Archive of Our Own

Song Lan remembered with painful clarity every hurtful, hateful thing he’d said to Xiao Xingchen. Full of grief, full of rage, full of terrible helplessness, he’d spoken to wound and known that he had.

And he remembered Xiao Xingchen’s trembling voice saying I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Zichen. I’m going to fix this.

He didn’t understand then what Xiao Xingchen had intended. He would have refused if he had, even the transplant had been successful, which it wasn’t. Song Lan was still blind, his temple was still dead, and his grief was like another person walking beside him.

The only other person walking beside him, because Xiao Xingchen had disappeared.

The regret did not come immediately. The anger came first, that Xingchen could think he could make up for the greatest loss of Song Lan’s life by giving up his own eyes; that he could think Song Lan would want him to. He was angry, too, that Xingchen had walked away, abandoned him, but that anger was briefer: he had, after all, told Xingchen to go.

The regret came as the anger cooled and the knife-edge of the grief dulled to a steady ache. Stumbling through relearning the world, he found himself wishing for Xingchen’s voice, his laugh, even (now and then) his touch.

Then he regretted, and it was that regret, belated and bitter, that set him on the road. Not that he knew where else he would go; the one home he’d known was gone. But there was still Xingchen, who had been his other home and dearest companion. Xingchen, who should know that he was forgiven. Xingchen, who Song Lan hoped would forgive him.

The road was long, and weary, and lonely. He comforted himself with fantasies of the day when he would find Xingchen at last.

It was three long years and sudden chance that brought him to Yi City. He didn’t even know that name at the time, only that he had heard the sounds of a small town and turned toward it intending to ask the same questions he’d asked everywhere else: have you seen a blind cultivator, dressed in white, called Xiao Xingchen?

(He knew that Xingchen might be wearing different clothes, or using a different name, but if he let himself consider that too hard the sheer impossibility of his task would overwhelm him, so he set it aside.)

“Who’s asking?” said a young woman’s voice from the height of his chest, soon after he began asking around. The suspicion in her voice caught at something in Song Lan’s chest; a fragile thread of hope.

“My name is Song Lan, courtesy name Zichen,” he said, bowing in the direction of the voice. “Have you seen him, guniang?”

“Maybe,” she hedged, and Song Lan’s heart leapt.

“He’s about as tall as I am,” Song Lan said. “Handsome. He bears a white sword called Shuanghua.”

“How do you know him?”

“I am–” Did he still deserve to call himself this? “A friend,” he said, because he hoped, at least, that he still would be. “We were traveling companions, for a time.”

“Hm,” the young woman said, sounding skeptical. He awaited her judgment, which finally came with a, “all right, come with me.” She grabbed his arm and he yanked reflexively away.

“Ah–” He swallowed. “Please don’t…I prefer not to be touched. I can follow you.”

“All right,” the young woman said slowly. “If you say so.” She moved away from him, the bright currents of her qi distinct enough to follow. A tremor ran through Song Lan’s body. At last, at last, was he really about to…

“Slow down,” he called, when she got too far ahead of him to track. “If you’re too far away…I can’t see.” Most people could tell – could see it in his eyes – but perhaps she hadn’t noticed.

“Oh, right,” she said, and fell back. Fortunately there didn’t seem to be a great many other people about, which made it easier to keep track of her. “You’re blind too?”

“Yes,” Song Lan said. At least now he could say it without shame. Too. Of course he’d known it must be the case, but to hear it so casually affirmed gave him a pang. “What’s your name, guniang?”

“A-Qing,” she said. “Daozhang! Someone’s here to see you!”

Song Lan’s steps wavered and came to a halt. His heart skipped two beats.

“To see me?” The familiar voice, soft and gentle, was a knife in his breast.

“He says he’s a friend.”

Xingchen. It was on the tip of his tongue. Fear swelled and crashed over him. He could scarcely breathe. Now that he was here…what if Xingchen cast him out? What if Xingchen hated him? What if…

“A friend?” Xingchen sounded puzzled. “I…” he trailed off. He must have recognized Song Lan’s qi, sensed him there. Even sightless, they knew each other. Song Lan heard Xingchen’s breath catch and tremble.

“Xingchen,” he said, his voice thin and strange. He moved forward and knelt, bowing down to the ground. “Xingchen,” he repeated. “I’m so sorry. I–”

“Zichen?” There was a sob caught in Xingchen’s voice. He heard a quiet footstep and then there were hands on his elbows trying to draw him up. “No, no, you mustn’t – you don’t need to apologize, Zichen, it’s all my fault–”

“I should never have spoken to you like that–”

“I should have listened to you–”

They were speaking on top of each other. Song Lan’s unseeing eyes began to burn with unshed tears. “Xingchen,” he gasped. “Xingchen, I’ve been searching for you for so long.”

“Daozhang,” said a new voice, “did this scum make you cry? Cause I’ll take care of that for–”

Song Lan startled, straightening without meaning to and turning in the direction of the intruder. Xingchen’s grip on his elbows tightened briefly like he feared to let go and then released. The new voice cut off like a severed limb, and for a moment Song Lan felt…something. Danger, a tension vibrating like a plucked string.

Then it was gone. “My friend,” Xingchen said, his voice still unsteady. “It’s all right. This is Zichen. Zichen, please, stand. You don’t need to kneel to me.”

My friend. A sharp pang of jealousy pricked at Song Lan. When he’d imagined Xingchen, he’d always imagined him alone, but it was monstrously unfair to resent that he wasn’t. Reluctantly, he rose to his feet and turned, making a courtesy in the direction of the…not intruder. Xingchen’s friend. “Greetings,” he said. “I am Song Lan, courtesy name Zichen.” He did not, as he might have once, say of Baixue Temple. “I am…I come as a friend.”

The stranger barked a strange laugh. “Call me Chengmei,” he said. Something tugged at Song Lan’s memory, a vague sense of familiarity, but even as he turned toward it it was gone. “A friend, huh?” He felt the man move fluidly around him to stand beside Xingchen. “Well, any friend of Daozhang’s is a friend of mine. Are you staying for a meal?”

Song Lan hesitated. “I would like to,” he said.

“You’re welcome, if you want,” Xingchen said, sounding oddly hesitant. A part of Song Lan wanted to ask what he wanted, but he waited too long, and he wasn’t sure he was ready to hear it. He’d been seeking Xingchen, but it seemed Xingchen had found something for himself – and Song Lan wondered if he belonged in it.

In Song Lan’s fantasies, when he found Xingchen the two of them would reunite and come together seamlessly once more, returning to their old ways of journeying side by side.

The reality, of course, was somewhat different.

Dinner commenced in awkward silence. Song Lan was immensely grateful when Chengmei piped up to ask, “so how do the two of you know each other, anyway?”

Song Lan hesitated, turning toward Xingchen for his cue, but Xingchen just said, “we were traveling companions for a while.” Song Lan flinched.

“We found each other after Xingchen came down from the mountain,” Song Lan said. “Our – we found ourselves aligned in our beliefs about the world.” It felt inadequate, still, to describe what they’d had, but it seemed Xingchen himself might feel differently.

“Ah!” Chengmei said. “Is he your most intimate friend that you told that story about?”

Song Lan immediately felt a wash of relief. If Xingchen had described him so to this stranger, then surely that meant he still felt warmly toward Song Lan.

“Yes,” Xingchen said after a hitch of a pause.

“Why’d you part ways, anyway?” Chengmei asked. “If you were so close, and all.”

Song Lan opened his mouth, then closed it. Xingchen was also silent.

“All right,” Chengmei said. He sounded amused. “If you don’t want to say, that’s fine. I was just curious.”

“How did you all meet?” Song Lan asked quickly, hurrying away from the subject.

“I met Xiao-daozhang when he saved me from a scummy man,” A-Qing said. “He seemed like he needed company so we started traveling together.”

Song Lan smiled a little. “What about your family?” he asked. A-Qing snorted.

“What family?”

He immediately felt foolish. Of course. She would hardly be associating with two strange men if she came from a respectable family, and with her mannerisms…it was just like Xingchen to adopt a young woman on her own and vulnerable.

“Daozhang scraped me off the side of the road after I ran into some trouble,” Chengmei said. “Stuck me back together and I never left.” Chengmei laughed. “I don’t think either of us ever asked permission, right, Daozhang?”

“No,” Xingchen said. “Indeed you didn’t.” He sounded like he was smiling, and Song Lan wished passionately that he could see it. He had to settle for his dimmed memory of the expression.

“I’m glad,” he said. “It’s good that Xingchen has had company.”

“It is good,” said A-Qing emphatically, and Song Lan had the feeling he’d just joined some familiar line of conversation. It was a disorienting experience, bringing home to him again that Xingchen had history with these people now, a life with them that Song Lan didn’t know.

He deliberately suppressed the bloom of resentment. He should just be glad that Xingchen hadn’t been alone.

“Where are you from, Chengmei?” he asked, trying to sound friendly.

“Oh, around,” Chengmei said airily. “Nowhere you’d’ve heard of. And certainly nobody you’d’ve, if you’re asking about my family. Qingqing and I are both gutter trash.”

“Hey!” A-Qing squawked, and Xingchen said, “you know I don’t like it when you use that language,” more moderately.

“It’s true, though,” Chengmei said. He didn’t sound bothered, though Song Lan found he was embarrassed. “Sorry if you were hoping for more illustrious company, Song-daozhang.”

“Not at all,” he said quickly. “I’m sorry if I caused any offense.”

“You didn’t,” Chengmei said. “I’m not quite that easy to offend.” His words were easy, but there was something about his voice that made Song Lan picture a slightly dangerous smile. He offered a seated bow.

“I appreciate it.”

“He’s so formal,” Chengmei said, apparently to Xingchen. “Did you used to be like that or were you always the weird one?”

Song Lan stiffened, offended on Xingchen’s behalf, but Xingchen laughed. It was free and uninhibited, graceless as his true laughter was. It took Song Lan’s breath away and made him ache.

“Chengmei,” Xingchen said fondly, and Song Lan’s heart lurched. He pushed aside his bowl and rose.

“I should – go find an inn for the night,” he said. “I won’t impose.”

“Oh,” Xingchen said. Song Lan thought he could hear disappointment, perhaps, but it was gone with his next words. “Of course. I can walk you there.”

It was a relief that Xingchen at least wasn’t just sending him off into the night. “You don’t need to. I can find my way.”

“Can you?” Chengmei said. “You’re blind and you don’t know this city. Do you even know where you’d be going, Daozhang?”

“Well…”

“Not to mention Lao Wu’s place is nasty,” Chengmei went on. “Nobody stays there if they’ve got another option. Why doesn’t he just stay here?”

“Thank you for your hospitality but I couldn’t possibly,” Song Lan started to say.

“He can have my bed,” Chengmei added, apparently ignoring him. There was a brief, painful silence. Song Lan wished he could see Xingchen’s face to know what he was thinking.

“Zichen?” Xingchen said, sounding hesitant and uncertain. Song Lan wavered.

“How could I remove one of my hosts from his own bed?” he said, wishing he dared simply ask Xingchen do you want me to stay?

“You aren’t,” Chengmei said. “I share with Daozhang anyway.”

Song Lan felt like he’d run face first into a wall. He would like to pretend that he didn’t follow the implication, or took it for something else, but he wasn’t going to lie to himself like that. His mouth flooded with vinegar and he swallowed hard, twice, to clear it.

“Xingchen?” he said faintly.

“It’s – up to you,” Xingchen said. He sounded strained now.

He should go. He should spend the night in an inn and he could come and bid Xingchen farewell tomorrow. Leave Xingchen to the new life he had found for himself.

Are you really going to run away after spending so long looking for him? Coward.

It wasn’t cowardice to recognize where one’s presence was an unnecessary burden.

“If you’re certain it’s no imposition,” he said slowly, “I would gladly be your guest for the night.”

“Great,” Chengmei said brightly. “So that’s settled, then.”

And, apparently, it was.

Song Lan slept poorly, haunted by vague but restless dreams. He was the first one awake in the house, and went out to meditate quietly so he didn’t bother anyone else. Or at least that was his intent, but his thoughts were a whirl.

What now? He’d found Xingchen. He’d made his apologies and it seemed they were accepted. In his imaginings, he hadn’t thought very clearly beyond that, except perhaps to imagine that they would reunite and travel together again, fighting evil side-by-side as they had before. Never had he thought he would find Xingchen settled in one place, apparently comfortably, with two new companions he clearly cared for.

He couldn’t assume that Xingchen would want him to stay. He should be ready to move on, and make his peace simply knowing that Xingchen was well, and…happy.

Sighing and giving up on meditation, Song Lan stood, brushing off his robes. He heard quiet steps behind him, their rhythm familiar.

“Good morning, Xingchen,” he said gingerly. “Did you rest well?”

“Yes, thank you,” Xingchen said politely. “And you?”

“The same,” Song Lan lied. He lapsed into uncertain silence that stretched out awkwardly between them.

“I know it’s not very comfortable,” Xingchen said apologetically. He sounded subdued and anxious, very far from his easy laughter the night before.

“I’ve slept in worse conditions,” Song Lan said, trying to make his voice light. “We both have, haven’t we?”

His words fell like a stone into still water. This time the silence wasn’t just awkward, but strained. What had he said wrong? He’d hoped to evoke fond memories.

“Yes,” Xingchen said. “Yes, of course.” A pause. “You…” He trailed off, and Song Lan’s stomach turned nervously.

“What is it?”

“I meant it,” Xingchen said. “You don’t need to apologize to me. I…I wronged you.”

Song Lan let out a breath. “I wronged you,” he said vehemently. “I spoke thoughtlessly, in haste and anger.”

“If I had never–”

“It was Xue Yang who murdered my temple,” Song Lan interrupted. “Xue Yang who blinded me. Not you. It’s not your fault.”

He expected relief. Maybe even gratitude. He received silence, followed by, at length, “your eyes…it didn’t work?”

“No,” Song Lan said. “But I – you must know, Xingchen, I would never have asked it of you! I was angry, that you would think–”

“I’m sorry,” Xingchen said immediately, his voice wobbling. Song Lan reached for him, wishing he could see his hands, but he was left grasping empty air.

“No,” he said quickly. “I was angry, but not anymore. Now I – now I’m just glad to have found you. To be able to speak with you.”

“Oh,” Xingchen said in a small voice.

“Truly,” Song Lan insisted. “I’ve been searching for you for years, looking for any trace of you. I missed you so much–” His voice choked off and he swallowed to clear his closing throat.

“I’ve missed you,” Xingchen said after a moment, like he was admitting a shameful secret. Song Lan’s heart swelled with relief. He took a step nearer, careful and hesitant. Can I stay? he wanted to ask. Do you want me to stay? But shame held his tongue.

“It seems…it seems you’ve made a life for yourself here. With your companions.”

A pause, and Song Lan felt a lurch of fear that he’d said something wrong again that seemed confirmed by the subdued way Xingchen said, “I’ve been fortunate. I didn’t expect…but A-Qing and Chengmei have a way of making themselves at home.”

“I’m glad,” Song Lan said. “Truly.” He tried to mean it, wholeheartedly. Tried not to think of Chengmei’s casual voice saying I share with Daozhang anyway. It wasn’t as though he and Xingchen had ever…

“Do you want to stay?” Xingchen said abruptly. It sounded like the words burst out of him, half-involuntary. “Of course you don’t have to, I don’t expect you to set aside–”

“Yes,” Song Lan said, relief flooding him again. “Xingchen – of course I want to stay. I didn’t intend to ask, I don’t want to impose, but to be with you again would be a gift.”

“Zichen,” Xingchen said. His voice wobbled again, but he sounded relieved, some of the smallness gone.

“Oh, good,” said Chengmei’s voice. “You got that figured out sooner rather than later. Wasn’t looking forward to watching you dance around each other for days.” He sounded like he was smiling, but there was something sharp underneath, not quite cutting. The hairs on the back of Song Lan’s neck prickled. “But what about asking me and Qingqing, Daozhang?”

“I meant to,” Xingchen said, sounding embarrassed. “I would have. I was going to. I’m–”

“I’m just messing with you,” Chengmei said. The cutting tone was gone and now he sounded like he was about to laugh. “And A-Qing’ll say yes if it makes you happy, you know that. I’d ask if he’s any better than you at cooking but that’s a low bar.”

Song Lan frowned, but Xingchen sounded like he was smiling when he said, “I won’t damn Zichen with faint praise, then.”

“Good call,” Chengmei said. “Sorry for your taste buds, Song-daozhang, if you were going around eating this guy’s food.”

Xingchen laughed again and Song Lan felt a peculiar clash of longing and envy and gratitude. “Chengmei,” Xingchen said chidingly, but utterly without force.

“Sorry, sorry,” Chengmei said, not sounding in the least apologetic. “Am I wrong, though?”

That seemed directed at him and Song Lan hesitated, caught wrong-footed. It was true that Xingchen wasn’t a…particularly gifted…cook. He hardly wanted to malign him, though, even if the teasing seemed good-natured. “No apology necessary,” he said carefully.

Chengmei did laugh, then. Something about the sound struck – something, like a bell in Song Lan’s mind, halfway to a memory, but even as he reached for it it was gone. “So diplomatic,” he said. “I had a friend who would’ve loved you. Are the two of you hungry? I’m going to make some breakfast.”

And like a whirlwind he was gone again, leaving Song Lan feeling a little out of breath. Xingchen made a sound like he was trying to swallow a laugh. “I’m sorry,” he said, but this time it sounded far less morose.

“For what?” Song Lan asked.

“I know he can be…” Xingchen hesitated. “Energetic.”

Energy he certainly did seem to have. “I don’t mind,” Song Lan said. He paused, wishing he knew if Chengmei was still listening. “He makes you laugh.”

“I…yes.” Xingchen sounded uncertain again. Song Lan could hear him withdrawing.

“I’m glad,” he said quickly, no matter if it was somewhat more complicated than that. “It’s good, to hear you do so.”

Xingchen took a sharp breath in. “Zichen, I,” he started to say. Song Lan held his breath, not sure what he was waiting for, but the moment passed quickly and was gone.

Over the next few days, Song Lan began to get to know Xingchen’s new companions.

He liked A-Qing. She was a bright young girl, for all her lack of polish; frank and forthright, with a quick and clever tongue. She was steadfastly loyal to Xingchen and held her own against Chengmei’s teasing, and she seemed to have decided that Song Lan met with her approval.

Chengmei was more difficult.

Not because he was unfriendly. He was just…a lot. He seemed to take nothing seriously. He teased A-Qing into furies and Xingchen into helpless laughter. He didn’t seem to value quiet or stillness, always talking and moving. Left to himself, Song Lan suspected he would’ve avoided Chengmei altogether.

But Xingchen cared for him, and that meant he was important.

The next time Chengmei announced that he was going to market – “anything I should look for?” – he raised his voice to ask, “may I join you?”

There was a brief silence, followed by a, “sure, why not?” that struck Song Lan as somehow indefinably off.

“I don’t have to,” he said quickly. “I just thought you might want some company.”

“I said sure, didn’t I?” Chengmei said. He sounded like he meant it. Maybe Song Lan was overreading the signals? He wished he could see the expression on his face, as he tried not to wish too often.

“Then – thank you,” Song Lan said a little awkwardly. Chengmei huffed a laugh.

“You’re welcome, Song-daozhang,” he said, bright and lilting. Something about his voice made Song Lan’s gut do a strange twinge, almost like familiarity, but he couldn’t place it.

They set off and, to Song Lan’s surprise, Chengmei was quiet. Song Lan was used to silence, but this one began to feel increasingly awkward. At length, he cleared his throat and broke it.

“You’re a cultivator,” he said.

“You noticed,” said Chengmei, but he sounded amused. And a little satisfied, for some reason Song Lan couldn’t fathom. Song Lan pressed down on his irritation.

“I can sense it,” he said. “Where did you train?”

“I taught myself, mostly,” Chengmei said casually. Song Lan turned toward him, startled.

“You taught yourself?”

“Mmhm,” Chengmei said. “You heard me say I’m a gutter brat like A-Qing, right? Who else d’you think would’ve taught me?”

“I recall, yes,” Song Lan said. “But I assumed you were taken in by a sect, or…”

Chengmei’s laugh interrupted him. Hair on the back of Song Lan’s neck prickled at the sharpness in it. “How many sects do you know in the habit of taking in kids off the street out of the kindness of their hearts?” he asked. Song Lan pressed his lips together.

“My temple took in a couple of orphans.”

“Really,” Chengmei said after a brief pause. There was something strange in his voice again, hard to read. “Why’d they do that?”

“Charity is…was…valued there.”

“Sure, but why those orphans, then?” Chengmei asked. “I’m sure there were more of them. Why’d your shifu choose those specific ones to get lucky? And what about the ones he didn’t choose?”

Song Lan frowned. “No one person can mend all that is wrong with the world.”

Chengmei snorted. “Try telling that one to Daozhang,” he said. It sounded like it was meant to be a joke, but not one that Chengmei really seemed to think was funny. “Anyway, that’s not the point.”

“What is?”

“The point is that for every two orphans your shifu might’ve adopted there’re ten more that’ll die young and hungry,” Chengmei said, “and most sects won’t bother with the two, unless there’s something in it for them.” There was an oddity in Chengmei’s tone that Song Lan identified as agitation. It wasn’t something he’d heard from him before.

“It’s impressive,” Song Lan said, trying to soothe him. “You have a strong core.”

“I was really determined not to die,” Chengmei said, like that explained it. It didn’t, not really, but he could tell that this was a sensitive subject and decided to leave it alone.

That meant the awkward silence was back, though. Of all the times for Chengmei to decide he didn’t want to chatter…but perhaps he’d noticed that Song Lan didn’t appreciate it, and was trying to be considerate. Or else maybe he just didn’t know how to talk to Song Lan without Xingchen there as a buffer.

He tried again, determined to make this work for Xingchen’s sake. If they were going to be sharing a house, he needed to get to know Chengmei better, find in him what Xingchen valued.

He took a deep breath through his nose and let it out. “You and Xingchen,” he said slowly.

“Yeah?”

Song Lan pressed his lips together. His stomach twisted into a knot. “You’re…close,” he said.

“You could say that,” Chengmei said. He sounded on the verge of laughter again, and Song Lan felt a flash of annoyance that he tried to suppress.

“How long have you been…” He trailed off again, his heart aching.

“Been what?” Chengmei asked, with studied innocence. Song Lan, briefly, could’ve strangled him, and then was horrified by the violence of the thought. He needed to calm himself. Center himself. Xingchen had found someone to care for and that was a good thing.

But he said nothing to clarify.

“Relax, Song-daozhang,” Chengmei said. “I’m messing with you. Is there a problem?”

“No,” Song Lan said quickly, even if a part of him whispered yes. “I was just…wondering.”

“You’re full of questions today.”

“I want to get to know you,” Song Lan said honestly. Chengmei’s brief silence seemed surprised, for some reason, like he hadn’t expected that.

“Huh,” he said after a few moments. “Okay. It’s been about a year and a half, I guess? Something like that.”

“Ah,” Song Lan said. A knife twisted in his heart and he took another deep breath to ease the pain of it. He could be gracious, and understanding, and…

“You’re jealous,” Chengmei said. He didn’t sound angry. He sounded…it was strange. Satisfied, again? But with a trace of something else. Fascination, maybe. Song Lan didn’t know what to make of it.

“I’m–” He wanted to deny it, but he didn’t want to lie. He shook his head. “It’s not important. I can master my feelings. They shouldn’t trouble Xingchen. Or you.”

He could. Truly. That it was hard was not to say it couldn’t be done.

“It would trouble Daozhang, though. If he knew.”

“He doesn’t have to know,” Song Lan said, and then immediately felt guilty. Chengmei huffed a quiet laugh.

“No,” he said. “He doesn’t need to know everything, does he.” Chengmei hummed. “So were the two of you, you know. Fucking?”

Song Lan nearly choked on his tongue. He did stumble.

“No,” he gasped out. “No, we didn’t…we never…” The prospect of physical intimacy, with all its attendant messiness, had never been much of a lure to Song Lan. Their closeness in other terms had been enough, Song Lan had thought, for them both.

But maybe not. Maybe Xingchen had always wanted – something else. Did Chengmei’s asking mean that they were – that he and Xingchen had–

“Huh,” Chengmei said. “Interesting.”

“Did you think…” Song Lan trailed off, not sure he wanted to ask.

“The way Daozhang talked about you I wondered,” Chengmei said.

He talked about me? What did he say? Song Lan shook himself and said nothing.

“He didn’t talk about you a lot,” Chengmei said, like he’d heard it anyway. “I got the sense it hurt.”

Song Lan flinched. He swallowed to clear the lump from his throat. “I…the last time we saw each other, I said some hurtful things.”

“Why?”

Song Lan’s stride hitched. He didn’t want to talk about Baixue, or about Xue Yang. Certainly not with a near stranger. “I was angry,” he said. “I blamed him for something that wasn’t his fault.”

“You wanted to hurt him,” Chengmei said. There was no judgment in his voice. Oddly, he just sounded…curious. Song Lan frowned.

“I’d rather not discuss this,” he said.

“Suit yourself,” Chengmei said, apparently without rancor. The silence fell again but this time Song Lan didn’t make an immediate attempt to break it, his thoughts a muddled, aching tangle.

It quickly became clear that he and Xingchen no longer knew how to be easy with each other.

Not that Xingchen was distant, or cold. Not that Song Lan didn’t want to speak with him. Only that a space had opened up between them and Song Lan was uncertain how he was meant to bridge it. They were uneasy with each other, now, their relationship a fragile thing that felt as though it would be too easily ruptured. Xiao Xingchen was – skittish, was the best word Song Lan had to describe it. Self-conscious.

Not with Chengmei. And not with A-Qing. Song Lan tried very hard not to resent that.

And he tried to find a way to talk to Xingchen, too.

“It seems like you’re happy here,” Song Lan said one day when they were alone, A-Qing having dragged Xue Yang off to do…something, Song Lan wasn’t entirely sure what. But he was glad to have the time with Xingchen.

“I am,” Xingchen said, after a brief hesitation.

“Good,” Song Lan said. “That’s good.”

A silence followed. Should he not have said that? Did Xingchen think he was judging him?

“I’m glad you decided to stay in one place,” Song Lan said. “Truly, or I probably never would have found you. But I have to wonder: why here? It’s…” He trailed off, not sure how to put it tactfully.

“I know,” Xingchen said. “But that same thing means it is in need, and too few cultivators have either known or bothered to pay it mind. For a while, this region was infested with fierce corpses – Chengmei and I cleared them away, but too late to save many. Of late it’s been quieter, but there’s always something that needs to be done.”

“Do you ever miss…traveling?” Song Lan asked, hoping it didn’t sound like he was asking if Xingchen missed their time together, just the two of them. Even if it was what he was asking, a little bit.

“Sometimes,” Xingchen said after a moment of consideration. “But not…less often than I would have expected.” He laughed, quietly, and to Song Lan’s ear it sounded a little uncertain. “To be truthful, I never intended to stay here. At first I was just staying until Chengmei healed from his wounds. I assumed once he had, he would move on, and A-Qing and I would as well. But then…he didn’t leave. I never asked him to stay, and he never said that he would.

“He just started…helping me repair the house, fix the roof, patch the walls. Joining me on night hunts. And somehow…here we are, now. I don’t know.”

“What happened to him?” Song Lan asked. “You found him injured. Has he ever said how?”

“No,” Xingchen said. “I haven’t asked, either.” He paused, and his voice was serious when he said, “I’ve gathered that whatever life he led before was…less than virtuous. But it seems clear that he’s different now. I don’t want to judge him by whatever actions he’s trying to leave behind.”

Song Lan frowned. “That doesn’t concern you?”

“How can it?” Xingchen said. “I…I can hardly claim to be innocent myself.” Song Lan opened his mouth to protest, but Xingchen spoke before he could. “I was too sure of myself, too proud, too…I believed in the righteousness of the world, and myself. I’m no longer as certain as I once was of my own, or the world’s.”

“Xingchen,” Song Lan started to say.

“A-Qing used to steal to survive,” Xingchen said. “Once I would have said she was wrong to do so. Now it seems less important than that she was able to live until we found each other. Whatever Chengmei’s life was before we met, I’ve chosen to judge him by what it is now.”

Song Lan sat back, a little startled. In their arguments – discussions – that they’d had before their parting, Xingchen had always been the one to draw hard lines and clear distinctions. But of course things had changed for him. How could they not? Things had changed for them both.

They had both changed.

The silence that fell felt hollow. The awareness returning of all that had passed between them, and what it meant, and how it lingered. But there was only so much apologies could do.

“Do you think I’m wrong?” Xingchen said, his voice small and uncertain.

“No,” Song Lan said quickly. “I didn’t say that. I think…” He searched for the right words, the ones that would set Xingchen at ease. “I think it’s commendable, that you are willing to give others a second chance.”

“Truly?” Xingchen said, sounding so hopeful it made Song Lan’s heart ache.

“Yes,” he said. “It is a kindness not everyone would extend.”

“It is a selfish kindness,” Xingchen said after a moment’s pause. Song Lan bowed his head.

“I wish you wouldn’t blame yourself,” he said.

“I know my mistakes,” Xingchen said, voice soft and heavy.

“It’s not your fault,” Song Lan said.

“Not in whole, perhaps,” Xingchen said. “But at least in part. Zichen – I don’t want to argue about this.”

But you’re wrong, Song Lan wanted to protest. You’re wrong, and you’re hurting yourself believing it.

Perhaps all he could do to convince Xingchen of that was to show him, prove to him, that he was forgiven.

Song Lan thought it would take him longer to get used to Chengmei than it did.

As the weeks passed, he found himself settling into life in the yizhuang more easily than he would have expected. Things with Xingchen were awkward, but he was glad to be with him just the same. A-Qing seemed pleased by his presence, though he wasn’t entirely certain what he’d done to earn it.

And Chengmei…Song Lan might have taken his teasing for cruelty, if it weren’t for the fact that it made Xingchen laugh, and A-Qing treated him like an annoying shixiong more than anything else. He might have taken his incessant chatter as a lack of mental rigor, if it weren’t for the fact that conversation with him proved he was quick and clever, if somewhat less than traditionally learned. Song Lan asked him once if he’d read the classics, and Chengmei just laughed.

He was an acquired taste, perhaps, but one that Song Lan found himself acquiring.

For the most part life in the yizhuang was quiet, even what someone else might call dull. Song Lan himself might have, once; he’d left a quiet, contemplative life for the hustle and bustle of the outside world, after all. Here and now he found it a relief. It was true that there were things for a cultivator to manage, but they were mostly low level and easy to deal with. A ghost that needed to be appeased, a malevolent tree to be suppressed.

It surprised him more that Chengmei, who seemed to be in nearly constant motion, was content.

“Do you truly not get bored?” he asked one day while Chengmei was at work weeding what he called “Daozhang’s weak attempt at a garden.”

“Sure,” Chengmei said. “Sometimes. Doesn’t everybody?”

“I find peace in stillness,” Song Lan said. Chengmei laughed.

“Yeah,” he said. “You would say that.” Song Lan frowned.

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Chengmei said. “Anyway, yeah, I get bored, I guess. But there’s usually something to do. Something around the house that needs fixing or mending, or errands to run, or whatever. Or if there’s not I just wind up A-Qing and that helps.”

Song Lan frowned more deeply. “You entertain yourself at her expense?”

“She can take it,” Chengmei said casually, “and she gives as good as she gets, don’t worry too much about her.”

That did…seem accurate with what he’d observed about their interactions. Song Lan decided to let it go. Maybe he’d ask Xingchen about it later. “You’re truly content?”

“Why so dubious, Song-daozhang?” Chengmei said. Song Lan hesitated.

“You just seem so…” He trailed off, not quite sure how to put what he was thinking. Chengmei hummed.

“I used to have a more exciting life, I guess,” he said after a pause. “But it almost got me killed. I’m trying something different.”

Song Lan’s ears pricked in interest. “Is that so?” he said, trying to sound innocently curious and not too eager.

“Yeah,” Chengmei said after another, slightly longer pause. “Never trust the gentry, Song-daozhang. They’ll always screw you over.”

So he had been part of a sect once, Song Lan thought. A rare piece of information about Chengmei’s life before meeting Xingchen, and he tucked it away like a piece of treasure. “Is that what happened to you?”

“Mm,” Chengmei said. “If you’re not useful enough you’re tossed out with the trash.”

Song Lan thought of Xingchen, his pleas for justice rejected by the Jin. “Power is a corrupting influence,” he said. “It breeds injustice.”

“You don’t like them either, huh?” Chengmei said. He sounded intrigued. Song Lan paused a moment before he shook his head.

“There’s a reason neither Xingchen nor I ever affiliated ourselves with any of the sects,” he said.

“Huh,” Chengmei said. “Most people don’t seem to care what people do as long as they’ve got enough power backing them up.”

“It isn’t the way it should be,” Song Lan said. “If anything, the more power a person has, the greater their obligation to protect others and walk a righteous path.”

“So what happens when they don’t?” Chengmei asked.

“What do you mean?”

“What happens when they don’t protect others and walk a righteous path?” Chengmei said. “Does anything?” There was something under his casual tone, just a hint of anger. Song Lan furrowed his brows.

“Those who act unjustly should be punished,” he said slowly.

“By who?” Chengmei asked. “Who’s going to do that, when they’ve got all the power?”

Song Lan thought again of Xingchen, trying and failing in the face of Jin Sect’s influence. Chengmei had a point, a bitter one. “The attempt has to be made,” he said, though of course a part of him wished that Xingchen hadn’t tried, had never gotten tangled up in the affairs of the great sects. But that was wrong. Xingchen would not be Xingchen if he saw an injustice and stood by.

“Sure,” Chengmei said. “And who’s going to end up in trouble then? Realistically speaking. The powerful person or whoever tries to make them pay?” Song Lan hesitated, and Chengmei went on. “There’s no such thing as real justice. Just who has enough power, or knows someone who does, to get their way.”

“That’s a very bleak view of the world,” Song Lan said. Chengmei snorted, but it didn’t sound amused at all.

“Can you tell me I’m wrong?”

“Are you saying that people should simply stand by and accept wrongdoing?”

“Isn’t that what most people do all the time?” Chengmei said.

“That doesn’t mean they should,” Song Lan said. “Just because ‘most people’ behave a certain way doesn’t mean it’s right. It certainly doesn’t mean that I have to act so.”

“Now you sound like Daozhang,” Chengmei said. “He’s all about how the world should be, and never how it is.”

“You make that sound like a bad thing,” Song Lan said.

“It just gets him in trouble,” Chengmei said. “And he gets so upset when it doesn’t match up.”

That was true, and Song Lan sometimes wished Xingchen didn’t take it quite so much to heart, didn’t let it wound him quite so much. But as he’d just thought, Xingchen wouldn’t be Xingchen if he didn’t.

“Believe that people are better than they are and you just get burned,” Chengmei said.

“Maybe,” Song Lan said slowly. “Or else perhaps you can inspire people to be better than they were.”

Chengmei went quiet.

“There is value in itself of behaving righteously,” Song Lan said. “Even in the absence of expecting it to be returned.”

“Doesn’t that just make you a sucker?” Chengmei said.

“Is that the worst thing for someone to be?”

“That’s how you get hurt,” Chengmei said.

Song Lan frowned. “Did someone hurt you like that?” he asked. Chengmei let out a hiss of an exhale.

“No,” he said. Lied, Song Lan was sure. But he didn’t think pressing would get him anywhere.

“You’re right,” Song Lan said, considering his words carefully. “It is important to be cautious. Trust is something to be earned. But there is a balance.”

“A balance,” Chengmei said, and scoffed. “If you say so, Song-daozhang. But I think you’re as much a starry-eyed idealist as Daozhang is.”

Song Lan didn’t think so, but he doubted he was going to convince Chengmei of that. It did remind him of discussions he’d had with Xingchen, though, where he’d been on Chengmei’s side.

Xingchen loved recklessly and wholeheartedly, and wanted to embrace the whole world; sometimes, Song Lan wished he held himself a little more in reserve, protected himself a little more.

There was something reassuring about the fact that Chengmei seemed to feel the same.

Word came to them of some sort of monster rampaging near one of the nearby villages – no one had died yet, but it was enough to draw Song Lan, Xingchen, and Chengmei out of the yizhuang to search for it.

“Do we have any idea what it is?” Chengmei asked as they flew to where it had last been sighted, Chengmei with Xingchen on Shuanghua. “Could just be an oversized tiger.”

“Descriptions vary,” Xingchen said. “It could be, but it bears investigating.”

“Remember that time someone was convinced they had a ghost problem but there was just someone living under their house stealing their stuff?” Chengmei said. “That was funny.”

“They were very distressed,” Xingchen said.

“Still funny,” said Chengmei.

They landed just outside Shuicheng, where the most recent reports had come from. Even at this distance, Song Lan’s keen ears picked up wailing: the sound of immeasurable grief. His heart sank, and he heard Xingchen take a sharp breath in.

“Oh no,” he murmured. “We’re too late.”

They hurried into the village, where it was easy enough to track by sound where the sorrow was centered. “A bunch of people gathered around some woman,” Chengmei murmured. “Older…grandmother, maybe? Lots of people upset, though.”

“People of Shuicheng,” Xingchen said, his voice clear and serious. “I am sorry to intrude on your grief, but we are cultivators and came to investigate the creature that’s been sighted in this area.”

“Too late!” Someone shouted. “Where were you a week ago? Two days ago?” Song Lan heard a growl from Chengmei.

“You’re lucky you got us at all,” he said, something ugly in his voice. “Nobody else is coming to help–”

“Chengmei,” Xingchen said, his voice sharper than usual. Chengmei stopped speaking and Xingchen said, “forgive my friend. We only just heard word. I am sorry–”

“Maybe he’s still alive!” cried another voice, female, older. “My boy, my son…that monster came out of the fields and dragged him off screaming!”

“What kind of monster?” Chengmei asked, sounding less concerned than curious.

“It didn’t kill him?” Xingchen said. “When was this?”

“Scarce an hour ago,” said yet another voice.

“Then there’s no time to waste,” Xingchen said, his voice steely with determination. “Perhaps there’s still some chance…which way?”

Someone must have pointed, because Chengmei said, “east.”

“Then let’s go,” Xingchen said. Song Lan made an affirmative noise. “There should still be a trail – Chengmei?”

“Yeah, I can see what I can see,” Chengmei said. “Might be some kind of energy signature left behind too.”

There was a faint trail of yin energy, and a more definite trail, according to Chengmei, of trampled grass and some blood. “Not too much, though,” he was quick to say. “At least not yet. Nothing a person’d for sure die of.”

Between the yin trail and Chengmei’s directions – “a little north” “there’s a bend here” – they traveled nearly two li and Song Lan’s heart was sinking.

Then, faintly, he heard the cry of a baby.

He stopped. “Did you hear that?”

“No,” Chengmei said. “Hear what?”

“Shh,” Xingchen said. The sound came again, closer and clearer now: a baby crying.

“How old did she say her ‘boy’ was?” Chengmei asked.

“She didn’t,” Xingchen said.

“But she didn’t say baby, did she?”

The baby stopped crying. A bird flew up out of the grass, twittering.

“Oh, shit,” Song Lan heard Chengmei say, and then the baby was back, wailing right next to him. Something slammed into his side, knocking him to his back. Foul-smelling breath wafted over his face, but before he could react the…whatever it was…sprang off him and away. He rolled to his feet.

“Mafu!” Chengmei said. “Damn–”

Song Lan heard another baby, farther away, and an answering cry from behind him. He whirled around, drawing Fuxue.

“There’s another one,” Xingchen said. “The mate?”

“Could be the one that took our victim,” Chengmei said.

Song Lan could hear Xingchen hesitating. “Go,” he said. “Take Chengmei. See if it is. I can handle this one.”

“Mm,” Xingchen affirmed. Song Lan felt him draw Shuanghua, the familiar waves of its power, diminishing as Xingchen ran away, and Chengmei went with him.

The crying baby sound increased in pitch. Song Lan’s body lurched with the instinct to protect, to help–

Claws raked across his front. Song Lan barely managed to avoid them disemboweling him. He lashed out with his sword towards where he could sense a concentration of yin energy but didn’t strike home.

This was, he realized, his first real fight since he’d been blinded, and he was feeling it. Even able to sense the creature’s qi, he felt fumbling and slow, and that awful sound, so incongruous with the blood now streaming down his chest, wasn’t helping. His instincts kept telling him that a child needed help.

“Stand back, Song-daozhang!” he heard shouted behind him, and took two quick steps back. The baby screamed – though this time Song Lan could better hear the animal underneath – and he smelled singed hair.

“Chengmei!” he called. “Where’s Xingchen?”

“Got the guy and is taking him back to the village,” Chengmei said. “Pretty bad off, but not dead. We’ll see if Xingchen can save – ah, shit, you’re not dead?”

A second baby joined the first. Song Lan deflected another strike, swept Fuxue toward where he thought the creature’s head was, only to miss again. He could hear Chengmei fighting not far away, a huff of effort followed by a growl.

The baby went silent again. Song Lan focused, attuning himself, searching for where the creature had gone.

He got his arm up just fast enough to keep the claws from catching his neck, slashing open his arm instead. Song Lan cursed his blindness, cursed Xue Yang. He cut out with Fuxue again and this time he thought he found flesh – if not enough to kill.

Chengmei yelped, snarled. Song Lan just kept from whirling toward him, staying focused on the beast in front of him.

Which was when the second one attacked him from behind.

Claws tore into his shoulder. For the second time he felt hot breath, this time on the back of his neck. Song Lan fought against the weight holding him down but it was heavy–

“Fuck this,” he thought he heard Chengmei say. A snap of fingers, and then a wave of yin energy washed over him, bringing chicken skin to Song Lan’s arms.

He knew what it was at once. Baixue Temple had been drenched in it.

Two babies wailed, abruptly cut off. The heavy body on top of him went limp. Song Lan lay for a moment, frozen, before Chengmei heaved the body off him.

“Still alive?” he asked.

“Yes,” Song Lan said. Though he hurt. It was nothing that wouldn’t heal.

“Well, that’s good,” Chengmei said. “Xingchen would be so miserable if you weren’t.”

Song Lan rolled slowly to his back and sat up. Did he think Song Lan hadn’t noticed? Or didn’t recognize what it was?

“Well, they’re not,” Chengmei said. “Mafu. Have you ever seen one? I read about them once but I didn’t realize how ugly a tiger with a human head would be.”

Song Lan stood up slowly. “A tiger with…” He hadn’t really been able to picture what they looked like. Now he was a little glad he hadn’t known.

“Fully grown human head, mind,” Chengmei said. “Can you imagine if it was actually a baby head? Awful. Come on, let’s go see if Xingchen managed to keep the unlucky bastard alive.”

Song Lan caught Chengmei’s arm as he started to walk away. “We need to talk,” he said.

“About what?” Chengmei said, altogether too innocent.

“You used demonic cultivation,” Song Lan said, voice hard.

“Yeah,” Chengmei said after a beat. “So?”

Song Lan bridled. “So? It’s an evil method, a deviant path.”

“That’s what they say,” Chengmei said. Song Lan clenched his teeth.

“It’s true,” he said. “I’ve never seen it used for anything but sinister purposes.”

“Wei Wuxian used it to help win the Sunshot Campaign,” Chengmei said. “Didn’t he? Beat Wen Ruohan, stop him from dominating all the other sects. Was that a bad thing? Sure didn’t seem like anyone thought so up until he wasn’t doing what they wanted anymore.”

Song Lan shook his head. “Even so. Methods matter, and just because the great sects approve doesn’t make a thing right.”

Chengmei hissed. “Would you rather I’d just let you get hurt? Or killed? If I’d just been a good boy and stuck to the righteous path you wouldn’t be here to complain at me.”

That was…probably true. It stuck like a bone in Song Lan’s throat. “Obviously that’s not what I want, but there must have been another way.”

“I didn’t see one,” Chengmei said. “I use the tools I have, Song-daozhang. Whatever works.”

“And what about the harm it does to you?” Song Lan demanded. “The corrosive effects…”

“I’ve used demonic cultivation for years and I’m fine,” Chengmei said. Song Lan started. He’d known on some level that the ease with which Chengmei had handled the monsters must have been the result of some experience, but years?

“It could still cause you problems in the future,” he said.

“Thanks for worrying, Song-daozhang,” Chengmei said. “But I don’t think that’s really why you’re pitching a fit about this. You just disapprove.”

It wasn’t. But it was, too. The idea of Chengmei corrupted by demonic cultivation made his stomach twist. “It’s one of the reasons,” he said. “But – you’re right. I do disapprove.”

Chengmei laughed, but it sounded harsh and bitter. “Go ahead and disapprove,” he said. “I’m not sorry I did it. But sure. Next time I’ll just let you die so you don’t have to feel bad about how I save you. So this is what gratitude looks like from you!”

Song Lan pressed his lips into a line, feeling for the first time a twang of guilt. Chengmei had stepped in and helped him. If he hadn’t, things could’ve gone a great deal worse. And here Song Lan was, haranguing him about it.

“I don’t mean to be ungrateful,” he said reluctantly. Chengmei snorted, and he said, “I do…appreciate the substance of your actions, if not the method.”

There was a long, uneasy silence, and then Chengmei huffed. “Daozhang was nicer,” he said. “He didn’t like it either. But sometimes there are no good options, Song-daozhang, and you do what you have to.”

“But one should always strive to make the righteous choice,” Song Lan said.

“Righteous, wicked, right, wrong,” Chengmei said. “They’re all just words people use to justify themselves.”

Song Lan jerked. “That’s not true. There are standards, rules…”

“And how many people follow them? Except when it’s convenient.” There was bitterness in Chengmei’s voice again, but this time it seemed less directed toward him. “The world’s full of hypocrites.”

“Am I a hypocrite?” Song Lan asked.

There was another long silence before Chengmei said, “maybe not. Guess I’ll have to wait and see.”

“And Xingchen?”

Another, even longer silence. “Just because there might be exceptions doesn’t make me wrong,” Chengmei said eventually.

“There is such a thing as a righteous path, even if most people don’t choose to follow it,” Song Lan said.

“And you know for sure what it is?”

Song Lan hesitated. “I believe I am doing the best that I can.”

Chengmei scoffed. “Everybody believes that,” he said. “Everybody’s always telling themselves that, anyway. Doesn’t mean they’re right.”

Song Lan frowned, but he didn’t have an immediate response. He knew Chengmei was wrong, but sometimes it was hard to counter him in argument when the way he thought seemed so far away from Song Lan.

“If that’s all the lecture you’ve got,” said Chengmei, “I’m out. You can tell me about how wrong I am later.”

“That’s not…” Song Lan sighed. “I truly do speak at least partly out of concern.”

Chengmei was quiet for several moments before he said, voice a little less sharp, “that’s sweet, Song-daozhang. I’ll keep it in mind. Promise.”

Song Lan heard his quick steps retreating and did not immediately follow, troubled by a nagging thought he couldn’t quite catch.

The man taken by the mafu did survive, though he lost one of his hands and would be a long time healing. Xingchen gave a great many stern instructions and pressed medicines onto his family, telling them if anything was amiss to send a messenger to Yi City. He must know it would take too long to reach them to be of any use in an emergency, but Song Lan held his tongue.

Xingchen fussed a great deal over Song Lan’s wounds, too, insisting on tending to them immediately. Song Lan held rigidly still, unwilling to betray anything of how it felt to have Xingchen touch him again – that same mixture of discomfort and desire as ever. He did allow – reluctantly – that the damage was not severe, and should heal quickly.

“It might have been less so if Chengmei hadn’t acted,” Song Lan said, a little grudgingly. He considered mentioning the demonic cultivation, but it’d sounded like Xingchen already knew about it.

“Then thank you, Chengmei, for protecting Zichen,” Xingchen said. Song Lan thought he detected a hesitation from Chengmei, maybe like he was surprised.

“You’re welcome,” Chengmei said. “You’d be so miserable if he died. I wouldn’t be able to put up with it.”

For the next few days things were tense between Chengmei and Song Lan. Chengmei barely spoke to him and Song Lan wasn’t sure what he ought to do about it. He tried to pretend everything was normal, but he could sense Xingchen’s anxiety increasing, though he hadn’t yet confronted either of them about it.

But things settled on their own before Song Lan could figure out what he needed to say to Chengmei. One morning he woke up early and stepped outside, startling a little when he heard Chengmei’s voice greeting him brightly: “Good morning, Song-daozhang!”

“Good morning,” Song Lan said cautiously.

“Sleep well?”

“Well enough,” Song Lan said. “You’re awake early.”

“I didn’t sleep,” Chengmei said, as though that wasn’t a concern. Song Lan frowned, and Chengmei laughed. “Don’t worry about it. It happens sometimes. Let’s go out, Daozhang and Qingqing are still sleeping and I’ve been waiting forever for someone to be awake.”

“All right,” Song Lan said slowly. Chengmei was speaking very quickly, but he didn’t seem upset, and the tension Song Lan had been feeling between them had eased. “Where do you want to go?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Chengmei said. “Just out.” Song Lan half-turned toward the house, wondering if Xingchen would worry if he woke up and found that they weren’t here. “Come on! It’ll be fine,” Chengmei said.

Song Lan nodded, and stepped toward Chengmei, who grabbed his sleeve and nearly dragged him out into the street. Yi City was still waking up, so it was quiet yet other than the sound of Chengmei’s voice.

“Chengmei,” Song Lan interrupted. “I…”

“What?” Chengmei sounded cheerful, like the tension between them was not just forgiven but forgotten. Song Lan hesitated to bring it up again.

“About our conversation the other day,” he began, as they moved out of the city, past the walls.

“What about it?”

“You’ve seemed…” Song Lan pressed his lips together. “Uneasy, since.”

“I don’t love getting lectured,” Chengmei said. “Who does?” But he still sounded cheerful enough. Song Lan wondered if he was wrong not to trust it; it certainly seemed sincere.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel…” Song Lan considered. “Attacked,” he decided on.

“Oh, Song-daozhang,” Chengmei said. He sounded fond, in a way that made the hair on the back of Song Lan’s neck prickle. “If I actually felt attacked I’d bite back. Trust me, when you actually piss me off you’ll know.”

“But between us, there’s been…tension.”

“Maybe the tension’s yours, Song-daozhang,” Chengmei said. “Could just be you feeling nervous around a big, scary, demonic cultivator.”

Song Lan stiffened. “You don’t make me nervous,” he said.

“No?” Chengmei hummed. “Not even a little? Who knows, I could start raising the dead any minute.”

“You shouldn’t joke about that,” Song Lan said.

“You’re always so serious, Song-daozhang,” Chengmei said, a laugh in his voice. “Lighten up a little.”

“It’s a serious matter.”

“Everything is, with you,” Chengmei said. “You never smile.”

“That’s not true,” Song Lan objected.

“Prove it,” Chengmei said. “Smile now.” Song Lan frowned, and Chengmei did laugh. “Wrong direction, Song-daozhang!”

Song Lan shook his head. “You’re impossible,” he said, but now he could feel a smile forming.

“There it is,” Chengmei said, sounding delighted, and suddenly much closer. “I knew you could do it.”

“Of course I can,” Song Lan said. “Just because I don’t often doesn’t mean I’m incapable.”

“I know, I know,” Chengmei said. “Maybe I’m the problem. You don’t like me.”

Song Lan shook his head. “No,” he said quickly. “That’s not true.”

“Really?” Fingers brushed his cheek suddenly, and Song Lan jerked back in surprise. “So you do like me.”

“I…” Song Lan could feel his face heating.

“That’s sweet,” Chengmei said. He sounded like he was about to laugh again. “I like you too, Song-daozhang.”

Then there were hands on his shoulders, and a warm mouth on his.

He was so surprised at first that he froze. That carried him through the moment of expected revulsion, and to the recognition that it felt rather nice, and the acute awareness of Chengmei’s body close to his.

And then the crashing down of recognition, what are you doing, and he shoved Chengmei away, taking several stumbling steps back.

“What are you doing?” he said.

“Thought that was obvious,” Chengmei said. He didn’t sound perturbed by Song Lan’s reaction.

“No, but–” His head was whirling. He hadn’t wanted it to stop. He should have stopped it immediately. What about Xingchen. “You and Xingchen–”

Chengmei made a ‘pff’ sort of noise. “The only thing he’d mind is not getting to kiss you himself,” he said, which sent Song Lan reeling all over again.

“I have to go,” he said, his heart pounding in his ears.

“So soon?” Chengmei said, lilting, teasing. Song Lan took another step back, then turned and hurried away without replying. His head was spinning. At every step, there was a tugging at his legs like the current of a river, pulling him back.

His mouth still felt warm.

Song Lan spent the next couple of days avoiding Chengmei while trying very hard not to look like he was avoiding him, which was a difficult proposition when they shared a house.

A-Qing either didn’t notice or was opting to ignore it. Chengmei didn’t call him on it. Xingchen, of course, did.

“Is something the matter between you and Chengmei?” he asked.

“No,” Song Lan said quickly. “No, nothing.”

“Hm,” Xingchen said.

“Truly,” Song Lan said. “It’s nothing.”

“Hm,” Xingchen said again, with slightly stronger emphasis. Then, “if there is a problem, I want to help resolve it.”

Just tell him the truth. Tell him Chengmei kissed you. But the betrayal Xingchen would feel…and he couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d said. The only thing he’d mind is not getting to kiss you himself.

“You and Chengmei,” he said instead, and felt the sudden tension from Xingchen.

“Yes?” he said, caution audible. Song Lan cleared his throat. He hadn’t actually talked about this with Xingchen, at least not directly. It felt a bit like he was violating some unspoken rule that they wouldn’t talk about it.

“You are…” How on earth was he supposed to put this? Chengmei’s voice asking were the two of you fucking? popped into his head and he could feel his face heating. “Cultivation partners?” he said, ultimately.

Xingchen was quiet for a moment. “Yes,” he said. Song Lan could hear embarrassment in his voice. Maybe even shame.

“And…” He trailed off, not exactly sure what he wanted to ask. “How did that…happen?”

Xingchen’s quiet lasted longer this time. “It wasn’t…I didn’t intend to, at first. He just…we just…and then…” He stopped. Song Lan was sure his face was flushed and was, for once, relieved that Xingchen couldn’t see it.

“I’m not judging you,” he said, because it felt like it bore saying.

“I don’t want you to feel…” Xingchen trailed off. Song Lan took a slow breath in and exhaled even more slowly.

“It’s all right,” he said.

“Is this why things have been strange between you and Chengmei?” Xingchen asked.

“No!” Song Lan said. “No, that’s not it.”

“Why are you asking now?”

“I haven’t wanted to intrude,” Song Lan said honestly, “but I haven’t meant to…make you feel as though you need to be ashamed.”

Xingchen said nothing.

“Are you ashamed?” Song Lan asked carefully.

“I…” Xingchen hesitated. “I haven’t spoken about this to anyone. If the townspeople are aware, they don’t mention it. A-Qing knows but we don’t discuss it. I don’t know. I don’t want to…I don’t want to hurt you, Zichen.”

“You won’t hurt me,” Song Lan said, not entirely truthfully.

“It feels so fragile, sometimes,” Xingchen said after a brief pause. “Like if I press too hard, or say the wrong thing, he’ll run away from me.”

“He cares a great deal for you,” Song Lan said. There was a silence, and Song Lan wondered if he imagined Xingchen thinking so did you.

“I know,” Xingchen said.

“I’m glad,” Song Lan said. “That you have someone. To be with, as a cultivation partner.” He tried to mean it. He did, truly. Xingchen’s silence suggested he hadn’t sounded as convincing as he’d meant.

“Thank you,” Xingchen said.

They’d strayed away from why Song Lan had started this conversation. But he didn’t know how to talk about what he needed to talk about. Maybe he didn’t need to. It would never happen again, about that much he was determined. Why distress Xingchen over something that had been nothing but a brief mistake? Most likely Chengmei had just been teasing him, toying with him.

Why should that make his stomach ache?

“Why are you worried that he’ll run away?” Song Lan asked.

Xingchen hesitated. “He does a good job of masking it, most of the time,” he said, “but Chengmei is…he doesn’t trust easily. He takes a very dim view of most people and tends to expect the worst of them. Kindness takes him by surprise.”

Song Lan felt a pang. “You don’t think he trusts you?”

“I’m afraid that trust would be easy to break,” Xingchen said softly.

The question that burst out of Song Lan, almost unwillingly, was, “do you think he trusts me?”

Xingchen’s hesitation hurt more than Song Lan expected it to.

“I don’t know,” Xingchen said eventually. “It’s hard to tell, sometimes.”

“I would like him to,” Song Lan said hoarsely.

“Sometimes it just takes time,” Xingchen said, but he sounded a little sad.

Chengmei’s extraordinary sunny mood lasted for a few more days and then, very abruptly, fell off a cliff. He was sullen, taciturn, sharp and snappish.

“What’s your problem,” A-Qing asked irritably.

“You,” Chengmei snapped. “Snippy, annoying little–”

“Chengmei,” Xingchen interrupted.

A sound like a snarl. “I’m going out,” Chengmei said abruptly, and left, slamming the door behind him.

“Ugh,” A-Qing said into the silence that followed.

“What’s the matter with him?” Song Lan asked.

Xingchen sighed. “He gets like this sometimes,” he said apologetically. “I’m sorry to you both.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” A-Qing said, sounding disgruntled. “Just lock him out of the house until he stops.”

“I’m not going to do that,” Xingchen said.

“You should,” A-Qing said, but she subsided.

It was some time before Chengmei returned. When he did, he seemed less angry, though his mood was still clearly sour.

“Chengmei,” Xingchen called from where he was mending one of their robes. “Come here.”

“Why,” Chengmei said shortly.

“Because I want to talk to you,” Xingchen said. Song Lan paused in patching one of the walls of the yizhuang in preparation for the colder weather and turned to listen.

“If you’re just going to tell me to behave–”

“I wish you would be kinder,” Xingchen said, “but that’s not what I wanted to ask.”

Several moments of silence. A huff, and then footsteps. Then Xingchen’s voice, quiet but still audible: “can you tell me what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong with me,” Chengmei said. “I don’t see why everyone has to get all–”

“I didn’t ask what was wrong with you,” Xingchen said gently. “Just what is wrong.”

“Nothing,” Chengmei said after a brief pause.

“Are you in pain?” Song Lan frowned, surprised by the question. To his knowledge, Chengmei hadn’t been injured recently.

“No,” came the harsh, immediate response. Xingchen was silent, and Song Lan recognized his tactic for getting an answer from someone reluctant to speak. He could almost hear Chengmei squirm.

“I’m fine,” he said, his voice a little more moderate. “Just…one of those days, I guess. Happens.”

“Give me your hand.” A long pause, but Chengmei must have done so, because Xingchen said, “thank you.”

“It’s fine,” Chengmei said, suddenly sounding tense again. “You don’t have to get all–” His voice broke off in a groan. Song Lan startled, turning fully around.

“Is everything all right?” he asked.

Chengmei hissed. “No,” Xingchen said. “Chengmei’s hand is hurting.”

Song Lan frowned. “Did something happen to it?”

“I broke it on someone’s face because they asked dumb questions,” Chengmei said tightly. “Careful, Song-daozhang, I might get tempted to do it again.”

“Chengmei,” Xingchen said, lightly scolding. Song Lan’s shoulders stiffened, stung.

“You don’t have to take out your bad mood on me,” he said.

“I don’t have to, I just want,” Chengmei started to say, but his voice broke off in a shuddering exhale, followed by a wobbly sounding, “don’t do that.”

“It helps, doesn’t it?” Xingchen said. “Zichen, come here. There’s no reason for him not to know.”

Song Lan walked over slowly. Xingchen caught his sleeve and guided him to sit down.

“It’s not a big deal,” Chengmei said tightly. “You don’t have to make a whole thing out of it.”

“Maybe Zichen can help,” Xingchen said. “Give him your hand.”

After a long pause, there was a heavy sigh. “Fine, fine,” Chengmei said. Song Lan extended his hands slowly, confused by the interplay, and Chengmei’s hand landed on one of them.

He was wearing a rough glove, but it didn’t cover his whole hand, only half of it. Feeling his way along the boundaries of it, he paused on the smallest finger, sticking out too straight.

“Take the glove off,” Xingchen said, voice still so gentle. Another, even longer pause, and then Chengmei snatched his hand away. When he gave it back, Song Lan’s fingers immediately found the space where the fifth finger should have been, felt the smooth texture of scar tissue.

He paused, a thought – a memory – coming to him. A left hand with a half glove, a missing finger…

No. It was an absurd thing to even consider.

When he extended his senses, the hand itself…the meridians were a snarl of stagnated qi. He took a sharp breath in, and with that awareness he could feel the wrongness of bones healed not quite correctly, fingers slightly crooked, the remains of a severe injury that must have shattered the hand he was holding. It had healed, was plainly usable, but the marks were still there.

“What happened?” he asked. Chengmei tried to snatch his hand away and Song Lan let him, not wanting to grip too tightly.

“It got broken,” Chengmei said.

“That much is clear,” Song Lan said. “But how?”

“None of your business,” Chengmei snapped. “There. Now he knows. Can I go?”

Xingchen’s question made a great deal more sense now. The state of the meridians…it had to be hurting. That Chengmei wasn’t showing how much, other than his foul mood, was remarkable. “Is it always like this?” Song Lan asked.

“No,” Xingchen said, when Chengmei didn’t answer. He sounded sad. “Not always this bad.”

“I can speak for myself,” Chengmei said.

“But it must often…” Song Lan trailed off. Chengmei said nothing, and Xingchen sighed.

“Let me help,” he said.

“Fine,” Chengmei said after yet another long pause. “Fine.”

Song Lan sat quietly while Xingchen worked. He could hear Chengmei’s harsh breathing at first, though no more expression of the pain he must be feeling than that. Gradually it eased and slowed.

“I wish you would let me help before it gets this bad,” Xingchen said.

“I didn’t notice,” Chengmei said, his voice a little blurry. “It didn’t seem important.”

Xingchen sighed.

“Why didn’t you want me to know,” Song Lan asked, keeping his voice neutral and even.

“I just didn’t,” Chengmei said, and if there was a note of tension in his voice he mostly just sounded tired. “It’s not a big deal.”

It seemed like one to Song Lan. But he wasn’t going to argue.

He asked Xingchen about it later, when Chengmei was out. “Do you know what happened?”

“He told a story once,” Xingchen said. “About a child who was tricked by some cultivators and ended up beaten because of it. I don’t know for certain, but I suspect it is related to that story, though he told it as though it happened to someone else.”

The hair on the back of Song Lan’s neck prickled suddenly, though he couldn’t identify why. “So he was young,” he said.

“It’s certainly an old injury,” Xingchen said. “So yes, I believe so.”

Chengmei said he came ‘from the gutter.’ It must have been back then, before he’d cultivated his own golden core. He’d never mentioned parents; who had cared for him?

He remembered Chengmei saying for every two orphans your shifu might’ve adopted there’re ten more that’ll die young and hungry. The way he’d sounded, and Song Lan had to wonder, did anyone?

The prickling got stronger. Tricked by some cultivators. What sort of resentment would that breed in a child?

What might that child do with that resentment?

Something was taking shape at the back of his mind. Creeping closer. But he didn’t dare to look at it too closely.

It was a familiar dream. He was approaching Baixue, steps swift and sure. He didn’t want to miss the celebration. He knew what was coming and tried to slow, not wanting to see again, but momentum carried him forward.

He stepped over the threshold, but there were no bodies. The courtyard was empty except for one person standing in the center, sword held casually at his side, smile as self-satisfied as Song Lan remembered it; the last thing he’d ever seen.

“Hey, Song-daozhang,” he said. “Long time no see.”

He sauntered forward. Song Lan stood frozen in place, unable to move, unable to reach for Fuxue. “Where are they,” he asked.

“It’s just you and me,” Xue Yang said. “Me and you.” There was something about his voice.

“What do you want,” Song Lan asked, his voice trembling.

Xue Yang closed in on him. He reached up with his left hand and laid it against Song Lan’s face, the texture of his half-glove rough against his skin; Song Lan tried to flinch away but his body wasn’t his own.

“Oh, Song-daozhang,” he said. “You’re so dumb sometimes.” His voice. What was it about his voice? Xue Yang leaned up on his toes, his breath warm against Song Lan’s lips.

“It’s like you don’t know me,” he said, voice sweet and lilting, and kissed him.

Song Lan woke up. And he knew.

That voice. He knew it very well, because he’d been hearing it for months.

Any friend of Daozhang’s is a friend of mine.

Xue Yang.

His first instinct was to go to Xingchen and tell him everything. Xingchen, the one you’ve been living with all this time is–

But what would that do to Xingchen? How badly would it hurt him to know the truth? He already bore so much guilt for all that had gone wrong, what Xue Yang had done to them both. To learn that he’d been tricked, that his dear friend – his lover – was actually his enemy…it would undo him. Too much for Xingchen’s tender heart to bear.

He had to deal with this quietly. Catch Chengmei – Xue Yang – on his own, and…he was fairly certain he could defeat him in a fight.

And kill him? How would he explain his sudden death to Xingchen? His grief then would be terrible as well, and if he simply disappeared that wouldn’t be any better. And if he were to ever learn that it was by Song Lan’s hand? He flinched.

More worryingly, he found that imagining it, driving his sword through Xue Yang’s body, made him feel ill.

Song Lan rolled out of bed and stood up, lurching out of the room, out of the house. He stood outside breathing deeply of the cold air and trying to clear his whirling mind. It should be simple. It should be easy. He knew the right thing to do and yet he found himself hesitating.

Three years…three years Xue Yang had been here, with Xingchen, and done him no harm. He made Xingchen laugh. He made Xingchen…happy.

Heavens help him, he’d made Song Lan like him.

What was he supposed to do about that?

The truth gnawed on Song Lan like a canker at his core.

Now that he knew, it seemed impossible that he could ever have missed it. How could he not have recognized that laugh, that voice? How could he not have known immediately who stood before him?

Not that it mattered now. All that mattered now was what he was going to do about it, and somehow he still had not decided. He knew what he should do, what he must do, and yet he had not.

“Can we go for a walk?” he asked Chengmei – Xue Yang.

“Uh,” Xue Yang said. “What for?”

“Just…” Song Lan cast about for a reasonable excuse that wasn’t I need to talk to you alone. If Xue Yang’s suspicions were roused… “I want to walk and I would like company.”

“Sure,” Xue Yang said, to his relief. “A-Qing! When Daozhang gets back tell him I’m out with Song-daozhang, all right?”

“I’m not your messenger!”

“She’ll tell him,” Xue Yang said. “Come on, let’s go.”

Song Lan followed the sound of him out of the yizhuang. He stayed silent, alert to Xue Yang’s movements as they left the house and moved through the streets, half-expecting him to do something horrible – but of course he didn’t. Shouted greetings to a few people on their way, guiding them – Song Lan realized – out of town.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“Out?” Xue Yang sounded quizzical. “Usually when you get antsy you don’t want to be around people.”

Song Lan’s stomach turned uneasily. It was strange to hear something he knew about himself from Xue Yang’s mouth. To know that Xue Yang knew him. “I’m not ‘antsy’,” he said.

“Whatever you want to call it,” Xue Yang said easily. “I’m surprised you want me around, actually. I’m going to start thinking you really do like me.” The strange blend of fondness and revulsion made Song Lan ill.

They were outside the walls now. It was a perfect opportunity for him to strike. He could draw his sword and strike Xue Yang down before he could react. Then–

His right hand clenched. He took a breath.

“Chengmei,” he said slowly.

“I knew it,” Xue Yang said. Song Lan frowned.

“Knew what?”

“I’m in trouble, aren’t I?” Song Lan tensed, but Xue Yang sounded more aggrieved than wary.

“In trouble for what?” Song Lan asked slowly.

“I don’t know,” Xue Yang said. “Something? You and Daozhang get so worked up about the weirdest stuff.”

“Like what?” Song Lan asked, curious in spite of himself. This wasn’t what he’d been planning on discussing, but…maybe it was still relevant.

There was a slight hitch that made Song Lan think Xue Yang had been thinking of something else when he said, “like how upset you got about it when I saved your ass with demonic cultivation, for one. I helped but all you could think about was how I did it.”

“Most people would feel the same way,” Song Lan said.

Xue Yang hummed. “I guess,” he said, though he sounded a little dubious. “Still, though. What is it?”

Song Lan hesitated. He hadn’t planned as far as what, exactly, he was going to say, and now that he was here he didn’t know how to begin.

“Wow,” Xue Yang said after a few moments of silence. “Must be serious.” Now he sounded warier. Song Lan pressed his lips together. What was he supposed to say? Should he simply confront Xue Yang about the truth, that he knew who he was? That seemed likely to end disastrously and in violence. A fight, where other people might be hurt.

Was he simply finding excuses to stay his hand?

“Why have you stayed here?” he asked, finally.

“What?” Xue Yang sounded blank.

“Why have you stayed here?” Song Lan repeated. “It’s not…a very nice place, and the living is hardly easy. You haven’t gotten…bored?”

“You asked that before, and I guess, sometimes,” Xue Yang said, but he sounded less wary now than slightly confused. “But it’s not…I don’t know, it’s not that bad. I’ve lived worse. Why?”

“Xingchen…” No. “I…” No. “You don’t like to talk about your past.”

“No, I don’t.” Xue Yang’s voice hardened. “You’re jumping all over the place, Song-daozhang. Can you get to the point?”

“Why not?”

“It’s not important,” Xue Yang said. “Daozhang doesn’t like to talk about his, either, or Qingqing about hers.”

“Yes, but…” Song Lan took a deep breath through his nose and let it out slowly. He was jumping all over the place, but he didn’t know how to get at what mattered. Didn’t know how to ask the questions he needed to ask.

Or maybe he already knew the answers.

“Why did you pick up demonic cultivation?”

“I wanted to survive,” Xue Yang said shortly. “Is that what this is about?”

“I’m just trying to…figure you out,” Song Lan said weakly.

“Figure me out? Like I’m a puzzle?”

“You are,” Song Lan said. For some reason that made Xue Yang laugh, the tension in the air releasing.

“To you, maybe,” he said. “But that’s you all over. Making things more complicated than they need to be.”

“I don’t make things complicated,” Song Lan protested.

“Yeah, you do,” Xue Yang said. “Getting all tied up in knots about what you want, for one. Sometimes when you want something you should just take it.”

Claws pricked at Song Lan’s heart. “But what if it would be wrong,” he said.

“According to who?”

According to me. According to everything I believe. “The laws of heaven and earth.” Xue Yang made a sort of pff noise.

“And you know what those are?”

“I know what I believe,” Song Lan said. It was too easy to fall into familiar patterns of argument, to forget why he was here, why he was having this conversation, who he was speaking to and what he’d done.

“Believing isn’t knowing,” Xue Yang said. “You could be wrong.”

“I do know, though,” Song Lan said. “I know it’s wrong.”

“Why?”

Because you killed my temple, murdered my shifu, blinded me and caused Xingchen to blind himself. Your hands are soaked with blood and it is my duty to bring you to justice.

But he didn’t want to.

“Your hand,” he said abruptly, and felt the tension return. He hurried on. “Was it…an accident?”

“No,” Xue Yang said after a couple of moments, his voice flat as still water.

“If you crossed paths with the person who did that to you,” Song Lan said, “what would you do?”

“Nothing you’d like,” Xue Yang said.

“You would hurt him,” Song Lan translated.

“Yeah,” Xue Yang said after a brief pause.

“Is there anything that would stop you?” Another pause, this one somewhat longer. Song Lan worked saliva into his mouth. “What if it would hurt Xingchen?”

Xue Yang exhaled loudly. “I don’t know,” he said after a little while. “I don’t really do hypotheticals, Song-daozhang. Things happen or they don’t.”

“But you don’t want to hurt him,” Song Lan pressed. “Do you?”

“No,” Xue Yang said. “What’s this all about, anyway?”

You’re groping for excuses, said a voice in his mind that sounded a great deal like his sternest shijie. She was dead, now, killed by this man he was speaking to so calmly.

“Wouldn’t that be reason enough to hold yourself back?” he asked, without answering.

“Maybe,” Xue Yang said. “I guess. I don’t know. It’d depend.”

“On what?”

“On a lot of things.” Xue Yang was starting to sound irritated. “Seriously, Song-daozhang, what’s going on?”

He wasn’t going to act. He didn’t know what he was looking for, what he hoped to hear. Pressing his lips together, he shook his head.

“It isn’t important,” he said wearily.

“So am I in trouble or not?” Xue Yang asked. Song Lan exhaled slowly.

“Not yet,” he said, which made Xue Yang laugh, even though Song Lan hadn’t exactly meant it as a joke.

“What’s troubling you?” Xingchen asked, and Song Lan froze.

“Troubling me?” he repeated, to avoid answering immediately. Xingchen made a quiet noise.

“Yes,” he said, sounding tentative, worried. “Something clearly is, and has been for the past few days. I would…can you speak to me about it?”

No. Absolutely not. Song Lan considered trying to deny it, but it would be foolish to try and he didn’t want to lie to Xingchen. Not directly. You’re lying to him right now by keeping knowledge from him, murmured a guilty voice that he ignored.

“It is…” Song Lan pressed his lips together. “I need to consider it further.”

“Could I not help you think through it?” The worry in Xingchen’s voice intensified, and Song Lan turned toward him.

“It’s not you,” he said quickly. “You’ve done nothing wrong.”

Xingchen’s quiet sigh told him that he’d been right to clarify that much. But his relief didn’t last long, and he still sounded worried when he said, “you’re still troubled by something.”

In the past, the two of them had often considered ethical questions. But they had always been theoretical, and nothing like the present situation. His guilt deepened. To keep something so important from Xingchen…and yet to tell him the truth would surely ruin everything.

Could ignorance ever be a good thing?

“I am,” he said slowly. “But I don’t want to trouble you.”

“I don’t mind.”

You would, if you knew what I was considering. Song Lan shook his head. “Not now,” he said. “I’m sorry, Xingchen, but I need to consider this on my own.”

“May I ask why?” Xingchen asked.

Song Lan paused again, then said, “Chengmei kissed me.” It wasn’t connected, but it was, too.

Xingchen was quiet briefly before he said, “oh.”

“I’m sorry,” Song Lan said, cringing. “It caught me by surprise, and– but I know you and he–” He swallowed. “He said…he claimed your only objection would be that you couldn’t…do so yourself.”

“Oh,” Xingchen said again, after another pause. Song Lan winced.

“I understand if you’re angry,” he said. “You should be angry.”

“I’m not angry,” Xingchen said, but he sounded dazed.

“But…” Song Lan groped for words. “It was a betrayal. Of you.”

Xingchen stayed silent. Song Lan’s heart sank.

“There are lines I should not cross,” he said helplessly. “Rules I should not break. And yet I did. I have. I don’t want to hurt you, Xingchen. The last thing I want is to hurt you.”

Xingchen took an unsteady breath. “I know,” he said.

“But I have,” Song Lan said.

“He wasn’t wrong,” Xingchen said suddenly. His voice sounded distant, strange. Song Lan stumbled over his next words.

“What?”

“I would have…I do want to. I never – I don’t assume that you –”

Song Lan let out an explosive breath, blood rushing to his head. “You want to…”

“I miss you,” Xingchen said quietly. “I miss you so much, Zichen.”

Song Lan’s lips parted. He started to reach out, hesitated. “Xingchen,” he said. “I…” He swallowed hard. “If someone was a witness to something terrible, is their obligation to speak out about it?”

“Yes,” Xingchen said immediately. “Of course.”

“What if their speaking would cause something terrible itself?” Song Lan asked. “Is it still their obligation, or would doing so simply double the evil done?”

Xingchen hesitated. It wasn’t an answer, but it was a hesitation. “Zichen,” he said, and stopped. When he spoke again, it was slowly. “I think it depends,” he said. “On what they witnessed, and what it means for the people involved. And what shape the evil it would cause takes.”

Song Lan took a breath. “Let us say – an extreme. A death. And the speaking would bring more death.”

“There is no weighing the value of one life against another,” Xingchen said.

“Each death is an immeasurable wrong,” Song Lan said. “An immeasurable loss. But to bring it about knowingly, intentionally…”

“Why are you asking this, Zichen?” Xingchen said. There was something strangely gentle in his voice. Song Lan bit the inside of his cheek.

“You asked what troubles me,” Song Lan said. “It is this. A – a hypothetical, for now. But I have wondered if…what would you do, if someday you learned that Chengmei had committed some great crime?”

There was a long pause. Song Lan waited for the question. What do you know? It was the logical thing to ask.

“I told you already,” Xingchen said at length. “I’ve already chosen to judge him by who he is now.”

Song Lan felt his shoulders drop. And found himself wondering, suddenly, if the truth wasn’t quite so much a secret. Or else if there was an unspoken understanding that the question wouldn’t be asked.

“Forgiveness isn’t mine to grant for whatever wrongs lie in his past,” Xingchen said. “But I…I think I can decide that much.”

Song Lan inhaled slowly. “I miss you,” he said. “I have missed you.”

Xingchen’s hand found his and laced their fingers together. His touch made Song Lan’s skin tingle, but not unpleasantly.

“I’m here now,” he said.

It felt as though everything should have changed. Song Lan knew that wasn’t how it worked – that more often than not what was earth-shattering to one person meant nothing at all to anyone else – but the sheer normalcy with which life went on felt bizarre, almost perverse.

Xue Yang went on with his customary activities, apparently unaware of Song Lan’s new knowledge. A-Qing behaved exactly the same as she always had, though now the way she sassed Xue Yang made Song Lan tense. Xingchen…

Xingchen was happy. From Xingchen’s point of view, things must seem nearly ideal. There was a bitterness to that thought followed by a wave of guilt. He should not envy ignorance. Should be grateful for the truth.

He had never been less grateful for it.

He tried to meditate, but found his focus fracturing, again and again.

“Hey, Song-daozhang!”

Song Lan exhaled slowly, unclenching his fists. He turned his head reluctantly.

“What is it?” he asked. Strike now, murmured his conscience. While you have the chance. No one would condemn you. It would be justice for those he has killed.

“Still in a bad mood, huh?”

“What makes you say that,” Song Lan said.

“You’re not that subtle,” Xue Yang said. His footsteps drew closer and he sat down next to Song Lan, close enough that Song Lan could feel his warmth. He should have wanted to cringe from it more than he did.

“It’s fine,” he said.

“Uh huh,” Xue Yang said. “Daozhang’s going to start worrying you’re upset with him.”

Xingchen would worry about that, when he should be worrying about something else. Song Lan sighed again.

“What do you want?” he asked bluntly.

“Nothing,” Xue Yang said. “Just came over to see what you were doing.”

“Meditating,” Song Lan said.

“No you weren’t,” Xue Yang said. “I can tell when you’re meditating. You were just sitting here thinking too hard.”

The corners of Song Lan’s mouth tugged downward. “There’s no such thing as thinking too hard.”

“Sure there is,” Xue Yang said. “And you and Daozhang both do it all the time. Thinking yourselves into knots. Or are you going to tell me that’s not what you’re doing?”

Song Lan supposed that he did feel…knotted. Tangled. He didn’t answer, and Xue Yang laughed, but it wasn’t a cruel sound. “See? Thought so.”

“What do you recommend, then,” Song Lan said. A feeling of unreality struck him: how calmly he was sitting here, talking to Xue Yang. How easy it felt. How…comfortable.

“Think less,” Xue Yang said promptly. Song Lan shook his head, and Xue Yang laughed again, his shoulder suddenly brushing, briefly, against Song Lan’s.

“You seem to think a great deal yourself,” Song Lan said.

Xue Yang hummed. “I guess so,” he said. “It’s different, though.”

“How so?”

“I worry less, for one thing,” Xue Yang said. “You’re always thinking, what if, what if. There’s no point in what ifs. They’re just distractions from what is.”

“Live in the present,” Song Lan said.

“You never know if you’re going to have a future,” Xue Yang said. “I could be dead tomorrow. What good does it do me to fret about it?”

Song Lan shook his head again. “You don’t fear death?”

“No,” Xue Yang said. “Why should I? I’ve been living a step away from it my whole life.”

“For many, that would make the fear more acute,” Song Lan said.

“Not for me,” Xue Yang said. “Sooner or later, it’ll catch up. Could be tomorrow or the day after or a year from now. I’d rather live without being scared for as long as I have than cower like that’ll give me extra time.”

I could kill you now, Song Lan thought. I should kill you now. And you must know it’s a possibility, that if either I or Xingchen realized who you are…

And yet he seemed unconcerned. Assured of his own safety? Or else, perhaps, at ease with the knowledge of its fragility. If that was it, Song Lan envied him.

“Are you scared of dying, Song-daozhang?” Xue Yang asked. He sounded genuinely curious. Not a threat, though Song Lan found himself searching for it.

“I don’t spend a great deal of time thinking about it,” he said.

“Guess you can get away with that, on the path to cultivating to immortality and all,” Xue Yang said.

“You don’t think you will?”

“Ah, no,” Xue Yang said. “I was always going to die young.”

The sheer confidence with which he stated that, the seeming ease of the assumption, made Song Lan feel a little sad.

“Hey! Asshole! C’mere and help!” came A-Qing’s voice from across the courtyard.

“Ugh,” Xue Yang said. “Guess I’d better go see what the little blind brat wants. See you later, Song-daozhang!” And in a flurry of air and whisper of robes, he was gone, leaving Song Lan alone with his thoughts, with his doubts.

It was so strange, experiencing Xue Yang like this. Not the monster of his nightmares, but a person, clever and playful and full of life. It would have been so much easier had he never come to know Xue Yang as someone else, someone he could care about. If he’d recognized him immediately, and struck without mercy.

But it was too late for that now.

What purpose would ruining this serve? Baixue Temple would still be gone. He would still be blind, and Xingchen would still have given up his own sight for no purpose. Justice demanded Xue Yang’s death but Song Lan was no longer certain he was the one to mete it out.

He was no longer certain he had the will to mete it out. And if that shamed him, if that sunk guilt like teeth to the bone…it did not change his reluctance.

And what if Xingchen did already know the truth, and had decided to do nothing? What did that mean? Did he have the right to feel betrayed by that (as he did, a little), or not, because he was now committing the same betrayal himself?

He could keep telling himself he was staying his hand out of worry for the consequences, for the potential collateral damage. But what it was, at the core, was the fact that he didn’t want Chengmei gone, and Chengmei was Xue Yang. Xue Yang was Chengmei. The two of them inseparable. Losing one would mean losing the other.

And what if he just…let it be?

Said nothing. Did nothing. The world would go on turning, as it had gone on turning after his had been torn apart. There would be monsters to hunt, ghosts to appease, people to save.

There would be moments of happiness, bright and beautiful.

Maybe someday there would be more than moments.

He stood at a fork in the road, gazing down two paths. One led to righteousness, and one to peace. Perhaps he should take the former. The him of five years ago, wouldn’t have hesitated. But the cost…and he knew better, now, how precious peace could be.

He should take the former. But deep down, Song Lan knew he’d already made his choice. Had already started walking down the road to peace, and only had to admit it to himself.

Only had to find a way to reconcile himself to it.

He woke up early the next morning, before anyone else, and went outside to breathe deeply of the crisp, cool air. It was starting to turn toward winter. Maybe it would snow.

Song Lan sat down and remained there, waiting until he heard stirring inside. He knew it was Xingchen by the sound of his footsteps, but he didn’t go to speak with him, waiting until he heard Xue Yang’s voice as well.

“Where’s Song-daozhang?”

“Outside,” Xingchen said.

A moment later he heard “Song-daozhang!” called behind him. He stayed where he was, not rising.

“Good morning,” he said. His true name was on the tip of his tongue, and Song Lan swallowed it back. To speak it would be to break this precious thing. Forgiveness isn’t mine to grant for whatever wrongs lie in his past.

I’ve chosen to judge him by who he is now.

“What are you doing out here? It’s cold.”

“Just sitting,” Song Lan said. “Sometimes a little cold is bracing.”

“Not for me,” Xue Yang said, sounding aggrieved. “Come on, come inside.”

Song Lan breathed out slowly. He rose, turned.

“Yes,” he said. “I think I will.”