Chapter Text
Nightless City was not, in fact, so large or so magical that it was always daylight. It was, like any other place, dark and cold at midnight.
They’d already searched most of the compound, and there was only one house left. This one was modest, but the decorations were gaudy. It seemed like the kind of place that a prince might tuck away a favored mistress, not the sort of place that a prisoner of war might be hidden. But it was the only place left to look.
It felt anticlimactic that, after many long years and many hard battles, after finally defeating Wen Ruohan and putting an end to the Sunshot Campaign, they were finally here. That after four years of desperately looking for Wei Ying, they had to be so close, but there was still no sign.
Lan Zhan’s eyelids were heavy and sore, and his body hurt more than it should have for being only twenty-two. He was so, so tired.
Ahead of him, Jiang Wanyin cursed. “Nothing!” he said, stomping out back out the door.
Lan Zhan didn’t answer. He followed Jiang Wanyin out and, once they were back in the courtyard, closed his eyes and tried to sense something, anything – but there was nothing. Jiang Wanyin sank down to sit on the stone steps and covered his face with his hands.
Lan Zhan would have liked to do the same, but he knew that if he stopped standing, he would collapse.
“Fuck,” Jiang Wanyin said. His fingers were tense. “Fuck!”
His voice echoed in the empty courtyard.
There was a small scrabbling sound under the stairs. Rats, most likely. Then the sound of metal clinking against metal, which was unusual – more likely to be the harbinger of a fierce corpse. Lan Zhan readied his sword.
It was not a fierce corpse, but a sadder kind of walking dead: the skinniest dog he’d ever seen crept out from under the stairs and looked at them, hunched over and crouched down in fear, tail tucked between its legs and up against its belly. It was chained to the stairs, like it was ferocious enough to merit it, but it was an ugly and pitiable thing. It was a tall dog, and if it had been standing up straight its head likely would have been level with Lan Zhan’s hip, but it was obviously trying to make itself look small. The iron collar around its neck seemed to weigh its whole body down; its every bone was visible; it had a terrible case of mange, and its skin was raw and scabbed and almost completely hairless. Its eyes, though, were soft. Soft and very sad.
Its tail came out from between its legs and wagged once, slowly. Lan Zhan put his sword back in its sheath. This poor thing was no threat to them.
The dog walked slowly over to Lan Zhan, as if moving hurt, and sniffed his knees. It looked up at him and wagged its tail again, hopeful, but Lan Zhan had nothing to give it.
“Fuck,” Jiang Wanyin said. His voice broke halfway through the word.
The dog flicked an ear, turned, and then stood to look at attention. It dragged itself up the stairs and sat beside Jiang Wanyin, resting its chin on his thigh. He opened his eyes, looked at the dog, and said “fuck” again, in almost a whisper, before he started weeping.
Lan Zhan looked away.
It took a while for Jiang Wanyin to stop crying. The dog made a few little noises, like it, too, was sad, and then settled into resting its head on Jiang Wanyin’s thigh again. When Jiang Wanyin was finally quiet, the dog wagged its tail again.
Jiang Wanyin settled one hand on the dog’s head and stroked it. It couldn’t have been pleasant; the dog had barely any fur on its head except for a few stubborn black hairs on its ears.
“We should go,” Lan Zhan said.
“Where else is left to look,” Jiang Wanyin said. He sounded dead.
“The torture chamber.”
“Meng Yao would have said something if he were there.”
“Mn.”
Jiang Wanyin sighed. He stroked the dog again, then stood. He squared his shoulders so much it looked almost painful. “That fucking idiot,” he said. “Why the hell did he get caught? Selfish bastard, making us look for him all over the fucking country! He’s probably sitting pretty in some inn, drinking himself sick and burning out his tastebuds –”
Lan Zhan turned and looked out the archway, then looked back at Jiang Wanyin. He’d come down the stairs. The dog was following him, its steps pained. When it reached the end of its chain, it stopped and stood there, tail tucked between its legs.
“Let’s go,” Lan Zhan said. He took a step away.
The dog barked. The desperate sound echoed around the entry courtyard.
“Wait,” said Jiang Wanyin.
Lan Zhan looked at him.
Jiang Wanyin gestured toward the trembling dog. “We can’t leave him here,” he said.
Lan Zhan looked at the dog. “It is very ill,” he said.
“Yeah, but we can’t leave him here to starve to death. We have to take him with us.”
“Putting it down may be the kindest option.”
Jiang Wanyin clenched his jaw. The ring on his finger sparked. The dog flinched away, ears lowering, tail tucking up tighter, its entire body cringing. After a moment, Jiang Wanyin squatted down and held out a hand to the dog.
“Hey,” he said. His voice was very soft. “C’mere.” He made a little coaxing noise with his tongue, a sort of “tst tst” sound. The dog cringed again and then, cautiously, approached.
“Good,” Jiang Wanyin said in that same low, soft voice. “Good baby. Shh, it’s okay, it’s okay. I have you.”
It took him a little while to remove the collar. It seemed to have rusted shut. The dog gave itself a little shake when Jiang Wanyin had removed the collar and wagged its tail again, a few times back-and-forth this time.
“Yeah, you’re a good boy,” Jiang Wanyin said. “Gonna be okay?”
The dog kept wagging its tail. There were a few long hairs clinging to its tail as well as its ears. Jiang Wanyin was, squatting down like this, almost eye to eye with the dog; the dog seemed to notice and, after a moment, leaned forward to touch its nose to Jiang Wanyin’s. The man flinched backwards.
“Ugh. Yeah,” he said, standing up and wiping at his nose. “You’re welcome. Let’s go,” he said to Lan Zhan.
“Mn.”
They started off. The dog followed, its claws clicking on the stone streets.
“Hey,” Jiang Wanyin said. “You sure? You’re free. You could go anywhere.”
The dog looked at them, tail wagging uncertainly. When they started walking again, so did the dog.
The dog followed them through the rest of their search of the Nightless City and all the way back to the camp. They arrived a little after dawn, when the rest of the camp was waking up. Lan Zhan wanted to lie down and sleep for twelve hours.
He went to his tent, stripped off his outer robes and his boots, and collapsed into bed. His dreams were restless, disturbed; he dreamt that they’d walked past Wei Ying’s body. That they hadn’t noticed his fierce corpse on the battlefield. That Wen Ruohan, in his death throes, grabbed Wei Ying and snapped his neck. That Wei Ying grabbed Lan Zhan and said you killed me before dragging them both over a fiery cliff.
When he woke up, the dog was staring at him. It wagged its tail again, once, and rested its head on the edge of his mattress. When he didn’t move, it huffed and tried to lick his face.
As soon as he left the tent, the dog was on his heels again. It wandered off when it saw Jiang Wanyin, sitting at a low table and writing a letter. There was a small collection of dishes next to him; soup, it looked like, as well as rice and some meat and vegetables. The dog snuffled at the soup.
“Hey, no, not for you,” Jiang Wanyin said, nudging the dog away from the soup. “Here.”
He set the bowl of rice on the ground. The dog looked mournfully at the soup – or, more likely, the pork piled high in the soup – again, but set to eating the rice; after a few minutes, it licked the bowl a few times and lay down at Jiang Wanyin’s feet. In the light of day, Lan Zhan realized the dog was covered in scars: Wen brands on its chest, belly, and flanks, thin whip lines along its back.
“Not a grain left. Good dog, very polite,” Jiang Wanyin said, picking up the bowl and setting it back down on the table. He looked up and finally noticed Lan Zhan. “Second young master Lan.”
Lan Wangji nodded, then looked at the dog.
“It won’t leave,” Jiang Wanyin said. He patted its head again. The dog squinted in clear happiness. “Do you know anything about treating mange?”
“No.”
The war may have been over, and Wei Ying may have still been missing, but Lan Zhan had duties to attend to that he could no longer avoid. He did what he was required at the Cloud Recesses and nothing more; he pretended to listen to the elders and his uncle and his brother; he attended conferences and sat and tried to care.
Every time he listened to the news coming from the Jiang Sect, he could tell Jiang Wanyin was in the same boat. Jiang Wanyin, however, was even more chained to his duties than Lan Zhan.
It was months until he got a letter from Lotus Pier. When he did, he read it breathlessly: could the second young master Lan come to discuss a matter of mutual importance? Jiang Wanyin had been able to find a little bit of time in his schedule.
He didn’t bother to write back. He just stepped onto his sword.
Lotus Pier looked well for having been desecrated. It was quiet, though, with none of the hustle and bustle of a healthy sect. Lan Zhan landed in the entry courtyard and wondered what to do when there was no disciple to greet him and escort him to Jiang Wanyin. What was mannerly? He had been invited, but he couldn’t just walk in the front door.
He knew perfectly well that there were so few Jiang sect disciples left that it might be hours until someone was there to escort him.
Suddenly, the peace was broken with a clamor of excited barking. A handsome black dog barreled out the front door to greet him. It hopped to rest its paws on his shoulders and darted forward to bonk its nose against Lan Zhan’s before bouncing back off of him, running in circles at dizzying speed while sneezing furiously. It returned to repeat the process twice more until finally tiring of that game; then it gamboled at his feet, tongue lolling out of its mouth, tail wagging its body.
“Silky!” Jiang Wanyin roared from the door.
The dog ignored him in favor of flopping shamelessly onto its back and panting up at Lan Zhan, wriggling around in the dirt with its belly exposed.
“Is this,” Lan Zhan said, looking at it.
“The same dog from Qishan?” Jiang Wanyin said drily. “Yes. Silky!”
The dog continued ignoring him, tail beating steadily on the ground, eyes trained on Lan Zhan.
“No matter what I do, he’s got no manners at all,” Jiang Wanyin muttered, striding over and nudging the dog’s ribs with his boot. “Silky, up.”
Silky didn’t budge.
“He wants to be petted,” Jiang Wanyin said. “And he’s never learned how to take no for an answer. You can ignore him, he’s a dog, and I’m sure the Second Jade of Lan wouldn’t want to dirty his robes anyway –”
Lan Zhan knelt down and ran a hand over the dog’s belly. The dog writhed in delight.
“It looks much improved,” Lan Zhan said.
“Ah, he eats like a horse and spends all day sleeping in the sun, the stupid creature should look much improved,” Jiang Wanyin said irritably. “He spent the first two months of his life here getting massages every day! Would that I could live like this spoiled dog.”
He knelt down, though, to pat the dog’s chest.
“Massages?” Lan Zhan said, curious despite himself.
“Lemon juice and oil, to kill the parasites and heal his skin,” Jiang Wanyin said. He sighed. “It was nothing but trouble. Have you ever tried to catch a practically hairless sighthound that’s been rubbed down with oil? He slipped right out of everyone’s grasp every time they thought they’d gotten a grip on him. He stole an entire slab of pork belly and ate it, then somehow managed to get into the wine and got drunk. And then he puked everywhere.” He huffed, but his hand was still rubbing the dog gently. “I should kick him out.”
The dog was still wagging its tail, and the fur on its belly was thin and very soft against Lan Zhan’s fingers. Jiang Wanyin was rubbing its stomach beside him, and the dog seemed hypnotized, its eyes closing, its hind legs splaying out and its front legs tucked tight against its chest.
Lan Zhan’s fingers grazed Jiang Wanyin’s as they patted the dog. Jiang Wanyin’s hand stilled. He gave the dog three pats on the belly and stood.
“We should talk,” he said. “Tea?”
“Mn,” Lan Zhan said, giving the dog a few final pats himself and standing. The dog scrambled to its feet and trotted merrily after Jiang Wanyin, tail held up like a banner. It turned back to see if Lan Zhan was following.
Once they’d settled down in a pavilion overlooking the water, tea before them, the dog flopped down to rest its head in Lan Zhan’s lap. It looked up at him with its enormous soft brown eyes, tail still wagging enough to make a steady thumping noise against the floor.
“Damn dog,” Jiang Wanyin said, without heat, and then said “I was thinking – maybe looking for him around here, again. If he went into hiding, he knows the countryside well here. Or… there’s Yunping, it’s big enough to hide.”
“Mn,” Lan Zhan said, hand drifting to stroke the dog’s head. Its ears were soft, and the space just behind them impossibly so. It sighed as his fingers scratched the little divot there and closed its eyes. Its tail stilled.
“Maybe Yiling,” said Jiang Wanyin.
The dog’s ears twitched.
“Mn,” Lan Zhan said.
“Ugh, the stupid animal’s shedding all over you. You can kick him off if you like! He needs to learn manners.”
Lan Zhan didn’t answer. He ran his hand over the dog’s head instead. The dog’s tail began to thump against the floor again, and it rolled over to expose its belly again. Its fur covered most of the scars Lan Zhan knew were there, but there was a long, pale whip scar on the thin grey skin of his stomach. The dog had been through so much. Lan Zhan would not be the person to deny this dog comfort in the name of manners.
“So shameless. I should have named him Wei Wuxian,” Jiang Wanyin muttered. The dog wagged its tail and barked sleepily. “That would have served him right! Naming a dog just as troublesome as he wa– is after him. He would hate it. Maybe replacing him with a dog is what a selfish idiot like him deserves.”
Lan Zhan hummed noncommittally in response. He thought it seemed needlessly cruel to do such a thing, given how terrified of dogs Wei Ying was.
He wondered what the dog’s fate would be when Wei Ying returned home. But such things didn’t bear thinking about.
“When do we leave?” he said.
The dog, of course, came with them. For all his grousing, Jiang Wanyin seemed very attached to it.
It ranged far ahead of them, sniffing at every leaf and stick, and then would turn to watch them, as if it wasn’t sure they would follow. Whenever they did, its tail would wag furiously; if they didn’t, or didn’t quickly enough, it loped back to them and would stick its head into whoever’s hand was the closest.
It really was a handsome creature: it was no longer skeletal but was still slender, with a well-tucked up waspish waist. Its black fur was shiny, soft, and thin, and the fur on its ears and its tail was long and silky. Its profile was fine and straight and looked very noble. It was outfitted with a purple silk collar, as if it was a member of the Yunmeng Jiang, and, as if to drive the point home, a lotus-shaped silver bell hung from the collar. It was not, however, an actual clarity bell: it jingled merrily as the dog moved.
“I have never seen this sort of dog in Qishan,” Lan Zhan said as the dog went running up the road.
“They’re more common in Qinghe,” said Jiang Wanyin. “They use them to chase small game. Usually this kind of dog sees prey and takes off, but Silky isn’t ever very interested in chasing rabbits or whatever.”
As if he could tell they were talking about him, Silky turned to look at them before he trotted back to stick his nose into Jiang Wanyin’s hand. He got an ear scratch in return. “Yes, you’d rather be lazy and useless than earn your keep,” Jiang Wanyin said in a low voice that was something like a croon. Silky wagged his tail.
“It wasn’t in Qinghe. What was it doing in Qishan?”
Jiang Wanyin shrugged. “Maybe he was a war prize,” he said, although he didn’t sound convinced. Lan Zhan wasn’t either. No one would take a valuable war prize and then let it rot away, chained under the stairs, instead of putting it to use. A dog bred to hunt had little use chained up in an entryway.
“Hm,” Lan Zhan said. Silky moved to bump his nose against Lan Zhan’s hand, which was behind his back as usual. Lan Zhan gave him a little scratch behind the ears as well.
“I do wonder what useless piece of shit his owner was,” Jiang Wanyin said. “It’s not so hard to feed a dog! They eat scraps – well, if they’re not this one, they eat scraps –” this seemed patently false because, as far as Lan Zhan had noticed, Silky was just as happy to eat anything, including but not limited to garbage, as the next dog – “and mange isn’t so hard to treat or prevent. And it’s not like it’s hard to not beat a dog, either! It took so long to keep him from skittering around like a spooked horse, and he’s still scared of the sound of his own voice.”
Silky bounced alongside Lan Zhan, bumping his nose against his hand repeatedly. It was difficult to imagine this dog being afraid of much. Then he thought of the raw and hairless wraith they’d found under the stairs. It was less difficult to imagine, then, why this dog might be afraid.
“If the Wens can’t even treat their dogs well, well. They must be as evil as the Lanling Jin say.”
“Mn.”
“You’re faced with proof of true evil and all you can say is ‘mn’?! They started a war, burned Cloud Recesses, massacred my sect –” his voice faltered – “they took Wei Wuxian –”
“Do not make generalizations about others,” Lan Zhan said.
“Don’t spew your rules at me. We aren’t in the Cloud Recesses. And it’s not like your sect hasn’t seen the truth of it, anyway!”
Lan Zhan didn’t answer, because he had nothing to rebut with. Yes, the Wens had done all of those things, and yes, he disliked them as much as Jiang Wanyin. And the Gusu Lan was taking Lanling Jin at its word, letting them paint the Wens with a broad brush.
Lan Zhan hoped that it was because the work of rebuilding was taking precedent over following the rules, but he had a feeling that the elders would point to “do not associate with evil” and say the clan was only doing what was right, ignoring the rules about not generalizing others or treating them with contempt. It didn’t seem like other people were as affected by the moral contradictions within the precepts that he found himself grappling with.
Sometimes, he wondered if other people in his clan had to work as hard to follow the rules and live a virtuous life as he did.
They didn’t find any sign of Wei Ying in the countryside. Jiang Wanyin had too many demands on his time to continue the search, so they agreed to meet in Yiling in a few months’ time.
When that also yielded no results, they made the same agreement to meet in Yunping later still.
Lan Zhan went home each time and attended to his own duties. He didn’t count down the days, exactly, until he could return to Yunmeng province, but he was very aware of them as they passed.
When he touched down outside of Yunping, Jiang Wanyin was waiting for him, Silky at his side. As soon as the dog caught sight of him, he started barking, tail a blur, before he started tearing up and down the lane, sneezing wildly. Jiang Wanyin’s mouth did something that might have been a smile.
It was a thin, shy thing – it could have just as easily been a sneer. Lan Zhan, though, knew that expression. He’d seen Jiang Wanyin make it at Silky hundreds of times. Something flipped in Lan Zhan’s chest, and he couldn’t pull his eyes away from the other man’s face.
Jiang Cheng said “Silky, you idiot dog, stop that, he can’t pet you when you’re acting this mannerless!”
Lan Zhan waited until, as usual, Silky ran out of energy enough to fling himself at Lan Zhan’s feet.
“Hello,” Lan Zhan said to the dog, kneeling to pat his head (and, in short order, his tummy). “I’m glad you’re well.” He looked up and nodded to Jiang Wanyin. “Sect Leader Jiang.”
“Hanguang-jun,” Jiang Wanyin said.
Lan Zhan tried to control his expression. He must have failed, because Jiang Wanyin said “that’s what they’re calling you now, you know. Hanguang-jun. You don’t like it? It sounds very upright.”
“Mn,” Lan Zhan said.
“Ah, well. What do I call you if not Hanguang-jun?”
“My name is fine,” said Lan Zhan.
“If we’re at that point, you could call me by mine as well,” said Jiang Wanyin.
“Very well,” Lan Zhan said, looking up at him. “Jiang Wanyin.”
Jiang Wanyin’s cheeks pinked a little, and he turned away, towards Yunping’s main gates. “Come on,” he said. “Silky, up, stop bothering him. He’s not here for you! He’s here for that selfish Wei Wuxian. As soon as we find him, I swear, I’ll drag him back to Lotus Pier by his stupid ponytail…”
Yunping was bustling. Silky attracted more attention than Lan Zhan expected; he happily greeted small children and pretty young women and brazenly begged for treats from shopkeepers, tail wagging constantly.
They went to a teahouse, where Jiang Wanyin asked if anything unusual had happened recently (no, nothing in particular) and then asked if they’d seen a young man, around Jiang Wanyin’s height, with a smiling face, likely wearing dark robes and a red ribbon in his hair?
The waiter shook his head – no, they hadn’t seen anyone like that, not recently.
“How recently?” Lan Zhan said.
“I don’t think I’ve seen such a person since before the war,” said the waiter. “There was a young man who used to come by sometimes for a drink, but that was years ago.”
Lan Zhan nodded. Jiang Wanyin thanked him, and then they sat in silence in the busy tearoom. Silky lay politely by Jiang Wanyin’s side, watching the other customers.
The waiter came back with a platter of snacks, a pot of tea, and a bowl of water that he set on the floor. “Your dog must be thirsty, sir,” he said.
Silky wagged his tail.
“Thanks,” said Jiang Wanyin. The waiter left, and both Lan Zhan and Jiang Wanyin watched Silky stick his face into the bowl of water and, still lying down, drink it alarmingly loudly.
“Why are you so lazy?” Jiang Wanyin asked the dog. “You can’t even stand up to drink like a normal dog?”
Silky licked his chops and looked pleadingly at the platter of spicy chicken feet on the table.
“Absolutely not,” Jiang Wanyin said. “The last time you got into something spicy was even worse than the time you got drunk, you stupid dog.”
Silky made a pitiful whimpering sound and then turned to look hopefully at Lan Zhan.
“He won’t give you any, either,” Jiang Wanyin said, watching Lan Zhan as he poured them each some tea.
“Do not take special pleasure in nourishment,” Lan Zhan told the dog solemnly, feeling a little foolish as he did so. Dogs did not have human levels of intelligence, and Lan Clan rules were irrelevant to them.
“He’s a dog, all he does is take ‘special pleasure in nourishment,’” Jiang Wanyin scoffed, pulling the platter of chicken feet over to himself. He paused and said “you don’t want these, right?”
Lan Zhan shook his head.
Jiang Wanyin rolled his eyes, but not unkindly, and picked one of them up. Lan Zhan took a sip of tea. It was fine – the blend they preferred in Yunmeng, which Lan Zhan always found a little too strong, and not the kind they drank in Gusu. He drank his tea, and Jiang Cheng drank his and ate the chicken feet and most of the peanuts.
They left the teahouse with full stomachs, at least. Silky trotted alongside them, tail held high and waving gently, until he suddenly went still.
“Hm?” Jiang Wanyin said.
The dog was looking down a crooked side street, his every muscle tensed, ears straining forward, nose twitching. Suddenly he took off.
“Fucking dog,” Jiang Wanyin howled, and ran after him. Lan Zhan had no choice but to follow.
They tore after Silky, who was sprinting through the twisting side streets and alleyways of Yunping like there was a demon on his heels. The dog was fast; so fast that he managed to lose both of them.
They were in the worst parts of the town when they found him again. It was hard to miss the wildly wagging tail sticking out from behind a pile of refuse.
“You stupid dog,” Jiang Wanyin muttered under his breath. He raised his voice enough to shout “Silky! Come!”
Silky ignored him.
“Silky, if you don’t come right now I’ll drown you in the nearest lake!”
Silky’s tail didn’t stop wagging.
“I’m serious, you damn dog,” Jiang Wanyin snapped.
“Please,” a familiar voice said softly. “Don’t hurt him. Your dog recognized me – he’s only saying hello.”
Jiang Wanyin’s face went pale, and he walked closer. Lan Zhan, unable to master his curiosity, followed.
The woman was a sorry sight; her robes were disheveled and threadbare, and she was very thin. It was almost enough that Lan Zhan didn’t recognize her right away, but then she looked up at both of them and Lan Zhan saw Wen Qing’s pretty, proud features. Silky had his big head tucked into her neck, and she’d raised her arms to wrap around the dog’s neck.
“Miss Wen,” Jiang Wanyin said.
“Sect Leader,” Wen Qing said, pulling her arms back and tucking her hands around her. “I apologize.”
“Are you alright?”
Wen Qing swallowed. “Fine,” she said, and stood. She looked like she could barely keep herself vertical; her eyes cut over to Lan Zhan and a flush rose on her cheeks before she squared her narrow shoulders. Silky leaned hard against her legs, and she rested a shaking hand on his back. “I. Sect Leader, I have a favor to beg of you.”
“I only listen to people who can stand on their own feet,” Jiang Wanyin said haughtily. “So.”
For a split second, Wen Qing’s face fell.
“Given that it must be almost dinnertime,” Jiang Wanyin said, “and my stupid dog just led me and Lan Wangji on a wild chase all over Yunping, I am very hungry. I imagine you must be as well. Would you join us?”
“I… of course,” Wen Qing said, and let Jiang Wanyin tuck her hand into his arm. She stumbled as they made their way, achingly slowly, to an inn, where Jiang Wanyin sat them down and ordered a wide array of dishes and a bottle of wine.
Once the food arrived and Jiang Wanyin had piled a plate for Wen Qing and had set a bowl of plain chicken and rice in front of the dog, who was lying pressed against Wen Qing’s knee, Jiang Wanyin said “so, he recognized you?”
“I suppose he remembered me,” Wen Qing said, between ravenous bites. “I didn’t recognize him at first – he looked very different in Qishan.”
“Was it the mange, or the fact that he was nothing but skin and bones?”
“Both,” Wen Qing said. She ran a small hand over the dog’s head. “Wen Chao was not a kind master.”
Jiang Wanyin looked at the dog, mouth set in a sneer. Lan Zhan could see, however, the sorrow in his eyes. “That worthless excuse for a man got what he deserved.”
Wen Qing hummed, setting her chopsticks down across her newly empty plate.
“Have some more,” Jiang Wanyin said. “What do you think of the fish?”
“It has a very homey taste,” Wen Qing said politely, and let Jiang Wanyin push more onto her plate. “Sect Leader, I… hope that my favor is not too much to ask. I had hoped to find Wei Wuxian, as we had been friends, maybe, but…”
“If you find him, tell him his sect leader is getting tired of waiting around for him to show his face,” Jiang Wanyin said. “He’s making me look like a fool, and he should know better! If he’s not back within a year, I’ll break his legs.”
“I have not had any luck finding him,” Wen Qing said. She lowered her gaze. “But. Sect Leader Jiang, I. I am hoping that you be able to help – that you might have some idea of where my brother is, or where my family has been taken.”
“Wen cultivators are in Jin custody,” Jiang Wanyin said, voice hard. “As they deserve.”
“Did the favor we did for you in the war mean nothing?” Wen Qing asked. Her mouth was tight.
Jiang Wanyin flinched.
“He has told you what he knows,” Lan Zhan said. “The details of the remaining Wen cultivators’ imprisonment are unclear.”
“Except for Wen Ning, they aren’t cultivators,” Wen Qing said sharply. “They’re only ordinary people – farmers and tradesmen, children and the elderly. My little cousin was among them, and he’s not yet three. A two-year-old child cannot cultivate a golden core.”
Jiang Wanyin winced, then hardened his expression. “I’m sure they’re being treated as they deserve.”
Wen Qing bent into a bow. “Sect Leader Jiang, please. If they were being treated as non-combatants, then they wouldn’t have been taken away. I fear the worst. You are the only person I can possibly beg for help.”
Silky nudged Wen Qing’s face with his nose, then looked at Jiang Wanyin beseechingly.
“What did Wen Chao do to him?” Jiang Wanyin said. His fist was clenched, and Zidian was sparking with energy on his hand.
“To who?” Wen Qing asked, not lifting her head.
“The dog.”
She swallowed. Silky set a paw on Wen Qing’s knee and nudged his head under her hand. She stroked his ears. “At first he just kicked it around, threw things at it, shouted at it. Branded it with irons. He’d set other dogs on it, sometimes. But it… it’s a very gentle-natured dog, and it would just accept its punishment and cry, and he got bored of that. So then he chained it outside of his palace.” She swallowed. “And then he decreed that he wanted his dog to get a taste for blood, so the only meat he’d offer it was corpses. The dog wouldn’t eat them. It was already starving, but…”
Jiang Wanyin made a soft sound, as if to say “go on”.
“I felt bad for it. Nothing deserves that sort of treatment. I brought it food, when I could. Tried to say a kind word, or a gentle touch. But I wasn’t in the capital all that often, so I couldn’t do much. Eventually, when he got bored enough, he gave the dog away. I don’t know what it endured after that.”
Jiang Wanyin sighed. He poured himself a cup of wine and offered the same to Wen Qing; she shook her head and looked away.
“I should have done more for it,” she said. “But I struggled to do enough for humans, back then. I’m glad he has you for his master, now. I know you’re a good man.”
It didn’t sound like flattery, and Jiang Wanyin seemed to recognize that. He threw back his wine and set the cup down on the table, then looked out the window for a long time. Silky gave Wen Qing a little lick on the hand and then went to stick his long nose into the crook of Jiang Wanyin’s neck. Jiang Wanyin sputtered and shoved him away, so Silky lay down beside Lan Zhan and rested his head in his lap instead, staring up at him.
“There’s a conference in a few weeks,” Jiang Wanyin finally said, and poured himself another cup of wine. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Lan Zhan thought he’d successfully returned to the Cloud Recesses without attracting any attention, but nearly as soon as he sat down in his room and began to absently play his guqin, his brother stuck his head in the door.
“I haven’t heard this before. Is it a new composition?”
“Mm,” Lan Zhan said.
“I like it. It’s very cheerful.”
Lan Zhan plucked a few more notes, mimicking running paws, a wagging tail, the slow emergence of a shy thin smile. “Mn.”
“Did you have any luck on your trip?” Lan Xichen asked, sitting down by Lan Zhan’s table.
“No,” Lan Zhan said.
“How is Lotus Pier?”
“Good. Sect Leader Jiang has done good work.”
“I’m sure.” Lan Xichen sat there, watching Lan Zhan play, brow creased. “Is he well? Wei Wuxian still being missing must weigh on him.”
“He is as well as he could be, given the circumstances.” Feeling guilty, Lan Zhan shifted to playing Wangxian. He’d find him again. They both would, and then –
Well, and then Jiang Wanyin would have his disciple back, and Lan Zhan would return to watching Wei Ying from a distance. Wanting and not touching and not acting. That was fine. There were rules about that sort of thing: do not indulge in a life of pleasure and comfort, which would be implicit in a life with Wei Ying; do not indulge in debauchery would also be an impossible one to follow if he spent all his time around Wei Ying’s quick hands and bright smile. But critically, one must not covet what was not theirs, and Wei Ying didn’t want him back. That was alright.
Wei Ying did not have to want him. Lan Zhan would never force Wei Ying to do anything he didn’t want to; he was not a man like his father.
“I’m glad that you can offer him your support,” Lan Xichen said. “I’m sure he appreciates it very much.”
“Mn.” Lan Zhan finished the song and, lacking a better idea, started it again from the beginning. “I think his dog is better for that.”
“Hm?”
“Jiang Wanyin has a dog,” Lan Zhan said.
“I see,” Lan Xichen said. He didn’t smile, but Lan Zhan could tell he wanted to. He glared at him. “Is it the same one the two of you found in Qishen?”
“Mm.”
“I’m surprised it’s still alive. It looked like it was on death’s door when you brought it back to camp.”
“Jiang Wanyin has spent a great deal of effort nursing it back to health. It is in good spirits now. It has turned out to be a very loyal dog – I think it is grateful for its rescue, and tries to repay the favor with affection. Jiang Wanyin is very fond of it.”
“I see.” Lan Xichen did smile this time, and he looked like he was going to say something impossibly awful and embarrassing, like he sometimes did – although he usually reserved those sorts of statements for conversations about Wei Ying – so Lan Zhan, a little desperately, changed the subject.
“Xiongzhang,” Lan Zhan said, “at the conference, could you ask Jin Guangyao where the Qishen Wen captives are?”
“I can,” Lan Xichen said, “but it was agreed that the Jin Clan would have custody of them nearly eight months ago.”
“They are not cultivators.”
Lan Xichen shook his head. “Of course they are. The agreement was that the Jin Clan would let the peasants continue as they always have, and that only the cultivators would be kept prisoner.”
“They are not cultivators,” Lan Zhan repeated.