It Can't Be Anyone But You

Writing the Fool - Part 2

The next morning, Lan Zhan leaves Jingshi earlier than usual and heads directly for the classroom. He ate his breakfast alone, needing the extra time to prepare for what he knew would be awaiting him. However, even after an extra incense stick of meditation, he still felt restless and uncertain.

What if Wei Wuxian sits next to him again? What if the boy never stops talking? It took all of Lan Zhan's focus yesterday to remain calm and listen to the instructor. He's not sure he has the patience to do it again.

As always, he is the first to arrive at the lecture hall. However, today he's extra early. Nothing has been disturbed yet. Clean calligraphy brushes lying on their white porcelain holders are ready to be picked up and dipped in the black ink prepared by the Lan juniors. Blank papers, anxiously awaiting to be filled with knowledge, have been positioned in the exact middle of each walnut desk.

Everything is in its proper place.

Everything is perfect.

Walking slowly to the front of the classroom so as not to disturb the fragile peacefulness, Lan Zhan takes his seat gracefully. He runs both open palms slowly over the blank paper in front of him, its texture a balm to his apprehensive mind. His eyes close as he concentrates on the rhythm of his breathing. Tense muscles relax until his shoulders sag the tiniest bit.

And that's when he feels it.

There's something under his paper.

Its existence was imperceptible to the naked eye. He would have never noticed it had he not smoothed his paper.

With curious caution, Lan Zhan lifts the left corner of his paper off the desk and takes a peak at his unexpected discovery. Tucked secretly beneath his sheet is a much smaller one that is folded in half. Its edges are barely frayed, a clear sign it was torn by a meticulous hand, not one that was in a hurry. Using his long slender fingers, he pulls out the concealed paper and opens it.

Good Morning

Lan Zhan studies the two characters with rapt fascination. The strokes are written with a precision he has never seen before. The ink dried before any excess could blur the smooth edges of each swipe of the brush. He is amazed at the consistency of the ink's color. Nowhere was it faded or darker than any other place.

He runs a fingertip lightly over each brush stroke, tracing the writer's detailed movements. He's mesmerized by the artist's innate talent. For Lan Zhan, this tiny note is a beautiful work of art. Everything about it tells Lan Zhan that whoever wrote it, they took their time. They made sure each character was flawless and would remain so for the test of time.

To his dismay, the first students enter the classroom, bringing with them the constant buzz of hushed chatter and breaking the peaceful bubble surrounding him. Without moving his head, Lan Zhan observes each student crossing the threshold with a questioning gaze and wonders which one of them has left him this special greeting. The message itself is simple and polite. Yet he knows there is nothing simple about the person who wrote the note now grasped firmly in his hand. Someone took a great deal of time to write these two common words. The calligraphy was done with such fine elegance it was obvious to even a common man that the penman poured their heart into every stroke.

That means that someone thinks Lan Zhan is worthy of this exquisite gift. One of these students finds him....

Interesting?

Smart?

Enchanting?

Cute?

Unexpectedly, Lan Zhan's ears feel like he's been standing in the sun too long. His pale eyes flit from student to student, all of them now present and seated at their desks, fearful that one of them will see his embarrassing predicament. Thankfully, no one seems to notice except....