this changes everything. ⟲ wangxian

36. Echoes of a Fractured Soul

•••

It is well past midnight when the pair reach Wen Qing's cottage at the outskirts of Gusu. Ah Xian pays no mind to the scenery and continues his incessant rambling, by which Wen Qing taught herself to ignore the past sixteen weeks Ah Xian has lived with her. She's too deep in thought anyway, her head still unable to process everything she had relayed to the junior cultivators earlier. A part of her rebukes herself for revealing such information so carelessly, especially to people who might report her. But at the same time, she feels... glad. Glad for what?

"... my-y-y head was hurting allllot so I couldn't recogniseeee you at ffffirst but when I saw yourrrr eyes I-I-I knewww it was you cuzzzzz youuu're so p-p-pretty through the v-veil—"

"You're drunk, Ah Xian." Wen Qing helps him onto one of the wooden benches in the room, adding. "And there's rouge on your face."

Ah Xian moves to rub the red off his cheeks, but he only smudges it more.

"You idiot," She laughs at his clumsy attempt. "Let me do it."

She leaves momentarily and returns with a bowl of water and a clean cloth. She pulls up a chair, sits down in front of him, and starts to clean his face, wiping away the red lipstick stains from his cheeks, lips, and neck until the rouge is completely gone.

"Now lie back. I'll make some wolfsbane starch hangover soup."

She carefully eases off his boots and helps him recline on the bench so that he lies sprawled like a sleeping octopus. She grabs handfuls of ingredients from different canisters around the hut and mixes them into a foul purple substance with a mortar and pestle.

"I feel bad for yelling at him earlier."

"What did you say?" she says, her hands moving like clockwork. But the truth is, she heard him as clear as day, and she knows exactly what and whom he is talking about.

"I said I feel bad about yelling at him. And not just the yelling, but..." there is a beat of silence. Ah Xian sighs with what seems to be the weight of all the rainwater in the sky. "...also the assault. I really did that. Didn't I, Ah Qing?"

She says nothing for a short moment, hesitant. But then she mutters, "I heard something like it, yes."

He laughs dryly, "Actually, I've... kind of felt like a mess these past few moons."

Wen Qing freezes at these carefully chosen words, her hands pausing mid-stir over the cauldron. Something heavy begins stewing in the pit of her stomach: something that must have carried to the tears of those clouds hanging over Ah Xian's heart.

Shaking, she gently sets the mortar and pestle down.

"...a mess, did you say? How so?"

"Well... I-I don't know. I shouldn't feel like this. I mean, my community service is close to finishing, I have no title, no expectations, and I can gallivant across the globe with as many beautiful women as I please. But for some reason, every time I look at-at him... it feels like... well—" he gasps a laugh "—I mean, I really can't describe it. It feels as if I'm meant to have something, or be somewhere. Somewhere I'm not."

Wen Qing says nothing. There is nothing to say.

She whispers, "How long have you felt like this?"

"My trial." Ah Xian yawns, stretches his arms, and settles back against the bench. "Anyway, it's probably nothing. I mean, Lan Zhan's got a few loose screws in his head, for crying out loud! Talking about curses and spells... telling me I'm not myself... it's absurd."

He curls up on the bench and closes his eyes.

Wen Qing turns and faces the far wall opposite Ah Xian, the rotting wood adorned with outlined maps, spells, and equations. Memory charms, control talismans, orientation benders... all of that just to separate Ah Xian from the Chief Cultivator. And yet Ah Xian remembers. A sliver of his past self lingers in his mind. Refusing to forget. As if clinging to his heart, and grasping on by any loose threads. Orientation benders are among the most dangerous rituals, and should be able to warp the consciences of even the strongest cultivators. An infallible curse...

...and yet.

Wen Qing slowly turns her head to look at the Yiling Patriarch, sipping wine from his jar. He stares vacantly ahead of him, eyes glazed with thoughts Wen Qing will never know.

"Can it be?" she whispers, too loudly. He hears her.

"Hm? Sorry, did you say something?"

The subject of fatal love has always been a taboo topic, both greatly admired and deeply despised. Very few people spoke of it, and even fewer spoke of its affects on one's soul, of its ability to send someone high-flying or crush them... of its strength to combat even the strongest and most influential spells and incantations. Wen Qing remembers Hanguang Jun confronting Ah Xian in Yujing, remembers the way Ah Xian's fist pounded into the side of his head, remembers the look of heartbreak, helplessness, and loss on Lan Zhan's face...

Wen Qing straightens up, her eyes resolute. She turns to Ah Xian, who yawns again.

"Tired?"

He grins boyishly, "Just a little bit."

"Get some rest. You'll need it for tomorrow."

Before Ah Xian can ask why, Wen Qing gently lays a palm over his eyes, and they start to droop sleepily.

"Ah Qing... what are you doing?" he mumbles drowsily.

"Giving you back what you lost."