protagonisthalo | [closed post] drastic measures

Entry tags:

[closed post] drastic measures

Luo Binghe has been forced to remember how much harder everything was before he met Shen Yuan. Even with his lover by his side, being Luo Binghe was hard to bear. Any small hurt tends to stick and last within him, a hundred lacerations a day that refuse to heal. But Shen Yuan had a knack for making his anger and pain smaller and softer, burning away the mist with the sunlight of his smile. It was easier to let pain recede when his focus was on Shen Yuan's easy affection.

Now the world is once again a forest of thorns, impossible not to hurt himself against. Even if there is a possibility of having Shen Yuan back, it is not certain, and he is not here now. Luo Binghe has strayed so far, in his time here, from who he once thought himself to be. But it was easy when it was for the sake of Shen Yuan's happiness. Without him, and without any of the certainties Luo Binghe once formed himself around, there's nothing left in him but his tempestuous feelings.

He has been looking for Lan Wangji since learning he could speak to spirits, but Lan Wangji has not made himself easy to find. Least of all for Luo Binghe. In any other circumstance, he would be happy to let the man avoid him forever, their mutually animosity the only point on which they agree. But if Nina cannot find Shen Yuan, perhaps another cultivator can.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Lan Wangji, as it happens, is just coming in from the outdoors, unwinding the strips of cloth that bind his sleeves. He has been with Sagramore and Laertes again, helping them move the heavier materials for the construction of their house and observing their demonstration of the simple art of splitting logs. It is as Sagramore said. The work is good.

When he steps inside to see Luo Binghe stalking toward him past the welcome table, he goes promptly very still. He has no interest in speaking with Luo Binghe; he never will. Still, he can remember his own grief and its bottomless depths.

"Lan Wangji. I would speak with you." Lan Wangji knows very well that Luo Binghe would typically cut off his own finger before choosing to speak with him.¹ He won't bother with courtesies.

¹It's not that drastic, they grow back.

Expressionless, Lan Wangji finishes his task and stows the blue silk back in his sleeves. He says nothing, but he also doesn't turn and walk away. That should be invitation enough.

"Gideon has told me that you can communicate with spirits, and Magnus confirmed it. Have you discerned any sign of Shen Yuan?"

So Gideon continues to share Luo Binghe's company, as does Magnus. Lan Wangji has no power over either of them, but he feels that familiar little twist of cold fear, anyway. It doesn't show. He has long years of practice at fearing for the safety of those who matter to him.

"I have," he says, "recently." Of course he will not mention Claudius' involvement. "His spirit spoke through my qin."

Intense relief spasms through Luo Binghe, along with an inhale so sharp it sounds like a hiccup. He bites the inside of his lip, overwhelmed at the thought that Shen Yuan has not only been sensed, but spoken to.

But the unconcerned way Lan Wangji says it—as though it's a matter of idle curiosity, when Luo Binghe has been desperate and Nina has been trying—is hard to take. Shen Yuan's precious words, poured into Lan Wangji's indifferent ears.

"Why did you not send someone to tell me?" Lan Wangji hates him, but to hate him to the point of keeping news of Shen Yuan from him is breathtakingly cruel.

Lan Wangji releases a quiet breath as he observes the overwhelming strength of Luo Binghe's reaction. He never played Inquiry for Wei Ying. Wei Ying was unreachable. There was no use to it. "Who would I send?"

To strike at Luo Binghe's isolation, to call him friendless at a time like this, is a truly low blow. Despite himself, Luo Binghe is stung.

If this had happened to one of Lan Wangji's close companions—if it were, say, Galahad who had been found lifeless in a pool of blood—Luo Binghe has no doubt he would have informed Claudius immediately upon contacting the spirit. He would not have withheld any comfort that could ease such immeasurable suffering.

Everyone knows of Luo Binghe's relationship with Shen Yuan. Either Lan Wangji thinks him too inhuman to love, or the suffering of someone Lan Wangji dislikes means nothing to him. Either way, he is not so distant as he thinks from the cultivation sects he claims to condemn, and every bit the hypocrite Shen Yuan believed. Luo Binghe would say it to him directly—the words are eager to escape him—but he needs something. What Lan Wangji can give him is perhaps the only thing in the world precious enough to tolerate insult from this man. He bites his tongue, his gaze sliding sideways so that he doesn't have to look at Lan Wangji.

"I must speak with Shen Yuan. You may name any price."

Lan Wangji looks at Luo Binghe in silence. Truthfully, he has been thinking of the problem of Shen Yuan's death as a problem held at a remove from Luo Binghe's existence. He hates to think of Luo Binghe at all; he hates to think of how little he can do to combat him, of Luo Binghe declaring that he refrains from fighting Lan Wangji, a fight that would certainly be to the death, only because it would be socially inconvenient for him. There is no one he would have sent to speak with Luo Binghe, because there is no one he trusts Luo Binghe entirely not to hurt or manipulate.

He is not blind, though. He has seen the way that Luo Binghe looks at Shen Yuan during the handful of times they have shared the same room. It is a recognizable love. Even monsters are beloved by someone, Claudius said to him once. That's why murder has such a heavy weight.

If there is no one he could have sent, then it is an errand he should have taken upon himself, rightfully.

"There is no price," he says finally. "And I am sorry."

Luo Binghe clenches his hands into fists to keep them from shaking. So there is no price he will accept, nothing worth enough to him to help Luo Binghe. But he expected such a refusal; he even expected the mockery of Lan Wangji's false apology. It is perhaps the truest measure of how Shen Yuan has changed him that he is willing to humble himself even further.

"I know not how to persuade you. I know you have no care for either me or him, and that my agony holds no weight with you. I know that money is meaningless in this place, and my power does not hold the same sway it did in my kingdom, so there is little I can offer as recompense." And if he used the threat of violence, if Lan Wangji were unwilling, he could sabotage the communication, lie to Luo Binghe about what Shen Yuan said. Luo Binghe does not know how to interpret qin language. "All I can do is ask again, in the strongest possible terms: I must speak to him."

It is the feeling of extending an open hand, however warily, and having it looked at with fear, as if it were the edge of a blade. Lan Wangji is familiar enough with this feeling. Come back to Gusu with me. He thought he had learned to be clearer. It is true that he cares nothing for Luo Binghe, and very little for Shen Yuan. Neither has done anything to earn his respect. Still, he can't fathom what he has done to lead Luo Binghe to consider him the cruel one in this exchange. Luo Binghe's distaste for him came about because Lan Wangji could not restrain himself from caring about Claudius' pain.

"You misunderstand," he says, carefully. "I will contact him. I want no payment."

Luo Binghe's eyes widen in shock, then narrow. So Lan Wangji wishes Luo Binghe to be indebted to him. He does not relish the thought of Lan Wangji holding anything over him, but it doesn't matter if it means talking to Shen Yuan. He nods quickly, accepting these terms.

Lan Wangji can't interpret Luo Binghe's expression, but frankly, he is past caring. He has agreed to help him. If Luo Binghe is finding reasons to take further offense at his agreement, he can do nothing to stop him. His qin is strapped to his back, as it typically is -- he goes very few places without both of his weapons these days. So without another word, he strides off down the hallway, presuming that Luo Binghe will follow.

Luo Binghe does hasten after him. Lan Wangji continues to treat him with disrespect, but his desperation to hear from Shen Yuan outweighs his irritation. He is also, despite himself, curious to observe spirit communication; musical cultivation is a specialty of Qing Jing Peak, but of course no one bothered teaching it to Luo Binghe.

Lan Wangji finds, before long, a room. His only qualification, as with the last time, is that it not be a room in which he has shared meaningful time with any of his loved ones at the mansion. As he walks in, he unwraps his qin, letting it hover over his hand while he simultaneously draws the spirit attraction flag from the pouch at his waist. He sits, leaning the flag upright against the side of the chair he has chosen, Wangji across his lap as always.

Luo Binghe remains standing, too nervous to sit. If it doesn't work—if the spirit was here, but is already gone—

"Ask—ask how he died, who killed him. And we need to know what to do for the Sun and Dew Moon Mushroom, how to ensure its healthy growth."

For these questions, Lan Wangji has no need to ask Shen Yuan's spirit. "He was killed by a woman whose name cannot be spoken. She can sense it when her name is said. She has power over memory and coincidence." He sets his hands to the strings, which are already quivering eagerly, but does not play yet. "She manipulated both, first to kill him and then to remove herself from the memory of every resident here. The plant that will become Shen Yuan requires little maintenance. Qi may speed its growth, but excessive haste will warp the final body. Do not change the balance of sunlight and moonlight. Keep the soil moist, especially in the morning. Keep the lattice clear and open and allow nothing to block it."

"You've asked him already." He tries to keep the accusatory tone out of his voice, but likely does not fully succeed. Did he not think this was information that Luo Binghe needed? Who has more investment in the mushroom's growth, or in seeking Shen Yuan's murderer, than he? "Then it was someone. A resident here." Not the mansion itself. And it was a resident who took the memory from him—not Xin Mo. The thought makes him tremble with rage. Those were memories of Shen Yuan's last moments.

There is much, in this, for Luo Binghe to process. But the more he and Lan Wangji talk, the more it delays Luo Binghe's ability to communicate with Shen Yuan. He does have more questions, many of them, but more than anything he just wants to hear from his beloved. "Never mind that. Just let him speak what he would have me hear."

Lan Wangji briefly considers his own spike of irritation, but bats the thought away. He will play Wangji more cleanly and channel qi more easily if his mind is clear. Luo Binghe does not matter. Lan Wangji offered him an apology. He has no control over whether Luo Binghe accepts it or not. He does, again, begin with the first question: Who are you? There is an infinitesimal chance of having summoned the wrong spirit, but he wants to eliminate that chance. It is, however, Shen Yuan; that is shortly confirmed. Luo Binghe has not asked a question, but Lan Wangji turns it into one: What would you say to Luo Binghe?

The answer is characteristically long, played with urgency. Wangji's strings vibrate, the notes on the loud side for a qin, and Lan Wangji listens with a dull ache in his chest as the sound curls into meaning. He never played Inquiry for Wei Ying. There was no use to it. Even if he had, what would he have heard? Wei Ying's final words to him were a scream, get lost. He never played Inquiry for Wei Ying, and he sits here with a man who hates him, who has toyed with his mind and with Claudius' body, listening to the words of someone who, evidently, loves that man beyond reason, beyond death. For a flicker of a moment, he wants to pack up his qin and leave the room. He wants to bury his face in Wei Ying's neck, find Claudius and propose a cup of tea at which the topic of Aornis is disallowed, return to Sagramore and Laertes and request a fresh set of mindless tasks.

He takes every care to speak neutrally, after a retreat to quiet thought that is certainly longer than Luo Binghe would prefer. "Shen Yuan loves you and does not blame you for his death. He wants to assure you that all will be well. He intended to tell you as much at his death, but he could not speak. He is sorry." He breathes. "He misses you. He wants you to kill his murderer, but she is dangerous and unpredictably powerful. He wants you to stay away from her. His killer was cruel to both of you and took the memories each time." Because Shen Yuan asked, he keeps the final words to himself.

Luo Binghe only makes it to Shen Yuan loves you before his eyes fill with tears. He sinks heavily into the nearest seat, struggling to manage himself, before giving up entirely. Why should he care if Lan Wangji sees him in an emotional state? He could hardly lose more respect for Luo Binghe, and Luo Binghe could hardly care less about his opinion.

And yet every syllable Lan Wangji speaks is precious beyond measure. Luo Binghe knew that Shen Yuan loved him, but in his absence, it's too easy to be caught in the darkness of his own head. His yearning feels one-sided, his heart always reaching for Shen Yuan and finding nothing. But he can feel Shen Yuan's care even through Lan Wangji's reluctant, stilted delivery. It's not lost to him—Shen Yuan is still here. Luo Binghe aches for him more sharply than ever. "I miss him," he babbles, "beyond words, I love him beyond sense—" He breaks off, wiping his face. "I will kill her. I swear it." The contradiction—he wants you to kill her, he wants you to stay away from her, asking for what he wants and then fretting over it—is so like Shen Yuan. "When she killed him, did he suffer long?"

He strains to listen to the qin music; that is Shen Yuan speaking, even if Luo Binghe can't parse it. He wishes he could fall asleep to the sound.

Lan Wangji averts his eyes from the sight of Luo Binghe's tears. It would be unfathomable to offer him comfort. He had not imagined Luo Binghe capable of such sorrow. Lan Wangji has only ever seen him boasting of his own cruelty, laughing at Lan Wangji's efforts to help his friend, looking at Lan Wangji with disgust.

He only plays the question without comment, and receives his answer with little delay. "Not long," he says evenly. "Shen Yuan's poison returned and his meridians were blocked, but she did not engineer that intentionally. Whatever misfortune was possible came about. It was quick."

For the poison to return so long after Luo Binghe dispelled it makes no sense, but neither does Shen Yuan dying from such a wound. Whatever misfortune was possible—that must be what Lan Wangji meant when he said the murderer controlled both memory and coincidence.

Then no part of it was Xin Mo. It truly wasn't Luo Binghe's fault. Some tension deep within him releases.

He was still there—he still should have protected Shen Yuan—but if he can resurrect him and kill the murderer, there is yet a chance to redeem himself. If it was Luo Binghe's sword that killed Shen Yuan, he could never live with himself again.

"If he did suffer long, he would still say it was quick," he murmurs, mouth twisting. Shen Yuan wouldn't want Luo Binghe to worry about him. Addressing Lan Wangji, he says, "Why has he not been able to speak with Nina?"

Little of this has been new or interesting information to Lan Wangji so far, but his attention sharpens at this question. He knows some about Nina's powers, but only some. He has wanted to respect her impulse to keep her abilities to herself. In any case, she is not speaking with him; he imagines she likely never will again. He will respect that, too, with regret.

Outwardly impassive, he returns his hands to the qin and transmutes the question into music. Shen Yuan's response is forceful, so forceful that Lan Wangji nearly stops him by flattening his hand on the strings -- but Wangji can endure worse abuse, and has in the past.

"Shen Yuan has spoken with Nina, but once Nina answers aloud and speaks the killer's name, she forgets." He himself is taking particular care not to say Aornis. "He can speak with her only in the room of his death, which cannot always be found. At times, I would call him away from Nina. Because I didn't yet know to avoid the name, I would forget, too."

Luo Binghe's chest aches. It is an unexpected treasure to be able to hear Shen Yuan's perspective, his experience of being severed from the living world. Luo Binghe hadn't been sure he would be aware enough to have a perspective—if his spirit was strong enough to think and feel as Shen Yuan does. But he has been waiting here for Luo Binghe, on the other side of the veil that separates the living and dead, trying to find a way to him.

Lan Wangji's tone is as expressionless as ever, but the emphatic notes on the qin speak to Shen Yuan's frustration. He has been trying—speaking to Nina even though his efforts have come to nothing, waiting in the room of his death for her even while Lan Wangji callously pulls him away. Of course. Of course he has been doing everything he can to get in touch with Luo Binghe.

"I'll tell her. She'll be relieved to understand." To Lan Wangji: "Do you know the name? Can it be written?"

Lan Wangji hesitates in a moment of wariness, but in this goal, at the least, he and Luo Binghe are aligned. He can envision no peaceful solution to the problem of Aornis, not with what he knows of her motives. Nothing but misery.

"It can," he says. He doubts Luo Binghe knows sign language, but he lifts his hands from the qin to spell the name with them anyway, six English letters, A-O-R-N-I-S. It is worth trying; perhaps Magnus bends whatever time they spend together into something useful. "Do you have ink?"

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 1 of 5

[closed post] drastic measures

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject