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The Annual Sect Conferences are more and more often held at Jinlingtai, under the benevolent, unmoving smile of the Head Cultivator Jin Guangyao. The fragrant gardens of Lanling, the opulent decorations, and the abundance of gold all weigh on the eyes with overly rich color and texture. The afternoon sun’s golden rays seep into the incense-filled air with the deep, rich lethargy of late autumn. It is much hotter here, than in the mountaintops of the Cloud Recesses.
Sitting to the right, and behind his nephew, Lan Qiren watches the proceedings. Jin Guangyao and Lan Xichen’s voices are both soft and even, sounding like old friends, despite their attempt at keeping up the appearance of purely diplomatic proceedings. The young Sect Leader Nie Huaisang seems to be drooling gently and nodding off in the comfortable warmth, but Jiang Wanyin sits with his arms folded and the permanent line of a deep frown etched into his brow.
When the day’s proceedings end, Lan Qiren tells his nephew that he will retire to his guest quarters in order to meditate. Lan Xichen seems distracted, having caught Jin Guangyao’s eyes over the crowd of cultivators exiting the hall, and Lan Qiren’s jaw tenses slightly.
While it is true that Jin Guangyao makes his nephew happy, Lan Qiren has never stopped disapproving of their attachment. Jin Guangyao is an ill-fated young man. He is ambitious and intelligent, and he has always seemed to want more. Perhaps, Lan Qiren does not trust him perhaps especially because he makes Lan Xichen happy.
If one's surname is Lan, one must beware attachments.
Not only is there the Jianghu’s worst-kept secret of the late Qingheng-Jun and the late Madam Lan, but Lan Qiren cannot help but remember his own youth; bright flames and brighter laughter, the crooked curve of an excited smile, a madness growing, undetected behind those mesmerizing phoenix eyes.
Nie Huaisang barrels out of nowhere, latching onto Lan Xichen, and Lan Qiren tones out whatever complaints or shameless begging for favors the Nie boy may voice. He leaves the pressing crowd behind, until someone calls for him, and he turns around.
“Does Master Lan have a moment?” Jin Guangyao asks, looking up from his bow. His smile is hopeful, and the little dimples in his cheeks make him appear much too innocent.
Cautiously, Lan Qiren says, “Very well.”
Falling into step beside Jin Guangyao, Lan Qiren casts a cautious glance at the young man under the guise of smoothing his mustache – unfortunately meeting Jin Guangyao’s smiling eyes.
“Master Lan, need not worry,” he says. “This matter, though we should not speak of it in the open, is not one that requires urgency.”
Lan Qiren nods, unable to keep from feeling a sense of déjà-vu.
Memory blankets him, and he recalls a night far colder than this stifling summer day.
--
Lan Qiren leaves Nie Mingjue in his tent with Meng Yao, leaves them to their troubles and further plans. He, himself would best be served by resting – and rejoining the fray in the morning, whether as a warrior or an advisor.
The camp is not silent at any time of night – there are low murmurs of people in their tents, the sudden rushes of air of cultivators patrolling the air, and the clank of those patrolling the ground. There is the soft whickering of horses, a stifled laugh somewhere far-off, footsteps… Lan Qiren pauses in the center of the camp, hands behind his back, watching the snow fall.
He is breaking the rule about being in bed by nine, but these are not the Cloud Recesses, and need drives him. Drives everyone. He closes his eyes and feels the cold of the air around him, and the tiny flecks of snow settling on his cheeks and forehead, and in his beard.
West of Qinghe, the cold is different than in the mountains of Gusu. Yet when he closes his eyes, he is back in the Cloud Recesses – the Cloud Recesses of his memory, not the charred husk with the too-pale new wood of rebuilding scattered within that it surely must be now. Soon, his nephew, the true Sect Leader, will join the front. Then, Lan Qiren will return to what was left of ‘home’, and rebuild, supply, hold down the fort until all this was over. Until Wen Ruohan is-
Lan Qiren’s lips thin and his eyes open. Wen Yi will not stand down. If I know anything, it is that. This can only end in Wen Yi’s death. In the end of the Qishan Wen Sect. I cannot forgive him any longer. I must not.
“Master Lan?” someone calls him.
Turning about, Lan Qiren sees Meng Yao approaching him. This makes Lan Qiren wonder how long he had stood outside like this – even the clothes Meng Yao is wearing look different from the ones he’d entered the tent with.
“Meng-gongzi,” he greets.
Meng Yao smiles, but it does not reach his eyes. “This one must discuss something with Master Lan. A matter of grave importance.”
Lan Qiren nods. “Walk with me, then.”
Meng Yao complies, walking alongside Lan Qiren, as Lan Qiren chooses a route along the outside of the camp, far enough away from the guards that they will not be overheard, but close enough to be within the camp’s perimeter. Somehow, Lan Qiren already feels that he knows what Meng Yao wishes to speak of.
“Master Lan, what I am about to say, I implore you, tell no-one of.” Meng Yao’s eyes are deep and dark, and his face moves barely at all as he speaks. In the half-light of the tents and torches, it looks disconcerting – like a mask.
Lan Qiren remains silent, waiting.
“I could do it,” Meng Yao says, a reply to Lan Qiren’s exhausted musing earlier in the tent with Nie Mingjue. He looks up to meet Lan Qiren’s eyes. “I could spy on Wen Ruohan.”
Despite the pain that spreads in his chest, Lan Qiren’s eyebrows rise as he says dryly, “And you feel the need to share this with me because…?”
Meng Yao looks up at him, and the corners of his mouth lift in something resembling a smile. “…When it comes to this matter, Master Lan gives me a reliable feeling.”
The powerful cold that rushes through Lan Qiren is momentary, and he does not allow it to show on his face. But, then, again – what could Meng Yao know? There is nothing that could incriminate Lan Qiren but the letters he has hidden in the third drawer of his desk within the Cloud Recesses – and even those speak nothing of incrimination – simply of an old and odd friendship, broken off painfully. No, Meng Yao simply unsettles Lan Qiren – he is reading far too much into this.
“I intend to defect and join the enemy,” Meng Yao says with all the confidence of a young man, not having noticed Lan Qiren’s moment of hesitation.
Lan Qiren clears his throat. “…Very well,” he says, close to interrupting, but not quite. “In that case, Meng-gongzi, how do you intend on moving through the ranks of the sprawling Wen Sect, and remaining in Sect Leader Wen’s good graces?” His eyes narrow. “Why must it be you, of all people?”
“Because I think I will be good at it.” Meng Yao looks carefully at Lan Qiren, and Lan Qiren sees that he cannot, in fact, see any expression whatsoever in Meng Yao’s dark eyes. “…Does Master Lan have any suggestions?”
“Yes,” says Lan Qiren, then grows quiet. His hands curl into fists inside his long sleeves. Ever since he joined his banner to that of Nie Mingjue’s, he was a part of the Sunshot Campaign. And Wen Yi is the sun we must shoot down. The sun that I must aim the arrow towards. Somehow, it makes it no less difficult.
“Master Lan?” prompts Meng Yao, voice laced with some concern, eyes still entirely unexpressive.
“…He values efficiency and ambition,” Lan Qiren says, voice cold and even. Yet even now, as he is placing the arrow into the young archer’s hands, he cannot bear to say the name of the living target. "He is ever in the pursuit of strength."
Meng Yao’s expression is that of concentration. “Does he place much importance on one’s birth?” he asks. “I am Jin Guangshan’s bastard, born of a courtesan. Should I hide this?”
“He has always been almost fanatical about the Wen Clan, the Wen bloodline – the legacy of the Qishan Wen Sect. If you are not a Wen by blood, or from his Sect, it should not matter. Your dealings with your,” he clears his throat, “…Paternal progenitor have been limited, I imagine?” Lan Qiren asks stiffly, stroking his beard.
Meng Yao’s smile does not reach his eyes. “Master Lan is correct.”
“Once you join the Qishan Wen Sect, you will be one of his people, and he could not care less where you were from before that, as long as you bring some kind of value to him,” Lan Qiren says. “His right-hand man, the Core-Melting Hand, was surnamed Zhao once.”
Meng Yao nods. “Then, what kind of person is the Core-Melting Hand?”
“Wen Zhuliu is loyal to Wen Ruohan, and only to him. He is not a sycophant, but he owes a life-debt of loyalty that he fulfils with true passion. He is perhaps the only person that Wen Ruohan feels he can relax around. He tells the truth, no matter how unpleasant it is for his master to hear, and does not enjoy cruelty – though he does fulfil his orders, whatever they may be. He is of the Jianghu, first and foremost. Despite his master, Wen Zhuliu could even be called an honorable man.” Lan Qiren clears his throat.
“And his sons?”
“Wen Xu takes after his father, but he is far more impulsive. He pays little attention to those he considers below him. He is strong and proud – and wants to supplant his father, but cannot do so because he is not strong enough yet. He exercises his ‘control’ through little acts of defiance.” Lan Qiren’s mouth twists. “And Wen Chao is weak and cruel – perhaps cruel because he is weak, as weakness is so greatly disliked by his father. If he pays attention to those he considers below him, it is to cause them pain. He would do anything to gain his father’s approval.” He sighs. “Their father cares for them both, but as they grow into men, his disappointment with them is visible to all.”
Meng Yao nods with an expression that seems that if he could be taking notes, he would. “What more of Wen Ruohan, then?”
“Those who defy him, he shows no mercy towards. But those who sycophantically follow him, he has contempt for. He values directness over politeness – demanding respect, but not worship. Those that do so, do so of their own volition – and while he may encourage them, because it amuses him, but he holds no regard for them whatsoever. If you wish to approach him closely, you must show that distinction. You must be straightforward and unscrupulous, unafraid to look him in the eye, from where you stand below his throne. Now, he has outbursts of mad rage, where he will destroy everything in his way, no matter what it may be.” He knows what picture he paints with his words, but it is not a complete picture. “He is…” Lan Qiren fights back memories of sunlit days. “He is good with children. He is fiercely intelligent and innovative. He can be kind, in his own strange way to those he considers ‘his’.”
“Master Lan seems to know him well,” Meng Yao notices.
“I did not know him so well, I think.” Lan Qiren sighs. He is so, so tired. When he closes his eyes, he sees a bright smile on an arrogant youth with phoenix eyes that turn up further when he smiles… Two little children squabbling as they leave their laughing father’s study… “That is all I can tell you,” he says hollowly.
“I will remember everything,” Meng Yao says, and sinks into a deep bow. “Many thanks to Master Lan for enlightening this one.”
Lan Qiren acknowledges this with an inclination of the head, but only says, “Keep in touch with Xichen while you are in enemy territory. Send information to him, and to him only. He will be able to deduce who you are and what your intentions are – and he will remain positively disposed to you.”
“Yes, Master Lan,” Meng Yao says, bowing. “I would further beg Master Lan not to let Chifeng-Zun to know about this…”
“I will not.” Lan Qiren sighs. “But in return, I must ask something of you, as well.”
“Whatever it may be, this one will go to any lengths to achieve it,” Meng Yao says. It seems that he’s slipped back into the skin of the servant that he so readily slips out of. Lan Qiren wonders how much of this boy is real – and then admits that it is what makes him perfect for spying, especially on Wen Ruohan who so readily only sees what he wishes to see.
“…Whatever condition you enter the Nightless City in, you must exit alive,” Lan Qiren says. “If anything should happen to you, Xichen will be inconsolable.”
Meng Yao looks up. “Please do not worry, Master Lan. I am very good at surviving.” His smile is wide, and in the dark, his eyes are pitch-black half-moons.
Lan Qiren feels a chill that has nothing to do with the falling snow. “…Very well. The night grows late. I will take my leave.”
When he turns and leaves, he still feels the ache in his ribs from the battle with Wen Xu, all those months ago. Meng Yao bows, but Lan Qiren can nevertheless feel the prickle of the boy’s disconcerting eyes following him as he makes his way back to his own tent.
--
The Sunshot Campaign is over, and it seems that the world is trying to settle back and fill the charred gaps left behind by the war. The Cloud Recesses have been rebuilt completely, and Lan Xichen has taken up his position as Sect Leader in all capacities.
Jin Guangyao visits often, to spend time with Lan Xichen, even despite the great responsibilities and busy-work he must do in Lanling. Lan Qiren cannot say whether he approves or not – his nephew is happy to see his friend, and on the outside, Jin Guangyao seems utterly honorable and kind. Yet Lan Qiren still remembers the dark, unsettling eyes of ‘Meng Yao’, and remembers that this Meng Yao was the knife the allied Sects had used to end Wen Ruohan’s life. The knife he had used.
Jin Guangyao’s hands are unclean. Whether he had absolved himself or not, Lan Qiren knows he is not fit to judge. All he sees is the blissful smile on Lan Xichen’s face, and the constant refrain of, ‘A-Yao said this,’ or ‘A-Yao and I,’ that surrounds him – and nods his head, turning away. Lan Xichen is old enough to make and keep his own friends without interference from his uncle.
So, when Jin Guangyao arrives one morning, and Lan Xichen is out, visiting the Qinghe Nie Sect, Lan Qiren is quite surprised to find that Jin Guangyao is in fact, looking for him.
“Lianfang-Zun, to what do I owe this visit?”
Lan Qiren receives Jin Guangyao in the Pavilion of Clarity, with tea, and only one attending disciple, who leaves almost immediately after Jin Guangyao looks awkwardly at him, and Lan Qiren waves him away. This location is quite close to the Library Pavilion, but out of sight of the training halls. Mostly, Lan Qiren chose it because it was the largest and most impressive of the pavilions among the few pavilions among the Cloud Recesses.
Jin Guangyao smiles, and despite his dimples, the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “The Library Pavilion at the Gusu Lan Sect’s Cloud Recesses is wondrous indeed,” he says. “I have heard much about it; containing many rare and unusual texts.”
“Thanks to Lianfang-Zun at the time, Xichen was able to save much of it.” Lan Qiren nods, not quite sure what Jin Guangyao is getting at. At this point, Lan Xichen has already granted him access to their library, which Lan Qiren for some reason feels disapproving of – but, yet, again, knowledge is made to be shared, so he acquiesced.
“I was wondering whether I could be so bold as to contribute a few texts to this library,” Jin Guangyao says. “As a token of goodwill more than anything. Though I am sure as a learned scholar, those texts will hold some personal interest to Master Lan.”
“What are they?” Lan Qiren asks.
“Salvaged from the Nightless City,” Jin Guangyao says, his expression unchanging, though his eyes remain on Lan Qiren. “I had taken the liberty of keeping them for a while, but… I could think of no better place for them than here! The Gusu Lan Sect is renowned. These texts hold information known previously only to the elites and adepts of the Qishan Wen Sect, about the secret to the style of cultivation. Reading through them, myself, I discovered some things…”
Lan Qiren does not rise to the bait. Jin Guangyao seems to be implying something, though Lan Qiren is at a loss as to what it is – he only knows he doesn’t like it. “I would be grateful,” he only says. “Amassing knowledge is an honorable pursuit, and one looked upon favorably in our Gusu Lan Sect.”
Jin Guangyao nods, smile slowly leaving his face for a melancholier expression. “Yes… Of course,” he says. “Actually, from reading them, I learned…” He trails off and then looks cautiously up at Lan Qiren, “I learned what had driven the Qishan Wen Sect to what it had become.”
“Ambition and greed, unchecked,” Lan Qiren spits. “Immorality and paranoia. Delusions of flaming glory.” He takes a sip of tea, trying to control the bout of rage and sorrow and sorrow that builds up in the back of his throat like bad blood to be spit out.
“Master Lan-” Jin Guangyao begins. “There’s something-”
This hesitancy is not the usual insinuating, polite tentativeness that Jin Guangyao speaks with. It is almost a stutter, as if he’s almost afraid to say whatever it is.
Lan Qiren has little patience for this. “Say it,” he bites out.
“Shi-fu was qi deviating!” Jin Guangyao shakily exclaims, all in one breath. In the crystalline silence, Jin Guangyao’s round eyes widen, as if he had said something he should not have, and he brings a shaking fist up to his mouth.
Lan Qiren feels cold.
“…What?”
Jin Guangyao swallows, and sits up straighter, trying to regain the composure he’d just lost. “Wen Ruohan’s ambition interfered with his cultivation style and brought him to qi deviation,” he says. “I am almost certain of it.”
Lan Qiren has taken the bait long ago, he realizes, but he finds he doesn’t care enough. “Explain,” he only says, face an icy mask.
Jin Guangyao reaches into his sleeve and brings out a battered volume of considerable age, laying it on the table between them. “I mostly got my information from this,” he says quietly, eyes sharp and focused, as if he is working – all emotion having disappeared. He flips it open to a book-marked page. “We have often heard that Qishan Wen Sect cultivation is ‘family-style’ cultivation – and most have assumed it to mean that many of their arrays and enchantments require several synchronized cultivators working together at once. And while that is not wrong – there is also another layer, one that is not known well outside of the upper echelons of the Qishan Wen Sect itself. Just like the top cultivators of the Qinghe Nie Sect who often seem to die from qi deviations – the Qishan Wen Sect are more prone to qi deviations than the other Sects – though much less than the Qinghe Nie Sect, of course.”
Lan Qiren takes a sip of tea, mechanically – belatedly realizing that his cup is empty.
“It has been said that each Great Sect has their own particular characteristic. The Yunmeng Jiang Sect for their fertile lands and free spirits; the Gusu Lan Sect for your excellent education and strict way of life; the Qinghe Nie Sect for their great warriors; and our Lanling Jin Sect for prosperity and artistic value. The Qishan Wen Sect was known for their sheer power, and size of the Sect,” Jin Guangyao says. “This is directly related to the Qishan Wen cultivation style. The Sect Leader and other adepts draw their strength from the cultivators in the Sect. The larger their Qishan Wen Sect, the more powerful the Sect Leader becomes. And while, of course, this drives the Qishan Wen Sect Leaders to expansion – those who are overly ambitious begin to suffer. Master Lan may be aware that Wen Ruohan’s father was not wounded on a night hunt, and instead succumbed to qi deviation?” Jin Guangyao’s voice becomes quieter, and his eyes close for a moment. “There are limits. The fire overtakes them. Shi-fu was not an immortal – and his rise and fall were both too quick."
"Explain," repeats Lan Qiren, in a voice he does not recognize as his own.
Jin Guangyao's eyes open again, and they are sad. Too sad. Is this true, or is it false? Lan Qiren hangs onto every word anyway. "…When I was in the Nightless City, I could sense something was wrong. Outwardly, he looked healthy, if a little tired. But his eyes were mad, and he radiated an unnatural heat. There were times when he could not control blasts of spiritual energy, or times when he would go mad with rage. At first, I thought it was a trick of the light, but sometimes it seemed that there were flames in his eyes, or that his pupils would shrink greatly. At his worst, he would involuntarily, with uncontrolled bursts of energy, set fire to the entire room, and then cough blood and lose consciousness.”
Lan Qiren does not speak. He cannot speak. He also shuts his eyes for a moment, and on the nether side of his eyelids, he sees that familiar smirk, those burning eyes surrounded by shadows that had only seemed to deepen as time passed. Hands that seemed to burn him through his robes. A blast of power right through him, an enraged glare that turned to confusion – all this was the fault of an imbalance of qi?! How could he have been so blind…
“Master Lan?”
Lan Qiren’s eyes snap open and he draws himself up. “This information is both valuable, and dangerous. I thank Lianfang-Zun, on behalf of our Gusu Lan Sect for trusting us with this,” he says stiffly.
“I have not come as a representative of the Lanling Jin Sect, here, right now. I represent the interests of the whole cultivation world,” Jin Guangyao says with a small, disarming smile. “I wish to be frank with you, Master Lan – I trust you much more with these texts than I do my greatly beloved honorable father.” His tone is a little dry, and his eyes frank.
Lan Qiren represses the urge to shiver at the idea of Jin Guangshan rising to the heights Wen Ruohan had. As it stands, already, Jin Guangshan seems to be pushing too far… He inclines his head to Jin Guangyao, saying nothing.
“Actually,” Jin Guangyao says, that little smile widening, then disappearing entirely into an expression of contrite worry, “There is something else that Master Lan should know, pertaining to Wen Ruohan.”
Lan Qiren wants to sigh loudly. He just looks up and waits for Jin Guangyao to get to the point.
“As a spy, my work was… Varied,” Jin Guangyao says. “I often found myself alone in Wen Ruohan’s study, and I found there…” he trails off, looking cautiously up, “I haven’t told anyone,” he interrupts himself, sounding more like a guilty child than one of the most powerful people in the cultivation world, “But… I found some rather old correspondence that Wen Ruohan had kept. Some letters.”
Lan Qiren freezes.
“Well, there weren’t any names I recognized, really,” Jin Guangyao rushes to reassure him, “But apparently, in his youth, and even later, Wen Ruohan had been exchanging letters with a member of the Gusu Lan Sect; someone who seemed to be his…” he pauses, as if unsure how to phrase something delicately, “…Intimate friend of cultivation.” Jin Guangyao’s round, innocent-looking eyes blink curiously up at Lan Qiren. “Does Master Lan know anyone by the name of ‘Lan Yun’?”
To his credit, Lan Qiren does not change his expression. He knows Jin Guangyao knows – and Jin Guangyao knows that he knows. Within him, everything freezes. He remains silent, but then says, “…Yes.”
“Well, there was another thing – along with the letters, there was also a broken entry token to the Cloud Recesses,” Jin Guangyao continues. He takes one of his own out of his sleeve and shows it off. “Like this, but shattered into many pieces. And, oddly enough, the tassel was red, not blue.”
Jin Guangyao notices Lan Qiren’s stare at the token in his hand.
“Ah… Er-ge gave this to me,” he says with a soft smile, as he looks down at it. And for the first time during this conversation, Lan Qiren can feel with absolute certainty that the smile on Jin Guangyao’s face is perfectly genuine.
“…Very well,” Lan Qiren says, voice cold and perfectly even. He understands – Jin Guangyao wants to keep the Qishan Wen Sect cultivation style out of Jin Guangshan’s hands – and brings up the correspondence of Lan Qiren’s youth with Wen Ruohan in order to cement his silence. Just this once, Lan Qiren will allow this. “The Qishan Wen Sect cultivation manuals will remain in our library, under severely restricted access. Lianfang-Zun honors us." He stands, flicking his sleeves out. “…Of course, you must be here to see Xichen. He will return tomorrow from Qinghe, and you are welcome to remain until he arrives.”
Jin Guangyao looks up, smiles until his dimples show, and bows. “Thank you, Master Lan.”
Lan Qiren still can’t figure out how much of Jin Guangyao had been genuine, and how much a farce. “I will take my leave, now,” he says stiffly.
He leaves with the distinct feeling of having been manipulated.
He does not flee, it would not befit him – and he will not give Jin Guangyao the satisfaction – but when he is out of sight of the Pavilion of Clarity, and higher up the mountain where Lan An’s original Cloud Recesses end – he sinks down to sit upon an old stone bench that still remains there.
Wen Ruohan, despite it all, had kept those letters. He had kept the entry token that he had broken. In his desk, in his study, all those years later – he had kept them, just as Lan Qiren had. Whatever that meant – a lingering affection, a nostalgia for the times when things had been more carefree, perhaps regret – the missed opportunities that lay in between them were too many to count.
But most importantly, the knowledge that it had been qi deviation gnawing at Wen Ruohan’s sanity, qi deviation that had set him aflame-
Lan Qiren takes in a shuddering breath. How much of anything was due to his cultivational mishap, or due to Wen Ruohan’s true heart?
If Lan Qiren had known, perhaps none of this would have happened.
He covers his face with his hands and mourns silently.
--
“Master Lan?”
Lan Qiren startles out of his reverie, looking over at Jin Guangyao and returning to the hot summer’s day of the sect conference. “I-”
Jin Guangyao smiles helplessly, cheeks dimpling. “Is Master Lan well? Master Lan’s eyes looked… Far away.”
“Lianfang-Zun must forgive me,” Lan Qiren says stiffly, inclining his head. “The heat is getting to me.”
There is a tea set on a tray upon a table in Jin Guangyao’s study – a heating talisman affixed to the teapot’s side to keep it warm. Jin Guangyao sweeps out a graceful arm, indicating for Lan Qiren to sit, and he does.
“It is far cooler in here, is it not?” Jin Guangyao pours them both a cup of warm, fragrant tea, and smiles, cheeks dimpling. “Master Lan, how is it?”
Lan Qiren lifts the teacup. “Excellent,” he says, taking a sip. It has a strangely sweet aftertaste, but Lan Qiren knows that the tastes of the Lanling Jin Sect differ from his own.
“Master Lan, Er-ge tells me that the Moling Su Sect have petitioned for official negotiations. I have met Su Minshan only once before, and we only discussed the possibility of trade. What do you know of them?”
Lan Qiren nods, frowning. It’s getting much warmer in Jin Guangyao’s study, to the point where it becomes difficult to breathe slowly. His hand curls into a fist within his sleeve as he swallows thickly. When he speaks, his voice is somewhat strained. “The Moling Su defected from our Gusu Lan Sect during the chaos of the Sunshot Campaign when we had more serious matters to think of. Now, however, they have made their intentions official. While they will still remain under our jurisdiction, they seem to be intent on separating themselves from us as a sect. My nephew has decided to treat the situation with a level of grace that I cannot aspire to. Xichen has decided to grant them the area around Shushan, in Anhui. When they approach us for negotiations, he will relay this to them. It is no secret. Xichen could have told you the same.”
Jin Guangyao nods.
“Lianfang-Zun, what I do not understand, is why this conversation could not be had with Xichen.”
“Because Sect Leader Su has approached me personally, and asked me for support. It seems that he does not recognize Er-ge, and wishes to conduct his negotiations with you.”
“…Is that so?” Lan Qiren’s eyebrows rise halfway up his forehead. Is he stupid, or something?!
The question must be visible in his eyes, for Jin Guangyao gives a pained smile. “I believe that his reasoning may be sounder than it may seem at first.” Spreading his hands helplessly, Jin Guangyao says, “Master Lan has held power over the Gusu Lan Sect since a year after Qingheng-Jun assumed that position, something like twenty-five years ago, wasn’t it? For more than twenty-five years, Master Lan’s name has been synonymous with that of the Gusu Lan Sect’s superior education, and their steady power – even their quick revival from the beginning of the Sunshot Campaign. Though Er-ge has been Sect Leader for the past few years, in the eyes of most, it still seems as of Master Lan holds the true influence in Jiangnan. If you were to agree to the legitimacy of the Moling Su Sect’s official separation from the Gusu Lan Sect, your words would carry true weight.”
Lan Qiren holds back any visible anger, but sits up even more straight. “Lianfang-Zun. Are you saying Xichen is not taken seriously among the other Great Sects?”
“Much more seriously than I am,” Jin Guangyao says. “My Shi- An advisor once said that those things take time. It is not as serious as Master Lan phrases. What Sect Leader Su is trying to do is cause some internal lack of balance that will allow him to become an undisputed sect leader in his own right.”
“Ridiculous!” Lan Qiren snaps, then takes in a deep breath, realizing that he’s been breathing really hard the whole time. It’s too hot… His mouth feels dry. He takes a long drought of tea, and rubs his forehead. Really, he’s not used to this kind of heat – it even becomes difficult to think-
A powerful wave of dull heat courses through him, something strange unwinding in the pit of his stomach, and he almost curls in on himself, breath ragged.
Jin Guangyao looks concerned. “Master Lan?”
“My apologies,” Lan Qiren says, then stands up, too quickly. He’s dizzy too, now, and feels a strange weakness. “The heat must be getting to me. I am not so young as I was.”
Jin Guangyao gets up as well. “Master Lan must be jesting,” he says politely, “Master Lan still looks very young.”
Lan Qiren feels another wave of dull heat spread through his body, weakening him. He sways, and catches himself on the wall.
"What…"
It's too hot. Almost like he's suffocating, and he takes in a shuddering breath. He can feel with agonizing clarity the weight and friction of his robes against his skin, the sweat rising on his body, even the feeling of the breeze coming through the window against his face is too much. The worst thing is the sudden deep, sharp want that uncurls within his body, without his mind's permission. He is so used to suppressing such things, so used to his own self-restraint being enough that he is at a great loss.
Jin Guangyao looks concerned, getting up quickly to support Lan Qiren under the elbow. "Master Lan? Are you alright?"
He's so short and thin that if Lan Qiren was no longer able to hold himself up, there was very little he could do to support him, really, but the gesture is courteous.
His delicate hands, hands that have done unspeakable things, feel as if they are burning Lan Qiren, even through the layered fabric of his robes. The feeling is such that in his muddled state, Lan Qiren is unsure whether to pull sharply away, or lean in.
When he speaks, his voice is hoarse and strained. "I am fine."
There is something wrong, he feels it keenly. In his youth, when he had longed for another’s touch, or had inadvertently brought himself closer to that person, it was not even close to whatever this is. He had always wanted Wen Ruohan, but this is some sickly, intensified feeling mimicking true desire.
Jin Guangyao frowns, then stands on tiptoe to press the back of his hand against Lan Qiren's forehead, in an unprecedented gesture. "Master Lan, you're burning up!" he exclaims, then reddens and quickly takes his hand away. "…My apologies," he mumbles, looking down.
This untrustworthy boy, younger even than his nephew, appears so delicate that Lan Qiren could easily break him in half – and his brief touch makes Lan Qiren shudder, albeit not with revulsion. Thick shame rises in the back of his throat like bad blood to be spat out.
Lan Qiren grits his teeth against another wave of shameful heat and dizziness. "Lianfang-Zun need not worry, I-"
As the dizziness gets stronger, Lan Qiren leans on Jin Guangyao's arm more heavily than he means to – though, he had thought, surely not that heavily. Jin Guangyao seems to suddenly lose his balance, and topple backwards with a little gasp, taking Lan Qiren with him.
They fall to the floor in an undignified tangle of limbs and robes.
Lan Qiren catches his breath, raising himself up on one shaking arm to take the weight off of Jin Guangyao beneath him.
The damage, however, has been done.
Beneath him, Jin Guangyao looks up with wide eyes and flushed cheeks, robes askew enough to show his pale collarbone, hair in disarray. He quickly licks his lips and looks away. "M-Master Lan…"
With growing horror, Lan Qiren can feel the unwelcome hardness beneath his own robes pressing against Jin Guangyao's stomach.
Expending all of his weaning strength, Lan Qiren manages to roll off of Jin Guangyao, and fall onto the floor on his back, chest heaving as he gasps for air, which seems to be a rare commodity in the room. "My…apologies…" he manages to hoarsely pant out. He can barely move anymore.
Jin Guangyao appears above him, in his blurry field of vision. "Master Lan," he calls softly, "Where does it feel uncomfortable? I know a little about herbal medicines, perhaps I could try and help?"
Lan Qiren’s throat is dry, and he forces himself to sit up, pressing a hand against his own aching head. “Lianfang-Zun-”
Jin Guangyao’s hand closes around his arm, and his fingers press against the fluttering pulse in Lan Qiren’s wrist. He frowns, fingertips glowing with probing spiritual energy, until he gasps, looking up into Lan Qiren’s eyes with shock. “Master Lan!” he exclaims. “Your meridians are- You’ve been poisoned!” He opens the teapot and sniffs at the contents, before gasping again.
Lan Qiren stiffens. “Poison?” That would explain all this, at least.
Jin Guangyao’s fingers are still curled around Lan Qiren’s wrist. “This poison… I’ve only seen it once before, back when I was a spy in the Qishan Wen Sect. They call it ‘Qing Si Rao’, it…” he looks down, thick lashes lowering, as if embarrassed, “…It renders a person half-mad with arousal. If that arousal is not satisfied with enough yin qi from another person during dual cultivation… It can result in the death of the one poisoned. Shi-fu didn’t like using it – he was always more straightforward-” Jin Guangyao’s shaking hand bats at the air as he blinks quickly and shakes his head. “Ah, what am I saying…”
“I must go,” Lan Qiren chokes out, leaning heavily on the wall to stand up. This is all so intensely against the rules that he has absolutely no qualms about going off and spitefully dying of a boner in some corner of Jinlingtai. He’s too old for this.
Jin Guangyao jumps up, grabbing his arm. “Master Lan, you can’t go in this state! You can barely stand!” he exclaims. “This is all my fault, this was obviously a trap to poison me! Some amateurish thing like this, and I fell for it! Oh, it’s all my fault…!” In Lan Qiren’s blurring vision, the boy looks genuinely distressed. “My position as Sect Leader is not yet stable, this is all another ploy to get at me-”
Not entirely sure what comes over him, he allows himself to be dragged through Jin Guangyao’s study, and past a hanging screen into a small bedroom. There is more strength than one would guess in Jin Guangyao’s slim body.
“When I have too much work to do, I sleep here,” Jin Guangyao babbles anxiously. “Please lay down! We can’t let it go too late- This is all my fault, Er-ge will never forgive me if anything happens to you-”
Lan Qiren’s first instinct is to try to comfort the boy, and looks down at him with what he hopes is a gentle expression. “I will be fine. Truly. Xichen will forgive you anything.”
Jin Guangyao looks up with widened eyes, then nervously licks his lips. “Forgive me anything…?”
Unable to keep from following the motion with his eyes, Lan Qiren grits his teeth and sharply looks away. It’s getting difficult to breathe deeply again, and his entire body hurts with a desperate arousal.
“Master Lan,” Jin Guangyao says quietly, “I… I can help you.”
Lan Qiren continues not looking at him, reciting his Sect Rules in his head, fists clenched by his sides in some semblance of self-restraint. “Is there another antidote?”
He forgets to breathe at all when Jin Guangyao’s delicate hand slides from his arm to rest on his chest, fingers splayed – and then he is pushed back onto the bed. He looks up, pushing himself up on one elbow, but finds himself falling back again when Jin Guangyao climbs on top of him.
His body is already weakened, with Jin Guangyao straddling his hips, looking determined, Lan Qiren can barely move at all. Jin Guangyao grinds his ass down against Lan Qiren’s clothed erection, and Lan Qiren’s lips part in an unvoiced gasp. Weakly shaking hands move up to Jin Guangyao’s hips to try and push him off, but he is unsuccessful. “Lianfang-Zun…” he manages to grit out, “What are you-”
“Master Lan, I’ll help you,” Jin Guangyao says, reaching out to cup the side of Lan Qiren’s face. Jin Guangyao continues moving his hips as his hands make short work of his own clothing, first pulling his gold-embroidered belt off and tossing it aside, opening every layer of his robes and sliding them off until he is left in his silk under-robe and under-trousers. “Master Lan, it’s all my fault- There’s no other way-”
“This isn’t-” This isn’t right, he wants to say, but Jin Guangyao begins to tug at Lan Qiren’s clothes, not even bothering to take them off, but opening them so that he may smooth his hands over Lan Qiren’s chest muscles and his abdomen.
Every touch, even though layers of robes, adds to the oppressive heat building up in his body, and Lan Qiren shivers, mouth half-opened, protests forgotten for a moment. The coolness of Jin Guangyao’s hands is like a temporary balm, but the heat gets worse after every touch. He needs this.
Lan Qiren bites down on the inside of his cheek to keep from making a sound as the heel of Jin Guangyao’s palm presses against his clothed cock. With the last of his strength, he grabs Jin Guangyao’s thin wrist. “You don’t need to-” he begins through gritted teeth.
“The poison has already spread throughout Master Lan’s body. I’m afraid that there’s little time for anything else.”
Jin Guangyao’s oiled fingers disappear behind himself, and he makes a strangled gasping sound, before beginning to grind himself down on his own fingers, still straddling Lan Qiren. He frees Lan Qiren’s cock from his pants, and then takes a deep breath, before sinking himself down on it.
Lan Qiren grits his teeth harder and shuts his eyes, overwhelmed by the hot, slick tightness – but the rushing of blood in his ears cannot drown out Jin Guangyao’s shaky moan. Guilt suffuses him. How is he possibly allowing this to happen? This is like some strange dream he cannot wake from.
Jin Guangyao grabs Lan Qiren’s hands, puts them on his own hips, and offers a shaky smile. “Master Lan, it’s easier this way…”
Lan Qiren cannot speak. Only to look straight ahead, eyes inexorably fixed on Jin Guangyao above him, surrounding him. It would be so easy to dig his fingers in and respond to Jin Guangyao’s movements, to leave bruises on those bony hips. Something within him relishes the thought.
Instead, he allows his hands to rest there, to steady Jin Guangyao, who trembles and stutters as he moves, lip bitten and pale chest damp with the sweat of exertion and pleasure. “A-Su won’t know, Er-ge doesn’t need to know… It’ll be alright-” he gasps out, as if reassuring not only Lan Qiren but himself.
He leans down and presses an openmouthed kiss over Lan Qiren’s lips, tongue swiping at his mouth.
Jin Guangyao does not need to kiss him. Does not need to caress him. It could be something clinical; damn it, it would have helped if he held a dual cultivation manual in one hand and read out instructions. But instead, it is like some sickly parody of lovemaking that his fevered body has no choice but to respond to. Lan Qiren at least has the presence of mind not to
Though, perhaps, it could be chalked up to a lack of experience; a cut-sleeve in a marriage with a woman, who already has a son – Jin Guangyao likely has little opportunity to do something like this often, if at all. Lan Qiren feels immeasurable guilt.
Jin Guangyao adjusts himself to find a better angle, and cries out when he grinds down again.
Lan Qiren is not sure what is worse – to keep his eyes open and see what is being done, and by whom, to see what he, himself, is allowing – or to shut his eyes and in his fevered mind’s eye to imagine another man above him, one with laughing phoenix eyes and broad shoulders.
It’s the best-kept secret of the Cloud Recesses, that every Lan has broken most of the rule on the Wall, there. How can a person go without exulting or grieving in excess, or fighting with his family once in a while, or even eating more than three bowls during dinner? It is impossible. It’s all about the principles behind it all – harmony, education, honor.
But this… This is far more than some minor offense that it is impossible not to violate.
This is…
Jin Guangyao bites his lips and suppresses a groan. His eyes have been closed, but now he opens them, looking down into Lan Qiren’s eyes. “A-are you close, Master Lan…?”
Lan Qiren’s throat closes as he tries to speak the shameful words. “…Not quite,” he grits out.
Jin Guangyao rides him harder, panting, breath hitching. Now, moans more often leave his lips, and he seems to lose himself, hands digging into Lan Qiren’s shoulders and eyes closed tightly.
“It… It doesn’t have to be me- Close your eyes, Master Lan-”
Lan Qiren cannot.
“Master Lan do you know? Shi-fu wouldn’t let me touch him like this… There was only one person in his heart, even then…”
“Lianfang-Zun,” Lan Qiren breathes hoarsely. “Please… Don’t.”
Jin Guangyao sobs as he comes, right then and there. He almost collapses onto Lan Qiren’s chest, but he keeps himself braced with his hands against Lan Qiren’s shoulders and keeps going.
Even after Jin Guangyao comes, he continues to move, making a broken gasping sound every time, but determined to keep going. He trembles, almost on the verge of tears, large eyes red-rimmed.
His voice dead in his throat, Lan Qiren only looks up at him. As a single tear rolls from the corner of Jin Guangyao’s eye, and the young man almost mewls with overstimulation, Lan Qiren cannot help but reach up with a weakly shaking hand to rub the tear away with his thumb, palm lingering on the curve of Jin Guangyao’s face.
Jin Guangyao shuts his eyes and leans into the touch, panting.
Lan Qiren is closer now. It takes another minute of Jin Guangyao’s trembling movements for him to come.
His vision, already blurring around the edges, goes completely black.
--
Lan Qiren awakes with a headache, the early morning sunlight dyeing the world red through his eyelids. He struggles to open his eyes and sits up, blinking sleep away. He’s only wearing his rumpled inner robes, and where-
The sheets rustle, and Lan Qiren gathers the blankets to himself, feeling a cold, growing horror. These are not his guest quarters at Jinlingtai. This is Jin Guangyao’s room. Fuzzy memories of unbearable heat and want appear at the forefront of his mind, of Jin Guangyao above him, red, wet mouth half-open, tears in his eyes-
“Shi-fu wouldn’t let me touch him like this…”
Lan Qiren stiffens, eyes widening.
“Master Lan, you’re awake,” Jin Guangyao says, sitting up in bed next to him. As Jin Guangyao sits up, he winces and rubs his waist, then looks over at Lan Qiren with slightly widened, red-rimmed eyes. “How… How are you feeling?”
Lan Qiren opens his mouth and no sound comes out.
As he sits up entirely, the blankets fall away from Jin Guangyao’s thin, pale upper body. Lan Qiren has left no marks on him, his body is smooth save for only a few old scars. Jin Guangyao drops his gaze, as if ashamed, lifting the blanket slightly, until most of his chest is covered, but a single white shoulder is exposed.
He’d allowed this to happen. Having done something like this, to his nephew’s beloved sworn brother, no less – how could he ever face the world again?
Lan Qiren covers his face with his hands, taking a deep breath. Then he tucks in his sleeves, steps off the bed and lowers himself to his knees. “Lianfang-Zun has saved my life at great personal cost,” he says hoarsely. “How may this one ever repay you?”
As he looks up at Jin Guangyao, he momentarily sees something other than the anxious boy with shaking hands. Jin Guangyao looks down at him with slightly narrowed eyes and a tilt to his head. And then his eyes widen and become round again, and his hands flutter up as he comes down from the bed to try and raise Lan Qiren out of his bow.
“Master Lan, there is no need-”
“There is.”
“Please, get up-” Jin Guangyao’s hands scrabble at Lan Qiren’s elbows as he unsuccessfully tries to lift him off the floor.
Lan Qiren lowers his eyes. “Under the influence of the poison, I was not thinking clearly. But if I had been, I would have rather fallen on my sword than caused you to dishonor yourself in this way.”
“Master Lan…”
“Because Xichen is important to you, you felt as if you had a responsibility to me. You do not. But now that you have saved my life, I cannot throw your sacrifice back in your face by ending my own life for honor. I must repay you, Lianfang-Zun.”
Jin Guangyao’s hold on him relaxes, and then he sighs deeply. “Very well… If Master Lan truly feels as if you owe me, then this one will ask a single favor.”
--
The missive comes from Jin Guangyao in the wake of the betrayal and annihilation of the Chengyang Hegong Sect, the opposition of the Head Cultivator’s building of the lookout towers and the murder of Jin Guangyao’s son and heir, Jin Rusong.
Lan Xichen is inconsolable with anxiety for his sworn brother, rushing back and forth, before setting off for Lanling on his sword and half an entourage. And then Lan Qiren receives a message that has nothing but a location and a time – and he knows that it is his time to give back to Jin Guangyao.
Lan Qiren faces the cold night, waiting for Jin Guangyao to arrive and claim his favor, to exonerate his unforgivable sins. The wind blows with bitter cold, and the snow is like millions of tiny needles scratching at his skin.
It is difficult to see anything in the night sky, but Lan Qiren’s eyes are sharp, and he can differentiate the glint of a sword in the air from the snowflakes and faint flashes of moonlight through the deep clouds.
There he is.
Jin Guangyao stands upon his sword, holding a large bundle of blankets, and slowly alights, the snow reaching his knees as he steps down to the ground. He stumbles slightly, then looks up to meet Lan Qiren’s eyes. Even in the dark, Lan Qiren can see that the boy looks terrified and impossibly sad. His large, dark eyes are deep wells of despair.
Lan Qiren meets him halfway, not allowing Jin Guangyao to struggle the few steps more through the snow. Unwittingly, he catches the young man’s elbows to keep him from falling forward, and keeps Jin Guangyao upright until he finds his own balance. “Lianfang-Zun.”
Then he quickly draws back, thinking that surely Jin Guangyao would not want Lan Qiren’s touch upon him after… Everything. However, it is as if Jin Guangyao does not notice. Jin Guangyao only looks up with red-rimmed eyes, pale lips trembling with something other than cold. “Master Lan,” he says, then his voice fails.
Lan Qiren looks down at the blankets in Jin Guangyao’s arms, and the bundle moves slightly. To his surprise, Jin Guangyao draws back the corner of the blanket to show the chubby face of a sleeping three-or-four-year-old child. Lan Qiren’s eyes widen.
“…A child?”
“Oh, yes.” Jin Guangyao’s laugh is bitter and too loud. Without opening its eyes, the child wrinkles his face at the sound and makes a displeased sound before falling back asleep. Jin Guangyao shakes, eyes too wide and breathing too quick.
“Lianfang-Zun,” Lan Qiren says in a low voice. “Deep breaths.”
Letting out a strangled sobbing noise, Jin Guangyao leans against him, and Lan Qiren takes the little one from his arms, unable to keep his other arm from supporting Jin Guangyao again. This support should not be coming from him, he knows – but there is no-one here besides him, and Jin Guangyao leans into this support. “Please don’t ask who this child is. No matter what, don’t let anyone know where he came from,” Jin Guangyao says, forehead pressed against Lan Qiren’s chest, and then his voice breaks in a sob. “Nobody, not even Er-ge, please. Please, you must take care of him.”
Lan Qiren nods. With his back, he blocks the cold wind from reaching either the child or Jin Guangyao. “Very well,” he says softly, thumb moving in a comforting rhythm over Jin Guangyao’s inner elbow. “I will take care of him. Do not worry.”
Jin Guangyao lets out a broken laugh, looking up. His mouth twists bitterly, and he shakes his head. “Master Lan… You’re a good man. Truly.”
“Whether I am a good man or not, that is for others to judge.” Lan Qiren’s own wry expression mirrors Jin Guangyao’s. “You learned much from your Shi-fu, Lianfang-Zun. Others may forget this, but I will not.”
Jin Guangyao leans forward, slumping exhaustedly against Lan Qiren, leaning his forehead against Lan Qiren’s chest again. “I am really sorry. For everything.”
Then, Jin Guangyao draws back, presses a kiss to the forehead of the sleeping child in Lan Qiren’s arms, and steps onto his sword without looking back. He rises into the air and disappears into the snowstorm.