Lanuary 2024 Day 2 - Yiling Wei Sect Head Disciple
"Did you know? The Yiling Laozu hadonly one disciple in his lifetime. A boy only four years of age!"
Lan Sizhui's ears perked up despite the rules against eavesdropping. There wasn't much he could do about it while sitting in a crowded tavern. Gossip traveled on whispers like dust in the howling wind.
Surely it wasn't his fault these patrons' voices were so loud? The rules were never clear about this, but better to be safe than sorry. Sizhui turned his attention towards meditative recitation, the way Ba— Hanguang-jun had taught him. When Hanguang-jun returned from the room he'd entered to confer with the inn's proprietress, he would see Sizhui sitting pin-straight and proper, not a hair out of place.
But try as he might, the ruckus from that table was impossible to ignore.
"You're kidding!" one the sectless cultivators said as they slammed their drink down, amber liquid spilling onto the table. "The fearsome Yiling Laozu tried to teach demonic cultivation to a kid???"
His friend's lips curled in disgust. "Yes, it's true. People in this very town mention it all the time. That he dragged this poor kid everywhere with him! Why else if not to teach him how to terrorize everyone."
The third cultivator leaned in to whisper, "You don't suppose he…abducted the child do you?"
Sizhui's heart started racing. He'd heard many stories about the Yiling Laozu, everyone had, of course. Especially since Jingyi had just finished this last phase where he spoke nothing, reading nothing, saw nothing if it wasn't about the Yiling Laozu.
According to Jingyi's rants, though the Yiling Laozu was indeed fearsome and utilized forbidden techniques, they were never for nefarious gains. Jingyi's theories point to him being a recluse more than anything else, a drunkard alone on the hill.
That never sat well with Sizhui. He couldnt explain why, but the thought of a lonely man dwelling on a mountain of graves with nary a living soul nearby, made something like a pit open up in his stomach.
It was sad, he thought. It was sad.
The door to a room meant for staff opened and a man dressed in pristine white robes with an embroidered forehead ribbon stepped back into the room.
Sizhui instantly stood, bowing perfectly the way he'd been taught. "Hanguang-jun," he greeted, keeping his tone level and biting back the urge to smile like a fool at his caretaker's return.
The table of cultivators' silence rang loud as a hush fell over the room. Hanguang-jun nodded his reply to Sizhui and seemed to glide across the room, while they stared after him like gaping fish.
This time their whispers were an actual attempt at discretion. "He'd know right. He'd know if—if you know who really, you know, stole a child?"
"Shh!!! Don't you know? Next to Sandu Sengshu, the one who hates the Yiling Laozu most is…"
Their words trailed off as Hanguang-jun stopped in his path, though his solemn gaze remained rooted on the empty space in front of him.
Sizhui tried valiantly to keep the shock from his face. Hanguang-jun had long ago mastered the ability to ignore gossiping, letting it slide off his person as easily as dew dripped down from a bamboo leaf. Sizhui had never seen him so affected by words. Did Hanguang-jun really hate the Yiling Laozu that much?
But only a moment later, he stepped away and reached Sizhui's side as if nothing had happened at all.
Hanguang-jun gracefully folded his legs and took his seat across the table. Sizhui hurried to pour tea into a cup, taking care to hold back his sleeve the way he'd been taught.
Choosing to ignore what had just happened, he asked, "How was your meeting, Hanguang-jun?"
He waited patiently as Hanguang-jun blew steam away from his cup, cooling his tea before taking a measured sip. Falling back into old habits, Sizhui couldn't help but admire and take note of his demeanor. If he were really shameless, stars would bleed from his eyes.
Hanguang-jun nodded, pleased with his drink. "Productive. You have poured this tea well, Sizhui."
Sizhui beamed, heat rising to his cheeks at the praise.
"And the curse? Has it been resolved?" he asked instead of squealing like Jingyi when Hanguang-jun told him his writing was legible. But only just.
Hanguang-jun hummed. "Mn. The matter has been resolved. We will head back to the Cloud Recesses tomorrow once we've rested."
Sizhui relaxed back in his seat, allowing a moment of discomposure that hopefully Hanguang-jun would ignore.
Not bad for Sizhui's first proper outing as a junior Lan disciple. He was surprised when Hanguang-jun singled him out for a nighthunt, one on one. Jingyi hadn't stopped whining about it for days.
Sometimes Sizhui thought Hanguang-jun showed him too much special favor. But he smiled into his cup all the same.
The elderly innkeeper steps out of the kitchen carrying a tray laden with food. Silver strands of hair slip from her ponytail, shining in the candlelight.
"There! I remembered all your favorites from last time you visited," she winked.
But each of the dishes she placed on the table were redder than the last. Red peppers and red chili oil, even the soup had a shiny spicy sheen on the top.
The innkeeper placed her hands on her hips as she stood up, proud.
Sizhui gaped at Hanguang-jun.
Hanguang-jun's ears flamed red as the dishes he stared down at. A shifty glance—shifty! A shifty Hanguang-jun! Jingyi would never believe this—at the proprietress waiting eagerly for him to try it. When it became clear she wouldn't leave until he took a bite, Hanguang-jun spooned a mouthful of the spicy soup.
Sizhui's jaw dropped to the floor.
In all his years living in Cloud Recesses, he'd never, ever seen Hanguang-jun eat something like this.
Pulling a small cloth from his sleeve, Hanguang-jun coughed daintily into it as he told the proprietress, "Thank you. It is delicious."
"I hope so! Soon as I saw you I knew what I had to serve you," the innkeeper babbled as the two Lans stared mournfully at food too painful to eat. Sizhui took a tentative morsel of a vegetable dish, wiping off as much of the red sauce as he could on the plate.
The innkeeper continued speaking like she hadnt noticed. "If only our Laozu was still with us, he'd have eaten it all! And the little boy that was with you! He ate so well! It's horrible what happened to them, such a terrible shame" She rested a hand against her cheek as she sighed.
For the second time that day, Hanguang-jun stiffened, his spoon held aloft.
'Laozu?' What Laozu?
They were in Yiling so it could only be one…
Sizhui stared wide-eyed at his senior, who at some point in his lifetime sat in this very tavern having a spicy meal with the fiendish Yiling Laozu.
The vegetable fell from his chopstick onto his lap.
A stream of whispers that made no attempt at being discrete erupted from the other table, these cultivators having no care for the Lan tenets.
"See! I told you! The Yiling Laozu stole a young boy to be his disciple!"
"You also said Hanguang-jun hated him! Why would they
have a meal if he hated him!"
"Maybe the Yiling Laozu brainwashed him too. Maybe he helped him kidnap the child? Maybe they're both in on it!"
"Then did Hanguang-jun betray him? He was the one who led the sects to Yiling Laozu's cave."
"He must have killed the boy too then. There's no way someone as righteous as Hanguang-jun would let a demonic child like that live—"
Chopsticks slammed onto the table, rattling the dishes as Hanguang-jun stood from his seat in a single, brusque movement.
His expression was the usual smooth, unreadable jade, so Sizhui almost assumed Hanguang-jun had stood so suddenly for some other reason, until he bowed to the proprietress and said, "My apologies for living so soon. We must return to the Cloud Recesses immediately. Thank you."
Apparently it was possible for Sizhui's jaw to circumnavigate the floor entirely, falling into the earth itself.
Lying. Hanguang-jun was lying!!!
"Come, Sizhui," he said, and without a backwards glance towards the gaping cultivators and with an exaggerated flourish of his sleeves, Hanguang-jun marched out of the tavern.
Sizhui hurriedly reached into his money pouch and placed in ingot on the table, bowing in farewell.
Forgetting to pay as well? If Sizhui didn't know any better, he'd think Hanguang-jun was possessed. Next he'd take his forehead ribbon off and strut around the inn without a care.
Sizhui hastened his steps to follow Hanguang-jun, head turning this way and that for a trace of his senior.
Finally, he spotted him standing before a market stall selling, of all things, children's toys. Wooden swords and hand-stitched dolls wearing colorful fabrics. Hanguang-jun was stroking a finger across a pair of artfully crafted grass butterflies.
Maybe he was possessed by a child after all?
"Would Gongzi like to purchase one? I weaved these two just this morning," the stallowner politely enquired.
Hanguang-jun shook his head in reply and, folding the hand that had touched the butterflies into a fist behind his back, walked off down the street.
Though Sizhui should be in a hurry to catch up to him, his feet stopped at the stall. Looking down at the pair of butterflies entwined in their stand, something in his heart ached.
"I'd like to buy these, please."
He found Hanguang-jun in a side street off the market, standing tall and proud and still as a statue. Unsure of what to say or even if he should, Sizhui took his by Hanguang-jun's side, content to simply be near as the sounds of the market faded into the background.
The grass butterflies were expertly crafted and Sizhui became mesmerized by the way the twined together as he twirled them again and again. He didn't notice Hanguang-jun was watching as well until he spoke.
"Yiling has grown since the last time I was here."
Hanguang-jun's voice held a softness that reminded Sizhui of the first time he took him to see the rabbits, all those years ago. He looked up, still twirling his butterflies, as Hanguang-jun watched with golden eyes a million miles away.
Sizhui bit his lips, wondering if he should say something. but before he can his senior plucked one of the butterflies from his hand. Fingers lined with guqin ridges spun the butterfly again and again.
"There was a similar stall back then that sold butterflies as well."
He pressed the grass butterfly against the one held in Sizhui's hands, almost like a kiss.
Sizhui's heart raced, suddenly desperate for an answer, "Did you really meet the Yiling Laozu back then? At that inn?"
A moment passed, and Sizhui thought Hanguang-jun wouldn't say anything.
Then, of all the things, Hanguang-jun smiled.
Faint, only the smallest lift at the corners, but a smile nonetheless.
He was smiling, so why did it look like he was about to cry?
"We did, yes," he replied.
"We?"
Hanguang-jun set him a mournful look.
Oh, right. The boy.
Before he could think better, Sizhui blurted, "So it's true then? The Yiling Laozu had a disciple? A little boy?"
Hanguang-jun gaze drifts off to the side. "Not quite. He was Wei Ying's, but not a disciple."
The Yiling Laozu's real name was Wei Wuxian, but he'd never heard anyone call him that. Not even Jingyi ever mentioned it.
Curiosity lit a spark in Sizhui's belly. Just what sort of relationship did Hanguang-jun have with the Yiling Laozu for him to call him so casually? For him to smile when he talked about him? For him to seem so sad?
But bravery is fickle, and Sizhui was abruptly afraid of the answer. In fact, a part of him almost wished he never asked anything.
The other part of him yearned to learn more about his most respected senior and the dead man he clung to.
How many times did Sizhui wake to the sound of guqin strings playing Inquiry? How many times did he hear the loud silence of their answer?
"The—the Yiling Laozu had a son?"
Hanguang-jun's gaze held a teasing sparkle when it settled on Sizhui. "He birthed him from his own body."
Sizhui pursed his lips with confusion. That did not make any sense, but Hanguang-jun began weaving a tale before he had a chance to think more of it.
"There was a little radish that followed him everywhere," he said, quiet and fond. "He spoke very fondly of the boy, but he would never allow any harm to him. Wei Ying cared for him."
"So that stuff about him making this kid his disciple…"
"Mn. Utterly false." A noise like a scoff escapes through Hanguang-jun nose, like even the very idea is ludicrous.
"Oh." For whatever reason, Sizhui's shoulders slumped in dejection. He supposed it would have been interesting, to meet someone trained and cared for by the Yiling Laozu himself. He wondered what kind of person they grew up to be.
He swallowed and glanced at Hanguang-jun through the corner of his eye. "Do you think he's still alive...that boy? That he's okay?"
Hanguang-jun shifted to face Sizhui head on. "Yes," he said, with a surety and conviction that dazzled. "I believe he is. He is doing well and thriving."
He took the butterflies back in hand. This time when he smiled down at them, it touched his eyes.
"Wei Ying would be proud," he told the butterflies. He turned that smile towards Sizhui and it was almost like looking at the sun.
He didn't quite understand why it felt like that warmth filled his insides too, why he felt it flowing through his veins. Why Hanguang-jun's words made him so happy.
He beamed back all the same.
As they mounted their swords to return home, Sizhui turned back for one final look at Yiling and the Burial Mounds behind it.
The sun was setting over the mountain, blues and pinks and purples splashed against a midnight sky, casting long shadows like it was waving back.
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