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Ouyang Zizhen’s first memory is of his father calling him a disgrace. “Unholy child!” the Sect Leader of the BalingOuyang spat. “Smearing our honor! Look at what you’ve done!” Ouyang Zizhen looked to his mother, begging her to speak up for him, but she ignored him. At least she wasn’t yelling, too.

The doctor, however, didn’t have any reservations about speaking against the Sect Leader. “He has no control over it,” the woman insisted. “He didn’t choose to be allergic to spiritual grass.”

“I’m no idiot—but we’re cultivators! If he can’t handle spiritual grass, what does that mean for us? He’s my only offspring!”

“He can cultivate,” the doctor assured. “Just have him stay away from spiritual grass.” She paused before repeating, “It won’t affect his cultivation.” She said it insistently. Sect Leader Ouyang finally stood down, leaving the room in a flourish of robes after throwing a quick glare at his son.

Ouyang Zizhen was four. “No spiritual grass?” he asked the doctor quietly.

She nodded. “Don’t go near them, Young Master Ouyang. They’ll hurt you very badly.”

Later, he learns that contact with them is deadly for him. Later, he remembers his father taking him to a garden after that conversation. He doesn’t remember what happened in that garden, but he remembers his mother’s barely-hidden devastation when he woke up in the infirmary, and the silent rage on the doctor’s face.

He thinks he knows what happened in the garden, and he realizes that his so-called “elders” are all too set in their ways to be kind and compassionate—to be decent human beings. He isn’t shocked when someone else suffers from their narrow-mindedness. Instead, he bows his head and cries. 

Ouyang Zizhen’s eyes are drooping with exhaustion, but he keeps on going. In the morning, he’ll find somewhere to rest—somewhere where no one will find him or his carriage. Somewhere safe from their mindless hatred and violence.

His carriage is plain and unimpressive, as are his clothes, and his horse is not one from the BalingOuyang’s stables. He gathered all of these in secret, on his own, and no one knows anything of them. In his head, he thinks, ‘Who would I be, if this were a play?’ The role of the star-crossed lovers is already taken and he certainly isn’t the main character. He wonders if he’s even anyone of note, or if he’s just someone who shows up at the last minute to do a nice thing. He wonders if he’d be in the play at all. Maybe, the writers would just leave it at the tragic ending—Ouyang Zizhen certainly isn’t going to add anything of value to it.

Oh, but he so desperately believes that he will. He wishes he was sure that he’s doing the right thing, but after a week of travel, being hunted like a criminal by those who’d once been his allies, he can’t help but think that he’s made a mistake.

No. He’s doing the right thing—this is what they would have wanted. There is no way they would have been okay with the arrangement their Sects had made. “Honor,” one venerated elder had said, “is very important. It must be done for their honor to stay intact.”

Honor? What honor? They didn’t do anything wrong—of that, Ouyang Zizhen is sure. The only crime they’d ever committed was loving each other.

He keeps on going down the road.

“Have you heard?” someone whispers the next morning in the inn he stops at. 

“What?” the man’s friend replies.

“The bodies of Jin Rulan and Lan Jingyi have gone missing!”

“Gone missing?” the friend scoffs. “Please, everyone knows that Ouyang Zizhen stole the bodies! The nerve of that man—just because he was once their friend, he thinks that he has the right to do something like this? How will they ever rest in peace?”

Ouyang Zizhen bows his head farther. His bamboo hat hides his face, but nothing can stop those whispers from reaching his ears, and he is livid. Resting in peace? How could either of his friends rest in peace in the situation they were left in? And, he soothes himself, he was Jin Ling  and Jingyi’s friend right up until the end. Even now, in their death, he won’t let them be disrespected.

He just needs to bury their bodies, and he’ll bury them together, just like they deserved. Star-crossed lovers deserve to stay together. That privilege was ripped away from them in life, but Ouyang Zizhen will see to it that they’re not denied it in death.

Lan Jingyi and Jin Ling’s world had shattered the moment Lan Xichen’s edict was announced. No one else knew what to make of it, either. After all, who would have thought that the virtuous Zewu-Jun had an illegitimate child? And who would have thought the child was Lan Jingyi?

However, the strokes on the edict Lan Xichen wrote were steady and confident, unlike the ones of Lan Jingyi’s note when he wrote to Ouyang Zizhen. “I’ve never even met him,” Lan Jingyi had written. “He’s been in seclusion my entire life, and now I’m suddenly going to meet him as his son and heir.” The panic was evident through the paper. “Zizhen, what am I supposed to do? I don’t know how A-Ling feels. How can we be together now? Before, we could have tried, Zizhen, but now he’s Sect Leader Jin and one day I’ll be Sect Leader Lan.

“Zizhen, is it bad that I’m resenting Zewu-Jun this much?” 

“No,” Ouyang Zizhen had replied. “It’s perfectly natural.” He understood why Zewu-Jun had done it, though. The death of Lan Wangji and his wife two months prior had shocked the entire cultivational world—no, the entire kingdom. After all, Lan Wangji was the brother of Sect Leader Lan, and his wife was the grandniece of the Emperor. (Everyone handily ignored the whispered words that crawled through every Sect and village—the ones that said that their deaths weren’t an accident. The ones that said people could hear the screams from the Jingshi. The ones that said the demure princess had murdered her husband before killing herself. None of it was Ouyang Zizhen’s problem.)

Zewu-Jun had made it clear that he wasn’t going to leave seclusion, not even to get married and produce an heir, seeing as Lan Wangji and his wife had been childless. So, of course, he’d legitimized his child born out of wedlock and named him his heir without even leaving the Hanshi. 

For a man such as Lan Xichen, it made sense. It didn’t mean that Ouyang Zizhen supported him, though. 

After some time, Lan Jingyi wrote to him again. “I met Zewu-Jun,” he said. “He apologized for springing this on me. He said that I was smart and that I could handle it. He didn’t ask me to call him ‘Father.’ I asked about my mother and he looked angry—he said that she didn’t matter. Wasn’t Zewu-Jun supposed to be kind and virtuous?”

“Jingyi,” Ouyang Zizhen had replied, “maybe Zewu-Jun and your mother didn’t marry for a reason. Maybe they didn’t like each other that much.” That, of course, begged the question about why they were together in the first place. But no one dared to ask about Lan Jingyi’s mother, or her relationship with his newly-revealed father, so he’d never know for sure.

“Zizhen, A-Ling and I still meet as often as we can,” Jingyi said when they managed to cross paths on a night hunt. “I don’t know how long we can keep this up.”

“One day,” Ouyang Zizhen promised, “the world will be ready for you.”

That day didn’t come fast enough.

“The Lan Sect is in chaos,” someone whispers the next village over. “No clear heir and all the factions that banded together to overthrow Lan Jingyi are now fighting each other.”

She receives a bored yawn. “How long before the Lan Sect disintegrates, do you think?”

“Three years.”

“Hm, I’d give it five.”

“The two of you have too much faith in cultivational Sects,” someone else butts in. “The Lan Sect is supposed to be the most virtuous of all, and yet look at the carnage! They’re falling apart at the seams—I’d be surprised if they made it through the year.”

Ouyang Zizhen keeps his head down. He gives it six months at best. Even before everything went wrong, Lan Jingyi had been trying to hold together a dying Sect. The only thing that most every Lan could agree on was that Lan Jingyi had no business being Sect Leader when he was an illegitimate child. Of course, no one batted an eye when Jin Guangyao smoothly stepped into the role of Sect Leader Jin when Jin Ling had been found dead. He was older and more proven, not to mention the man who had killed Wen Ruohan—the perfect choice, much better than Jin Ling had ever been!

Ouyang Zizhen wonders if the “venerated elders” will ever wake up and realize that they’ve ruined the lives of the next generation. He doubts it.

Jin Ling ran into him during a night hunt in the forests of Yiling, Lan Jingyi right by his side. Ouyang Zizhen offered them both a weak smile. “I heard the news,” he said. “It looks like all of us are Sect Leaders now.”

Lan Xichen had died a day earlier, and now Lan Jingyi had to go back and perform the proper mourning rituals before taking up the mantle of Sect Leader Lan. Lan Jingyi looked down and Jin Ling wrapped an arm around him. “Nothing will happen,” Jin Ling assured his lover quietly. “Everything will be fine—we can stay together. Right, Zizhen?”

“Right,” Ouyang Zizhen confirmed. “One day, I’ll be sitting front and center at your wedding.”

Lan Jingyi finally looked up, and he gave them both a pale imitation of his usual manic grin. “We’d look good in red.”

“Jin Ling would look good in red,” Ouyang Zizhen said. “I’m sorry Jingyi, but red is just not your color.”

Instead of making Lan Jingyi laugh, it made him cry, and Ouyang Zizhen and Jin Ling had to catch him when his knees buckled. He sobbed for what seemed like hours, Jin Ling whispering comforting words into his ear while Ouyang Zizhen gave him his most comforting smile. Eventually, the soon-to-be Sect Leader Lan fell asleep, and the bags under his eyes seemed more pronounced than ever.

“Zizhen,” Jin Ling said, “is it bad that the only reason I wish Zewu-Jun hadn’t died was so that A-Yi and I could be just a bit happier?”

“No,” he whispered back. “I wish the same thing, Jin Ling.”

They were not ready.

Before entering the next village, Ouyang Zizhen is stopped by guards. “Open the carriage,” they say. “Let us see what’s inside.” All they find is a carriage full of fruits, all of which are being kept fresh through Ouyang Zizhen’s spiritual powers—just like the bodies of Jin Ling and Lan Jingyi, which sit under the floorboards. The fruits’ scent covers up whatever smell the bodies may have been giving off, and Ouyang Zizhen is let inside the village easily.

Stopping here had been a bit of a gamble—the village is larger than the others had been, just barely missing the threshold of “town.” Here, there are more people, which means both an easier way to blend in and a higher chance of running into someone he doesn’t want to. Luckily, he experiences no further complications.

However, he does hear gossip, and a lot of it. “To think,” someone says, “that Lan Jingyi and Jin Rulan turned out to be cut-sleeves—how scandalous!”

“They’re too young and naive,” another gruffs, “and a passing passion ruined their lives. This is why you wait until marriage; look at how they turned out. The Lan Sect doesn’t like cut-sleeves, and the Jin Sect only barely tolerates them. I’m not surprised that Lan Jingyi was overthrown or that Jin Rulan was driven to suicide.”

Ouyang Zizhen nearly punches him in the face. Young and naive? Lan Jingyi and Jin Ling were well into their twenties. A passing passion? They’d been in love for years—all of Ouyang Zizhen’s romance books combined paled in comparison to their soft touches and sweet remarks. However, the man is right on one account: the Lan Sect doesn’t like cut-sleeves. Everyone that hated Lan Jingyi had used the scandal as an excuse to depose him—to murder him. 

The Lan Sect is falling apart, and Ouyang Zizhen is glad.

As for Jin Ling…Ouyang Zizhen truly doesn’t know. He’d been head-over-heels, completely invested, but had he really been so overwhelmed that he committed suicide? Jin Ling was strong and fierce—Ouyang Zizhen had expected to find him in a rage and ready to storm the Cloud Recesses when he arrived at Koi Tower. Instead, Jin Guangyao gently informed him that Jin Ling had been so overcome with despair that he’d taken his own life. He’d been hanging from the ceiling, the servants had said. 

Jin Ling had smiled so proudly when they were seventeen and he’d defeated hundreds of fierce corpses all on his own. Jin Ling wore his robes and vermillion mark with pride. Jin Ling was talented and good-looking and the first-ranked cultivator. How could he hang himself?

Then again, how could the righteous Lan Sect murder its own Sect Leader in cold blood? Ouyang Zizhen knows only one thing: the world is a cruel, confusing place. 

He continues on.

Ouyang Zizhen learned about it through the whispers of his servants. “What happened?” he’d demanded.

Eye downcast, he received a chilling answer. “Sect Leader, someone revealed a series of love letters sent between Sect Leader Lan and Sect Leader Jin.” 

His heart immediately stopped. He’d seen a few of those letters—either Jin Ling or Lan Jingyi would bashfully show them to him, blushes covering their faces—and they left no room for guesswork. Each stroke was lovingly crafted, and each letter contained such deep affection that Ouyang Zizhen swooned. “A true romance, right before my eyes!” he’d said once upon a time.

Now their own happiness was going to be used against them.

He left immediately to the Lan Sect, but when he arrived a week later, it was already too late. A coup had taken place and Lan Jingyi was killed. The Sect Leader position was wide open, and there was obvious tension over who would inherit it. Before he left, he pulled aside one of Lan Jingyi’s servants that had managed to survive. “His last words?” he’d asked.

She shook her head. She hadn’t heard over the cries of victory.

It took him another week to get to Koi Tower, where he’d intended to comfort Jin Ling, but all he was met with was Jin Guangyao’s tired smile. “I’m sorry, Sect Leader Ouyang, but…A-Ling was overcome by grief. He couldn’t handle the news of Sect Leader Lan’s death.” He shook his head. “They really did love each other like a man would a woman.”

Ouyang Zizhen had cried when he finally got himself alone—his two closest friends (his two only friends) were dead, and it hurt.

Then both Sects announced that they’d be holding funerals. That is, separate funerals. Ouyang Zizhen wasn’t impulsive; he put a great deal of thought into his next actions. He bought a carriage, a horse, a change of clothes, and a cartful of fruit. The Lan Sect was such a mess that sneaking into the Cloud Recesses was concerningly easy. Koi Tower had been a bit harder, but Ouyang Zizhen wasn’t the third-ranked cultivator for nothing.

He placed their bodies right next to each other, and he smiled at them both. “Soon,” he promised, “you can rest. Just hang in there for a bit, alright?”

Neither of them answered.

Eventually, Ouyang Zizhen’s luck runs out. Some Jin cultivators are hot on his trail—merely a few hours behind. He doesn’t dare stop to rest, to eat, nor to relieve himself. The news of the Jin cultivators has already traveled past Ouyang Zizhen, so he’s in real danger. Staying ahead of rumors is always the goal, but it seems that he’s lost.

A sudden shout of, “Sir, stop the cart!” startles him. He follows on instinct, only to find a child, an early teen at best, standing in front of him, seemingly having appeared out of thin air. “You almost ran me over,” the boy says. He wears dark, tattered robes, but his smile is sweet and calming.

“I’m sorry,” Ouyang Zizhen replies. “Please move aside now.” He needs to keep moving.

The boy says, “Sir, you’re in trouble, aren’t you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve got two bodies in the carriage, sir.”

Ouyang Zizhen’s eyes narrow. “Who are you?”

The boy stares at him, apparently happy that Ouyang Zizhen has asked. “You can call me A-Yuan.” That tells him absolutely nothing. Ouyang Zizhen is just about ready to run the kid over—no one can know about this, not ever—when the boy asks, “Are you heading to Xihe?”

He scowls. “What’s it to you?” Sweet Guanyin, Ouyang Zizhen is—or, rather, was—an accomplished Sect Leader and one of the most powerful men of his generation, and yet he’s already on edge from the calm, consistent stare of A-Yuan. 

A-Yuan shakes his head softly. “Sir, they’re tracking you this easily—they’re expecting you to go to Xihe.”

“Well, this is the only road leading away from them, so I don’t have much of a choice in the matter, do I?”

“You could,” A-Yuan says, “head that way.” He raises his hand and points off to the side, into the foliage that lines the road. That is, he points off the road. 

Ouyang Zizhen wonders if the boy is kidding, wonders if A-Yuan is taking some sick, twisted pleasure in making him feel more and more helpless with each passing second. However, A-Yuan’s face holds nothing but sincerity. “I can’t take a carriage through there,” Ouyang Zizhen says slowly. “It could break.”

“But if you stay on the road, you’ll definitely be caught,” A-Yuan points out softly. “Going into the woods is your best option, isn’t it?”

The worst part is, the little boy is right. Ouyang Zizhen has been trying to ignore it the entire time, but the truth is that he’s not going to be able to avoid the cultivators for much longer. Maybe this boy is a demon of some sort, trying to lure him into his den—but wouldn’t he be better off dying that way than with those wretched Jin? After all, no one would be able to separate Jin Ling and Lan Jingyi’s bodies. Death is a small price to pay. Resigning himself, Ouyang Zizhen lowers his head until his bamboo hat blocks the boy from view. “Sit with me,” he says.

He can’t see the look on A-Yuan’s face, but he knows that the boy complies. Faster than possible, he ends up sitting next to Ouyang Zizhen, who immediately grips the reins tighter as he turns the carriage. They head right into the woods.

They keep on like that for a few hours, neither of them saying a word as they weave through trees and over streams. By some miracle, nothing happens to the carriage, and nothing goes horribly wrong. Ouyang Zizhen wonders if A-Yuan isn’t a demon. What if A-Yuan is a god that has decided to pity him? He’s too unsure of himself to bring it up.

Then, when the sun starts to rise, A-Yuan starts humming. It’s an absolutely beautiful melody that has Ouyang Zizhen’s heart stuttering as he immediately pulls back on the reins, making the horses grind to a stop. For the first time since he’d climbed on the carriage, he looks at A-Yuan and says, “Where did you learn that song?”

A-Yuan looks back at him, a vaguely pleased expression on his face. “You recognize it, then?”

How could he not? He’d heard it from Lan Jingyi, after all.

“Where did you learn that song from?” Jin Ling asked Lan Jingyi. The other boy’s legs were draped over Jin Ling’s lap, and Ouyang Zizhen had a hard time concentrating on the book in his hands when such an adorable, domestic scene was playing out right in front of him. And, he had to admit, the melody Lan Jingyi had been humming was enthralling.

The young boy sighed and rested his head on Jin Ling’s shoulder. “You can’t tell a soul,” he said.

“We won’t,” Ouyang Zizhen promised. Jin Ling just pressed a kiss to Lan Jingyi’s forehead, long ago having gotten comfortable with performing such blatant displays of affection and intimacy in the presence of their friend. 

Lan Jingyi smiled. “I heard it coming from the Jingshi. Hanguang-Jun has been playing it a lot ever since he got back from Heizhu-Gong’s marriage.”

“Why do you think he’s doing that?” Ouyang Zizhen asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe he just likes it. Maybe the princess complimented him and he decided to make it his life’s work to perfect the song. It could be anything.”

“I can’t imagine Hanguang-Jun actually caring about anyone’s opinion about his music,” Jin Ling muttered. 

Lan Jingyi shrugged. “Who knows?”

Jin Ling chuckled, this time pressing a kiss to Lan Jingyi’s lips. Ouyang Zizhen, recognizing that things were going to start going places he didn’t care for, stood and said, “I’ll be at that nice restaurant where we had breakfast. Find me when you’re done, yeah?” He didn’t wait to hear their responses before scurrying off, a smug look on his face. Those two were shameless with each other, and it was nice to know that they trusted him so much.

(According to Lan Jingyi, Lan Wangji had stopped playing that wonderful melody after he married a princess himself—the woman who was the sister of Wei Wuxian’s wife, and who was one of the two grandnieces of the Emperor.) 

(Well, stopped wasn’t exactly the right word. He played it one more time: early in the morning on the day that he died.)

Ouyang Zizhen repeats, “Where did you hear that song?”

A-Yuan replies, “Look out for that branch.”

Ouyang Zizhen has to yank back on the reins to keep the horse from tripping. Gritting his teeth, he says, “You’re not going to tell me.” A-Yuan resumes his humming and Ouyang Zizhen keeps his mouth shut, just in case the boy really is a god. 

As the days continue, Ouyang Zizhen becomes convinced that A-Yuan is a deity of some sort, because, even though they never go to a village, A-Yuan always seems to know which direction to point him in for an animal he can catch for food, or a safe stream that he can drink from. He considers asking him how he knows all of this, but then decides better of it. If A-Yuan hasn’t revealed it, then he must prefer his own mysteriousness.

However, while Ouyang Zizhen is technically still unsure of what A-Yuan is, he knows for certain that the boy is desperate to share a conversation with him. He’ll bring up anything—the weird marks on a specific tree, the stars that are barely visible through the canopy, even the consistent beat of the horse’s hooves against the forest floor. If it exists, then A-Yuan tries to bring him into a conversation about it. Ouyang Zizhen always answers as politely as possible. As wary as he is, he’s not quite ready enough to discuss dirt at length just yet.

One day, Ouyang Zizhen suddenly realizes something. He says, “I think I know where you want me to go.”

“You do?”

“Did you point me toward Qinghe?”

“I did,” A-Yuan confirms. “Are you alright with it?”

Well, the Nie Sect isn’t all that invested in the disappearance of Jin Ling and Lan Jingyi’s bodies—in fact, Ouyang Zizhen doubts that Nie Huaisang spared it even a moment of thought—so it’s not the worst place he could have gone. Originally, Ouyang Zizhen had been heading toward the lawless lands of Qishan—and had gotten rather close, actually—but Qinghe seems to be where A-Yuan wants him to go. After only a moment of hesitation, he nods. “If it’s safe,” he says, “I’ll go there.”

“Thank you for believing in me,” A-Yuan replies and, for a moment, he stops looking like some strange god shoved into the body of a child, and instead looks like a child who’s just been told that they’ve done a good job. He’s practically glowing under Ouyang Zizhen’s gaze, and the older man has to look away to properly identify the feeling that’s squirming in his stomach.

It takes him a second, but he eventually realizes that it’s pity. He pities A-Yuan for being able to draw so much happiness from the trust of a stranger. And they are strangers—despite traveling together for two weeks, they barely know each other. (Or, at least, Ouyang Zizhen barely knows A-Yuan. He has the sneaking suspicion that it’s not necessarily the same the other way around.)

After another day, A-Yuan says, “Stop.” His eyes are narrowed onto the space in front of them. Ouyang Zizhen obeys, but is confused about what has the boy so riled up until he hears it: the consistent steps of another horse. 

Whoever else is there is already too close—with how big his carriage is, Ouyang Zizhen will never be able to outrun them. So, gritting his teeth, he rests his hand on his sword, which is still tied to his waist; a cloth now covers its majestic sheath, but it must be done to keep his identity a secret. A-Yuan doesn’t untense, even when a figure makes itself clear in the darkness. 

Ouyang Zizhen doesn’t know whether he should be scared or relieved that it’s Nie Huaisang who sits upon the midnight mare. The older man observes Ouyang Zizhen, giving him an appraising once-over, before saying, “Sect Leader Ouyang, what a surprise. I didn’t think that you’d show up here.”

The Ouyang Sect had long since named another Sect Leader, so Nie Huaisang is just trying to be polite. It only succeeds in putting him more on edge. “Why are you here?” he asks.

Nie Huaisang stares at him. “You’re asking the Sect Leader of the QingheNie why he’s in his own forest?”

Immediately, Ouyang Zizhen ducks his head and mutters out an apology. He needs to remember the position he’s in—he has no Sect backing, he’s a wanted criminal, and he’s completely at Nie Huaisang’s mercy. Nie Huaisang’s eyes sweep over the carriage he’s drawing behind him. “You’re dragging the bodies of the previous leaders of two prestigious Sects with you in a fruit cart?” he asks. He sounds bitter, as if he’s not surprised. 

Ouyang Zizhen doesn’t answer.

Nie Huaisang sighs. “What are you planning to do with the bodies?”

It’s a test. Ouyang Zizhen doesn’t have any proof of it, but he’s been in politics long enough to recognize that the Nie Sect Leader is trying to figure out if he’s worth helping. In the face of such a powerful man, Ouyang Zizhen can’t quite lie. So, he tells the truth. “I want to bury them together in a place where they’ll never be disturbed,” he says. “They deserve it.”

“You three were friends, weren’t you?”

“We were.”

After a bit of silence, Nie Huaisang asks, “Why didn’t you bury them somewhere along the way to here? No one would find them.”

Ouyang Zizhen glances away. He doesn’t know if he has a thick enough face to say that he’s been waiting to find somewhere worthy of being Jin Ling and Lan Jingyi’s resting place. He can’t bear to leave them in an unmarked grave in the middle of nowhere. Fortunately, Nie Huaisang seems to gather whatever information he needs by staring at his face. 

“Well,” Nie Huaisang says, “where are you heading now?”

Imperceptibly, Ouyang Zizhen glances toward A-Yuan, who says, “The Liuning Forest.”

For some reason, Nie Huaisang doesn’t seem to hear him, and that’s when Ouyang Zizhen realizes that the man hasn’t even looked at A-Yuan in all of the time since they’ve met. A-Yuan must not be showing himself to him. So, Ouyang Zizhen repeats, “The Liuning Forest.”

“It’s a nice place,” Nie Huaisang replies. “Get some rest. I’ll drive the carriage there for you.”

“What about your horse?”

“She’s well-trained,” Nie Huaisang promises, running his hand through the mare’s inky hair. “She’ll stay right with us.”

Realizing that he’s not in a position to refute the other man, Ouyang Zizhen complies. He piles into the carriage, moving a few piles of fruit away so that he can sit inside—and he does his best to ignore the fact that he’s sitting right about Lan Jingyi’s legs. A-Yuan gets in right after him, and after Nie Huaisang starts the journey, A-Yuan says, “Why did you do that?”

“What?”

“Sect Leader Nie is famous for his lack of sword skills. You were the third-ranked cultivator of your generation. Why didn’t you fight him?”

“We’re in the middle of Qinghe, A-Yuan. Killing, or even harming, Sect Leader Nie isn’t ideal. Besides, Sect Leaders don’t just wander around alone—I will be legitimately surprised if there aren’t people watching over him.”

A-Yuan hums. “You say that, but I think that you’re just scared of him.” There’s nothing mocking in his tone, just a plain observation.

Ouyang Zizhen’s stomach churns uncomfortably. Who wouldn’t be scared of Nie Huaisang? After the death of his brother, they say that he went crazy. They say that, for a short period of time, he had nearly starved himself to death and dismissed all of his servants. They say that he nearly Qi Deviated merely six months after Nie Mingjue did. Now, they say that he never gets into any problem—no matter what it is, he doesn’t let it affect him. And when someone causes him a problem…well, they’re never heard from again.

Nie Huaisang is scary, even with a fan in his hand instead of a sword—or, perhaps, he’s scarier that way. (Those blood-brown eyes peeking over that ornately-decorated fan will forever haunt his dreams.)

“I am,” he eventually admits. It’s painful to say it out loud, to finally completely acknowledge that he’s at the other man’s mercy. Deciding that he doesn’t like it, he moves on to a different topic. “Sect Leader Nie can’t see you.”

A-Yuan nods in agreement. “Most people can’t.”

“Why?” Finally, he’s worked up the courage to ask. 

A-Yuan stares at him, looking oddly vulnerable. “Sir, you won’t get mad at me, right?”

“No,” Ouyang Zizhen promises. As if he’d get mad at a deity.

Accepting his answer, A-Yuan nods before whispering, “I’m dead.”

That…is not what Ouyang Zizhen had been expecting. “What?”

“I’m dead. I’m a ghost. That’s why he couldn’t see me.”

“Then why can I see you?” Ouyang Zizhen demands. If A-Yuan is a ghost, then he’s a completely harmless one. He’s not giving off any energy of any sort—resentful or otherwise—and his presence is so stable and even Ouyang Zizhen, a well-accomplished cultivator, didn’t recognize his lack of life. Even now, A-Yuan seems so alive: his cheeks have a healthy flush, his eyes sparkle with intelligence, and his breathing is calm and soothing. How can it all be fake?

A-Yuan says, “Because I want you to.”

“Why do you want me to?”

“I promised that I would help you.”

“When?”

“When they asked me.” He pats the wooden floor of the carriage, and Ouyang Zizhen is reminded of the two bodies underneath the fake floor.

He lets out a strangled gasp. “They…”

“Asked me to take care of you. They were worried about you—you abandoned your Sect and put yourself in danger for them, sir.”

“Is that how you knew the song?” Ouyang Zizhen asks weakly.

A-Yuan nods. “Previous Sect Leader Lan was fond of it.”

“Are…are they still here?”

“No,” A-Yuan replies quietly. “They’ve moved on and are about to enter the cycle of reincarnation.”

Ouyang Zizhen squeezes his eyes shut. A single tear runs down his cheek. “Are they happy?” he asks. “Are they entering it together?” Because if so, then half of Ouyang Zizhen’s worries will be put to rest. The other half will simmer down once he’s buried their bodies.

A-Yuan says, “They’re happy. They’re waiting a bit before entering reincarnation, last time I heard.”

Yes, that makes sense—staying together in bliss for a while before reentering this horrible, chaotic world is a good idea. More tears slip down Ouyang Zizhen’s face, and this time, he’s not sad. A-Yuan’s words echo through his head: ‘They’re happy.’ He’ll treasure it for the rest of his life. 

They stay like that for a few hours. Eventually, Nie Huaisang stops the carriage and opens the door. “We’re here,” he says. He seems unsurprised at the dry tear tracks streaking down Ouyang Zizhen’s face. “Why did you want to come here, anyway? Don’t get me wrong, it’s gorgeous—I’ll definitely have to paint the scenery—but most people don’t care that much about this forest.”

Ouyang Zizhen looks around and, slowly, memories start to resurface.

Ouyang Zizhen stared at the scene in front of him. “Who are you?”

Two boys, both around the same age as him, stood far apart from each other—the Lan’s hands moved quickly as he desperately tried to tie his forehead ribbon back on, and the Jin was doing his best to look anywhere but at the two other boys. When he didn’t receive an answer, Ouyang Zizhen repeated, “I said, who are you? What are you two doing?”

The truth was that Ouyang Zizhen knew exactly what was going on—look at their blushes, their secret glances, their swollen lips—but he’d long ago learned that acting on his knowledge without confirmation would only get him into trouble. Their continued silence was incriminating enough, however, so Ouyang Zizhen decided to power through. “You’re in a relationship, aren’t you?” They froze, wide eyes staring at him in horror, and it was only then that Ouyang Zizhen decided to let out his delighted grin. “No, no, please continue! Secret trysts in the middle of a night hunt are the stuff of romance novels! So romantic! I’ll go, I’ll go—”

Quick as lightning, the Jin dashed forward and snatched up his arm. “Don’t tell anyone,” he hissed, and wow, his glare was wildly uncalled for. Ouyang Zizhen was nice about it and everything—he hadn’t even brought up the fact that they were both men!

A bit miffed, he shoved the other boy off of him, only for his mood to improve drastically when the Lan immediately rushed to his lover’s aid. “Don’t shove him!” he yelled. (Well, maybe he wasn’t a Lan, then.)

Ouyang Zizhen barely held in his swoon. “Actual lovers!” he exclaimed. “A romance right in front of my eyes!”

The anger and fear in the faces of the other boys finally melted into confusion. “You’re…okay with this?”

“Okay? This is wonderful! A Lan, a Jin, both men, having to meet in secret—a secret affair!” he declared. “If you two finally end up together and I’m there to witness it, then my life will be complete!” Ouyang Zizhen grabbed the Jin’s right arm and the Lan’s left and forced them both to hold hands. “Lovely,” he breathed. “The righteous Lan and the noble Jin—Sparks Amidst Snow, dancing in the clouds! This humble servant pledges that, from now on, he will do his best to protect your love!” Ah, the words—they flowed right out of his mouth. 

The other two seemed to appreciate it, which is more Ouyang Zizhen could ever say about his father. “Thank you,” the Jin said slowly. He pulled his lover away from Ouyang Zizhen—protective and possessive at the same time, how marvelous—and they both sat a bit away from him.

Ouyang Zizhen sat down too. “So,” he said, “who are you two?”

They glanced at each other before shifting a wary look to him. “You won’t tell anyone?” the Lan asked.

“Never,” he promised. “Not unless you two ever want to dramatically reveal it to the entirety of the cultivational world. If you do, I actually have some good ideas—”

“Give us your word,” the Lan interrupted.

Ouyang Zizhen held up three fingers. “I, Ouyang Heng, courtesy Zizhen, will not reveal your relationship to the public without both of you giving me permission!” He’d read the books where only one person wanted to reveal the relationship—those always caused a mess. (But then again, wasn’t the mess the fun part?)

The Jin’s eyes widened, “You’re the Young Master Ouyang?”

“That I am! And you two…” He really wanted to know their names.

After another silent conversation between the two of them, the Lan stood up and bowed. “I’m Lan Fan, courtesy Jingyi, and this is Jin Ling, courtesy Rulan.”

For a second, Ouyang Zizhen didn’t process the names, and nothing changed. The moment he did, however, he immediately stood up straight. Lan Jingyi’s name wasn’t particularly special, but the other one… “You’re the Young Master Jin!” he exclaimed, pointing his right index finger at said man.

Jin Ling stared at him. “I am,” he admitted.

Ouyang Zizhen smiled wider. “Oh my, you’re the heir to one of the Great Sects!” he exclaimed. “That’s even better! Layer upon layer to this forbidden love! I don’t know if my heart can handle it!”

“Young Master Ouyang, please calm—”

“None of that! From now on, you will call this humble servant of yours ‘Zizhen’!”

Lan Jingyi’s eyes narrowed and the corner of his lips twitched downward, hinting at a hidden scowl. Jin Ling didn’t hide it, though. “Zizhen?” he asked. “We barely know you.”

“And yet I’ve fallen to the force of your romance!”

Lan Jingyi, apparently deciding to look at the bright side, finally huffed out a laugh. “Fine, Zizhen. In that case, call me Jingyi.”

“Jingyi,” Ouyang Zizhen repeated obediently. He then turned toward a red-faced Jin Ling.

“What are you looking at me for?” he snapped, turning away.

Lan Jingyi trailed his arm up to his lover’s shoulders, where he traced lazy little circles. Jin Ling shuddered slightly as Lan Jingyi whispered, “A-Ling, why are you being so mean to him?”

Such casual intimacy! In front of others, too! The sheer amount of sway that Lan Jingyi displayed over Jin Ling, who immediately caved and turned to their third-wheel, was astounding! Clearing his throat, Jin Ling said, “Call me Jin Ling. Not by my courtesy name.”

“He hates it,” Lan Jingyi supplied, pulling his arm away. Jin Ling leaned toward Lan Jingyi. However, he immediately leaned back with Lan Jingyi continued, “He thinks that it’s girly.”

“It is,” Jin Ling muttered. “That uncle of mine really went and screwed me over.”

“I rather like it,” Lan Jingyi teased. “Maybe when everyone regroups, I’ll thank Heizhu-Gong for connecting you to the Lan Sect in such a way.”

“It means ‘orchid’,” Jin Ling muttered.

Ouyang Zizhen seriously doubted that Lan Jingyi would dare talk to the famed Wei Wuxian, much less say something so scandalous, but it was so domestic that he actually let out a sigh. “I,” he said, “am here for you two! If you ever need anything—anything at all—I’ll do my best to help! I’ll cover for you, I promise!”

They both looked skeptical, but they accepted it. “Thank you, Zizhen,” they chorused, and Ouyang Zizhen smiled.

They stayed there for nearly the entire night hunt, chatting, until Jin Ling suddenly stood up and screeched, “Uncle’s going to kill me if I don’t get some more kills!” The thought of either Wei Wuxian’s or Jiang Wanyin’s—or even Jin Guangyao’s, really—rage, the three of them collectively shuddered and promptly spent the next hour frantically hunting the various monsters. Luckily, none of Jin Ling’s uncles had seemed particularly upset—and, as expected, Lan Jingyi never got within view of Wei Wuxian—and thus, all disaster had been averted.

They left after they all formally thanked Nie Huaisang for giving permission to night hunt in one of Qinghe’s forests, but Ouyang Zizhen, Lan Jingyi, and Jin Ling all kept in touch. Their first meeting was forever burned into their minds.

Nie Huaisang continues to stare at him expectantly, waiting for an answer, so Ouyang Zizhen replies, “This is where we first met.” And, as he’d found out later, this is where Jin Ling and Lan Jingyi had confessed to each other and had their first kiss…possibly even their first time if Ouyang Zizhen hadn’t snuck up on them.

Nie Huaisang smiles, looking somewhat thoughtful. “I remember that night hunt. It was rather uneventful—or at least, that’s what I thought. Apparently not, though.” He holds out his hand and helps Ouyang Zizhen out of the carriage. “I’ll get someone to help you bury them,” he says.

Ouyang Zizhen immediately shakes his head. “I’ll do it,” he insists. “No one else.”

“Fine,” Nie Huaisang replies. “And I apologize for the discomfort of it, but you’ll have to sleep in the carriage tonight. Tomorrow, I’ll have a cabin built for you.”

“What?” Ouyang Zizhen asks, eyes wide. “Sect Leader Nie, I can’t—”

“You can,” Nie Huaisang replies, “and you will. Where else can you go, Ouyang Zizhen?” He stops using his title—the one that no longer exists. Ouyang Zizhen realizes that he has nowhere else to go. His Sect has moved one, nearly every other Sect is hunting him down, and his only skill is cultivation. Well, he thinks, half-hysterical, maybe he can write romance novels for a living. Jin Ling and Lan Jingyi used to tease him about it—he can make it a reality. But then his mind comes back to reality and he bows his head. Nie Huaisang smiles. “I’ll be heading off now. If you decide you need help with the bodies, I’ll be back first thing tomorrow morning with some men. Rest assured, no one will get you as long as I’m Sect Leader Nie.”

Before he can stop himself, Ouyang Zizhen asks, “Why are you helping me?”

At this, the older man falls silent. A chilly breeze runs over them, and Ouyang Zizhen shivers even under all of his robes. Finally, Nie Huaisang decides to respond. “Two Sect Leaders are dead. There doesn’t need to be a third.” Ouyang Zizhen isn’t sure if Nie Huaisang’s talking about him or himself.

He leaves. Ouyang Zizhen finds a very specific tree that he remembers resting his back on while the three of them had chatted, way back when, and decides that it is the spot. He starts digging, and A-Yuan stands off to the side. “Do you want some help?” the boy asks.

“Are you able to help?” Ouyang Zizhen asks.

A-Yuan hesitates. Then, slowly, he crouches to the ground and tries to dig his fingers into the dirt. His hand slips right through as if the ground is a mirage. “No,” he says, sounding vaguely distraught, “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He continues digging. It’s a mindless task and his thoughts wander. “A-Yuan,” he says, “how old are you?”

A-Yuan hums. “As in how old was I when I died or how old I would be if I were still alive?”

Ouyang Zizhen pauses. “Both, I guess.”

“Well,” A-Yuan says, “I died when I was eleven. I was one of the last ones left. If I were still alive…I think I’d be around your age, actually. Maybe a few months older than you.”

A chill settles on Ouyang Zizhen’s spine. A-Yuan is the same age as him. They could have been friends. Shakily, he asks, “Who killed you?”

“Jin Guiren.” He doesn’t hesitate, and he says the name like it’s a random bug—no hate or fear, just simple neutrality.

Ouyang Zizhen wonders if he should ask how he died, or maybe why, but he decides against it. When the hole seems large enough, he climbs out and heads to the carriage. The bodies of Jin Ling and Lan Jingyi are both perfectly preserved, just like the fruit, and they both wear a sort of serene smile that they never would have in life. Their hands are curled into one another’s, though, so Ouyang Zizhen doesn’t let himself hate too much. Carefully, he picks them both up—both of their bodies are too cold, and it makes him shiver with sorrow.

He has no casket, so he buries them as they are. He scoops one pile of dirt back onto them, and he can almost hear Lan Jingyi say, “Look at you, all dirtied up—take a bath before you start stinking.” After another, he almost sees Jin Ling’s eyes flutter open as he says, “You’re going to pass out from exhaustion—take a break.” He keeps going and going, every time he buries them a bit more, they whisper his worries in his ears and ask him to please sit down and take some rest. He doesn’t listen to them—he’s their humble servant, and if he can’t do at least this much then what good is he? 

When they’re buried, he punches a tree—not on a whim, but to get some of its bark. Then, letting some qi light into a phantom flame on his finger, he carves their names into the wood. Not their real names, of course—if someone finds this grave, they might ransack it upon realizing who’s buried here. Instead he carefully, lovingly, carves “A-Ling” and “A-Yi” into the bark.

When he sets it above their burial site, he swears that he can hear each of them whisper in one of his ears, “Thank you, Zizhen.”

He doesn’t think that he’s ever cried harder, and A-Yuan trying and failing to place a comforting hand on his shoulder doesn’t help.

The next morning, he’s nudged awake by a fan. When he opens his eyes, Nie Huaisang is standing over him, concerned. “Are you alright?” he asks. “You should have slept in the carriage. Come on, I’ve brought you something to eat.”

Breakfast passes with Nie Huaisang attempting to make friendly conversation, only for Ouyang Zizhen to deal out clipped replies. Eventually, though, the younger man says, “Sect Leader Nie?”

“Yes?”

“I should have waited for you. Would you have gotten them a casket if I asked?”

“I would have,” Nie Huaisang agrees, “but you seemed to be in a hurry to bury them, so I decided to not mention it.”

“They deserved a casket. No, they deserved more than a casket—they deserved an entire temple, just for them. I should have built them a temple, Sect Leader Nie.”

There’s something bitter in Nie Huaisang’s gaze. “What’s the point?” he asks. “They’re dead either way. They’ll have new bodies soon enough, if they reincarnate. If they’re freed from the cycle, they won’t have to worry about such worldly things. What does it matter if they’re buried in an unmarked grave or a temple?”

Ouyang Zizhen scowls. “Sect Leader Nie,” he hisses, livid, “they’ve done nothing wrong. Why should their bodies suffer from abuse that they don’t deserve? Their souls may be gone, but their bodies are gifts to the earth. Disrespecting them is unfair.”

“What good will respecting their bodies do?”

“It will give them, and us, peace,” Ouyang Zizhen says. “Is that not good enough of a reason?”

Nie Huaisang stares at him, uncomprehending, and then his expression shifts. For a moment, Ouyang Zizhen thinks that he’s gone too far, that Nie Huaisang will wave his fan and an arrow will come out and pierce through his neck. Ouyang Zizhen can stop it, of course, but what’s the point of delaying his inevitable death? But then, the older man just sighs. “It seems we have very different views on death.” He stands, snapping his fan shut. “I’ve eaten my fill, and the cabin has been built and has enough food to last for a while. Feel free to do what you need to. I’ll be back next week.”

He leaves in a flurry of robes, his servants leaving with him, and Ouyang Zizhen is left behind. A-Yuan smoothly slides into the seat across from him in the newly-constructed cabin. “Look, sir,” he says, “I’ve been practicing.” Before Ouyang Zizhen can ask what he means, A-Yuan slowly picks up a cup from the tea set. 

“You can touch things now?”

“Just barely. It’s hard.” He sets the teacup back down. “What’s your plan now, sir?”

That is a good question. In all honesty, Ouyang Zizhen hadn’t thought this far ahead. His only goal had been burying Lan Jingyi and Jin Ling’s bodies in an appropriate place, and now that it’s been accomplished, he feels…empty. “I can consider this secluded cultivation,” he mutters, then winces. Lan Xichen had also been in secluded cultivation, hadn’t he? And Lan Xichen was one of the reasons that his two best friends are dead. “Or not. I can continue to cultivate, in any case.” He pats the sword at his hip.

A-Yuan hums. “You’re a good cultivator, right?”

“Third-ranked in my age group,” Ouyang Zizhen nods.

“How about in all age groups?”

At this, he shakes his head. “They say that I’m impressive,” he says, “but the previous generation—it’s full of beasts. Lianfang-Zun, Jin Guangyao; the River God, Jiang Wanyin; Heizhu-Gong, Wei Wuxian…each is more terrifying than the last. And even though they both died pretty early in their lives, Zewu-Jun and Hanguang-Jun are said to have been extremely powerful—they say that together with Chifeng-Zun, the three of them had a body count nearly as high as Heizhu-Gong’s. My generation can’t live up to that.”

A-Yuan considers this. “The River God and Heizhu-Gong were Jin Rulan’s uncles, right? You’re lucky they haven’t come searching for you.”

The thought makes him shudder. “If Heizhu-Gong hadn’t been visiting the Capital, I don’t know if I’d still be alive right now. As for the River God…I don’t know why he hasn’t been searching for me.”

“He probably has his reasons.”

Ouyang Zizhen makes a vague sound of agreement.

They sit like that for a while, just basking in the silence, before Ouyang Zizhen asks, “A-Yuan, did you say that you were killed by a Jin?”

“Jin Guiren,” A-Yuan agrees.

“You also said that you were ‘one of the last ones left.’ What did you mean?”

“I was one of the last six people left at the work camp.”

“Did they work you to death?”

“No.” He reaches over and taps his nail against the ceramic of Ouyang Zizhen’s teacup. “Watch me, sir,” he instructs, and then he morphs. His healthy skin turns sickly pale, some of his hair is pulled off—nauseating crimson spills into his vision. He has one black eye, and the other has considerable bags under it. His lip is split but, even more alarming, his lips are blue. Across his necks, there are ugly black bruises in the shape of hands. When he taps the teacup again to pull Ouyang Zizhen’s attention to his hands, he finds A-Yuan’s nails chipped and broken—a few nails are missing entirely. A-Yuan says, “I’m going to tell you something, sir. Please don’t be mad at me.”

How can Ouyang Zizhen be mad at this child that has so obviously died in agony? He says, “I won’t.”

A-Yuan leans closer and then, so softly that Ouyang Zizhen barely hears him, he whispers, “Sir, my name is Wen Yuan.”

Wen. A boy that died in a work camp. Died at the hands of the Jin Sect. Vaguely, he remembers Jin Ling talking to him in private, shaking violently from head-to-toe. He remembers Jin Ling saying, “Zizhen, I don’t think my family is made up of good people.” He remembers Jin Ling saying, “I can’t tell you what it is, but I’ve found something terrible.” He remembers Jin Ling saying, “I can’t believe that something like this was allowed to happen.” He remembers sobbing and having to comfort his dear friend about a matter that he thought he’ll never know about.

Is this what he’d meant, back then? Or is the Jin Sect even more rotten than this? Seeing Wen Yuan’s increasing anxiety at his lack of reply, Ouyang Zizhen says, “I’m sorry this happened to you.”

Wen Yuan leans back, relieved, and lets his appearance morph back into that of a healthy young boy. “I could have looked like this,” he explains. “I like this better than how I really was.”

He shouldn’t have been beaten and strangled to death. Lan Jingyi shouldn’t have been thrust into the role of Sect Leader only to get killed in a coup. Jin Ling shouldn’t have had to consider suicide his only option. Ouyang Zizhen shouldn’t have had to take care of his friends because no one else would. “A-Yuan,” he says, “I think I hate them.”

“The Jin Sect?”

“Everyone. Every single person who fought in that godforsaken war and then thought that it gave them the right to ruin the lives of the next generation.”

“They suffered,” Wen Yuan points out. “More than we can imagine.”

“That’s not an excuse to cause even more suffering. Look at you—look at how you died. A-Yuan, are you trying to tell me that they deserved to do that to you?”

At this, Wen Yuan quiets down. “They did what they thought was right.”

“And they’ve done nothing but hurt others. Don’t try to justify it.”

Wen Yuan doesn’t answer.

Neither of them says a thing until lunch. “A-Yuan,” Ouyang Zizhen says, “why haven’t you moved on?”

The boy goes rigid. He whispers, “There’s something I still want to do.”

“I can help.” It’ll give him a goal, a reason to continue on. “Do you want Jin Guiren dead?”

“He died of illness already. I have something else in mind.”

“What is it?”

The boy bites his lip, once again looking so terribly vulnerable. “Sir,” he says, “I want to have a friend.”

Ouyang Zizhen thinks, ‘If things were different, we could have been friends.’ But, the more he thinks about it, he can be the boy’s friend. For right now, at least. “I’ll be your friend.” (After all, Ouyang Zizhen knows that, after Jin Ling and Lan Jingyi’s death, he’s had a distinct shortage of those.)

“Why do you want to be my friend?”

“Why not?” Well, there are a few valid reasons not to: Wen Yuan is a ghost, Wen Yuan is currently over a decade younger than him, Wen Yuan will probably move on at some point soon and Ouyang Zizhen may not be able to handle it very well—but he’s desperate, so he doesn’t let himself consider any of these.

“You…really want to be my friend?” He sounds vaguely disbelieving.

“I do.” Ouyang Zizhen stands and says, “What do you want to do?”

“What?”

“We can try to do some hunting,” he says. “Or we can explore the forest.”

“Why?”

“For fun. To get to know each other better. It’s a good bonding experience.” Hunting and exploring had been what he had done with Jin Ling and Lan Jingyi when they first met. “You’ll like it.”

Wen Yuan stares at him—vulnerable, nearly shaking—before nodding. “Okay,” he says. “Let’s explore the forest.”

It takes three days for Ouyang Zizhen to figure it out, but when he does finally notice, he can’t get his mind off of it. “A-Yuan,” he says, “you still call me ‘sir’.”

They’re foraging for berries in the forest, using a few baskets that Nie Huaisang had left behind for them. Wen Yuan is…not good at it, but he’s getting better. He just needs to concentrate. Ouyang Zizhen’s question startles him enough to let the berry fall right through his hands. He looks flighty, uncomfortable. “Ah, sir—do you want me to call you something else?”

“I’m your friend, right?”

“…right,” Wen Yuan agrees. Ouyang Zizhen hates how much he hesitates before he says that.

“I call you A-Yuan, and you said you were born before me, anyway. Call me…call me Zizhen.”

“Is that what they called you?”

There’s no question as to who “they” are; it’s quite obvious. “Yes,” he agrees. “All my friends call me that.” As if he still has any friends other than Wen Yuan.

Once upon a time, he’d had many. Somehow, he’d forsaken most of them after meeting Jin Ling and Lan Jingyi. He’d left the rest after he obtained their bodies and went on the run. But, as far as he can remember, the friends he used to have all called him by his courtesy name. Wen Yuan should, as well, shouldn’t he?

“Then…then I’ll call you Zizhen. Because we’re friends.” He says it with a little more confidence.

Ouyang Zizhen wonders if Wen Yuan will ever truly consider himself his friend. He hopes so. After all, Ouyang Zizhen has only ever seemed to exist for his friends, so if he doesn’t have any, then what will become of him? He’s useless as it is—only managing to safely bury Jin Ling and Lan Jingyi with the quite possibly insane Nie Huaisang’s help. 

…wanting validation is a selfish reason for wanting a friend. Ouyang Zizhen does his best to shut that thought down. He offers Wen Yuan his best smile and hopes that it helps. It doesn’t.

They go back to picking berries.

Later, Ouyang Zizhen finds out that Wen Yuan doesn’t need to sleep. Ouyang Zizhen wonders what it feels like to be a ghost—to never need to be unconscious for several hours to regain energy. He can’t seem to regain energy even if he sleeps from sunset to noon—he can’t get himself out of bed for hours afterward. Wen Yuan always tries to coax him out—to eat, to bathe, to play—and sometimes it works.

The one thing that Ouyang Zizhen makes himself do is pick berries with Wen Yuan every day before sunset. It's a habit, and it’s…enjoyable. Calming. It soothes his soul in a way that his hours staring at the cabin ceiling don’t.

Today, Wen Yuan doesn’t go berry picking with him. Ouyang Zizhen doesn’t understand why until he gets a look at his own bony wrist.

“I…got skinnier?”

“Sect Leader Nie mentioned it in his visit, Zizhen.”

Nie Huaisang visited? He tries to get himself to remember, but his memory fails him. The best he can come up with is three weeks ago, when Nie Huaisang brightly asked for some of his berries so he could make pastries to give him.

Ouyang Zizhen frowns and pulls open a cabinet. Oh. The pastries are in there, stale and moldy. He closes the cabinet. “I forgot.”

“You haven’t been cultivating, either…”

He hasn’t been. It’s one thing to know that you need to do something, but it’s a different matter entirely to actually do it. And he can’t do it. His legs are too wobbly and his arms can’t hold any stances, and his chest can never take in a deep enough breath. He’s…he’s fallen out of order. Complete disarray. It’s his own kind way of accepting that he’s failed his own body.

Now, Wen Yuan can’t pick berries with him anymore, because Ouyang Zizhen doesn’t remember the last time he’d eaten, and Wen Yuan doesn’t want him to die of starvation. Wen Yuan, brows knit in concentration, is trying to make him some food.

Ouyang Zizhen bypasses the dining table and collapses onto the floor in the bedroom—quiet enough for Wen Yuan not to notice.

There is a good chance he falls asleep because suddenly Wen Yuan is hauling him upright and dragging him to the table. “Eat,” he says.

Ouyang Zizhen is not hungry, but he eats so much that he throws up, anyway.

But—sometimes, Ouyang Zizhen has a good day. One time, it falls on the day Nie Huaisang visits. The older man brightens considerably. “You’re doing better than usual.”

Ouyang Zizhen wants to go back to bed, but he knows he can’t. The fact that he manages to sit still is enough to prove that today is a good day. “I guess I am.”

They chat over everything and nothing, and Nie Huaisang tells him some of the latest gossip in the cultivation world. Ouyang Zizhen pretends he cares. Eventually, when he leaves, Nie Huaisang gifts him a romance novel. Initially, Ouyang Zizhen is hopeful to read it and get lost in the pages.

He can’t manage to get through the first five. None of it interests him, no information managing to truly sit in his head. He gets to the bottom of a page and realizes he doesn’t remember a bit of what he’s just read.

He sets the book in the cabinet, right next to the forgotten pastries. Snippets of what he could have been, if he’d just tried harder. Done better.

Wen Yuan notices. “Zizhen, how about I read it to you?” he offers, already picking the book up. “All you have to do is listen. You’ll probably enjoy it more that way.” 

Ouyang Zizhen agrees and Wen Yuan flips open the book, only to stare at its contents blankly. He quickly snaps it shut. Ouyang Zizhen frowns. “What’s wrong?”

“I…the characters are too hard for me. I don’t know how to read this.” He sounds frustrated, ashamed, absolutely furious with himself.

Ouyang Zizhen debates with himself, then offers, “I’ll teach you.”

He taught sword forms to children, so he should be able to teach reading. Wen Yuan readily agrees.

Ouyang Zizhen is a very bad teacher—he can feel it in his bones. Wen Yuan, too brilliant for his own good, understands anyway. He goes through with a mind of steel, and soon he’s able to read the book with no problem. Ouyang Zizhen is unsure of when it happens—the days have been blending together now that the date doesn’t matter.

Wen Yuan is smiling more often. Ouyang Zizhen makes sure to smile back.

And…it might take days or it might take months, but one day Ouyang Zizhen manages to make his own dinner, so he and Wen Yuan go berry picking again. There’s anticipation running thick through Ouyang Zizhen’s veins, waiting to feel the same soothing he’d felt before they’d stopped.

It never comes. His neck is aching and his fingers are spasming and he pushes himself to just pick a few more berries. After a few hours, Wen Yuan manages a basketful. Ouyang Zizhen manages to get twenty-seven. He stares down at them, confused and upset because he thought he’d done better, thought he could do better—

He needs to stop overestimating himself.

Wen Yuan doesn’t mention it, just scoops some of his own berries into Ouyang Zizhen’s basket with a chuckle. That night, Ouyang Zizhen eats all of it, then throws up. Wen Yuan gently leads him back to bed and sits by his side, humming the song that Lan Jingyi used to hum way back when.

Ouyang Zizhen whispers, “A-Yuan, I think I’m broken.”

Wen Yuan hesitates for less than a moment before smiling and saying, “You’re not. You’re in a tough spot and…and it’s going to be really hard to get out of it. But I’ll help. I’m right here.”

“You’re my friend.”

“I’m your friend,” Wen Yuan agrees, this time with no hesitation. “Sleep. I’ll wake you up in the morning.”

Ouyang Zizhen sleeps until noon the next day. When he wakes up, Wen Yuan is gone.

Wen Yuan’s only wish, the one thing keeping him from moving on, had been wanting a friend. Ouyang Zizhen became his friend—he helped a lost soul move on. He should be proud. Instead, he cries until his throat is parched, and then he just lies there. He doesn’t know how long. Eventually, Nie Huaisang comes and finds him—so maybe not that long at all.

Nie Huaisang forces him to drink water and eat food, and draws him a bath which Ouyang Zizhen just sits in until he’s all wrinkled like a prune, and then Nie Huaisang has to drag him out and make him dry himself and wear some clothes. After it all, they sit at the dining table and Nie Huaisang says, “You’re a mess, you know that?”

Ouyang Zizhen has known that for a very long time. “Mn,” he agrees.

“You need to feed yourself or you might collapse again.”

Ouyang Zizhen didn’t collapse…or maybe he did. He’d experienced quite a few sensations during his meltdown, so maybe he really had collapsed. He dips his head. “Okay.”

Satisfied, Nie Huaisang leaves. Ouyang Zizhen stays in his bed.

Three days later, he decides that it has probably been a good while since he visited Jin Ling and Lan Jingyi’s grave, because now there is spiritual grass growing over it. He’s not surprised—they were both exceptional cultivators, so of course their bodies would provide the nourishment to grow the plants.

Ouyang Zizhen stands five steps away from it and wishes he could get closer. And—he could. He really could. But there are reasons he shouldn’t. He does not think about the reasons. He simply turns around and walks away.

When Nie Huaisang next comes to visit, he expresses his concern over Ouyang Zizhen’s continually declining health. “Winter is coming soon,” he says, “and I was going to let this continue on but…I can’t trust you to take care of yourself enough to stay alive. I’ll be bringing you to the Unclean Realms in a few weeks, okay?”

“Okay.” Ouyang Zizhen does not want to go anywhere near the Unclean Realms. He never would, if he had the choice. Nie Huaisang is not giving him a choice.

Nie Huaisang squints at him. “You…take care of yourself. I know you may not have noticed, but you’re going to experience serious health problems at this rate. Like…like death.” His eyes are far away as he says it.

Ouyang Zizhen knows. He just doesn’t particularly care, and—that’s the first time he’s admitted it to himself. I don’t care if I die. As he glances around the cabin, finding it empty, devoid of Wen Yuan’s warmth and any real indication that an actual person lives in it, he realizes…would anyone care? The only person he can think of would be Nie Huaisang, and he’s a Sect Leader who almost definitely has better things to do.

Things Ouyang Zizhen is keeping him from. He really has screwed up, hasn’t he?

He lets himself agree with Nie Huaisang, and then promptly stops listening to anything the man has to say. Either their time is up or Nie Huaisang gives up because he eventually leaves. 

Ouyang Zizhen does not want to go to the Unclean Realms. He has four weeks to stop that from happening.

Two weeks in, he finds Wen Yuan sitting on Jin Ling and Lan Jingyi’s grave. He knows that it’s not the real Wen Yuan, just a figment of his imagination because the real Wen Yuan is much too kind to give him a look of such disdain, even if he deserves it. Ouyang Zizhen stands four steps away from the grave and wishes he could get closer. “I’m insane,” he says.

Wen Yuan frowns at him. “You’re only realizing that now?”

“No.”

“What are you doing here, anyway?”

Talking to a figment of his imagination because there’s no one else left. “Watching over the grave.”

“You think you have the right, even after you couldn’t get them a coffin?”

Ouyang Zizhen sits down, scowling. “No one’s gonna stop me.” He hates this Wen Yuan with a burning passion, but this Wen Yuan is actually just Ouyang Zizhen, so basically it’s a roundabout way of saying he hates himself. He needs to start getting to the point quicker.

“Yeah—you’ve gotten rid of anyone who could.”

Ouyang Zizhen looks away. “Don’t tell me things I already know.”

“Then accept them.”

This Wen Yuan is mean and irritable and unwieldy—nothing like the real Wen Yuan. This Wen Yuan even has Ouyang Zizhen’s voice. Ouyang Zizhen wants to shove him into the spiritual grass until he stops being terrible.  He can’t get closer. Wen Yuan laughs.

Three weeks in, Ouyang Zizhen realizes he’s running out of time. Nie Huaisang is going to drag him to the Unclean Realms soon. He needs to stop procrastinating. He manages to get out of bed at sunrise, cook himself a meal, and pick some berries. It is a good day. Tomorrow, he foresees himself being unable to move at all. It happens in patterns. Ever since he decided that he can’t go to the Unclean Realms, his bouts of having no energy and staring at the ceiling have lessened to two days at a time. Or maybe not. It gets hard to tell sometimes.

He decides to be proactive. He sits two steps away from the grave instead of three. He gets a lot done that day.

Ouyang Zizhen’s first companion was a cat named Mimi. Back then he didn’t have any friends, still hiding behind his mother’s robes when faced with those he didn’t know, so when his father got him a pet cat, it became his life. Mimi was a tiny, tenacious thing that would fill Ouyang Zizhen’s days with laughter.

One night, he slipped Mimi some beef from his own dinner. The next morning, Mimi was dead. She was just as allergic to beef as he was to spiritual plants, and she’d died while no one had noticed. He himself was very small back then, so he was just sad. He didn’t look into Mimi’s death. Now, he thinks about it more thoroughly. Her throat closed up, her skin got little red bumps, and she died in agonizing asphyxiation. It does not look fun.

But still, he can’t think of anything else. When he stands one step away from the grave, he feels dizzy with adrenalin. Wen Yuan stands right next to him. “So, you’ve made up your mind, huh?”

Ouyang Zizhen ignores him. Wen Yuan continues, “Are you going to leave any problems behind? Sect Leader Nie has been awfully kind to you. Will you become a headache for him? Become a resentful ghost of some sort?”

“No.” He’s absolutely sure of it. There’s not a bit of resentment left in him. He’s empty.

He wonders if Jin Ling and Lan Jingyi would be proud of him for everything that he’s done. Wen Yuan says, “Probably not. Now, go on.”

Ouyang Zizhen doesn’t need to be told twice. He lies down on Jin Ling and Lan Jingyi’s grave, face-down, waiting. Waiting for them to accept him, even if they aren’t proud of him. Waiting for the whispers in his years, like the ones he’d heard while burying them. Ouyang Zizhen wanted to help them move on. Ouyang Zizhen is too good at his job. Slowly, he can’t breathe, and he feels even emptier than before because Jin Ling and Lan Jingyi aren’t here for him when he needs them. He really, really wants to see them in his next life. He wants to be their friends again.

When they don’t respond, he tries Wen Yuan, who has also moved on. The ugly caricature that Ouyang Zizhan has created, though, is smiling at him for once. Ouyang Zizhen thinks that he can afford to be selfish for once, and Wen Yuan must agree because he sits down right next to him, and when Ouyang Zizhen is finally no longer able to breathe, he can pretend he has a friend right next to him.

He’s not very good at pretending.

(Maybe this is what Lan Jingyi and Jin Ling and Wen Yuan and Mimi felt like when they died: alone. Empty. Unloved. 

Ouyang Zizhen really has screwed up.)