Work Text:
“Don’t you think the snow represents us?”
Song Lan looked over at his friend as they walked. They were just finishing a night hunt near Gusu.
“The snow?” Xiao Xingchen smiled.
“Hm, the snow. Not only did we both name our swords after it—Shuānghuá and Fúxuě, frost and snow—but also, snow can be light and airy or it can be cold and dark.”
Song Lan frowned, mostly because he didn’t understand what Xiao Xingchen was saying.
After a moment of silence, Xiao Xingchen sighed and then reached out his hand to catch the falling snowflakes.
“We should call our new sect Xuěhuā,” he said as he watched the crystals melt on his fingertip.
“You want to name our sect ‘snowflake’?!”
“Hm, maybe not. Guess we should keep thinking.”
“Song Lan?” The fierce corpse looked away from the horizon to see that Wen Ning was smiling at him.
“I know the cold doesn’t affect you, but you should still come back inside.”
Song Lan nodded agreement, and watched as Wen Ning just smiled again and went back inside the small hut that was their current refuge. Song Lan looked back towards the flakes that were falling, just like they had been that day. The question that Xiao Xingchen had asked him once now plagued his memory.
Don’t you think the snow represents us?
Back then, Song Lan had not understood what his friend had meant. As he watched the snowfall, and the moon rose high in the sky, he came to a realization. Xiao Xingchen had been like the snow, light and airy, while Song Lan was dark and cold. It had taken Song Lan so long to finally understand what Xiao Xingchen had meant back then. And what they had meant to each other.
Song Lan decided he had been out in the snow long enough, and turned to join Wen Ning back in the hut.
As he turned, something caught his eye. A glimmer of light close to his chest. Song Lan reached inside his robes and pulled out the spirit pouch that held Xiao Xingchen’s shattered soul. Song Lan could not believe it. For the first time since Wei Wuxian had given him the pouch months ago, Xiao Xingchen’s pouch was glowing. He stared at it for a moment, before bringing it up to his lips slowly, pressing a kiss to the pouch.
You are right…the snow does represent us. And whenever it falls, I will think of you.
The pouch glowed for a second longer before fading dark again. Song Lan returned the pouch, back to where he carried it beside his unbeating heart next to where A-Qing’s was resting. Then he entered the small shelter, making sure to shut the door behind him.