Chapter 5

As the seasons change, the inevitable happens.

He woke on the floor of the Jingshi, collapsed before his guqin in the early dawn light. Sweat drenched his robes and the bandages covering his back, the skin unbearably hot and incredibly painful.

He felt hollow and drifted like a boat winding its way downstream, the currents beckoning it forward. A bright smile, an elegant body rising into the wind, twisting and flowing like rushing water...Wei Ying.

Any worry he might have felt abandoned him, like snow melting in the light of the sun. If Wei Ying was here, he had nothing to fear.

His wounds were reaching a level where movement of any kind was difficult. Wangji was too weakened to leave the bed, his spiritual energy too low to aid in healing the injuries. This was not surprising. Disciples had been lashed before, not to the number he had endured usually, but the aftermath could take anywhere from one to three years to heal fully. The reason was simple enough. The blows from the cane are inflicted in layers, inevitably causing open wounds, while the unbroken skin hides weeping internal injuries and bruised muscle.

Stiffness and breathtaking pain at every movement was considered important, disciplining the mind while emotionally the disciple works through the humiliation and shame, the anxiety and the dishonor. Usually, for non-cultivators the weals and bruising would heal eventually leaving little evidence behind. His back would be marred for the rest of his life, the scars to serve a poignant reminder to repent and never repeat. That was why forgiveness was possible, the memory of the Sect long, but its nature was one to gift second chances.

Something they did not consider when they murdered Wei Ying.

Why could he not be saved? Forgiven and protected?

He felt only grief and despair, a storm of feeling that centered around Wei Ying. He obsessed over what his beloved may have felt when he died, the re-telling of his death that he had mistakenly overheard, that Wei Ying had been ripped apart, alive and alone, sending him further into the blackest mood.

There was no shame because he regretted nothing. He had accepted what was coming, understanding the very nature of his punishment before they tied him to the posts. He had thought that fear and anxiety had died with Wei Ying, but he felt them, looking at Yuan, desperate to keep his promise, to be a good father to the child left behind.

He had left the bed during the night, unsteady and filled with hopeless dread to play Inquiry again, the tears of despair escaping his control, as pain rippled through his heart, across his back and wept as fresh blood to stain clean bandages.

The floor was cool against his cheek as he lay there, staring up at the magnolia tree outside. It was so easy to imagine Wei Ying there, leaning against the boughs, carefree with a blade of grass between his teeth, arms folded in thought as he gazed out over the Recesses. Unbidden a small smile came to his lips, as he watched his precious mirage, turn his head, those captivating strands held in an unruly bun at the back of his noble head, his fringe dancing in the light breeze.

His eyes traced that long neck, barely hidden by his robes and waited for him to toss his head, further loosening the red ribbon that tried to valiantly to hold the mass of dark tresses.

No one else seemed to notice his pensive moments, the way he would bite his lip unseen, fingers rising to rub his chin. Part of Wangji wanted only to offer comfort, to soothe the troubled brow or at least offer him companionship. The rest of him, ugly and all too human, rejoiced in these times, for they proved that Wei Ying was human too, that his life was not all bright smiles and laughter. From that realization, he was left wondering what troubled him, when nothing seemed to affect him too greatly.

Had he believed the lie too?

Were all of those smiles and bright happy moments hiding pain?

Soft fur touched his outstretched hand and he opened eyes glazed with fever, to see one of his rabbits, a daughter of his original pair, sitting near his fingers, her red eyes reminding him of Wei Ying. He felt no pain or anguish at the red, even at his worst, he was still his Wei Ying, the man he had loved for every day for almost as long as he had known him.

He shifted and cried out softly at the pain, ripping across his back.

Tears fell staining the floor, and he gripped his sleeves. He curled into himself a little more, and his eyes fell on the desk, the polished surface reminded him once more of another day, shared time over the books in the library. Days of endless proximity, of teasing and constant attention being trained on him, words...admiring words being aimed at him by that insistent, dulcet voice.

The sunlight would cast a golden crown over his hair, alighting on the rich tones but his eyes...those grey eyes would become something more, a stunning purple grey that he wished he had a name for, their otherworldly beauty stealing his breath.

He remembered sitting opposite, aware of every single motion and breath that Wei Ying made. He remembered that energy, flooding through him despite all attempts to hide it and deny it, when he thought of working with Wei Ying, of going to Pavilion Library, of him being there, as agitating as that could be.

Clenching his teeth against the pain, he reached for the Yunmeng Jiang Sect bell that he kept for all these years. The purple tassel curled around his hand as he held the silver bell engraved with a nine-petal lotus motif. The bell was supposed to be able to calm the mind and wondered if Wei Ying had ever found it calming.

He had seen this bell hanging from Wei Ying's belt so many times, contrasting so vividly with the red and black of his robes. In his daydreams, the fantasies he tried to deny for so long, ashamed and shocked by the intensity of those feelings, the bell had always chimed softly when he untied that belt.

The knock on the door signaled Lan Ai and Yuan, disturbed his dreams of Wei Ying. Moving was not currently possible and the last thing he wanted was for Yuan to see him like this.

Oh Wei Ying. If only you were here. He thought as he had for a thousand times, this week alone. A laugh echoed, a slender hand stained with ink and callused from weapons and mischief waved to him, coming back, forgiving him for being so quiet. 'Lan Zhan!"

A second knock came and then silence.

Did this make him a failed parent? The bell chimed distracting him and he returned to his memories, watching Wei Ying leaped into the air. Dream and reality blurred, but the constant was Wei Ying and it was on him, his memories that he focused his failing attention. Every action, every expression and every word, branded into his mind, the memories different now he wasn't struggling with his feelings. Now he wondered what Wei Ying was thinking or feeling in those moments and thought of his bravery and kindness.

He was humble when you least expected it, but his confidence was born from skill and zero respect for his own life. He was sweet and gentle but could be brittle and withdrawn, afraid for others but fearless. Wangji loved every facet of him, a gemstone valued for his rarity and color, but to Wangji he was perfect in every way, even in his flaws, because they were what made him Wei Ying.

Pain distracted him from loquats and Wei Ying's hand, right before him, offering and kind.

"Wangji! Wangji...you're burning."

Brother's voice drifted to him, sounding frantic and low, almost angry. He opened his eyes and found himself on the bed once more, a cold cloth over the back of his neck, his back feeling as if a fire was raging along his skin.

"Brother..."

"Shh Wangji. I am here." Xichen said urgently. 'You have a fever."

"Yuan?" He asked or at least attempted to.

"Safe. He is with Lan Ai." Xichen soothed, his touches burning but he knew his brother was helping him, cleaning the wounds and applying medicine.

"Wei Ying." He said into the pillow.

"I miss him." He said truthfully, wondering why he was telling his brother this. Xichen had wanted him dead after all.

"I know Wangji. I know you miss him. Sleep, dream of him and see him again little brother."

"I must play..."

"It is too early. Sleep." His brother replied, soaking the cloth and praying for his brother's life.