As long as I'm awake
I'll live with my mistakes.
I'll always feel this far away...
When Lan Wangji plays his Qin, he enters a new world—it's not the land of the living, nor is it one of make-believe. It's somewhere in between... it's that part of one's temperament—that fragile, silk-woven bridge—that ties together a cultivator's soul and mind. That's what Qin means to him.
Wangji's fingers pluck the strings. Gently, savoringly. His eyes are sealed shut, but for the single layer of tears that's starts to form beneath his eyelashes. His head aches again, but nowadays his head always aches. It's this damn sickness. It's this damn chamber he never leaves. It's the never-ending rise and fall of a new day, a new day, a new day without... him.
That guy.
It's the sleep that Wangji is deprived of, but he refuses to sleep. He will not sleep.
He can't go back to that dream again. It seems to get worse every time. Especially now that he's practically imprisoned in his own bedchamber, nailed there for valuable rest.
He's been sleeping so much lately. He's been dreaming so much.
It's driving him insane.
Wangji tears himself out of his thoughts. He opens his eyes. No. Struggling to compose himself—to gather his thoughts and emotions and regain control of his body's peace—Wangji squeezes his eyes tighter shut. He inhales deeply. Sighing long and hard through his nose, he lets the tension in his body soothe again, playing his Qin to his heart's satisfaction.
"Your Excellency."
Lan Wangji's eyes peel open again. All movement ceases in his fingertips, his hands hovering over the strings of the Qin.
"Any news?" He asks in a low voice.
"Your Excellency. Advisor Zewu Jun sent a short letter saying that he is on his way back from the specialist's hut, on the far side of the mountain... his exact words were that he thinks he's found a game-changer."
Wangji stares at his Qin for a long moment, processing this. When he realises what his brother his actually saying, he knows he can't get his hopes up—this is the second time Xichen has used these exact words.
But... the other time got awfully close, didn't it? Weren't all the clan leaders in agreement that they had nearly broken through to the core of the case?
"Your Excellency. Should I call a scribe to write your letter in return?"
Wangji leans gently back in his seat, his heavy gaze laden to the floor. A muscle ticks in his jaw, "No need."
He will wait. He has to, anyway.
•••
When Zewu Jun finally arrives, there is a woman carried in on the Lan Clan's bamboo-woven medical stretcher. She is old, her skin saggy and sallow, her white hair pleated intricately. She wears deep green robes and her eyes are sealed shut. It looks dead—but, Wangji knows this can't be. The Lan Clan guards carry her into his bedchamber and set her gracefully on the floor, Xichen casting swift orders to leave the stretcher and fetch a bowl of water from the nearest fountain.
Wangji rises from where he had sat cross-legged at his Qin- and nearly topples off-balance. It makes him hate himself.
"Your Excellency!" A maid and a servant rush to grab hold of his arms, alerting a couple other servants on standby, who hurry to Wangji's side of their own accord.... it's embarrassing.
"I'm fine," he tells them, casting them all quick glances, but bowing his head respectively. He is sure he can stand on his own...
Can't he?
"Wangji," Xichen exclaims, turning to face the Lan Clan Leader. "You don't need to stand up. Sit down, Your Excellency."
"No need."
Xichen throws him a look and says nothing.
"Who is she?" Wangji asks.
Xichen signals for all the guards and servants in the chamber to leave the Lan Clan Leader, the Lan Clan Advisor and the unconscious woman alone. They all exit and close the door behind themselves.
"Who is she?" Wangji repeats.
"An old specialist," Xichen replies. "She has been alive for over two hundred years now- she hasn't told me many of the details, but she's being kept alive by the deities... there is a miracle about her. I believe she can explain this unusual sickness better than anyone. She seemed to know something when I spoke about it, and she even offered to come back with me herself, without my prompting... it was a ten-day ride from her hut."
"I heard. I heard you went far away to find her. Forgive me for the trouble."
Before Xichen can reply, a disgruntled noise sounds from the stretcher. Both of them turn to face the noise. The woman's eyes have opened. They are glassy. She stares vacantly at the ceiling above her—her irises are emerald green.
"Lady Yang?" Xichen moves to her side, alert.
"Lady..." Wangji starts.
The woman blinks and then swallows. Without saying anything or acknowledging Xichen, she turns her head all the way until she is staring directly at Wangji... there is something peculiar about her energy.
Her eyes brighten when she has burned a stare into Wangji's weak body for a long moment. She whispers, "...is that him? Is he the lost one?"
"Yes, Lady Yang," Xichen answers, gazing fervently at her. "Can you help him?"
"Do you have a bowl of untarnished water?"
"It's right here. Yes."
"Then yes."
•••
Wangji sits cross-legged, straight-backed, across from the woman. She is in a mirrored position.
She pours a dark green powder out of the pouch she brought, into the bowl of water between them. The powder dissolves almost instantly.
"Drink it," she says.
Wordlessly, Wangji picks up the bowl and does as she asks. The liquid slides down his throat, turning uncomfortably hot. Suddenly dizzy, he closes his eyes. He sets the empty bowl down in front of him and opens his eyes again. He wills himself to stay upright—
But his will soon fails.
"Wangji?... Wangji?" Xichen's voice has become muffled. "Wangji, are you alright?"
The room is spinning.
The old woman clothed in green drabs grabs Wangji's hand and spins his palm around, so that it faces the sky. He barely registers her examining the lines of his palm, her gaze grave.
"What's happening to him?" demands Xichen.
"I knew it," she says, ignoring the clan advisor's question. Her gaze is placid and almost pitiful on Wangji, but in a judgemental way. "I suspected that much."
"Lady, what do you mean?"
"I suspected that much... his soul is fractured."
"Please, elaborate—is it soul-snatching? It doesn't seem like it. And the effects of that occur within a few hours. It's been weeks."
Their voices are blurry in Wangji's ears.
"No," the woman hisses. For some reason, her words are clearer than Xichen's. For some reason, her presence pierces Wangji's mind like a dark tornado. "No soul-snatching... no one broke it from him. It was not stolen. He offered it to them."
"Offered it? Lady, you mean with his own consent?"
"Yes."
"How is that possible?"
"It is no ordinary love..." the woman smiles. "...it's the fatal love of a thousand years. It's the ancient love that will send you high-flying or crush out your heart. It's the very, most terribly fragile love... it's romance. It's need. It's everything that will make you sick with grief if your other is simply ten miles from of your sight... young noble. This love has ruined lives."
Suddenly, the blurriness clears.
The room stops spinning. Wangji gasps for air, a cold shudder trapping him.
Xichen is immediately next to him, holding him carefully. Wangji blinks and fights for composure, but his whole body is rigid, like he's been dipped in water icier than the Cold Pond.
The woman's words ring true to his heart. It is like a lightning bolt from the gods of enlightenment. An epiphany clears the mist in his mind... only one name remains.
The name that haunts him.
Wangji turns shakily to meet the woman's gaze, his eyes softening with clarity. She is smiling at him.
Xichen is the first to speak, "I see." He is not confused. "...how do we save him from this rotting love? How do we heal him?"
"Fix the broken soul. Bring it home. He must see his other, and be with her long enough for her spiritual energy to be absorbed. Her presence is what's vital. Her presence captured his attention, so it's her presence that will save him. If these two should part longer than 50 moons, these same symptoms you've seen today will return... scaling throat, weakening of the bones, brittle fever, body bruising like an earthquake... There is no curing it."
Silence follows.
Wangji's trembling has eased slightly, but his heart is at a standstill. He is unable to raise his gaze from the ground.
Xichen dares to utter, "Will he die?"
"With a fractured soul, a man won't die. But it will never be the same. He can never be healthy without a wholesome soul. It's as good as death."
"There is no way to cure him of this love?"
"No."
The silence sucks Wangji's bones dry. He is tempted to close his eyes and lie down, but he holds himself steady. Xichen still has his arm around him, and now gently releases him.
The Advisor stares at the Lan Clan Leader, eerily silent.
"Thank you, lady," extends Wangji finally. He bows deeply. "I will repay your kindness."
"Don't bother," she replies bluntly. "Mortal treasures are as good as dog shit to me."
Not two seconds after she finishes speaking, a stricken look enters her eyes, like she's been shot. She stares ahead of her, frozen. And then her eyes fall shut and her body collapses, limp, onto Wangji's bedchamber floor. She seems as dead as she was when they first carried her in, as if nothing has changed since that moment.
But Wangji knows that's not true. Because everything has changed.
Everything.