Chapter 3

When did annoyance become feelings of care?

Lan Wangji wondered this very question as he sat before his guqin, the fading notes of Inquiry still echoing in the air.

It was beautiful tonight, the moon glowing ethereally in the night sky, surrounded by the stunning light of so many stars. It was a night when Wei Ying would have been lying on the veranda beside him or in the grass, just quietly staring up at the sky, content with the world.

Four days had now passed, from the day he returned to Gusu with A-Yuan. It had been agreed that for now, A-Yuan would be tended to by Lan Ai, who would bring the child to him every day, here in the Jingshi.

By assuming the responsibility of a father, there were many traditional roles that he must fill in the place of Wei Ying, a position that felt as though a betrayal to Wei Ying and the greatest honor of them all.

Wei Ying acting as mother, teacher and father for A-Yuan completely disregarded all traditions. In his Sect, a child of the correct age to begin their education and training were, supported by their father, who would ultimately stand before the elders with his children behind him.

Without a mother, it fell to Wangji to begin this early phase of teaching, a role his uncle had upheld when his own father entered near permanent seclusion. Unlike his uncle though, Wangji respected that this little boy was grieving, lost and most likely afraid. Yuan needed time to adjust and support to adapt to this new lifestyle. He was worried the little boy might not adapt to the Gusu way of life, with only Wangji as his support, but he knew Xichen was trying to help them both.

So far, his uncle had avoided him and according to Xichen, he had not taken the news well, that his nephew had decided to adopt a random homeless, orphaned child. Wangji's main interest in this development, was whether their uncle intended to publicly oppose Yuan.

Xichen when he arrived that night to tend to his wounds, simply stated that Xichen as Sect Leader had declared the child, the son of Wangji, by pledge. This placed him in a position of guardian, with the expectation that he would fulfill the role of Yuan's father. His uncle was reportedly outraged and confused, as if his nephew had swapped his love for Wei Ying with a son, when said nephew had never once shown any interest in becoming a father.

Wei Ying would have been endlessly entertained by this. He could see in his mind's eye the way his hair would fly up, like a flock of cranes, as his head was thrown back in amusement and he could hear the heart-warming sound of that riotous laughter.

Xichen had done this irrespective of their uncle's opinion, a fact that Wangji appreciated more than words could say. His brother had done this for his own reasons, but he had placed himself close to the fire as Wei Ying would have said. Too close and your robes will burn.

It would take time to forgive his brother for his role in Wei Ying's death... his brutal murder... but it was what Wei Ying would have wanted. Sect Leader Jiang was not much of a brother as far as Wangji could see and forgiveness, between him and Wei Ying was impossible, with his impenetrable bitterness.

Xichen would protect them, him and A-Yuan as much as he could. He may not want or need that protection, but it was his older brother's way.

Stroking his fingers along the strings, he considered that he would need to teach A-Yuan to play. The flute would be more appropriate, but he had never learned that particular instrument and to be fair, Wei Ying had always vocally admired his musical talents. Yes. He would teach him to play the guqin.

He could teach Yuan he thought, desperate to ignore the building pain from both his back at the careless position, leaning forward over his instrument and the despair of his heart. There had been no reply from his beloved.

If he taught him to play the guqin, he would need to make him a new instrument. It would take eighteen months at least to make him an appropriate Gusu guqin, the process after all was not one Wei Ying would like. Unlike a bamboo flute that can be made easily, a guqin worth anything, requires one hundred precise steps, including crushing pearls and gemstones and mixing them with raw lacquer, for the best quality sound.

His fingers ghosted over the strings, a new softer song playing for the audience of rabbits and the breeze. Would the wind carry the sound to Wei Ying's soul, like the legends told? Was he humming even now, unseen and unheard?

In years since they had met, Wangji had composed thirty songs, while the average disciple may only create one or two, that were truly their own. He admitted to none of them, hardly able to play them in the company of only himself. These were songs meant only for Wei Ying, not that he had ever planned for the wayward, beautiful man to actually hear them. This was the paradox of loving someone he thought.

The only song that others knew of, was the melody he had hastily called Flowing Waters. Xichen had praised him highly for it, when he had entered unexpectedly, completely unaware that the inspiration had nothing in common with water. It was an ode to Wei Ying's long, unruly waves of dark hair, the way the strands would dance in the breeze or shift as one rippling wave when he practiced martial arts.

When had that mild interest become love?

Wangji could no longer remember a time when he had not admired Wei Ying's pale wrists or flowing hair, the red of his hair ribbon or those captivating, beguiling grey eyes.

When did he begin comparing every shade of grey that nature offered around him, to those sparkling eyes? When was he first seized by that strange desire, to brush back those wild strands that curled so beautifully around his face, just to feel them against his palm?

Was there a time before Wei Ying?

He could so easily remember the moment when he saw him again at eighteen, convinced with the naivete of a child, that the feelings that had so captured him at fifteen were no more. He hardly ever thought of the lawless boy. After seeing him again, those dormant feelings he tried so hard to deny had changed without him noticing. Becoming something new, its form changing like a seed becoming a tree or a caterpillar becoming a moth or butterfly.

With no one else, did he feel this overwhelming cacophony of feelings, both tender and not. He had never, not even once, admired the collarbones of anyone else or watched with budding excitement when those dark robes lifted in the breeze, outlining those thin but powerful legs. So many emotions, colliding and changing in his heart. Boiling jealousy when he admired pretty women, envy when others were able to touch him or that bubbling sensation when he heard that happy laugh, to name only a few.

Admiring became other things, a feeling he could not back then, name. Lust. Desire. Worship so sinful, that he had doubted that anyone could feel what he did.

The chance to touch those silky strands of his hair, became a desire to gather the mass of dark waves in his hand and force that face, with all its hard curves and sinful planes, to look at him.

Dreams filled with visions of skin, thanks to the shared time in the cold pools however reluctant he might have been at the time, added detail to his longing. That one moment when he had looked at those defined abdominal muscles and strong thighs, had fueled his desires for years.

Disbelief and rage over his careless removal of his forehead ribbon, despite every warning and rule, became a desire to tie the ribbon around those perfect wrists. Hold him down to plunder that lush mouth.

That kiss. Wrong, stolen and everything he had told himself he didn't want. It had awakened in him, a need for Wei Ying that was impossible to put into words. The taste of him addicting...the blindfold keeping his identity hidden from those piercing grey eyes...Nothing was the same, from that day forward.

His life of cultivation, Gusu Lan Sect rules and the honor of his family...he would give up everything for one man, beloved by few and loathed by most.

All that I had known and cherished for my entire life Wei Ying," He whispered into the cold night air, "All of it.. means so little, without you in this world."

The pin indicating mourning was now affixed to his sleeve, but there was no body to mourn over, no final resting place to visit. His murderers were even now so fearful they watched over the Burial Mounds, ready at the slightest provocation to destroy his precious soul, should it return.

They do not know as I do. Wei Ying. Come back to me.

With one last look at the glowing moon, his gathered his guqin, covering it smoothly in the long white cloth, rising with less than his usual grace.

Tonight Wei Ying's soul may not have come, may not have listened to his pleading call, but he might tomorrow night. He would play Inquiry everyday for the rest of his life, until Wei Ying returned, he vowed it there on his veranda. His gaze drifted from the wood slats of the veranda, across the grass to the spring fed pools and the towering peaks of the mountains of Gusu.

He vowed it here in his home, within the sacred lands of his people, a promise that echoed from his heart.

If his soul could not join Wei Ying yet in death, he would play for him.