The Tears of Thirteen Years

Chapter 9

The silver bell gleamed in the shaft of moonlight as it fell on bowed shoulders, his long hair untied and his forehead ribbon abandoned.

Tears ran down his cheeks in silent rivers, unseen and unheard by anyone as he knelt on the floor of Jingshi, staring up at the endless field of stars. There was not a cloud in the sky and the air was cool, crisp after days of intermittent rain. It was a night Wei Ying would have loved, breaking curfew just to sit on a rooftop, with a jar of Emperor's Smile just admiring the stars with that dazed, content look on his beautiful features. One foot dangling over the edge, kicking back and forth in a lazy arc, one hand resting on his bent knee, his hair dancing in the slight breeze.

If only he could see that again. What would Wei Ying think if he knew that Wangji had composed an ode on the guqin, that very image described with sound, the strings copying that lazy arc, the contentment and the beauty? That there was a song for every cherished memory, written by a heart overflowing with love he could never show?

The night sky with its inky blue vastness, the stars with all their secrets so dazzlingly bright, enchanting like Wei Ying's smile, the moon a glowing disk high in the depths of the sky's darkness.

It was still and calm, the light reflecting on the surface of the pools surrounding the Recesses, mirroring the Heavens with glittering light, disturbed only by the ripple of the water.

A harsh breath barely audible, a long sleeve rising to wipe the tears away from the impassive face that betrayed so little of the agony, beating against Lan Wangji's breastbone.

Spring had become Summer in all its glorious days of warmth and cheer. Yuan had not grown, but he had surpassed the skills of other children his age, becoming a Lan a little more each day. The little boy had enjoyed Summer, playing in the grass with his new friend Jingyi who adored the rabbits too. Jingyi was a good friend, a little impatient but kind and a friend who followed Yuan eagerly, as they practiced or played. His Grandfather was a respected Elder, his mother an excellent Healer and his father was a scholar the same age as Xichen. The adults in his life had no patience for the boy, so he often appeared during the day copying Yuan and left well before five pm, presumably returning to his mother.

Wei Ying's excited, teasing voice spoke in his ear, at the sight of the two of them trying to perform a handstand for the first time. "Look Lan Zhan! He's making friends!"

Summer was difficult. Feelings that were too complex to describe, cherished memories of days watching Wei Ying or being teased by him filling his every spare moment, be it day or night. Laughter and teasing, bright sunlight never able to compete with that stunning smile...graceful steps... endless longing with so many sleepless nights spent thinking about a boy, that would never be his.

Summer with all its bittersweet memories gave way to a bitter autumn, new faces and new trials for him and for the Sect. Then, this morning Wangji realized that soon the world was going be celebrating the anniversary of the Yiling Patriarch's death.

It struck like a blade, cutting into his heart with well-timed aim, stealing his breath even as it forced him to his knees, unseen in the privacy of the Jingshi, his door sliding shut firmly as if he shut out the callous words of the disciples outside. A year. Soon it would be a year.

That morning he had been sitting on the veranda, a black rabbit descendant from the pair that Wei Ying had so sweetly gifted him years ago, sitting in the crook of his elbow. His back was resistant to bending and his dignity could only withstand so much, so he sat watching the world thinking as he always did of Wei Ying. Lessons were halted for the necessary nap-time that Yuan needed at his age, a time of rest for a tired little one, leaving him with his restless thoughts.

His brother had come to see him, unexpected and yet welcome all the same, telling him in his gentle voice that he was leaving, to represent the Sect at the talks being held at Koi Tower.

Wangji had no interest in politics and even less for people congratulating themselves on 'defeating' the Yiling Patriarch, but wished his brother a safe journey all the same. As he turned away, Xichen had stopped and asked, "Is that little Sizhui?"

Wangji glanced down beside him at the large pile of rabbits, forming a mound of white and black, the odd flash of red eyes and twitching whiskers. The mound of rabbits were sitting on the grass just off the veranda, his son never far away from his side, memories of the mischief and danger Wei Ying could find himself in, even in Gusu, making him reluctant to let the boy wander. "Mn."

"How sweet. Is he asleep? Is that safe?" Xichen asked in concern looking at the rabbit pile in confusion and with the face of a man trying to be open minded and supportive.

"En." Wangji replied calmly, a book resting in his lap forgotten for now.

Xichen smiled still confused but indulgent. "Is he well? I have not seen him recently."

"Too short."

His brother pursed his lips hiding a smile, "He is not too short. Wangji, he will grow. It is only that the poor child was lacking nutrition. Now he is eating well, his body will recover the time lost." Xichen reassured immediately.

He sincerely hoped he would. It was not Yuan's height that worried him, it was how thin the child was, even after all this time. He presumed that Yuan would share some of the traits of the Wen Sect family as he aged and certainly possessed some of the more coveted natural skills, that the Wens had been famous for. But the child was not broadening in the shoulders or rising in height to match what he remembered seeing with the Wen Sect. He feared something was wrong. "Mn."

Xichen smiled kindly, "Don't worry so Brother. He is growing and learning. He is safe and I dare say, he is happy too."

Wangji took this to mean that his brother thought he was living up his promise and was pleased, thinking Wei Ying would proud of how far the child had come in the months since Yiling. "Mn."

"He loves it here in Gusu." Xichen replied softly. "In some ways he reminds me of you, when you were a small child."

He had no answer to that. He was pleased to think that Yuan was beginning to love Gusu as his home though. "Mn."

Peering down at his younger brother, ignoring the unspoken request to not continue that thought, Xichen asked instead, "And you Brother?"

Knowing his elder brother was referring to his back, Wangji replied simply. "En."

His Brother's smile was always proud and gentle. "I will visit on my return. Please remember to add the herbs to water when you bathe. They will help, until I can return"

Xichen would only fret otherwise and his brother would know, if he was not using the herb concoction that smelled particularly bitter. "Mn."

But as he turned away, Xichen said softly, "I mean no offense Brother, but it is a warm day. It will be soon too hot for Sizhui to nap outside."

He glanced at the sun and nodded. Nap-time had now passed, they could return to their lessons. "En."

"Good. It is good to see you doing well."

Was he? It was all he could think watching brother serenely walk away, greeting the younger disciples that came past, along the pathway. How could this storm of pain be considered 'doing well'? What right did he have to feel anything beyond loss? Wei Ying was trapped in chaos, alone and...waiting.

There were many like his Uncle who disapproved of his grief, citing their own hatred as reasons why he could not, should not grieve for a man torn from this world. They celebrated his death or moved on with their lives content that a man with a kind heart and dancing grey eyes had suffered, driven to the darkness but still found within himself that vast capacity for love.

He lifted a rabbit gently setting it on the grass. Guileless ocean eyes looked up at him, a sweet face surrounded by the animals that existed only because Wei Ying was a generous, caring person, Yuan's words muffled by at least five white rabbits. Wei Ying had adopted this child at the height of his journey as the Yiling Patriarch, he had saved countless Wens and struggled in the many ways that made him human.

But he didn't think of the date, of the passing of time not until Lan Ai had collected Yuan at five pm just before autumn, remarking that Yuan had not grown much over this year. She was hopeful he would be taller in a few months, but all Wangji heard was the words, 'a year.' The disciples and now Lan Ai.

He had played Inquiry until nine, his fingers desperate and forlorn, the sound deep and longing coaxed from the strings easily from long practice, during these difficult years. Just before nine, he played the song WangXian composed by a Lan Zhan so deeply in love and so young, confused by these encompassing feelings and too foolish to realize his mistakes until too late.

Sleep that night came with difficulty and his dreams were filled with sorrow, the yearning and guilt translating into images of Wei Ying suffering.

Now he was kneeling on the floor bathed in moonlight, the ancient tree above him casting shadows on the veranda, its boughs heavy with flowers Wei Ying would have loved. His guqin finally silent rested on the wall in its usual place, his sleeping robes too thin to ward off the chill of the night air.

He was surrounded by his treasures. A bookmark made from a flower once clasped in Wei Ying's perfect hands; a peony carefully dried, tossed to him on a beautiful day.

Despite the fire that destroyed the Library Pavilion, he had saved numerous drawings, random notes covered in Wei Ying's barely readable scrawl, three original music sheets created for the flute and several paper cut-outs. Three of which were paper flowers and six were animals, all lovingly pressed and hidden in an ornate wooden box.

The perfume pouch that had healed and soothed near fatal injuries in a cave, when Wei Ying had comforted him in his grief, inspired him with his reckless plans, and irritated him to no end, distracting from guilt and despair. A cave where he had held Wei Ying for the first time in his arms, watched his face as he slept and played the song he had composed for weeks love-struck and hopeful.

He had fought so bravely, nearly died so many times and yet, that was the time Wangji realized that there was no end to these feelings. He admitted to himself that he loved Wei Ying in that cave.

This pretty perfume pouch had once belonged to a girl, young, foolish and everything Wangji could never be. A girl who had been saved from disfigurement by Wei Ying recklessly taking a branding iron to the chest instead of her. A girl Wei Ying had paid favor to and had helped so selflessly.

When he held it, he thought of grey eyes and a stolen kiss. He thought of fevers and the first time he had brushed his fingers through those wild locks or pressed his hand to that beating heart rejoicing in its strength.

But this bell, the symbol of the Yunmeng Jiang Sect meant for calming the mind, was truly precious. It had been his symbol of hope and prayer when Wei Ying was missing... a symbol of faith when Wei Ying strayed down the path of darkness...

He had held it when he desperately needed to be reminded of why he fought for Wei Ying. Cried over it when he was told Wei Ying was dead and would not apparently rest in his fevered state without it nearby, much to his brother's worry. He had cradled it in his hands after every argument, every fight, his ears ringing with Wei Ying's words whether cheerful or angry. He had carried it close to his heart for years now and often slept with it beneath his pillow.

Lost in pain, Lan Wangji grieved alone, the only person left that loved Wei Ying in all the world. The man who would trade his life in a heartbeat so Wei Ying could live again.

Wei Ying had been gone for a year.