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Mornings in the secret garden were always the most pleasant. The light was still pale and gentle, easy to exist in, and it shone on the dew left behind by a night of coolness. The air was sweet, and everything in the world felt young again. He felt young. It was miraculous, just like stepping through the castle door and then out the cottage door; just like Wei Ying.
Mornings were also the most pleasant because of Wei Ying— Lan Zhan in his old age had long since stopped trying to deny it. No sense in pretending things were any different from the way they really were. Wei Ying always accompanied Lan Zhan to the garden at daybreak, to “do his part for the shop”, gathering tulips and bluebells, primroses and poppies and attractive little sprigs of greenery. Lan Zhan liked to watch Wei Ying flit about until his cheeks grew rosy, like he too was coming to bloom under the early dawn sunlight.
It was funny, funny and strange, that Wei Ying seemed to share his mysterious wizard youth with Lan Zhan whenever they were together. Lan Zhan didn’t need to peer into any mirror; he could feel it in his bones and his heart that he was young. His soul had never been young. From birth it had been a shriveled up sort of thing, the kind that only ever seemed to unfurl properly in poets and painters. But that part of him felt young too, around Wei Ying.
“Lan Zhan! Lan Zhan come see, a butterfly!” Lan Zhan came quickly out of his reverie to find that the butterfly Wei Ying was shrieking about had perched itself right on top of his nose— and that he was now making a very cute cross-eyed expression, stuck awkwardly bent in half so as not to frighten the thing away. Probably it felt young and happy around Wei Ying too, although butterflies never really got old, they just died.
“I see it,” he assured Wei Ying, and approached slowly to admire it. His lips twitched a bit as he took in the streaks and speckles of blue and black across the delicate upper wings, and the dappled red hind wings. “It is a chestnut tiger. They are quite lovely, aren’t they?”
Indeed, this particular butterfly was one of his favorites, for its coloring and for the gentle way it seemed to caress the air in flight. He almost felt bad that Wei Ying could not enjoy the beauty of it, despite it being right in front of his nose. Perhaps there were more of them flitting throughout the garden this morning that he could admire?
“Yeah,” Wei Ying breathed, only when Lan Zhan looked at him, his eyes had gone uncrossed and he was looking back at Lan Zhan instead of the butterfly. Oh. Lan Zhan looked away very quickly, trying to ignore the way his ears were heating, and not because of the rising sun.
The butterfly was, astoundingly, still making itself comfortable on top of Wei Ying’s nose. Maybe it could sense the sweetness and purity of Wei Ying’s heart, and wanted to take a little bit for itself. Selfish, but Lan Zhan could hardly begrudge the little thing. Maybe it would spread that sweetness to all the flowers it went on to pollinate later. That would be nice, Lan Zhan thought, just one more way in which Wei Ying made the world a better place.
Wei Ying himself had barely moved throughout all of this, a wildly impressive feat in Lan Zhan’s opinion. The butterfly’s wings were pulsating languidly, giving it the impression of drawing breath along with the rest of the world around them. Wei Ying’s eyes were so, so tender. Finally, he stood back up to his full, regal height, and their butterfly friend at last began its journey to the wider garden.
“Say, Lan Zhan, do you know the story of the butterfly lovers? Liang Shanbo and Zhu Yingtai?” He plopped himself to the ground as quickly as he had stood up. Then he patted the patch of grass next to him in invitation, took Lan Zhan’s basket from him and began sorting through the morning’s collection.
“Mn. I know it well. Mother often told us the story— brother and I, that is.” As a young child, before mother’s death, stories and myths had been such a vital part of his home. Lan Zhan struggled to recall a happier memory than that of being curled up in his mother’s lap after supper, and feeling the soothing vibrations of her voice against his cheek as she narrated fantastical legends to him and Lan Huan.
Lan Zhan felt closer to her than ever these days, whether that was because his body was now closer to the heavens or because he found himself in the midst of one such fantastical legend, he did not know. He didn’t care to ponder it either, and so turned his attention back to Wei Ying. Wei Ying was smiling gently at nothing in particular, and the sight made Lan Zhan’s heart feel as fluttery as the butterfly’s wings.
“It’s my favourite legend of all time,” Wei Ying admitted, “so romantic and tragic and bold.”
Of course Wei Ying would find himself drawn to this legend in particular. To choose love above all else, despite the suffering and scorn; it was how he lived his life everyday. Wei Ying might have viewed himself as a coward always on the run from duty and an unwinnable war, but Lan Zhan saw him differently. Lan Zhan saw that everything he did, it was out of love. Love of helping others, love of having fun, love of life itself. Lan Zhan saw this quite clearly, even if Wei Ying himself did not.
“Brother always got sad at the end of it, after the lovers are turned into butterflies,” Lan Zhan said quietly. “But I think the ending is pleasing. To roam the world freely with the one you love— it would be like a dream.” He was always more candid in the garden, he was used to it by now, but such open conversations about love were still a bit startling to him. His spine curved inward, and his hands clenched in dirt and warm grass. He pressed his lips together.
“Oh yes, Lan Zhan, exactly!” Wei Ying exclaimed, and he was beaming now. “You understand it, don’t you? The whole universe just waiting to be discovered, every day filled with something new and beautiful? And all of it shared with the one dearest to you? Aiyah, how lucky they are...”
I am beginning to, Lan Zhan thought. He inclined his head so that Wei Ying would know, too. Wei Ying, with you, I am beginning to understand exactly that.
When they returned to the castle through the portal, they would have another day to face, enemies to hide from, and a life to earn. Lan Zhan would still have a spell to break. Life went on like that, and it gave a person wrinkles and backaches and heartaches to show for it. All that was left to do was persevere.
But here in this secret place of open sky and butterflies and Wei Ying, such a beautiful dream didn’t seem impossible— it seemed already his.
“Lan Zhan-ah, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying sighed, and tossed his beautiful head back to take in everything the world around them had to offer, and Lan Zhan felt it to be the most precious moment in all his life. “May we all find our butterfly lovers some day.”
The end.