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Every morning Lan Xichen wakes in Meng Yao's bed and experiences a frisson when Meng Yao smiles at him from his makeshift pallet on the floor. There is the nervous thrill of realising he is not wearing his ribbon, and the determined thrill of remembering that he owes Meng Yao not just his life but the very lifeblood of his clan.
When they leave the bookkeeper and begin their journey, Lan Xichen feels as though he is walking half-naked in public. He believes he has disguised his discomfort well enough, but on their second day of travel Meng Yao buys him a bamboo hat at the latest village and tells him it's to keep off the sun. But he also binds a spare piece of silk beneath the hat, so the fit is more comfortable, and the result is that Lan Xichen's forehead is covered.
"Gongzi could wear his ribbon beneath, if he wishes," says Meng Yao.
"Lan Xichen will not take such a risk," says Lan Xichen. "But he thanks Meng-gongzi for his thoughtfulness."
Meng Yao smiles at him, because Meng Yao always smiles at him, and he smiles back because he always smiles back.
Lan Xichen owns nothing except that which is beyond price, but several days later when they dare to visit a local market he is able to trade a flute he has carved for a small basket of water chestnuts and an extra blanket because Meng Yao gets cold at night. He does not say this, specifically; merely observes that he thinks it might be useful, and that evening insists that he is perfectly warm.
Seeing Meng Yao wrapped in two layers of hemp and silk provides him with a small glow of achievement and makes the night easier to bear when he wakes from nightmares of smoke and screams.
They continue to travel on foot even when news reaches them that Lan Qiren has taken Gusu back from the Wen. Meng Yao is adamant that while Lan Xichen bears the Lan library it is too risky for him to fly through skies filled with Wen cultivators. Lan Xichen knows he is right, even as Shufu was right to help him push sacred scrolls and spiritual tomes into a qiankun bag while flames licked the talismans protecting the library doors. But it is not easy.
By day they walk and by night they sleep. Lan Xichen teaches Meng Yao a number of techniques for cleansing the dead, and yet more techniques to defend himself against the living. Meng Yao lacks a spiritual sword, but his mind is sharp as any blade and he is soon adept at the talismans that silence and conceal, passing between the trees and grasses so deftly that at times even Lan Xichen can sense neither hide nor hair of him.
In turn, Lan Xichen learns how to harvest bamboo shoots and cook them until they are soft enough to eat. He learns how to alter his speech, to mimic the tones and utterances common to the peasants of Jiangsu. He learns that Meng Yao still dreams of his father's recognition, and he soothes himself to sleep each night with a promise to himself that soon he will be able to offer Meng Yao assistance, to repay a few drops of the vast ocean of his debt.
Sometimes he does not dream of fire or his mother smiling through her tears. Sometimes he dreams of Meng Yao: Meng Yao in gold, with the red of his good fortune shining on his forehead. It makes Lan Xichen smile in the morning, even as the Wen circle overhead like harriers.
It is strange that even as his grieving heart yearns toward home, and even as he must guard himself against the folly of impatience, there is a part of him that is at peace; the animal part of him that does not know past or future but only the present in which he has food and companionship and a gentle sun shining down on him.
And then one night the glitter of swords amidst the clouds is not only that of the Wen. Overhead fly three white specks, brighter than the stars, hurtling across the dim sky pursued by a great tongue of flame.
Lan Xichen is on his feet, his cup of weakened tea lost on the ground.
"A-Yao."
"Go," says Meng Yao, and Lan Xichen draws Shuoyue for the first time since his desperate flight and he takes to the sky like a thunderclap. He is clad in shabby grey and his forehead is bare, and yet he sees the recognition in the eyes of the Wen cultivators who are pursuing his people.
He has also learned that he must go for the kill.
Seven guqin strings wrap around seven throats, and seven bodies tumble through the air in a rain of blood.
Lan Xichen stands steady on his sword as the wind tears through his hair, and the familiar faces of three cousins stare back at him in blanched shock. He cannot seem to make his mouth form the smile this moment deserves.
And then the thirty other Wen cultivators rise from their hiding place beneath the canopy.
Afterwards, Meng Yao cannot be found. There is no trace of him in the blackened swathe of forest destroyed during the battle, and no trace of him in the surviving greenery.
Their little camp is intact, but Meng Yao's pack is gone along with most of their shared possessions—about as much as one man could carry alone. So Lan Xichen does not believe A-Yao is dead, but he also does not know where he has gone, and he cannot shake his disquiet even as he loses himself in the bitter joy of homecoming.
He does not remain long in Gusu. He goes where he is needed: to people who are filled with terror, people who have lost everything to the fires, who are smoke-stained and starving and understand nothing of Wen ambition. They only know that the disputes of the cultivation clans have destroyed their lives, and at first they cringe from him as though he is Wen Ruohan himself come to burn them to cinders. It takes time before people begin to call out to him as a saviour and welcome his arrival rather than cowering in fear.
But he cannot save them all.
It is a reprieve to merely escort some fellow cultivators to Hejian. The week prior he helped evacuate a village whose inhabitants had to leave everything behind. So many villages lie far from the nearest town and have no means of quickly receiving news; Lan Xichen wearies of seeing the despairing faces of people who might have had more time to flee or prepare if only there had been a way to warn them.
On arrival Nie Mingjue is immediately visible, towering over his cultivators and issuing his typical brusque orders. Lan Xichen is already smiling when he catches sight of a familiar neat figure at Chifeng-zun's side.
"Welcome, Zewu-jun," says Meng Yao, and bows deeply. Lan Xichen's fingers itch to lift him out of the gesture. But he follows Meng Yao's lead and gives no indication that they have met before, though he sends a delighted, questioning look Meng Yao's way and is gladdened further when Meng Yao responds with a glance of acknowledgement and a deeper smile before leading them to an empty table.
Nie Mingjue has introduced Meng Yao as his deputy, but in practice it seems he is whatever the moment requires. He does not join them at the table, and pours the tea in the manner of a servant rather than a host. The strange necessities of war.
One by one, the cultivators Lan Xichen has just escorted handle the teacups Meng Yao has touched as though they are cursed objects. Some wipe their fingers on their sleeves.
Lan Xichen can do little, but he does what little he can. He accepts his cup and he meets Meng Yao's eyes as he thanks him, and he tries not to be too unworthily satisfied at the way some of the other cultivators begin to squirm. Meng Yao's polite smile does not waver throughout.
Lan Xichen has missed him.
Once they have refreshed themselves, Meng Yao leads them to the sleeping area. The other cultivators, still uncomfortable, are eager to claim a need to retire. Lan Xichen has rarely been more awake. Without the need for words, he and Meng Yao settle themselves in the room that is to be Lan Xichen's sleeping quarters.
"I apologise we cannot offer Zewu-jun more fitting accommodation," says Meng Yao.
"I am just pleased to find you here."
Meng Yao cannot disguise his pleasure either. His eyes are shining.
"This one apologises that he did not send word. Some of the Wen noticed his humble presence in the trees—I had to flee. But I remembered what you had said about the Qinghe Nie and their sore need for new recruits, so I travelled north."
Lan Xichen would like to say that there would have been a place for Meng Yao amongst the Lan if only he had gone south, but he holds his tongue. The Lan hold Gusu, but that is all they can manage. It is the Nie on the front lines; it is the Nie where there is the greatest chance for a new recruit to advance. And he suspects that Meng Yao would not have wanted to reach Gusu and by his presence reveal the great shame of Lan Xichen's flight and his concealment in safety as his clan suffered. Meng Yao is considerate to a fault.
"So you joined the Qinghe Nie. And now you are Mingjue-xiong's deputy."
Meng Yao's smile is modest now. Lan Xichen has never wanted to help anyone more in his life. He has never owed anyone what he owes Meng Yao.
"You once told me your hope was to earn your father's approval," he says. "Does your wish still stand?"
It is a long war.
The Nie medics have returned their weak and exhausted clan leader to his private medical tent and the front flap is bound tightly shut. Meng Yao’s gaze keeps flickering to the green and grey banners that lie lifeless in the dead air.
"He will be well," says Lan Xichen.
"It is to be hoped." Meng Yao's eyes are deferentially lowered, as though he has not even truly realised that he has made himself the greatest war hero in living memory. Lan Xichen examines him a moment longer, assessing.
"I will walk with you to your father's seat, should you wish for company."
"Thank you, Zewu-jun." Meng Yao glances up again, a smile on his lips and shining in his eyes. Lan Xichen smiles back, allowing himself only a moment of private regret that he still cannot invite Meng Yao to address him by name.
But it will not be long now until Meng Yao can call Lan Xichen by his name in public without fear of being perceived as overly familiar. Twice he has gone to his father, once bearing a pearl token and once a letter of recommendation. This time he will bring nothing but himself and Jin Guangshan will be eager to recognise him.
Lan Xichen is happy for him.
There is no need to voice concern. They both know what kind of man Jin Guangshan is. He wants Meng Yao because he wants to claim his achievements as his own, and he is not motivated by paternal affection or remorse. But Meng Yao survived in Nightless City under Wen Ruohan. In comparison, being legitimated by his greedy father will feel like a sinecure.
They walk in companionable silence. Lan Xichen pays attention to their surroundings: the ravaged buildings, the carts bearing away corpses for extermination and burial. He is thinking of his clan and how he will no longer need to be away so often; and yet how he has grown used to the independence of leaving the mountain for long stretches at a time. He is worrying about Wangji.
But he also keeps looking at Meng Yao, who is no longer a bookkeeper's assistant wrapped in a cheap blanket but instead a cultivator with a unique spiritual sword curled about his waist.
Others are looking too. As they approach the section of the city that has been claimed by the Jin Clan, there are a number of cultivators in gold-edged robes engaged in hauling corpses, exterminating spirits, and gathering abandoned treasures. All attempt to disguise their stares; some more successfully than others. Meng Yao's expression does not flicker. He does not spare anyone so much as a single glance.
Jin Guangshan has set up his temporary seat in the ruins of the Palace of Sun and Flame. The Nie had been in too much disarray to challenge him, and the Lan and the Jiang too few. Lan Xichen does not like to think of how Nie Mingjue will react when he hears, and is already considering how best to smooth ruffled feathers. The Jin milling at the entrance don't appear the least concerned, and are swaggering around as though they won the war single-handed.
Still, Lan Xichen takes it as a very good sign that when they see Meng Yao there is a subtle yet unmissable skirmish to determine who receives the honour of greeting him.
The sharp-elbowed successful Jin cultivator steps in front of his fellows and bows deeply to Meng Yao.
"Jin-gongzi. Your father awaits within." A glance at Lan Xichen. "He is eager to hear more details of the success of his plan to send you to act against Wen Ruohan."
Lan Xichen continues to smile serenely, and marks that Meng Yao's smile also remains unwavering. Meng Yao answers with the same gentle courtesy as always.
"I am eager to oblige my father." Now it is his turn to glance at Lan Xichen, and though it is impossible to read his expression there is also no need. Meng Yao survived Wen Ruohan; no matter his father's personal failings, he has finally recognised his son's worth and will surely ensure he rises high enough that his glory reflects on his entire clan. "Thank you for accompanying me, Zewu-jun."
"It is always a pleasure to keep company with A-Yao," says Lan Xichen, because it is true and because he is aware it will do Meng Yao favours if this Jin disciple spreads the word that their clan leader's newly-acknowledged son is on intimate terms with Zewu-jun.
Meng Yao's smile deepens as he leaves Lan Xichen's side and follows the disciple up the steps that lead to the palace. Lan Xichen watches him go. He is not free of apprehension, but he is glad beyond words that his dearest friend has now earned what he has always deserved.
Lan Xichen has only returned home for a day or two when Jin Guangyao first visits the Cloud Recesses. It is early summer, and there is no serene blanket of snow to disguise the ruined buildings, charred paths and fallen trees.
Jin Guangyao is a welcome spot of colour amidst the blackened ruins and the stark white robes of the cultivators carrying out the painstaking work of salvage and preparation for the long task of restoration. His robes are rich yellows, the gauze cap is edged in shining gold, and the vermilion mark on his forehead seems to glow. But nothing is as bright as his smile when he sees Lan Xichen approach.
Lan Xichen smiles in answer, and notes the ache in his own chest, as though he is a piece of iron in the presence of a lodestone.
The guards are under instructions to allow Lianfang-zun immediate entry, so Jin Guangyao is already beyond the charred gate when he bows, and Lan Xichen is able to finally do what he has always longed to do. He reaches out and catches Jin Guangyao's arms.
"There is no need, A-Yao." The yellow silk is soft and warm under his fingertips. He realises he has not said enough. "There has never been any need."
Jin Guangyao's eyes shine and a dimple shows in each cheek. He shakes out his sleeves as Lan Xichen releases him.
"Zewu-jun shows this humble one too much honour."
"There is no honour too high for Lianfang-zun," rejoins Lan Xichen. He has missed their games. "Come, you are a distinguished guest. Allow me to make you comfortable."
They stroll together down a path that has been partly restored, the tangled regrowth clipped back and the white stones raked. The worst of the ashes have been used to compost newly-planted saplings, but the collapsed remains of the elegant beams and exquisite roofs cannot be disguised. Lan Xichen apologises for the state of the paths and the fact that he cannot receive Jin Guangyao in the manner he deserves, and Jin Guangyao demurs and expresses his pleasure at being able to see Lan Xichen's home.
Past the worst of the ruins lie greener and cleaner areas, where the bulk of the cultivators engaged in the rebuilding have set up residence. Lan Xichen explains that they intend to reestablish their home exactly as it had been before the fire, and does not volunteer his own sentiments on the matter; there was never any question that to rebuild would be to recreate.
Jin Guangyao asks a number of intelligent questions, and a small frown creases his brow when Lan Xichen speaks of longer term plans. But, after all, the Lan are weakened and impoverished by war. Rebuilding the Cloud Recesses will be the work of many decades.
Lan Xichen has been spending most of what little time is his own in the small house where the gentians grow, but his uncle would not consider it an appropriate place to receive guests. Instead he leads Jin Guangyao to the temporary residence that has been set aside for him while work commences on the destroyed Hanshi.
A smile tugs at Jin Guangyao's mouth as Lan Xichen politely laments the inadequacy of the hospitality on offer. Perhaps he is remembering their shared nights in his cramped room behind the bookkeeper's office when he responds with praise for the elegance and comfort of his host's temporary abode.
Once they are both seated, Lan Xichen takes sincere pleasure in pouring the tea, which he has never been able to do for Jin Guangyao before.
"I hope all is well at Golden Carp Tower. Wangji and I are looking forward to attending the Flower Banquet."
"All is well. My father has even allowed me to assist with the preparations."
Lan Xichen doubts whether Jin Zixuan has ever assisted in the preparation of a banquet or other event in his life, but is diplomatic enough not to make this remark. Jin Guangyao has not expressed dissatisfaction at the role his father clearly wishes him to play.
"Then I am certain things will be a great success." Here is a more delicate topic. "I presume Mingjue-xiong will also be present."
"Of course. Chifeng-zun has already confirmed he will be attend." Jin Guangyao takes another sip of tea. "I hope it is because he understands the importance of strengthening the bonds between our clans and celebrating our shared victory, but I suspect he also wants to keep an eye on the Lanling Jin." Another sip. "And me."
"A-Yao, at Nightless City Mingjue-xiong was grievously injured and reacted badly. Now some time has passed and he has had time to reflect, I'm sure he has realised your actions were undertaken for the greater good. You have proven your worth and integrity for all to see."
"I hope Zewu-jun is right." Jin Guangyao sounds doubtful.
"I'm sure of it."
"I have been helping my father find promising young cultivators to induct as guest disciples," says Jin Guangyao. He puts down his cup and folds his hands neatly in his lap. "We have recruited Xue Yang of Kuizhou."
Lan Xichen is startled, and before he can answer Jin Guangyao sighs.
"Chifeng-zun will blame me when he hears of it, but what could I do? My father wants gifted disciples, and Xue Yang is a rare talent. I can't defy his wishes."
"Your position is difficult," Lan Xichen agrees. And no doubt Jin Guangyao is telling him this now so he is not blindsided later on—by Xue Yang or by the fact that Jin Guangshan has already enlisted his newly-acknowledged son to carry out some of the dirty work that would never be delegated to Jin Zixuan.
Having made his point, the anxiety creasing Jin Guangyao's brow fades and his smile returns.
"There are also advantages to my position. This humble one now has access to resources he could never previously have imagined. I will also be able to do much good."
"Of that I have no doubt," says Lan Xichen warmly. There is no telling what Jin Guangyao might achieve with the wealth and power that now lie at his fingertips. More than any other man, it is certain, because he possesses a combination of talent, vision and dedication no other can match.
"I have asked my father for the funds to cover the cost of rebuilding the Cloud Recesses," says Jin Guangyao.
It is not often that Lan Xichen is rendered speechless. Warmth floods his face, and there is answering colour in Jin Guangyao's smooth cheeks as he continues. He is keenly aware that this may place Zewu-jun in a difficult position, but his intention is to offer a gift without obligation. It is the jianghu's loss that a place of such tranquil beauty and deep wisdom has suffered such grievous hurt, and it is therefore in the jianghu's interests that the restoration be completed as quickly and as fully as possible. Jin Guangyao hopes that Zewu-jun will accept this gift, for which the Lanling Jin ask nothing in return. They wish only to contribute to the righting of the wrongs committed by the Wen-dogs.
Lan Xichen is not fooled, and he does not expect that Jin Guangyao believes he is, either. This is not a gift from the Jin to the Lan. This is a gift from Jin Guangyao to Lan Xichen.
There is still colour in Jin Guangyao's cheeks when he finishes speaking. His eyes are bright behind his lowered lashes and his breath is measured. Lan Xichen hesitates, not because he is unsure but because he wishes to choose his words with even greater care than usual.
"You once offered me your help," he says. "And you asked me if that was what I wanted."
Jin Guangyao nods. Likely he remembers the details of that moment more clearly than Lan Xichen ever could. But Lan Xichen remembers the golden light of the setting sun and the cool breeze on the exposed nape of his neck. He remembers the scent of the blossoms and the delight of holding Meng Yao's hand in his own. He remembers enough.
"Then you know you already have my answer." If he could he would reach across the table, to touch Jin Guangyao's slim fingers once more. Or perhaps instead he would sink to his knees and press his forehead to the floor.
By mutual agreement, the conversation soon returns to lighter subjects. They discuss books they have both enjoyed and share small anecdotes to make each other smile.
There is a strange feeling running through Lan Xichen as they sip their tea and converse as easily as they ever have. He takes a moment for reflection and realises it is happiness. This is what he had dreamed of when Meng Yao had been teaching him how to cook bamboo shoots: to share his company without the shadow of war or disgrace hanging over them.
He had not thought then that he could owe Jin Guangyao more than he already did. Jin Guangyao saved his life and restored him to his clan, and protected and preserved the most vital texts of their library, the very heart of their teachings. The Lan owe him everything whether they know it or not. And Lan Xichen the man also owes Jin Guangyao a debt that can never be repaid, and he feels it keenly.
But it is no use trying to empty an ocean cup by cup. He must instead learn to navigate the waters. He can never repay Jin Guangyao, so instead he offers a gift given purely on its own account.
"A-Yao, I had intended to wait until the end of your visit, but I must discuss something else with you. Please forgive my impetuousness."
"If Zewu-jun is ever impetuous, this one will most certainly forgive him," says Jin Guangyao with a glint in his eye. Even after years apart, Lan Xichen has not forgotten how to read him: the humble posture, the gleam of mischief that is hidden entirely in the presence of others. There is tension in his shoulders.
From his sleeve Lan Xichen retrieves a slender box of lacquered wood. With both hands he sets it on the table before Jin Guangyao, and Jin Guangyao gives him a searching look before reaching out and touching the lid. It's obvious he hasn't an inkling as to what the gift might be, and a slight indrawn breath betrays his shock when he lifts the lid to reveal the white gleam of a jade token.
If Nie Mingjue is suffering any lingering effects from his injuries at the hands of the Wen, Lan Xichen cannot tell. Chifeng-zun strides about the Unclean Realm's training ground as he always has, roaring at his disciples and demanding to know where Nie Huaisang is idling when he should instead be learning the set of forms he's been given.
Lan Xichen suspects his presence is the only reason Nie Huaisang earns a reprieve, but he cannot blame Nie Mingjue for his concern. His little brother spent the war in safety and comfort in Gusu, shielded by the Lan, and Lan Xichen cannot fault that decision: Nie Huaisang would not have lasted five minutes in the field. But the war is over now.
"He'll shape up," says Nie Mingjue.
"Have you explained to him that he will inherit sooner than either of you anticipated?"
"Not yet. He should work harder whether he knows or not." Nie Mingjue scowls out over the training ground, but when he looks back at Lan Xichen his cold stare warms fractionally. "I assume you're going to that nonsense banquet the Jin are planning?"
"Of course. Xiansheng must remain at the Cloud Recesses, but Wangji and I will attend. And I'm not convinced it's nonsense—I think we are all in sore need of celebration."
"Putting us all in further debt to the Jin," Nie Mingjue growls. "It was probably Meng Yao's idea."
"Neither the Lan nor the Jiang are capable of hosting something so extravagant at this time," says Lan Xichen mildly.
"And I wouldn't? You're right." Nie Mingjue does not look mollified. "All that means is they're taking advantage of an opportunity."
"If that is so, we will only play further into Jin Guangshan's hands by refusing to attend and appearing churlish." Lan Xichen isn't particularly ruffled by Nie Mingjue's hostility to the idea. There is no doubt at all that the Jin see the war's end as a chance to establish themselves as the pre-eminent cultivation clan, but that is no reason to react with aggression and risk another war that they can all ill-afford. Jin Guangshan has the common sense to know that too.
"We're also playing into the hands of his son," snaps Nie Mingjue. Lan Xichen decides this is at least preferable to the years in which he would not permit his former deputy to be mentioned in his presence.
"Can we not leave the war in the past? A-Yao has made mistakes, but so have we all. And he has sacrificed as much as any of us—alone, without even the company of friends or the support of his clan. He risked everything."
"And that gambit paid off." Nie Mingjue roars another criticism at a nearby disciple, who is struggling to hold a more advanced form, then looks back at Lan Xichen. "I haven't forgotten that he saved my life and passed us information, so don't remind me. His talents are unmatched, but his character is poor, and that father of his certainly won't lead him back onto the right path. He can't be trusted."
Of course Lan Xichen makes a brief visit to Golden Carp Tower on his way back from the Unclean Realm. It's only practical.
He is greeted by Jin Guangshan and Jin-furen, who are both simultaneously polite and eager to deposit their guest in Jin Guangyao's lap. Even as Jin Guangyao leads Lan Xichen from the hall to the courtyard of peonies, Jin-furen has begun to raise her voice at her husband.
Jin Guangyao discreetly summons a servant and instructs them to fetch Jin Zixuan. Lan Xichen pretends not to notice, and comments on the beauty of the peonies. The sight is wondrous, and the scent is exquisite.
"Perhaps Zewu-jun would like to see some of the other cultivars we have gathered in advance of the banquet," says Jin Guangyao.
"Lan Xichen would like to see anything that A-Yao wishes to show him." The use of his own name is an invitation, for Jin Guangyao to accept or decline.
Jin Guangyao looks up at him, gaze opaque and smile oblique.
"Xichen-ge is too kind."
Lan Xichen is accustomed to the art and importance of self-restraint. But the thump of his pulse and the blood singing in his veins is not restrained at all. He would like Jin Guangyao to touch him now; to twine his clever fingers in Lan Xichen's hair and press his clever mouth to Lan Xichen's own.
"It's very impressive that an event of such magnitude is being organised in such a short time." He returns Jin Guangyao's smile.
"The Lanling Jin are well-resourced." Jin Guangyao's lashes flicker. There is a hint of a dimple in his cheek. "This way."
They pass time amongst the flowers, surrounded by an infinite array of colours and scents and the low hum of pollinating insects as they speak at length about plans for the banquet. The event is to last for several days, so that the downfall of the hated Wen can be properly celebrated. Lan Xichen ventures to make some suggestions as to the seating arrangements, which are gratefully received. Jin Guangyao's memory is excellent, but he has not met so many members of the gentry as Lan Xichen.
"I have placed the Qinghe Nie close to the Gusu Lan," he says. "If they are also beside the Laizhou Teng, do you think Chifeng-zun will be satisfied with the arrangements?"
"I believe so." But Lan Xichen cannot let the unspoken implication pass. "Even if you place him thus, you will not be able to avoid him for the entire banquet, A-Yao."
Jin Guangyao's smile turns sickly.
"I am not so ambitious. But the banquet will be more harmonious if Chifeng-zun need lay eyes on me no more often than is necessary." He laughs, and the sound is forced. "The celebratory atmosphere would be affected if Chifeng-zun strikes off Lianfang-zun's head before the wine is even served."
Lan Xichen laughs at the absurdity of the image.
"You have nothing to fear from Nie Mingjue."
"Of course Zewu-jun is correct," murmurs Jin Guangyao. "Please forgive my poor choice of words. It merely fills me with sorrow that my own actions have tarnished me in his eyes."
"It will take time," says Lan Xichen. "That is all." Nie Mingjue's pride and his sensibilities have been wounded, but in time he will see that he did not misread Jin Guangyao's character after all.
Jin Guangyao nods agreement, and his downcast expression vanishes behind another smile. There is no smile more lovely on this earth, but Lan Xichen has never liked to think of what it hides. He does not like to know that Jin Guangyao is anxious and fearful and struggling with regret. Though the war has ended, there are trials enough ahead without this needless conflict between two who once sat and conversed with him in a small room at Hejian, the three of them content and comfortable in each other's company.
He hesitates.
He can never repay his debt to Jin Guangyao. But what he can do, he will do; and this is a gift only he can give.
"A-Yao," he says, and Jin Guangyao looks sharply up at him, wary as a fox that has just heard a twig crack beneath the boot of a hunter. "I have an idea."