He has tried so hard to be good.

“Why him?” Why is he not dead? Why not just keep the girl? Why is he still alive?

Xiao Xingchen struggles to answer because he has never fully articulated it himself. He is quiet for long moments, thinks about Xue Yang’s almost obsession with him, an obsession that should be terrifying and cloying but ends up being sweet and earnest if too intense.

“Everyone has the capacity to change.” It’s trite but it’s also an admonishment for them both. Xiao Xingchen had thought Song Lan and himself would walk the world together as cultivation partners forever. Xiao Xingchen had thought that all there was to Xue Yang was destruction and spilt blood. Now he sees the cold cruelty in Song Lan and the raw capacity for kindness in Xue Yang. He is kind to Xiao Xingchen even if Xue Yang denies. Xiao Xingchen thinks Xue Yang is happy here.

“He is a murderer.”

Xiao Xingchen concedes that with a tilt of his head.

“And I had never been alone.”

On the mountain he had Baoshen Sanren. When he came down off the mountain he found Song Lan. And then Song Lan was gone and Xiao Xingchen was blinded, eyes given as an unwanted gift.

“What else was I to do?”

Song Lan doesn’t reply, doesn’t speak and after a long few moments of frigid silence, Xiao Xingchen stands and bids him goodnight. He slips into bed beside Xue Yang who has warmed the blankets through and immediately curls against Xiao Xingchen with a hazy sigh of contentment. Song Lan does not return into the Coffin House that night though Xiao Xingchen listens for him.

Xue Yang approaches him one day soon after, stiff limbed and really, he should be in bed but here he is. His voice is bitter and wary.

“You knew. When.”

“Very nearly from the start, I think.”

He knows when everything joined together and he knew the man in front of him. A slow creeping sense of impending doom. It had crawled over him, gripped his heart, told him to raise Shuanghua and strike at disaster before disaster could strike him.

“And you would defend me, against him? Don’t you love him?”

Bitterness. Hurt. Confusion. He isn’t sure if it’s his or Xue Yang.

“Do you want me to kill you?”

“You rather than anyone else. Especially him.”

Xiao Xingchen stands and to his credit, Xue Yang doesn’t move.

“You could have killed me. Many times. But you didn’t. You haven’t harmed me. Why would I harm you?

Xiao Xingchen knows Xue Yang doesn’t believe him. Xue Yang has hurt Xiao Xingchen unspeakably but Xiao Xingchen gave up his eyes freely. Xue Yang doesn’t speak, doesn’t seem able.

Xiao Xingchen herds him back inside and tucks him back into bed and sits there for a moment, a hand on Xue Yang’s.

“Yes, I love him. I have loved him for a long time. But love is not limited. Sometimes we love unexpected things.”

He squeezes Xue Yang’s hand and doesn’t mind when Xue Yang says nothing.

Spring moves on and the Coffin House is caught in a cold winter of silences and bitter one sided arguments between Song Lan and Xue Yang despite the warm flush of a tentative summer. Xue Yang does most of the shouting. He sounds cocksure and confident but Xiao Xingchen knows him, knows where the cracks lie. He is prodding, searching for why Song Lan is still here, why he hasn’t killed Xue Yang yet. Like a wolf howling out its territorial range, Xue Yang casts accusations and insults.

Xiao Xingchen does not dare leave them alone because it will end in one dead and as much as Xue Yang likes to boast, he is not the cultivator Song Lan is. Song Lan will cut him down coldly and with a vicious satisfaction. There will be no ceremony, no build up, just the snap of bone and the wet tearing of flesh.

Xue Yang seems to know this, he sticks close to Xiao Xingchen and never strays too far into Song Lan’s reach. A wolf but a wily one.

Xiao Xingchen sends Song Lan and A-Qing to the market together, though she doesn’t really need him if what Xiao Xingchen suspects is true. Song Lan is a quiet man but he is kind to children and A-Qing is curious. She asks him questions and Song Lan answers in that careful voice of his. Her hostility fades and Xiao Xingchen knows because her chatter brightens and gets faster. It takes her all of a week to tease Song Lan. It’s a gentle tease, not one of the awful things she says to Xue Yang that makes Xue Yang laugh, surprised and pleased at her savagery.

Xue Yang hears the teasing, the gentle banter and the ensuing fight between him and A-Qing is almost deafening and the closest thing to a real fight they have had in years. A-Qing hits Xue Yang in his still healing side when he goes too close to their unspoken boundaries and tells him they don’t need him anymore because they have Song Lan now. Xue Yang crumples with a furious snarl, holding his side and frothing murder from his mouth. He tries to get up and A-Qing seems to know that if he catches her, he will break her neck. She hides behind Song Lan because Xue Yang will not go near Song Lan, at least not yet.

The silence deepens over the Coffin House and Xue Yang doesn’t laugh unless it’s mocking and mean. Xiao Xingchen feels paper thin, feels like he is spilling life blood all over, unable to make a choice either way.

It drags for two weeks before A-Qing returns from market and flings a bag of tanghulu at Xue Yang where he’s sitting sharpening Jiangzai in the most threatening way he can. It surprises him and he just manages to catch it before it smacks into his skull. A-Qing crosses her arms, stands out of sword range which is quite far, even wounded as Xue Yang is.

There is a stand off and then Xue Yang softens almost imperceptibly and opens the paper bag. He eats one and seems satisfied. He continues to sharpen Jiangzai but his movements are less furious and tight.

A-Qing would normally pilfer sweets from him and will do tomorrow but for now she leaves him be and that hurt between them is mended.

The next day, Xue Yang is back to teaching the knife tricks Xiao Xingchen has asked him not to teach her. He laughs again, that untameable laugh and something settles in Xiao Xingchen.

Song Lan asks Xiao Xingchen if he trusts Xue Yang with the girl.

Xiao Xingchen takes his time in considering the answer, not because he wants to keep Song Lan waiting but because he needs to think about it. He’s not entirely sure when he started trusting Xue Yang with the girl’s safety but he knows he does. Xue Yang does not share his sweets with Xiao Xingchen but he does share with A-Qing.

“They are normally better about not going too far. He knows the lines.”

Maybe not the best thing to say, but it is the truth. Xue Yang is a wolf and whilst at the moment, he is very friendly, he is still a wolf. A wolf cannot be blamed for being a wolf.

Xiao Xingchen and Xue Yang still sleep side by side but with Song Lan so near, Xiao Xingchen does not reach out for Xue Yang like he did. Xue Yang calls him Daozhang because he knows Xiao Xingchen likes it and calls him Xingchen because he knows Xiao Xingchen likes that even better. But still, Xiao Xingchen is hesitant and it grates on Xue Yang if his huffs and turned back at night are anything to go by. They always end up tangled together by morning but normally they start the night like that.

Xue Yang, when he is healed enough, suggests a nighthunt and makes up a story of undead in the next village over and wouldn’t it be great if Song Lan stayed here and looked after A-Qing.

The idea is shot down because A-Qing refuses a baby sitter and the night hunt is not even a day away. They can leave in the early morning and be back by evening. So all three cultivators go, A-Qing waving them off and promising to have dinner ready for their return. Xue Yang huffs and says they’ll be eating charred sticks if A-Qing is cooking.

The night hunt is tense and fruitless because the undead never did actually exist and Xue Yang is sour and silent for the walk home. He pushes past Song Lan in the entrance way of the Coffin House, knocking shoulders hard enough to rock Song Lan. Song Lan’s self restraint and love of Xiao Xingchen are what stop Xue Yang from Fuxue in his spine. If hate could kill on its own, Xue Yang would be dead in the ground half rotted through.

It continues like this, little touches and knocks, nothing that Song Lan can actually comment on without seeming sensitive. Xue Yang pries and smiles and goads, digs too deep, smiles too wide and guileless. He knows exactly what he is doing but if Xiao Xingchen calls him out with soft admonishment, Xue Yang denies it in that voice that Xiao Xingchen hates. It’s too gentle, too genuine to be Xue Yang.

The touches get bolder, a casual pat on the shoulder like they are friends before Xue Yang dances out of reach. Brushed fingers when passing out dinner or an elbow knocked into Song Lan’s ribs with just a little too much force. Xue Yang stands too close, too crowding but slinks away before Song Lan’s expression tightens too much but every time, he stands a little closer for a little longer.

It comes to a head and that’s inevitable. It’s dinner, mid spring and the flowers are beginning to burst into violent colour and bobbing heads. The birds sing each morning and evening. Dinner is stew, meat bought and paid for by Song Lan with the last of his silver. They will need to find more money. Charity of the villagers will not be enough with four of them and Xue Yang’s appetite.

It’s as pleasant as dinner can be with Xue Yang and Song Lan at the same fire. There is an edge to Xue Yang tonight. Frustration bleeds off of him. A-Qing doesn’t sit by him like she usually does, stealing things from his bowl. She sits opposite, closer to Song Lan and doesn’t speak much. Song Lan doesn’t react to Xue Yang’s needles and jabs. He eats his stew with a placidness that is entirely false.

Then Xue Yang calls him Zichen and the stew is flung to the floor. Song Lan sweeps Xue Yang up by the neck and Xiao Xingchen knows by Xue Yang ’s choked laughter. Dinner is forgotten as Song Lan and Xue Yang brawl. Song Lan is bigger, meatier but Xue Yang is mean like a viper. Song Lan can be mean too and he slams his fist into the scar tissue of Xue Yang’s leg. Xue Yang stops laughing and goes silent which is worse. A-Qing is screaming for them to stop.

Xue Yang comes back from that white space of pain and tries to claw Song Lan’s face, saying he’ll take Xiao Xingchen’s eyes and give them back, Song Lan doesn’t deserve them. Song Lan doesn’t speak but wraps his hands around Xue Yang’s throat and squeezes until Xue Yang convulses.

Xue Yang is vicious and wily and the dagger he keeps tucked at his waist ends up in Song Lan’s side. Song Lan roars and Xue Yang takes the chance to slip out of his hold. It’s graceless and frantic, like Xue Yang knows he is about to die. Song Lan grabs him against and throws him bodily out of the Coffin House. The lock on the door splinters and Xue Yang tumbles down into the dirt. He’s on his feet again, knees bent and feet spread for stability. Jiangzai is in his hand and he turns his wrist in a sharp flick. The blade separates and becomes two. Song Lan steps out of the Coffin House, Fuxue in hand, heedless of Xiao Xingchen’s panicked orders to stop.

There is blood to be split on both sides.

“Coward. While you were wandering and sad, I was in his bed. He didn’t seem to miss you very much.”

Xue Yang laughs as the sound of divine steel sings through the air. Their fight is brutal and Xue Yang is almost immediately on the defensive, throat swelling in something close to agony, already beginning to bruise. He continues to taunt though in a raw croak that still manages to be seething with venom and condescension. Song Lan is a good man but there is only so much good man can take and the wounds Xue Yang has left on Song Lan are more than flesh deep. A temple slaughtered, a home destroyed and a lover taken. It pours out of Song Lan, seething and resentful, so much so, Xiao Xingchen swears Shuanghua rattles in her sheathe.

Fuxue slices across Xue Yang’s flank, nicks the back of his calf, leaves a clean split across his high cheekbone. Song Lan drives Xue Yang back and Xue Yang is losing. He knows he is but he doesn’t reach for the demonic cultivation Xiao Xingchen knows he’d used with Jin Guangyao. Instead he weaves and dances and Xiao Xingchen wishes he could see because he remembers the grace with which Xue Yang fought before, the recklessly daring and smug confidence.

But Song Lan is Song Lan and his fury has had time to distil in to something malevolent and pure and it guides Fuxue until she is pure hate in steel. She seeks Xue Yang’s flesh, something tremors in her when she gets blood. Song Lan doesn’t speak, his face fixed with a determination that says he will not stop until Xue Yang is in pieces.

Xue Yang is breathing hard, his taunts less frequent and more rasping. His movements have lost their elegance, the old wound of his leg, the fresher wound in his side. He is fighting now for his life with the viciousness of a cornered tiger.

Xiao Xingchen knows what will happen even as A-Qing clings to his robes and says that Song Lan will kill Xue Yang. Xiao Xingchen knows and he doesn’t move for a long movement as Song Lan bears down on Xue Yang, Xue Yang evading rather than meeting the blows with his blade.

If Xiao Xingchen doesn’t stop this, Xue Yang will die and his blood will seep again into the earth of the Coffin House. Maybe flowers will spring up where they bury him, maybe the earth will die and go barren.

Xiao Xingchen imagines Xue Yang dead and Song Lan standing over him with a bloodied Fuxue. He imagines Song Lan run through and Xue Yang laughing and laughing and laughing. He feels sick.

A-Qing is crying and Xiao Xingchen is so very exhausted.

Song Lan’s blade comes down and Xue Yang is too slow to move but Xiao Xingchen is already there, Shuanghua unsheathed and singing as Fuxue crashes against her. The blades resonate in greeting.

Song Lan is startled and Fuxue nearly jumps out of his hands. Xue Yang collapses to his knees, dragging in ragged gasps through his ruined throat. Jiangzai drops from his hand. Xiao Xingchen has chosen to save him and Xue Yang is half dead with relief.

Song Lan’s face, Xiao Xingchen wishes he could see it because he doesn’t know what betrayal looks like on Song Lan’s face and he wants to know.

“You’d save him? Even after what he has done to me, to you, to us?”

Song Lan seems to forget Fuxue’s in his hand and the sword slides against Shuanghua as Song Lan’s arm gives out. The blade falls, point digging into the disturbed earth. Xiao Xingchen lowers Shuanghua but does not sheathe her.

“And what of what I’ve done to you? What you’ve done to me? Will that debt be paid in blood? Come take it then.”

Song Lan is silent and Xiao Xingchen pushes on, heartsore and angry.

“He is my friend, my lover. As are you. I have space enough for both of you. I will not choose one over the other.”

He sheathes Shuanghua then with a finality that rings.

“If you cross blades again with each other, neither will be welcome here, no matter who started the fight.”

He turns from them then, returns to A-Qing who clings to his robes like a much younger child. He herds her inside and shuts the door pointedly. Neither Xue Yang or Song Lan are welcome inside.

A-Qing is sobbing and she huddles against Xiao Xingchen ’s side. He holds her, crying himself, crying bloody tears that drip down his face and stain his robe.

They sit together and Xiao Xingchen holds her until she is all cried out and lolling against his side. His eye sockets burn and the blood is tacky on his cheeks. He needs to change his bandage but it can wait. He gives A-Qing a cup of water, makes her drink it, then tucks her into bed with a kiss pressed to her forehead. He tells her he is sorry for the trouble he’s brought her but she’s asleep by then and doesn’t hear.

Xiao Xingchen, in a daze, with all his rage burning inside, stumbles outside. The moon will be up and half full, the stars shining their cold bright light. The night air is cool and fresh.

He hears a croak, barely recognises it as his name from the left of the doorway, his name from the right, clearer and heavy.

They’ve sat in silence, sullen, if he guesses right and he does. He knows them both well.

He tells them in a voice that is as cold and dispassionate as he can make it that he will be staying at the Coffin House, it’s his home. They can stay, they can leave but he will never forgive them if one kills the other. They will never be welcome again.

Both try to speak but Xiao Xingchen goes back inside, closes the door and falls into his and Xue Yang’s bed. Xue Yang does not join him and Xiao Xingchen sleeps the sleep of the exhausted.

A-Qing wakes him the next morning and they make breakfast together. They leave enough for Xue Yang and Song Lan but neither trespass into the house and nor do A-Qing or Xiao Xingchen serve it to them. A-Qing and Xiao Xingchen go to market. Xiao Xingchen buys a new length of white cloth for his blindfold. They don’t speak much but stay close together.

They return and neither Xue Yang or Song Lan are dead. Xiao Xingchen thinks it is a start. Xue Yang comes to him, quiet and wary and asks if Xiao Xingchen will look at his wounds. Xiao Xingchen tends to him without the warmth Xue Yang is used to and Xue Yang doesn’t whine once even when it hurts. Song Lan leaves on a nighthunt, stiffly promising to return. He comes back with a length of white silk a few days later and presents it as a new blindfold. He doesn’t say sorry for trying to kill Xue Yang and he never will but the silk is soft and doesn’t catch or tug on the raw scars of Xiao Xingchen’s eye sockets. It’s an apology for Xiao Xingchen and all that has gone before. It’s not enough but it soothes all the same.

Spring moves to summer and things thaw. Xue Yang’s bruised throat takes time to heal but his voice is never quite as sweet and singing as it once was. Xiao Xingchen thinks it suits him better. Song Lan apologies to A-Qing for frightening her and the girl accepts as long as Song Lan takes her to market and buys her sweets. She shares half of them with Xue Yang, calls him ‘Xue Yang’, and he eats them though his throat is still sore and swollen. He returns to Xiao Xingchen’s bed, even though the summer is hot and their skin sticks together. They don’t touch each other but Xiao Xingchen has taken to brushing kisses over Xue Yang’s face. It makes Xue Yang’s skin burn and his eyes squeeze tight, his body all tense until eventually he relaxes into it. Soon enough, he stops freezing up at all.

Song Lan is quiet but he and Xiao Xingchen take to sitting outside under the stars when the weather has been particularly hot and humid. They share a bottle of watered down wine because Xiao Xingchen is a poor drunk and Song Lan isn’t fond of it.

They talk and things are slowly pried out and laid flat. It will not be as it was, crumpled paper can’t be flattened out like new again, but at least the paper isn’t ripped. Song Lan asks Why again one night when the wine hasn’t been quite so watered down.

“He makes me laugh. I didn’t laugh for a long time after we parted.”

Song Lan accepts that, finishes his wine and sways closer to Xiao Xingchen. His hands cup Xiao Xingchen’s face and Xiao Xingchen is feeling soft and warm so he leans as Song Lan presses a kiss to his forehead. It’s reverent, the bestowing of an offering to an altar. Song Lan’s lips are dry and soft against his skin and as Song Lan draws back, Xiao Xingchen tips his head up and draws Song Lan back down. They kiss, gentle, chaste and it is so different from kissing Xue Yang who always treats it as a prelude to more.

Xiao Xingchen is shaking but he is smiling and his voice is thick with bittersweet tears.

“I missed you. I missed you so much, Zichen.”

Song Lan kisses him again, just as fervent and worshipping as before, as if Xiao Xingchen is a god bound to earth.

It’s not quite coming home but it is something close.

Xiao Xingchen tells Xue Yang after he and Song Lan have kissed three times. He tells him when they are curled in bed, before he puts kisses to Xue Yang’s skin. He feels Xue Yang’s gaze on him, reaches to touch his face to gauge his expression and can’t. There’s no smile but there’s no scowl. There’s wetness under Xue Yang’s left eye.

Xue Yang asks if Xiao Xingchen is going to go, even though he said he wouldn’t. The real question he is asking is if Xiao Xingchen is going to ask him to leave.

Xiao Xingchen places his kisses that night with care over the salt lines on Xue Yang’s cheeks then on his tear sticky eyelids.

He does it every night until Xue Yang doesn’t cry anymore.

Summer turns to autumn and they stockpile for winter. With Song Lan and his strength, they ferret out the remaining holes in the wall and patch them thickly. They, well Song Lan, check the roof and make repairs. Xue Yang and Song Lan inevitably work together and whilst they don’t talk, the hostility lessens. It is tiring being angry and hateful all the time. Even Xue Yang stops teasing quite so much, saving most of it for Xiao Xingchen and A-Qing. Song Lan leaves occasionally for nighthunts, Xiao Xingchen goes with him but less often and Xue Yang stays at the Coffin House stropping about like an offended cat. He takes to teaching A-Qing how to use that dagger of his each and every day rather than on a whim and eventually stops wearing it himself. It gets tucked into A-Qing’s leather belt and she sharpens it every day. Xue Yang is extremely proud of himself and tells A-Qing she’ll never be good enough to beat him. A-Qing threatens to cut his throat in his sleep. Xiao Xingchen thinks it is in jest. They are both alive at any rate when he and Song Lan return from nighthunts. They never stray too far, Xiao Xingchen reluctant to be away for any length of time. Fighting with Song Lan is a joy and every time they return, Xiao Xingchen is more ready to laugh, to play fight with Xue Yang, to drop kisses on all three of their heads in passing. Something is brightening in Xiao Xingchen, something he didn’t realise was dulled.

The roof is fixed, Song Lan and Xue Yang make a root cellar that is Xue Yang’s pride and joy. It’s a joint effort, but the way Xue Yang crows, it’s like he did himself. Xiao Xingchen gives him a look, calls him Xue Yang instead of Chengmei, says with same soft exasperation and Xue Yang pauses. Then he tosses, almost too casually, “Well, I guess Song Lan helped some.”

Song Lan seems stunned. A-Qing latches on to Xue Yang, makes fun of him for his mighty concession and tells him he stinks of dirt and sweat. Xue Yang gets water and heats it and leaves enough for Song Lan but says nothing about it.

Chengmei becomes Xue Yang again, rarely A-Yang, but still, sometimes Xiao Xingchen says his name soft and sweet and Xue Yang is helpless in the face of Xiao Xingchen’s love. Xue Yang has never had his name said with such gentleness.

And so it goes. The war is not quite over, the boundaries just have changed. It takes a winter of being stuck in close proximity for Song Lan to realise that Xue Yang bites and snaps but that’s not what is important. They almost come to blows when Song Lan is chopping vegetables after he’s chopped hauled in firewood. He is tired and in no mood to deal with Xue Yang.

Xue Yang swaggers over with that liquid grace of his, sneers at Song Lan’s work, says he can do better and shoves him out of the way, plucking the knife from Song Lan’s hands. Song Lan’s hands clench and a lesser man would have wrapped them around Xue Yang ’s throat but then Xue Yang tells him to get washed, he smells and there’s warm water, fucking use it.

Song Lan is washing himself angrily when he realises what Xue Yang has done. Dinner is cooked by the time he returns, Xiao Xingchen’s expression soft and open as Xue Yang tells a joke. A-Qing laughs, punches Xue Yang in the arm but not even that hard. Xiao Xingchen laughs too, louder than Song Lan has heard before. It’s captivating and Song Lan moves to sit beside Xiao Xingchen. Xue Yang’s smile quietens a little, eyes going watchful and wary as Song Lan sits, as they so often do but Xiao Xingchen turns to Song Lan, still smiling. Xiao Xingchen grips Song Lan’s wrist, just to feel him there and thanks him for working so hard.

Xue Yang drawls his thanks too, sarcasm almost too thick to be real. Song Lan serves dinner, a thick stew again and wordlessly passes Xue Yang his bowl, not quite looking at him.

Winter has a false thaw and the trees are dripping melt. Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen brave the cold to check the root cellar and end up pressed together like they did when they were younger and freer. Xue Yang catches them, voice curling in not quite disgust and tells them lunch is almost done so hurry up.

The mood is broken and Xiao Xingchen feels strangely like he’s been caught doing something bad. His lips are tender and tingling and he wants to reach out again, draw Song Lan back in then pull Xue Yang in too.

He goes to bed that night, tucked against Xue Yang, wondering what it would be like to have Song Lan pressed against his back at the same time.

Xiao Xingchen feels light and heavier all the same time. Things are from frictionless, Song Lan and Xue Yang still snarl at each other more than often and not but no death threats have been spoken since, at least not within Xiao Xingchen’s hearing. They seem to have taken his ultimatum seriously. Xiao Xingchen feels less like he is being pulled into pieces and at night it’s easier than it ever was to smile and laugh. His heart feels a little freer with Xue Yang on one side and Song Lan on the other.

A-Qing admits to Xiao Xingchen one night when the others are sleeping and bad dreams have woken her and who had then in her shuffling to rebuild the fire had woken Xiao Xingchen. She tells him she isn’t blind and Xiao Xingchen hugs her and tells her he knew. She hits him in the arm in embarrassed outrage and Xiao Xingchen just laughs and wakes Song Lan and Xue Yang. Xue Yang demands to know what is so funny and when he finds out he says, “You’re still Little Blind.” This starts a fight as it always does.

Winter breaks truly and there have only been a few scuffles and almost fights. Not just between Song Lan and Xue Yang or Xue Yang and A-Qing. A-Qing begins her bleeding and is mortified. It’s Xue Yang who helps, shows her how to get blood from her clothes with cold water and salt. He weathers her snapping like a she-wolf tolerating a particularly snappy pup. If she gets too uppity, he snaps back then gives her some of the sweets he’s hoarded. It goes a long way in keeping the peace. Xiao Xingchen and Xue Yang get under each other’s skin, Xiao Xingchen getting hot and frustrated when Xue Yang is particularly cutting, Xue Yang retreating when Xiao Xingchen turns cold. Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen have disagreements on how to salt the broth or how much fire wood they should burn. Song Lan is for caution and Xiao Xingchen is freezing cold. Xue Yang offers to warm him up and shuts up after three glares are thrown his way. Xue Yang and Song Lan pointedly don’t have disagreements but Xue Yang sometimes sounds a little too sorry when he does something that irritates Song Lan in some way.

But Winter breaks and Spring begins with a timidness that fades away and then Spring bursts into life with a full throat and heart.

A-Qing is growing, she’ll be as tall as Xue Yang soon and it galls him. She is thin and gangly but excellent with a long dagger. Xue Yang vows to teach her how to throw and as soon as the weather is clear enough and the earth has dried from its mire, he does. Song Lan offers to teach her the sword and fashions a stick from hardwood. He says it’s to beat Xue Yang with and Xiao Xingchen snorts with undignified laughter.

It becomes a competition. Who is the better teacher? The insults are thrown pointedly at first, layered with meaning that leaves them both seething for days. When that happens Xiao Xingchen refuses to speak to either of them. They learn quickly and the insults are more careless and much more foolish.

“A blind girl could do better than that, Song Lan, oh wait, she already is.”

“I’ve seen men with no legs faster than you.”

Song Lan never says Xue Yang if he can help it, like if he doesn’t say it, it’s not Xue Yang in front of him. He catches Xue Yang’s attention by shouting hey or winging something at his head. This has caused blistering fights that never quite went to blows and only stopped because of the look on Xiao Xingchen’s face. Song Lan throws less things at Xue Yang and Xue Yang learns to respond to Hey.

Song Lan teaches A-Qing calligraphy and Xue Yang is always around when he does. Xue Yang can read, the Jin sect taught him to but even still, his calligraphy is terrible and his knowledge of characters slews towards the insulting and informal.

If Song Lan leaves out extra parchment and the notes from A-Qing’s lessons and the parchment disappears and the notes are in the wrong order, he says nothing.

They break ground, get cow manure from a nearby farmer and dig it into the earth of the sad little vegetable patch behind the Coffin house, still within its boundaries. There are no dead buried here, they’ve checked. They till the earth until it is damp and rich then plant again, the patch bigger and the soil darker. They expand Xiao Xingchen’s little herb garden too and he spends days getting his robes mucky but always returns to the house with a quiet, pleased smile like something inside is healing well. Xue Yang and Song Lan work together to break through the earth and they spend long hours crouched planting tiny seeds and arguing over what vegetables they should put in and where they should go. A-Qing mediates by telling them what she thinks and since Xue Yang and Song Lan can’t agree, they do as she says.

The carrots spout within in a week and Xue Yang makes A-Qing help him tend them now she can “magically see again, miracles never cease!” The carrots come in first but they dig them too soon and there’s an argument about that but the carrots are sweet and crunchy. They are far too pleased with themselves when they eat dinner with their carrots finely sliced and eating fresh rather than pickled.

Song Lan goes on nighthunts again with the turn of good weather, Xiao Xingchen occasionally goes with him which makes Xue Yang surly for days though less so now that he has more to do. Xue Yang rarely goes on nighthunts. Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen bring back money and sweets and Xue Yang has lost enough of his edges to accept Xiao Xingchen’s kiss of greeting. Xue Yang likes these kisses, buries a little closer and reminds himself of Xiao Xingchen’s smell.

Xue Yang and Xiao Xingchen go to bed together again in the way of lovers though they are quiet. The quietness turns to an honest gentleness and Xue Yang’s laughter spills out sweet and rough. Song Lan touches Xiao Xingchen reverently, a man who was sure he’d never get to touch again. He traces Xiao Xingchen’s lean lines of muscle and bone, presses kisses to the insides of his knees, almost trembling as he does so. They take inns when they nighthunt sometimes and Xue Yang always seems to know when they do. He refrains from saying outright but sometimes drops words here and there just to watch Song Lan bristle and Xiao Xingchen flush.

Xiao Xingchen is unsure if he approves or not. When Xiao Xingchen returns to Xue Yang’s bed after a night hunt, Xue Yang holds him close and worships him. Xue Yang is a greedy lover, he wants all that Xiao Xingchen is, wants to crawl in to Xiao Xingchen’s skin and stay there forever. He is attentive though, makes Xiao Xingchen’s pleasure a priority. There is a wonder and awe in Xue Yang’s touch, like he can’t quite believe he is allowed to touch. Song Lan’s touch is reverent and soft, Xue Yang’s burns and grips. Xue Yang must be coaxed to gentleness. It’s easier than it was in the start.

Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen relearn each other and if Xiao Xingchen holds Song Lan close and cries, it’s only mentioned in soft touches in the morning after.

Xue Yang mellows further, something has been secured in his chest and his heart doesn’t lift in fits and starts. His moods aren’t quite so black. He doesn’t lose the devilish edge and the vegetable seller continues to be harassed until he refuses to sell to them, regardless of who goes to market. Xue Yang laughs himself almost sick.

Their garden flourishes for the most part. The potatoes come out small but they replant and the second crop comes out better. They end up with far too many yams and they pickle a lot of them. They end up pickling a lot of what they grow. Xue Yang is delighted with his yams.

A-Qing and Song Lan return home one day with four fat chickens and Xue Yang makes noises about having chicken for dinner and is swiftly cut down by A-Qing’s screeching. The chickens are not for eating and Xue Yang is threatened with bodily harm. He seems oddly pleased with this, grinning and poking A-Qing until she boils up and starts yelling at him again.

They have no coop for the chickens and Song Lan and Xue Yang are given the task. Xue Yang no longer wears the prosthetic finger and has learned to function without it. That wound seems to have been soothed, the scar finally healing flatter.

The coop is lopsided but both Xue Yang and Song Lan are pleased with the symbols painted on the roof and sides. Foxes beware.

The chickens give eggs each morning and life falls into a neat routine of egg collection and breakfast making for whoever is first up. Surprisingly, more often than not it’s Xue Yang. He sleeps deeply and hard but slides out of bed before Xiao Xingchen wakes. He makes breakfast and the tea Xiao Xingchen likes. Sometimes, on a whim, he’ll make Song Lan’s preferred tea. A-Qing is ambivalent about tea, drinking it in Winter but rarely in the hotter months. Lunch is a free for all, normally left over steamed buns which Xiao Xingchen likes to make and are sometimes a little salty but they eat them anyway. Song Lan makes dinner and Xiao Xingchen and A-Qing wash up.

It is peaceful and continues to be so even with the flaring of tempers and cross words but Xiao Xingchen believes all families are like that. He gets a little flutter in his chest when they are all around the fire and evening is falling. Song Lan and Xue Yang discuss talismans and ghosts in halting fits and starts, Xue Yang’s words attack until he realised Song Lan knows things he doesn’t and Xue Yang knows things Song Lan doesn’t. Xue Yang is interested in learning what he missed and he tempers his tongue for the most part. Song Lan tries for Xiao Xingchen. Xue Yang practices his calligraphy in full view of them now and A-Qing criticises his work and asks him why his handwriting is so bad when he’s missing a finger on the other hand. Xue Yang asks in return why A-Qing’s is so bad when she’s not blind any more.

Being angry all the time is exhausting, being bitter all the time makes the blood thick and slow. Xiao Xingchen thinks he is healing when they are all sitting around the fire and the stars are above and no blood has been spilt.

As winter approaches, they check the roof again because Xiao Xingchen has learned to never trust it, make the preparations and ensure the rice pots are full and plentiful. They have four to feed and A-Qing is growing again. Xue Yang is a ravenous wolf at the best of times. They could rely on their golden cores if they wanted but A-Qing’s is still small and Xiao Xingchen enjoys their meals together too much to stop.

The root cellar is filled, they fight about where to put the chickens and Xue Yang says they should butcher and eat them because they won’t lay during winter. A-Qing doesn’t cry but ruthlessly beats him with her sword stick and whilst Xiao Xingchen knows it’s foolish, they bring the coop inside. It takes up space in the main living space where A-Qing and Song Lan sleep.

Song Lan moves into the other room with Xiao Xingchen and Xue Yang. Xue Yang is not happy. He makes it known though Song Lan is in a separate bed across the room. The first night Xiao Xingchen goes to an empty bed and wakes to one, unsure if Xue Yang even stayed the night.

It continues until Xue Yang is tired and worn thin. Xiao Xingchen bullies him into bed, overriding any protests and physically pulls Xue Yang’s robes off until he is in his under robe. Xue Yang is shoved into bed like an errant child and Xiao Xingchen wraps himself around him so he can’t escape. Xue Yang’s attempt at escape is not graceful but he stills eventually as Xiao Xingchen strokes his hair and back. Xue Yang falls asleep with Song Lan in the same room.

It’s not quite perfect, Xiao Xingchen is hesitant to touch one with the other in the room and as Winter closes overfull and snow gathers against the doors and windows, quick trysts are impossible. Xue Yang turns snappish and Song Lan gets quieter. A-Qing has taken up making them robes and forces Xue Yang to help her. He is oddly good with a needle.

Xiao Xingchen feels stretched thin again and he can barely press a kiss to Song Lan without Xue Yang’s hiss of displeasure at seeing it.

Winter drags at them all and A-Qing begins muttering about idiot men and why couldn’t she have a little sister. The idea turns in Xiao Xingchen’s head, tugs at him and he imagines for a moment, an expanded home, more rooms, more children, more life.

His heart leaps in a flutter and he quashes it hard. He is lucky to have this.

The winter is particularly cold, A-Qing complains and Song Lan gives her his thickest blankets and meditates away the cold. Xue Yang sneers at him and old resentment that wasn’t quite buried, ripples up again until Song Lan and Xue Yang are circling each other, ready to tear out lumps.

Xiao Xingchen makes the decision, layers the floor with their extra straw and lays his and Xue Yang’s mattress on the straw before doing the same to Song Lan’s. Xue Yang is nearly iridescent in his rage and Xiao Xingchen knows that Song Lan will have a look of disgust on his face. A-Qing laughs at them all and stays in the main room with the chickens, the warm coals of the fire and Song Lan’s thickest blankets.

She puts stitches in the two largest blankets so they are one and can comfortably fit three grown men. She tells Xue Yang that because he is the smallest, he is only half a man so needs only half a blanket. Xiao Xingchen laughs louder than he should and Song Lan snorts and Xiao Xingchen’s happiness is the only thing that stops Xue Yang from throwing A-Qing in the snow.

They sleep then, with Xiao Xingchen in the middle, bracketed by Xue Yang and Song Lan. Song Lan and Xue Yang are careful not to touch and glare at each other when it is time for bed. Xiao Xingchen knows it is happening but decides if he doesn’t mention it, it’s not happening. They wait for Xiao Xingchen to go to bed and he tests it occasionally. Xue Yang can be wavering on his feet but he won’t go to bed first if Xiao Xingchen is not there as a buffer. Song Lan won’t go to bed without Xiao Xingchen.

It softens over time; A-Qing has the sense to not make too much fun even though Xue Yang bristles like an indignant cat every time she does.

Song Lan digs out a xiangqi board and he and Xue Yang sit for long hours in the evenings playing. Xue Yang loses and badly at first but he is clever and unconventional. He learns fast and soon the matches are heated and spiral over days. Song Lan has a good memory; he knows when Xue Yang has tampered with the board or moved a piece. Xue Yang makes a game of it. Song Lan tolerates it but then retaliates. There is something like respect in Xue Yang’s voice when he realises Song Lan has managed to trick him. The rules get longer and more complicated. They start betting things, money, food, sweets, who gets to hold Xiao Xingchen that night. Xue Yang suggests that most often and loses those matches more often than he wins them and Song Lan never says anything but in the morning he is that little bit softer.

They teach A-Qing and she is terrible for the first few games until then she is suddenly as wily as Xue Yang and as methodically brutal as Song Lan. She plays against Xiao Xingchen and ruthlessly takes advantage of his blindness and pockets a pouch of silver. Xue Yang laughs and laughs and even Song Lan manages a huff of laughter.

More than once, Xue Yang has called Song Lan unfeeling but Xiao Xingchen knows that Song Lan feels deeper than most. Xiao Xingchen can’t quite fathom how much Song Lan loves him but if it is like how Xiao Xingchen loves Song Lan, it’s the steady glow of a well-tended fire.

Song Lan loves Xiao Xingchen enough for this. To sit at a fire with Xue Yang.

Winter ends and spring begins.

A-Qing takes to sleeping outside on the dry nights. She says it’s too stuffy after a winter cooped up. At least that’s what she says but Xue Yang thinks she is escaping so she can’t hear them at night. The three men still share the mattresses even with spring’s blooming.

It starts slow. Xiao Xingchen reaches for Xue Yang and presses him down into the mattress when they are all meant to be sleeping. Xue Yang always reaches back, he always will because these moments are too precious. Xiao Xingchen takes him sweet and gentle until Xue Yang is almost crying. He turns his head to the side, catches the glint of Song Lan’s eyes and comes immediately.

Song Lan and Xue Yang don’t speak of it.

When Song Lan reaches for Xiao Xingchen, wakes him up slowly with a warm hand and mouth, he knows Xue Yang is watching. It makes something burn in his gut, something heady and vengeful, a claim staked.

He is left trembling and gasping into Xiao Xingchen’s neck at the thought. He doesn’t reach for Xiao Xingchen when Xue Yang is in bed again.

Xue Yang does. He reaches and reaches, isn’t quite so quiet as he had been on that first night, always with one or two sly glances at Song Lan’s form once everything is done and Xiao Xingchen is sated. A performance, a challenge but Song Lan isn’t sure what to do with it.

He sits in the sun one day, Xiao Xingchen, Xue Yang and A-Qing at the market getting things for this year’s Spring festival. Song Lan stays at home. He tidies, washes the blankets and hangs them to dry, weeds their fertile garden then takes tea on the front steps. The sun is gentle, not quite the blazing heat of summer.

He sinks into a half meditative state, sipping tea and listening to the birds. He makes himself think of Xue Yang and Xiao Xingchen together, Xue Yang flat on his back, that animal ferality of him tamed into something human and needy. Xiao Xingchen with his hair mused and hands seeking the long lines of Xue Yang’s body.

Song Lan thinks of touching Xue Yang like that and is repulsed. He thinks of holding Xue Yang down with none of Xiao Xingchen’s sweetness and something dark stirs. He finishes his tea and washes out the pot and cup before taking Fuxue and working through movements until he is wet with sweat and that dark thing has been curbed for a time.

Spring makes Xue Yang restless. He goads Xiao Xingchen into rare nighthunts, taunts A-Qing into mock fights and makes Song Lan play chess with him in the evenings when the air is hazy and the birds are roosting.

He comes back from nighthunts, tired out and something soothed. A tamed Xue Yang, as tamed as men like Xue Yang can be.

Xue Yang is not the teenager he once was. Not the teenager who slaughtered Song Lan’s temple. He has grown physically. His shoulders have broadened though he’ll never be as broad as Song Lan. He has lost the traces of baby fat that had made his face sweet. He looks more like he should, feline and dangerous with sweeping cheekbones and lean lines of muscle. It is more difficult for him to hide what he is. This, oddly, makes Song Lan less wary of him and what he does. The world can see Xue Yang for the predator he is.

A predator, yes, but one that is very protective of Xiao Xingchen. Song Lan knows that Xue Yang’s world is orientated around Xiao Xingchen and probably has been for a lot longer than their time in the Coffin House. It’s an obsession that’s rounded and softened into something like love. Song Lan knows because it burns in his chest too and Xiao Xingchen has been the focal point of Song Lan’s life for so many years now. Song Lan has always been turned towards Xiao Xingchen even when he walked away from him.

A-Qing returns home first. She has grown taller and her limbs are stretching into gangliness which makes Song Lan think she’ll grow to be taller than Xue Yang with that quiet immutable strength that Xiao Xingchen possesses. She’ll be loud like neither of them are, more like Xue Yang in that regard but Song Lan hopes she’ll have Xiao Xingchen’s good soul. There is an edge to A-Qing, one that speaks of survival, scrabbling in the dust and the dirt because there is no other way. Xue Yang has the same edge but he lacks, at least in Song Lan’s opinion, that fundamental goodness that A-Qing has. A-Qing will rob a man but only if he deserves it and looks like he can afford it. Xue Yang will kill a man, especially if he doesn’t deserve it.

A-Qing finds him meditating and rouses him from it with impatience. She hands him a wrapped parcel, small with the paper going translucent. Steamed buns with red bean filling. Sweet but not overly so. An indulgence Song Lan is willing to give into.

She sits by him, stretches out her legs and eats her own steamed bun. Today, there’s something hesitant about her. She wants to ask him something but he doesn’t pry. She’ll come to it in her own time. She is getting better at sword fighting though sometimes her growth spurt throws her. Xue Yang laughs at her less now and instead gets Xiao Xingchen or Song Lan to show her what she’s tried to do. Xiao Xingchen’s form is better than Xue Yang’s. Xiao Xingchen likes his flourishes, more so than Song Lan and A-Qing struggles with it. Song Lan’s form is brutal and straightforward. It suits A-Qing well.

A-Qing nudges him with a pointy elbow and he’s drawn out of his head. The sun is reaching its midpoint and he knows Xue Yang and Xiao Xingchen aren’t far from home. He and A-Qing have been sitting quietly for a time.

“Xiao Xingchen seems happier,” she sounds a little hesitant. But it’s true. Xiao Xingchen is not being pulled in two directions anymore. The four of them can sit together for a meal and there’s no blood spilt. They three can sleep side by side.

“Yes. I think he is too.”

A-Qing smiles at that and shoves the rest of her bun in her mouth, hesitancy gone. She springs to her feet and demands he spar with her. Song Lan gets to his feet and thinks maybe he is a little happier too.

Song Lan thinks maybe they will be happy here, as they are.

Song Lan examines Xue Yang that night, overlays the image he has of Xue Yang as a much younger man with the man in front of him now.

Gone is the softer edges of youth on Xue Yang’s face. Time has carved his cheekbones and jaw into jade. His shoulders have broadened and some of the manic light in his eyes has eased. He looks less sweet, more like the predator he is. This Xue Yang is easier to stomach than the soft faced boy who murdered an entire temple. This Xue Yang is as honest as a man like Xue Yang can be.

Song Lan imagines touching him, rides out the disgust. Imagines instead Xue Yang touching Xingchen, Xingchen touching Xue Yang. Disgust is still there but Song Lan is wary of touch. Even Xingchen’s hands on the bad days can feel painful, like prickling needles.

Xue Yang catches him looking over the fire. Instead of calling him out, like he would have done a year ago, Xue Yang just raises an imperious eyebrow and Song Lan knows Xue Yang is insulting him in his head but it won’t be too vicious. It’ll be almost playful.

That thought keeps Song Lan awake and plagues him even when he meditates. He knows the shape of Xue Yang’s thoughts, not as well as Xingchen but it is easier than before.

Song Lan leaves on a night hunt, declines company and slices through fierce corpses until he stinks of rotten blood and Fuxue is positively singing through the air. He stays away for three days, bathes in a river that’s still ice water and meditates to try and wrestle back some control of his traitorous thoughts.

He returns to the Coffin House with nothing clearer or wiser.

He kisses Xue Yang three days later. The three of them are sitting in bed, Xue Yang is sleepy eyed and Xingchen is giggly from the rice liquor Xue Yang traded for. Song Lan has had a cup or two and can feel the warmth seeping through his limbs. Xue Yang is telling a story and Xingchen interrupts him by kissing him. Song Lan watches, waits for the anger and disgust to rise up. A tightness does take his chest and throat but it’s not quite the disgust he’s looking forward.

Xingchen presses his forehead against Xue Yang’s, lips wet and face flushed. Xue Yang is looking at Xingchen with an unbearable softness, like all the goodness of the world is in Xingchen. Song Lan understands and when Xingchen reaches out for him, he goes. He imagines he can taste Xue Yang and from there, it’s easy to bend his head and kiss Xue Yang to see if he knows his taste from Xingchen’s tongue.

Xue Yang doesn’t hesitate. He kisses with tongue and teeth, without the soft love that imbues Xingchen’s kisses. Song Lan pulls back, cold realisation sweeping over him. Xue Yang’s eyes are glittering in the dark, pupils big and expanded. His mouth is red and open, curling up into a grin that’s not quite mocking. Song Lan pulls away completely, rolls over and ignores them both steadfastly. Not even Xingchen’s hand on his shoulder helps.

Xue Yang complains, voice slurred and confused but Xingchen hushes him down until Xue Yang is breathing deep and asleep. Xingchen tucks the blankets around Xue Yang and then presses a kiss to the back of Song Lan’s neck.

Xue Yang tries to kiss him the next day, smugness and teasing dancing in his bright, bright eyes. Song Lan, not gracefully, punches him and leaves on a nighthunt. He’s mortified at himself and it takes him a week to make his way back.

Xiao Xinghen hears him first and looks up from where he is kneeling beside the vegetable patch, carefully weeding and pulling whatever was ripe.

“Zichen.”

“Xingchen.”

“Zichen.”

Too focused on Xingchen, Song Lan misses Xue Yang lounging in the shadows. His eyes are intent and there is a healing cut breaking the softness of his lower lip. He hasn’t let it heal with cultivation. Song Lan feels a pang of something like regret and heat in his stomach.

“Xue Yang.”

That seems to take Xue Yang aback because he blinks and then his brows furrow, eyes narrowing dangerously.

“How was your night hunt, Zichen? You left so suddenly.”

There’s something of the old Xue Yang lurking here, something hurt and bitter. Xingchen doesn’t step in, just goes back to weeding though Song Lan knows that he is listening.

“It went well.”

He doesn’t mention the bathing in a cold river nor the scrubbing like he was trying to wash Xue Yang’s touch from him.

“That’s great, Zichen, isn’t that great, Xingchen? Zichen had a great nighthunt.”

Xue Yang gets to his feet with ease, something light and pointed about his step as he moves, no stalks, towards Song Lan. Song Lan does not reach for Fuxue but he thinks about it. Xue Yang smiles like he knows and Song Lan wonders when they began to read each other so well.

Xue Yang comes close enough that Song Lan can smell him. His hair oil, the sweets and the sweat. It is not unpleasant. Xue Yang washes more than most men and is very fussy about his hair.

Song Lan doesn’t move as Xue Yang sways closer and then goes up on his tippy toes. Song Lan stiffens, eyes going wide as Xue Yang presses a kiss to Song Lan’s cheek, slow and lingering like it’s something else.

Then he saunters away, laughing. Song Lan looks to Xingchen, helpless. Xingchen is trying to hide a smile.

Song Lan goes to meditate and they leave him be.

They eat dinner and Song Lan promises to go and buy something meaty for dinner tomorrow. A-Qing and Xue Yang clean up, something that is orchestrated if Xue Yang and her looks are anything to go by.

Xingchen takes Song Lan carefully by the arm and leads him to sit on the swept steps outside.

They don’t speak for a time, content like this, pressed arm to arm, breathing in time.

“Do you remember when we first met?” Xingchen asks, voice soft and amused.

“Yes.”

They had barely been men and one look at Xingchen had reformed Song Lan’s entire world.

“We were going to make our own sect.”

There’s a wistfulness to Xingchen’s voice and Song Lan reaches out, laces their fingers together, palm to palm.

“We have A-Qing. And…Xue Yang.”

“Head disciple.”

“No.”

Xingchen throws back his head and laughs, pure and bright. Song Lan’s heart clenches with love.

“Do you still want to? To build a sect?”

Xingchen nods, still smiling. He squeezes Song Lan’s hand.

“Yes. With you. With A-Qing. With Xue Yang.”

Song Lan is quiet for a moment, long enough that the smile tightens on Xingchen’s face.

“Xue Yang will not be our Head Disciple.”

“Fuck you, Zichen, I’d be great.”

Xue Yang’s half offended yell sets Xingchen laughing again.

This is where Zichen is meant to be. Here, at Xingchen’s side. Zichen made a mistake many years ago and he has been granted a second chance. He won’t forfeit it.

He lies in bed that night, after he and Xingchen have spoken for long hours on how to build the sect they want, and cries silent tears with Xingchen sleeping against him and Xue Yang’s arm thrown over the both of them in a way Zichen always shoves off.

They three are violent in varying degrees. Zichen with his cold fury and Xue Yang is his burning rage. Xingchen is capable of violence but tempers himself with humility and compassion. Zichen admits his violence, deadens it when he can. Xue Yang bites for the sheer joy of biting. And here they are. Tamed and tempered, changed and remoulded.

Zichen turns on his side, presses his face against Xingchen’s neck and puts an arm over him. Zichen hesitates and then lets his hand settle on Xue Yang’s ribcage. The man bleeds warmth. He moves, opens his eyes half way, mostly still asleep. Zichen doesn’t recoil and Xue Yang looks at him steadily for a few moments in the gloom and then hums, warm and satisfied. He closes his eyes again.

Zichen lies awake for a little while longer, listens to the soft breaths of his bedmates. It isn’t quite the second chance he’d prayed for but it is the one he has.

In this time, Fate turns at just the right moment, a different choice is made and blood is not spilled. In other times, Xingchen cuts his own throat at the horror of Song Lan’s blood on his hands. Xue Yang dies in the dust, reaching for something that was really never his and Song Lan tries to live with his reason for living shattered in a pouch that rests above his heart.

But not here. Not here.