Xian Yu - WANGXIAN

Xian Yu

Thirty-three lashes weren't enough. Physically hurting for months wasn't enough. Seclusion and self-hate weren't enough. Lan WangJi stood in the icy waters of the Cold Spring, staring at his miserable reflection, distorted by the ripples on the water's surface. The man couldn't take his eyes away; it reminded him of his heart's state, playing memories from his young years. Every new ripple was irrevocably sorrowful, tearing at his desolation, carving his lack of empathy towards Wei Ying back at Burial Mounds. How could a respectful and accomplished student like he had deemed himself not know how long Wei Ying had left? Instead of taking his hand and support the lonely, perishing man, he pointed his sword at him. Bichen's deadly glare never wavered, every strike precise and at a tremendous level of mastery.

Walking out of the Cold Spring, he got dressed and sat down by the shore to play his Guqin. The wet ground welcomed the familiar man, making way for his lament as Lan WangJi played Inquiry one more time. Even after playing it countless occasions, there was no answer, not one spirit or soul responded to his desperate summons. Every note constricted his heart, and yet the instrument was played near perfection, only stopping when his level of desperation enveloped his senses entirely. Reluctantly, he made his way back to his study. For the first time in his life, Lan WangJi felt like drinking. The severe dryness in his throat mistakingly confused by the need to overcome his anguish with indulgent liquor, thinking that maybe, at the bottom of an Emperor's smile jar, could he attain what his melody couldn't. Even after scorching his skin with the same sigil, on the same spot as Wei Ying, echoes of unfulfilled promises pounded at the back of his mind. There a traceable line of betrayal towards the one man that had requested his trust lingered.

Lan WangJi's emaciated appearance was merely a meek giveaway of his internal conflict. The man spent every night inside the Jingshi, striving to find a way to cope with the misleading reality and his circumstances. Why did Wei Ying's laugh echoed against the wooden walls, reaching his ears at night, making him sweat in his sleep only to wake up alone? Why did he felt a soft tug on his headband once in a while? Wei Ying had died on his arms, struggling for breath, in pain and rejected by the world, so why was he still looking for grey irises everywhere he went? Why had he gone out of his way to buy countless of the Emperor's smile and hid them under a small trap door in his study? The answers eluded him. Lan WangJi was never a man in touch with his emotions, though they were there, he was no emotionless rock contrary to what everybody believed. It was easier to blame his upbringing when, in reality, the stoic man was the one perpetually avoiding them. But there was no one to teach him this, Zewu-Jun tried, but he was a kid himself, how could he help develop somebody else's emotional response when he wasn't mature enough to understand it?

Since day one, Wei Ying had been a complete shock to Lan WangJi's senses. Noise, bratty, stuck up and immature, everything he had fought hard never to be. The shameless acts, the mockery and teasing, where did it all go? Now that he needed them the most to amend his shattered soul, where had they gone? There hadn't been enough time to speak his mind. Every word he ever blurted out was offensive; luckily, Wei Ying never took it too personally.

The lonely nights were cold and long; the light hours didn't go any faster, either. Filled with painful memories, Gusu was the last place Lan WangJi wanted to be, ironically, it was the only place where he could rest and recover from his severe punishment. Where do you go when the outside world is too painful, and your mind is even worst? What are you left with when there's no place to hide or bury your mournings? The tribulations of his mind lead him to believe that he needed some other type of closure, so the next morning and without hesitation, he travelled on his sword to Burial Mounds. After the battle and a massive explosion, there was no trace left behind that Wei Ying ever existed, not even his Chenqin, but if it was Lan WangJi, he might be able to find his remains and bury them properly. Sadly after three months of looking through rubble, dirt and memories of a faithful night, he left empty-handed again.

It wasn't until he reached the Jingshi that, while taking a bath, tears streamed down his face, warm strings of surrender from a broken heart, a moist plea for a miracle. Could there be a melody to turn back time? Even if there was, which he was sure there wasn't, would he have the courage to face Wei Ying? He had stolen the man's first kiss cowardly before. Would knowing Wei Ying 's inevitable fate pint point him in the right direction? Reminiscing, a familiar sense of fear gnawed at his core. Fear of his feelings not being enough to reach out and convey his devotion, fear of Wei Ying's rejection, of being ostracized by the very many he adored because every time they parted, Wei Ying never looked back. Lan WangJi was always left standing by himself with a fluttering heart and flushed ear lobes. Of course, he would never condemn Wei Ying for not liking men, as he did, it was his abiding cowardice that sickened him.

'Get lost,' had been Wei Ying's final words to Lan WangJi, they had stung ever so lightly, yet he kept his ground. After this many years, doubt fogged the memory. Had he stayed in the name of love or to prove something else? Has his ego been so grand as to force his beloved to spend his last breath with someone he seemingly hated? It never occurred to him that he was taking all those young years for granted. They all lived under the Wen Clan's rule, significant losses in every clan or sect, nobody was spared, but Lan WangJi was naive. Although respected and influential, peer pressure stripped him off of his so-called devotion. How would Wei Ying willingly hand over his heart to a traitor?

Asking him to come back to Gusu had been such a desperate act, disregarding Wei Ying's playful nature entirely, wanting to hide him away, and he had even expressed his dark desire to his brother. Flabergasted, Zewun-Jun had only repeated his words, hoping the young man would realize how painstakingly selfish they sounded. Lan QiRen would never approve it; thus, Zewun-Jun frowned at Lan WangJi, but the later didn't spare this conversation one more second. Stubborn, like only a youngster, could freely be.

With every passing year, the same questions tampered with his mood. What did he have to give in return? What else could he give? The moment Wei Ying's body became cold in his arms, he became numb, left with nothing valuable. The smiling face was gone, giving way to frozen features covered in blood, reflecting a soulless nightmare. Beauty had the power to corrode one's heart and uplift it at times, but it was earthbound, doomed to end one way or another. Lan WangJi never imagined this would be their fall off, not in a million years. His young heart's beat, pumping blood throughout his body, coveted a delusion, there was no escaping death.

Dragging a heavy heart to every corner of the world that needed his help, poor or wealthy, it didn't matter; the young jade twin committed himself to night hunting. Lan WangJi fooled himself, trying to repent by copying Wei Ying's selflessness. People either admired or condemned him for his past actions, but those people were meaningless, specks of dust picked up by his long, white robes as he left every city or town. No matter how many boys or girls flaunted their graciousness, nobody understood that there was no love inside him, there was not enough space within his body to appreciate some stranger.

Could nobody see he was wearing 'mourning' clothes?

After everything, secluded meditation was the harshest of lies to conceal the fact that his soul was withering away. Sitting on the floor by his bed, on a moonless night, with the trap door opened, he stared at the many Chenqi's fakes he had carved on a whim. Taking one out, he suddenly twirled it in his fingers, smiling for a split second, before the poorly done instrument hit the floor and bounced away. It quickly stopped bouncing but continued rolling on the floor, getting farther and farther away from Lan WangJi, whose eyes were wide open, shocked. Unconsciously, he reached his hand out as if by pure will alone the inanimated object would find it's way back to the saddened man.

"Come back to me, please."

With tearful eyes, the world around him was barely recognizable. He never noticed nor heard anything besides his silent laments. Therefore when a tiny figure presented him with the fake Chenqin, a fluttering bud of hope sprouted within himself. Spreading his arms apart, the innocent boy smiled and accepted the invitation, sitting down on his Master's lap, looking up at him with big, inquisitive eyes. Lan WangJi looked down to meet the boy's eyes, mentally scolding himself for forgetting him. There was something precious in this world that represented his longing and eternal love.

"Lan Zishui, let's wait for Wei Ying together."