The Tears of Thirteen Years

Chapter 20

The sound of the brush against the paper is soothing. The scent of the ink and the patience of each word is a comfort, here in the warm sunlight of the afternoon.

The light breeze pulls the leaves of the tall trees into a sweet dance, the water of the vast pool before them, shivers. The waterfall in the distance flows over the ledge, the storm filling the pools to brimming but now, the birds and dragonflies are free to explore the air. The world is once more bright with the beauty of nature, the vapor rising with the rush of clear water, the dark boughs of trees ancient and twisted all around them.

Lan Wangji sits at a table in the small pavilion overlooking the pools, a quiet glade with stone steps leading down to the water. In olden days, many in the Sect would use this waterway, traveling by boat to the back mountain or to sit in one of the boats in meditation.

He has been tasked with completing some of the duties required of his brother, who is absent from the Recesses, visiting the Qinghe Nie Sect for the funereal.

Nie Mingjue was dead.

The constant anger and resentment inherent to their cultivation, had caused the madness suffered by every leader of the Qinghe Nie Sect. It always ended in death, not for just for the one unfortunate individual but usually several people around them. Nie Mingjue had succumbed and in his madness had killed or maimed those around him. Who ended his life was something answered only rumor. He would find out soon enough, when his brother returned.

His death long feared by Brother, was a harsh blow. Xichen had always hoped his oldest friend might be able to overcome the anger, suppress the worst of the side-effects though the musical arts of the Lan Sect.

Wei Ying would have said that it was reducing the flames, not smothering the fire.

Nie Huaisang had been a friend to Wei Ying during their adolescent years. Most of time he had seen the other boy, he was painting fans, searching for birds, skipping classes or catching fish. Usually running behind Wei Ying.

He should be finishing the work before him, but his mind was for once not on the task. His heart ached for his brother and he wondered about Nie Huaisang and the role he must now undertake despite his lack of skill.

The report lay unwritten, his eyes on the lotus pads floating gently in the pool.

His brother's loss reminded him sharply of Wei Ying, of the days after the Siege, the black soil of the Burial Mound and the hatred the world held for his love.

Staying indoors was difficult, the walls too close and the whispers too loud. The Elders were meeting with Uncle, deciding the course of the Gusu Lan Sect, the role they were now asked to play in the affairs of the world beyond their mountains.

The glade was cool in the oppressive summer heat, the shade from the trees and the slight breeze, a welcome change.

It was one of his preferred places to play Inquiry and all the songs he had written for Wei Ying, over the years. The cliffs tower over them, the pine trees finding the steepest pathways, their branches seeming to float in the air.

It is also Yuan's favorite place away from the Jingshi. As a small child he would play in the spring air or in the snow, running in this small area with his ball, hidden almost completely from view. He had learned to swim in the shallow pool, to read under the shade of the wide tree and had told Wangji stories of Wei Ying before the fever.

He collected flowers and climbed the smaller tree with Wangji standing ready, should he fall. He learned to stretch and to breathe properly, with the basics of shisan shi on the circle of grass, to meditate but the glade was always filled with happy laughter, quiet song and guqin music.