silver_sun (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
silver_sun) wrote2023-07-11 07:52 am
silver_sun) wrote2023-07-11 07:52 am
New Horizons (2/6)
New Horizons part 2
It’s dark when they arrive back in Fuling, the first few drops of rain starting to fall. The warm light of lanterns inside the houses spill out into the wet and cold welcoming them back.
It is one of Fu Rongxi’s sons who opens the door when they arrive at the Fu residence to share their news that the yaogui will no longer terrorise the woods. The youngest of the sons, a youth barely into his teens, shouts out excitedly as he sees them. “A-die! The cultivators, the daozhangs that you said were here, they’ve come back.”
Before anyone else has a chance to say anything the boy launches into questions about whether they’d beaten the creature, what it was like, was it frightening to look at, was it a difficult fight, did they use their swords, was it safe to go into the woods now.
“Peng-er, let them get inside out of the rain,” Fu Rongxi says, joining them and ushering them inside. “I’m sorry, he forgets his manners sometimes. I know you said that you did not wish for payment, but let us at least give you food and shelter for the night. It is the very least we can do for you given what you have done for us.”
While Fuling isn’t a wealthy village by any means the Fu family seem better off than most. So while Song Lan would be hesitant to take any of the limited supplies that the He family has, he doesn’t feel the same here. That he can see Xingchen has started to shiver a little now, only confirms to him that they need somewhere warm and dry for the night.
“Thank you,” he replies, “We would be
“You’re hurt!” exclaims Fu Rongxi’s wife, seeing the blood that stains Xiao Xingchen’s sleeve. “Come sit down,” she says to him, before turning to her son. “Peng-er, set some water on the fire, stop bothering them.”
“There is no need,” Xiao Xingchen says, seeming a little unsettled by the sudden attention. “It really isn’t that bad.”
“Daozhang, you’re hurt, wet and cold from the rain. You did this to help us,” she says firmly. “You can’t sit to eat like this.What if you were to get sick? It won’t do at all.”
“Xingchen, please listen to Fu Furen,” Song Lan says. He knows only too well how unaccustomed attention can be a lot to deal with, especially if you aren’t feeling at your best, but he is also sure that Xingchen should put his health first.
“I can do it myself, really. It’s no bother,” he replies, looking around at all the other people in the house who are now looking at him.
Now that they are inside, Song Lan can see that the Fu household is far larger and busier than he’d previously thought. When they had talked to Fu Rongxi earlier they had sat outside on the small terrace at the side of the house. The building is home to not only Fu Rongxi and his wife, but also their eldest son and his very expectant wife and well as the younger son who’d opened the door and an even younger daughter who is about ten.
“I will help you, it will be easier that way,” Song Lan tells him, hoping that he will not disagree with him over this. Turning to Fu Furen he asks, “Furen, is there somewhere private we can use?”
“There is a storeroom for the workshop,” she replies doubtfully, “but it’s so cold in there at this time of year.”
“We shall not need to be there for long,” he reassures her. “If you do not mind us using it, then it will be fine.”
Although she looks rather unconvinced by the idea she agrees to it, but insists on providing them with what they might need to clean and dress the wound.
“He is probably shy, A-Xiu. He is only a very young man after all.” Song Lan hears Fu Rongxi tell his wife, as she busies herself in gathering up what she has decided they will need.. “Cultivators have their own ways, they may seem strange to us. If he prefers only his fellow daozhang to touch him then do not press him on it.”
Relieved that they have not overly upset their hosts, Song Lan escorts Xiao Xingchen to the storeroom they have been given use of, before returning to collect the offered water and supplies.
“You don’t have to,” Xiao Xingchen says as Song Lan returns and places down the bowl of warm water, a cloth and some bandages that they have been given. “I know you don’t like things like this. I really can manage by myself.”
“If it is you, I do not mind.” It goes further than that really, not that Song Lan knows how to explain it in any way that makes sense. He wants to touch him, to check that he is alright, to hold him close and provide comfort. They are feelings that have only grown stronger the longer they have travelled together. It’s confusing and not a little scary to realise that he needs to reevaluate certain things he thought he knew about himself, about what he likes and doesn’t like, about why touch and closeness with Xingchen is different than with anyone else.
“You don’t? Then yes,” Xiao Xingchen replies, a small, weary, but ultimately relieved smile forming. “Thank you.”
He feels warm, faintly embarrassed and Song Lan replies quickly, “You would do the same for me. It is only practical.”
“Practical,” he repeats mostly to himself, before asking, “You would let me? You truly wouldn’t mind?”
“As I said, when it is you, whatever the situation, I will not mind at all.”
Xiao Xingchen’s only reply is a quiet, “Oh.” Followed by a smile that is far softer and shyer than anything Song Lan can remember being given before. .
More flustered by this than he wants to admit even to himself, he turns his attention to removing the improvised bandage from Xingchen’s arm. The spare ribbon they used is stained red and he isn’t certain whether it will wash out. If not, perhaps it could be dyed - to discard it seems wasteful.
The thought comes to him, that If perhaps it were to be dyed black he could wear it. It feels shocking to consider it, to imagine having something belonging to Xiao Xingchen so close to him. Yet now it is in his mind he knows the idea of it will not leave him.
“Are you alright?” Xiao Xingchen asks when he hasn’t done anything else.
“I was thinking how to wash this, nothing more.” It’s only partly the truth, but he can’t find a way to explain his other thoughts.
There is no practical way to bare just one arm, Xiao Xingchen strips to the waist. He shivers slightly in the cool air, a thin trickle of blood runs down from the wound, where having removed the clothes that had stuck to it has caused it to bleed once more.
The wound is deeper than Song Lan had expected, the edges ragged where the yaoguai’s talon had ripped the skin. He can see a few strands of material torn from Xingchen’s clothing sticking to the edges of the cut despite his best efforts when he’d helped him undress not to leave anything behind.
With the cloth soaked in warm water, he tries to wipe them away, hoping the water will soften the blood that has already dried. Despite the care he is taking, Xingchen flinches, a small gasp barely held back as he bites his lip, hands tensing into fists as he tries to hold still.
“I am sorry, this needs to be done,” Song Lan says, wishing there was something he could do to ease the pain. “It needs to be clean. It will heal better that way.”
“I know.” His voice shakes a little, cold sweat starting to bead on his forehead. “It hurts more than I thought it would. How does it hurt more than getting it?”
It is a question that Song Lan has no answer to, so he tries to be as gentle as he can, but every small soft noise of pain that escapes Xiao Xingchen makes him feel clumsy and inept. Working by lamp light isn’t ideal and despite his desire to help the feeling of blood drying on his hands is almost too much for him to stand - he’s sure he’s going to feel it long after he has scrubbed them clean. Finally it is finished, the water in the bowl and the cloth having turned pink.
“Is it done?” There is a shaky, breathless quality to Xiao Xingchen’s voice that makes it only too clear that he is close to the limit of being able to bear it in stoic silence.
“Almost,” Song Lan reassures him. “It needs to be bandaged.”
It needs medicine too, injuries by creatures such as yaoguai could all too easily turn bad. Their supply of medicine is low however. Having given some of it to He Zhou, Song Lan knows he faces the choice of applying all that they have in the hope it will be enough and that he doesn’t need more later or using less, to keep some in reserve in case it is needed. In the end he decides that keeping a little back is prudent. They still need to search the woods for the yaoguai’s victims and while he doesn’t expect there to be any further combat, accidents can still happen and he isn’t willing to risk it. Sometimes Xiao Xingchen is more reckless than he would like, and he is almost certain that if he’d not dissuaded him he would have tried to search the woodland in the rain and dark, heedless of the injury to his arm.
The bitter herbal smell fills the air as he opens the jar. Rubbing it directly onto the wound while effective would likely be far too painful and Song Lan can’t bring himself to do it. Instead he puts a layer of the medical paste on a cloth before placing it over the wound and bandaging it quickly into place.
Xiao Xingchen gasps as it makes contact, his breathing growing ragged and uneven as he starts to shake.
The first burning sting of it is the worst part, and while Song Lan knows that it will fade soon enough, it’s distressing to see him in any kind of pain. It feels incredibly natural to place an arm around him, to let him lean against him and reassurance and comfort.
“Next time we are buying something else,” Xiao Xingchen says, voice slightly muffled where his face is against Song Lan’s shoulder.
“We will,” Song Lan replies, wondering how long they can stay like this, whether his own usual aversion to touch will suddenly reassert itself or if Xingchen will grow too self conscious of having his arm around his bare shoulders.
In the end it is neither, rather it is the fact that Xiao Xingchen is shivering, a fine tremor more felt than seen that pushes Song Lan to help him dress in fresh clothes. If his own hands are shaking slightly too then neither of them acknowledge it.
“I will wash them,” Song Lan says, gathering up the old clothes once they are done. The fabric of both layers is ripped where the yaoguai’s talon had torn through them. Hopefully it could be repaired, although he would be the first to admit that neither of them have any skill or experience in repairing clothes.
As soon as Fu Furen sees the torn and blooded clothing, she insists that she will take care of it, that they must let her do it since they are taking no other payment for their help.
Despite the relief that the yaoguai is gone and will no longer harm anyone there is still a subdued mood in the Fu residence during their evening meal. Yet how, Song Lan thinks, could it be otherwise? Not when the eldest of them is still missing, killed by the creature, his body lying somewhere out in the woods. No, only once Lao Fu's body was found and brought home, was buried and mourned by his family could they move on from their grief.
Despite having the largest house in Fuling, there is little space for guests staying the night. Fu Rongxi is apologetic that he can only offer them space on the floor in the main room of the house, rather than a space to themselves.
The house is clean, warm and well maintained and Song Lan reassures him that it is no hardship for them to sleep there, thanking him for allowing them to stay. It is a relief that they can, because Xiao Xingchen looks weary, barely awake where he is sitting, talking to Peng-er. Having to travel again late into the night in the wet and cold to find somewhere to stay would be very hard on him, and not something that he wants to put him through.
Xiao Xingchen is asleep almost as soon as he lays down on his sleeping mat, curled into his blanket. Song Lan stays awake a little longer. Meditation at the end of the long day, especially if there has been a creature or spirit to deal with, always helps to clear his mind and allows him to sleep better.
It is still raining when he opens his eyes, a soft pattering sound on the roof above. Beside him Xingchen sleeps, slow, gentle breaths stirring the hair that has escaped from its tie, to fall across his face.
Carefully brushing them aside, Song Lan pulls Xingchen’s blanket up a little from where it has slipped from his shoulder. Then, satisfied that everything is right with his world, Song Lan lays down and sleeps as well.
–
Morning arrives, the day cold but dry, the previous night’s rain having stopped a few hours before daybreak. Fuling comes awake as the dawning light brightens the steep sided valleys, the people there making the most of the short daylight hours as winter approaches.
The subdued mood in the Fu household remains through breakfast, the relief that the yaoguai has been defeated overshadows by the knowledge that today they will search the forest for the people that it killed.
Fu Rongxi and his eldest son inform them that they will help in the search, that there will be others that will help. Fu Peng, the younger son, for all his asking, is told to remain and help his mother and sister. It is a decision that Song Lan agrees with. There was no knowing what condition the remains might be found in, and a child shouldn’t have to witness such things, especially when it could be his own grandfather that is found.
Fu Rongxi’s wife and the wife of his eldest son have already washed Xiao Xingchen’s torn and bloodied clothes and will spend the time while their husbands are searching to repair them.
While Song Lan speaks with Fu Rongxi and six other men from the village who have arrived to assist in the search, Xiao Xingchen visits He Zhou and his family, to see if there is anything further that they can do for them. He is subdued when he returns, and Song Lan can tell that what little hope there might have been about He Zhou surviving is gone. It is a sad situation for the He household, but there is little that they can do to help beyond what they already have done. Perhaps now that the woods are safe once more and if He Zhou’s wife knows what the fuling mushrooms look like and where to find them perhaps she can help make money to support the family. Otherwise the best hope is that they have other family members somewhere else, perhaps in a town where work cooking or cleaning for a wealthy family or at an inn might be available.
Leaving these thoughts behind for now, Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen lead the search party out of the village and into woodland.
There is a returning of life to the forest, the creatures that had remained hidden and silent, while the yaoguai had been there, are already starting to creep from their burrows and hiding places. The sense of wrongness is fading too and Song Lan knows that today is their best chance to find those that the creature had killed.
The search party follows them, still a little nervous, to the point where He Zhou had been found and then on to where it had been defeated. They stare with horrified amazement at the broken and uprooted trees where the creature had been fought, not quite able to take in the sheer power that the yaoguai or the cultivators had used to cause such damage.
The oldest of the group, a man who’d been friends with Lao Fu since they’d been boys, seems to know the deepest part of the woods better than most and takes charge of suggesting search areas. As the yaoguai had once been a bird he first suggests where there is a steep rock outcropping, where gnarled and twisted trees cling precariously to it.
There is no indication that the creature had ever made the place its home, nor is any trace of the people who are missing found there. Their search continues on until mid-morning, with them checking another possible cliff top roost and then a waterfall, before moving into a different area of the forest where there were caves.
Even before the lingering sense of wrongness left by the yaoguai can be felt there is a foul scent in the air. As they draw closer there is no question that the cave had been the creature’s lair, the lingering sense of resentful energy is clear, but even more so than that is the smell of rot and decay.
Although the wound is bandaged and hidden beneath layers of clothing, Song Lan finds himself worrying whether Xiao Xingchen should enter the cave at all. He doesn’t want to be there himself, doesn’t want to have to touch bones or decaying bodies, the thought of it makes his skin crawl, increasing to the point it almost physically hurts. Yet if it is a choice between Xingchen and himself, then no matter his own discomfort, it will be him.
“I will enter first,” Song Lan says to the people of Fuling who have helped with the search. “If it's safe, you may follow.”
“We will,” Xiao Xingchen says, sending a talisman ahead of them, letting it light their way, before going inside. It flickers pale blue, illuminating the grim scene in a muted, almost eerie, glow.
They find the body of Fu Zhiling first, Lao Fu as the tea stall proprietor had called him, the father of their host the previous night. Barely inside the cave, the elderly man’s remains are small and crumpled amidst the branches and foliage that have also been dragged into the cave.
It will be upsetting for his family to know what cruel fate had befallen him, Song Lan knows, but there is hopefully some comfort to be found in the fact that the body is still whole and able to be buried.
Not far from Fu Zhuling, but now more bone than flesh are the remains of a woman, her hair still held with a carved bone pin. There is little more he can tell about her, but he hopes that the pin and bag on the ground next to her will provide enough to allow her family to find her.
There is no sense that there is any danger within the cave, so Xiao Xingchen calls back to the people outside that those who were missing had been found.
“It’s A-jie, isn’t it?” A woman’s voice says from somewhere outside. “It’s her, it’s my a-jie.”
Song Lan turns back to see a woman in the entrance to the cave drop to her knees and start to sob. He watches as Xiao Xingchen turns back and tries to comfort her, letting her lean on him as he guides her from the cave.
It is better than Xingchen does it, he tells himself. He isn’t good with people, not in the way his friend is, and never in the way that people seem to want or need. He has been aware of it almost as long as he’s been aware of anything. Even as a child he’d preferred the quiet company of the monks rather than rough and tumble games of the children his own age. Tall and quiet and awkward, making friends had often seemed impossible. Instead training and study had taken the place of social activities, and he’d told himself this made him a good student, a good disciple, that all the rest of the things were unnecessary distractions.
It’s darker still further back into the cave, the light from the talisman barely lifting the gloom, the thick, foetid air only seeming to enhance it. The white glint of bare bone against one of the walls catches his eye and carefully makes his way over it. Debris strewn on the floor of the cave catches at his feet, clothes snagging on branches that have been dragged inside.
There had been no hope of finding any of the yaoguai’s victims alive and the sheets and blankets that have been brought to wrap and carry the remains home are brought into the cave.
While Fu Rongxi and his eldest son carefully wrap Fu Zhuling’s body so they can carry him home, Xiao Xingchen remains with the woman who has lost her sister, two other men from the village carrying out the task of moving her remains.
The bare bones, which are from the bodies of two people, are identified by the elderly man who’d told them of the existence of the caves. They belong to the Ma brothers who had been traders and couriers who’d used the path through the forest and over the mountain as a shortcut. Last seen heading north into the forest at the start of Spring they had never reached their destination, becoming instead the yaoguai’s first victims.
Song Lan feels sick every moment he is in the cave, the feel of what he is needing to touch against his hands is almost overwhelmingly awful, but he refuses to flinch from his task. It is a relief when the final two bodies, those of the cultivators who’d lost their lives trying to defeat the yaoguai, are located.
There is no sign of the rest of the broken sword which probably had belonged to the male cultivator. The woman’s sword however is on the ground beside her. He wonders if perhaps the yaoguai had taken the man first, and she’d run in to save him or to avenge him. There was no way of knowing.
Picking up the sword, Song Lan looks at the blade where the name is still just visible amidst the grime and beginnings of rust. Chunfeng. Spring Breeze. It isn’t a name he recognises. Perhaps Xingchen will have heard of it when he asks. If he has not then next time they meet someone from one of the other sects in the area they will ask if they know of a woman who fought with a blade called Chunfeng.
It is an unpleasant task to gather their remains. Having been dead for two or three months decomposition is well set in. Yet as they don’t belong to anyone in the village there are none who want to attempt to recover the bodies, and Song Lan cannot bear to let them remain where they are.
It makes his skin crawl, sickness rolling in his stomach, but Song Lan pushes through although by the end he feels faint, dizzy from trying not to breathe in the foetid air. Carrying the blanket wrapped bodies from the cave he places them down outside. He wants nothing more than to be able to leave now, to go as quickly as he can and scrub himself clean, but he can’t, not yet. Only once the bodies have been brought down the mountain to Fuling can he do so.
“Zichen,” Xiao Xingchen says, seeing him. “You should have let me do it or at least let me help you. You don’t have to do everything by yourself.”
“You are still hurt. I did not want you to have to.” The fresh air outside the cave helps a little, calms his stomach enough that he’s not about to embarrass himself. “It is alright. It is done now.”
As he places down the blanket wrapped remains of the woman a carved white jade token, probably once held on a cord that has now broken or rotted away, falls through a hole in the fabric.
It lays on the ground, pale and almost shining in the late morning sun, against the bare earth. Picking it up, Xiao Xingchen turns it in his fingers, letting the light catch its delicate carvings, before his expression, curious at first, rapidly changes to one of shock.
He goes so pale so quickly that Song Lan wonders if he is going to faint, if perhaps the object is cursed, to affect him so suddenly. The fear only intensifies as goes down on his knees beside the blanket wrapped bodies. “Xingchen? What is wrong?”
He is still looking at the jade as he replies, a waver in his voice. “It’s hers. Cangse Sanren. My shijie. I hadn’t thought….” he trails off. Closing his eyes, composes himself the best he can. “The man with her must be Wei Changze. I’d heard they’d married. Before I left the mountain, we’d heard. I was happy for her. Now…now she’s dead.”
He looks so shaken that Song Lan wishes he knew how to comfort him, wishes he could put his arm around him as he’d done the previous night. But his hands and clothes are stained and dirty, the smell of rot and decay clinging to him from carrying the bodies from the cave. Bodies that now have a name. He can’t stain him with it.
“It’s alright,” Xingchen says, still sounding a little faint as he looks up at him. “I’m alright, I think it’s just a shock really, I suppose. I hadn’t even thought it could be them. I’ll help you in a moment.”
“No,” Song Lan says, quickly. It sounds too harsh, too lacking in the comfort he wants to give. He tries again, “I will carry them. Do not force yourself to do this. You can carry her sword.”
Xingchen nods, silent and shivery as he takes Chunhua from him, fingertips tracing the characters on the blade. “Thank you.”
It’s spoken so softly that Song Lan barely hears it, but it makes his heart ache all the same. It leaves him sad that he can do no more than this to help. He wants to protect him from the world and he can’t. There are just some things that he will never be able to shelter him from. It’s an unsettling, helpless feeling, to be so powerless. It is his burden though, nothing he can share, so he swallows down his own worries the best he can and pushes on with what is needed.
Xiao Xingchen sits silent, lost in thought as Song Lan and some others from the search party make a last check of the creature’s lair, the token and sword held on his lap. Finally satisfied that nothing else remains inside, Song Lan pries down rocks from the roof of the cave, collapsing the entrance and sealing it. No yaoguai or similar creature would be able to make it its home again. Then, together, they all make their way back to Fuling.
Part 3 = https://silver-sun.dreamwidth.org/270322.html
It’s dark when they arrive back in Fuling, the first few drops of rain starting to fall. The warm light of lanterns inside the houses spill out into the wet and cold welcoming them back.
It is one of Fu Rongxi’s sons who opens the door when they arrive at the Fu residence to share their news that the yaogui will no longer terrorise the woods. The youngest of the sons, a youth barely into his teens, shouts out excitedly as he sees them. “A-die! The cultivators, the daozhangs that you said were here, they’ve come back.”
Before anyone else has a chance to say anything the boy launches into questions about whether they’d beaten the creature, what it was like, was it frightening to look at, was it a difficult fight, did they use their swords, was it safe to go into the woods now.
“Peng-er, let them get inside out of the rain,” Fu Rongxi says, joining them and ushering them inside. “I’m sorry, he forgets his manners sometimes. I know you said that you did not wish for payment, but let us at least give you food and shelter for the night. It is the very least we can do for you given what you have done for us.”
While Fuling isn’t a wealthy village by any means the Fu family seem better off than most. So while Song Lan would be hesitant to take any of the limited supplies that the He family has, he doesn’t feel the same here. That he can see Xingchen has started to shiver a little now, only confirms to him that they need somewhere warm and dry for the night.
“Thank you,” he replies, “We would be
“You’re hurt!” exclaims Fu Rongxi’s wife, seeing the blood that stains Xiao Xingchen’s sleeve. “Come sit down,” she says to him, before turning to her son. “Peng-er, set some water on the fire, stop bothering them.”
“There is no need,” Xiao Xingchen says, seeming a little unsettled by the sudden attention. “It really isn’t that bad.”
“Daozhang, you’re hurt, wet and cold from the rain. You did this to help us,” she says firmly. “You can’t sit to eat like this.What if you were to get sick? It won’t do at all.”
“Xingchen, please listen to Fu Furen,” Song Lan says. He knows only too well how unaccustomed attention can be a lot to deal with, especially if you aren’t feeling at your best, but he is also sure that Xingchen should put his health first.
“I can do it myself, really. It’s no bother,” he replies, looking around at all the other people in the house who are now looking at him.
Now that they are inside, Song Lan can see that the Fu household is far larger and busier than he’d previously thought. When they had talked to Fu Rongxi earlier they had sat outside on the small terrace at the side of the house. The building is home to not only Fu Rongxi and his wife, but also their eldest son and his very expectant wife and well as the younger son who’d opened the door and an even younger daughter who is about ten.
“I will help you, it will be easier that way,” Song Lan tells him, hoping that he will not disagree with him over this. Turning to Fu Furen he asks, “Furen, is there somewhere private we can use?”
“There is a storeroom for the workshop,” she replies doubtfully, “but it’s so cold in there at this time of year.”
“We shall not need to be there for long,” he reassures her. “If you do not mind us using it, then it will be fine.”
Although she looks rather unconvinced by the idea she agrees to it, but insists on providing them with what they might need to clean and dress the wound.
“He is probably shy, A-Xiu. He is only a very young man after all.” Song Lan hears Fu Rongxi tell his wife, as she busies herself in gathering up what she has decided they will need.. “Cultivators have their own ways, they may seem strange to us. If he prefers only his fellow daozhang to touch him then do not press him on it.”
Relieved that they have not overly upset their hosts, Song Lan escorts Xiao Xingchen to the storeroom they have been given use of, before returning to collect the offered water and supplies.
“You don’t have to,” Xiao Xingchen says as Song Lan returns and places down the bowl of warm water, a cloth and some bandages that they have been given. “I know you don’t like things like this. I really can manage by myself.”
“If it is you, I do not mind.” It goes further than that really, not that Song Lan knows how to explain it in any way that makes sense. He wants to touch him, to check that he is alright, to hold him close and provide comfort. They are feelings that have only grown stronger the longer they have travelled together. It’s confusing and not a little scary to realise that he needs to reevaluate certain things he thought he knew about himself, about what he likes and doesn’t like, about why touch and closeness with Xingchen is different than with anyone else.
“You don’t? Then yes,” Xiao Xingchen replies, a small, weary, but ultimately relieved smile forming. “Thank you.”
He feels warm, faintly embarrassed and Song Lan replies quickly, “You would do the same for me. It is only practical.”
“Practical,” he repeats mostly to himself, before asking, “You would let me? You truly wouldn’t mind?”
“As I said, when it is you, whatever the situation, I will not mind at all.”
Xiao Xingchen’s only reply is a quiet, “Oh.” Followed by a smile that is far softer and shyer than anything Song Lan can remember being given before. .
More flustered by this than he wants to admit even to himself, he turns his attention to removing the improvised bandage from Xingchen’s arm. The spare ribbon they used is stained red and he isn’t certain whether it will wash out. If not, perhaps it could be dyed - to discard it seems wasteful.
The thought comes to him, that If perhaps it were to be dyed black he could wear it. It feels shocking to consider it, to imagine having something belonging to Xiao Xingchen so close to him. Yet now it is in his mind he knows the idea of it will not leave him.
“Are you alright?” Xiao Xingchen asks when he hasn’t done anything else.
“I was thinking how to wash this, nothing more.” It’s only partly the truth, but he can’t find a way to explain his other thoughts.
There is no practical way to bare just one arm, Xiao Xingchen strips to the waist. He shivers slightly in the cool air, a thin trickle of blood runs down from the wound, where having removed the clothes that had stuck to it has caused it to bleed once more.
The wound is deeper than Song Lan had expected, the edges ragged where the yaoguai’s talon had ripped the skin. He can see a few strands of material torn from Xingchen’s clothing sticking to the edges of the cut despite his best efforts when he’d helped him undress not to leave anything behind.
With the cloth soaked in warm water, he tries to wipe them away, hoping the water will soften the blood that has already dried. Despite the care he is taking, Xingchen flinches, a small gasp barely held back as he bites his lip, hands tensing into fists as he tries to hold still.
“I am sorry, this needs to be done,” Song Lan says, wishing there was something he could do to ease the pain. “It needs to be clean. It will heal better that way.”
“I know.” His voice shakes a little, cold sweat starting to bead on his forehead. “It hurts more than I thought it would. How does it hurt more than getting it?”
It is a question that Song Lan has no answer to, so he tries to be as gentle as he can, but every small soft noise of pain that escapes Xiao Xingchen makes him feel clumsy and inept. Working by lamp light isn’t ideal and despite his desire to help the feeling of blood drying on his hands is almost too much for him to stand - he’s sure he’s going to feel it long after he has scrubbed them clean. Finally it is finished, the water in the bowl and the cloth having turned pink.
“Is it done?” There is a shaky, breathless quality to Xiao Xingchen’s voice that makes it only too clear that he is close to the limit of being able to bear it in stoic silence.
“Almost,” Song Lan reassures him. “It needs to be bandaged.”
It needs medicine too, injuries by creatures such as yaoguai could all too easily turn bad. Their supply of medicine is low however. Having given some of it to He Zhou, Song Lan knows he faces the choice of applying all that they have in the hope it will be enough and that he doesn’t need more later or using less, to keep some in reserve in case it is needed. In the end he decides that keeping a little back is prudent. They still need to search the woods for the yaoguai’s victims and while he doesn’t expect there to be any further combat, accidents can still happen and he isn’t willing to risk it. Sometimes Xiao Xingchen is more reckless than he would like, and he is almost certain that if he’d not dissuaded him he would have tried to search the woodland in the rain and dark, heedless of the injury to his arm.
The bitter herbal smell fills the air as he opens the jar. Rubbing it directly onto the wound while effective would likely be far too painful and Song Lan can’t bring himself to do it. Instead he puts a layer of the medical paste on a cloth before placing it over the wound and bandaging it quickly into place.
Xiao Xingchen gasps as it makes contact, his breathing growing ragged and uneven as he starts to shake.
The first burning sting of it is the worst part, and while Song Lan knows that it will fade soon enough, it’s distressing to see him in any kind of pain. It feels incredibly natural to place an arm around him, to let him lean against him and reassurance and comfort.
“Next time we are buying something else,” Xiao Xingchen says, voice slightly muffled where his face is against Song Lan’s shoulder.
“We will,” Song Lan replies, wondering how long they can stay like this, whether his own usual aversion to touch will suddenly reassert itself or if Xingchen will grow too self conscious of having his arm around his bare shoulders.
In the end it is neither, rather it is the fact that Xiao Xingchen is shivering, a fine tremor more felt than seen that pushes Song Lan to help him dress in fresh clothes. If his own hands are shaking slightly too then neither of them acknowledge it.
“I will wash them,” Song Lan says, gathering up the old clothes once they are done. The fabric of both layers is ripped where the yaoguai’s talon had torn through them. Hopefully it could be repaired, although he would be the first to admit that neither of them have any skill or experience in repairing clothes.
As soon as Fu Furen sees the torn and blooded clothing, she insists that she will take care of it, that they must let her do it since they are taking no other payment for their help.
Despite the relief that the yaoguai is gone and will no longer harm anyone there is still a subdued mood in the Fu residence during their evening meal. Yet how, Song Lan thinks, could it be otherwise? Not when the eldest of them is still missing, killed by the creature, his body lying somewhere out in the woods. No, only once Lao Fu's body was found and brought home, was buried and mourned by his family could they move on from their grief.
Despite having the largest house in Fuling, there is little space for guests staying the night. Fu Rongxi is apologetic that he can only offer them space on the floor in the main room of the house, rather than a space to themselves.
The house is clean, warm and well maintained and Song Lan reassures him that it is no hardship for them to sleep there, thanking him for allowing them to stay. It is a relief that they can, because Xiao Xingchen looks weary, barely awake where he is sitting, talking to Peng-er. Having to travel again late into the night in the wet and cold to find somewhere to stay would be very hard on him, and not something that he wants to put him through.
Xiao Xingchen is asleep almost as soon as he lays down on his sleeping mat, curled into his blanket. Song Lan stays awake a little longer. Meditation at the end of the long day, especially if there has been a creature or spirit to deal with, always helps to clear his mind and allows him to sleep better.
It is still raining when he opens his eyes, a soft pattering sound on the roof above. Beside him Xingchen sleeps, slow, gentle breaths stirring the hair that has escaped from its tie, to fall across his face.
Carefully brushing them aside, Song Lan pulls Xingchen’s blanket up a little from where it has slipped from his shoulder. Then, satisfied that everything is right with his world, Song Lan lays down and sleeps as well.
–
Morning arrives, the day cold but dry, the previous night’s rain having stopped a few hours before daybreak. Fuling comes awake as the dawning light brightens the steep sided valleys, the people there making the most of the short daylight hours as winter approaches.
The subdued mood in the Fu household remains through breakfast, the relief that the yaoguai has been defeated overshadows by the knowledge that today they will search the forest for the people that it killed.
Fu Rongxi and his eldest son inform them that they will help in the search, that there will be others that will help. Fu Peng, the younger son, for all his asking, is told to remain and help his mother and sister. It is a decision that Song Lan agrees with. There was no knowing what condition the remains might be found in, and a child shouldn’t have to witness such things, especially when it could be his own grandfather that is found.
Fu Rongxi’s wife and the wife of his eldest son have already washed Xiao Xingchen’s torn and bloodied clothes and will spend the time while their husbands are searching to repair them.
While Song Lan speaks with Fu Rongxi and six other men from the village who have arrived to assist in the search, Xiao Xingchen visits He Zhou and his family, to see if there is anything further that they can do for them. He is subdued when he returns, and Song Lan can tell that what little hope there might have been about He Zhou surviving is gone. It is a sad situation for the He household, but there is little that they can do to help beyond what they already have done. Perhaps now that the woods are safe once more and if He Zhou’s wife knows what the fuling mushrooms look like and where to find them perhaps she can help make money to support the family. Otherwise the best hope is that they have other family members somewhere else, perhaps in a town where work cooking or cleaning for a wealthy family or at an inn might be available.
Leaving these thoughts behind for now, Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen lead the search party out of the village and into woodland.
There is a returning of life to the forest, the creatures that had remained hidden and silent, while the yaoguai had been there, are already starting to creep from their burrows and hiding places. The sense of wrongness is fading too and Song Lan knows that today is their best chance to find those that the creature had killed.
The search party follows them, still a little nervous, to the point where He Zhou had been found and then on to where it had been defeated. They stare with horrified amazement at the broken and uprooted trees where the creature had been fought, not quite able to take in the sheer power that the yaoguai or the cultivators had used to cause such damage.
The oldest of the group, a man who’d been friends with Lao Fu since they’d been boys, seems to know the deepest part of the woods better than most and takes charge of suggesting search areas. As the yaoguai had once been a bird he first suggests where there is a steep rock outcropping, where gnarled and twisted trees cling precariously to it.
There is no indication that the creature had ever made the place its home, nor is any trace of the people who are missing found there. Their search continues on until mid-morning, with them checking another possible cliff top roost and then a waterfall, before moving into a different area of the forest where there were caves.
Even before the lingering sense of wrongness left by the yaoguai can be felt there is a foul scent in the air. As they draw closer there is no question that the cave had been the creature’s lair, the lingering sense of resentful energy is clear, but even more so than that is the smell of rot and decay.
Although the wound is bandaged and hidden beneath layers of clothing, Song Lan finds himself worrying whether Xiao Xingchen should enter the cave at all. He doesn’t want to be there himself, doesn’t want to have to touch bones or decaying bodies, the thought of it makes his skin crawl, increasing to the point it almost physically hurts. Yet if it is a choice between Xingchen and himself, then no matter his own discomfort, it will be him.
“I will enter first,” Song Lan says to the people of Fuling who have helped with the search. “If it's safe, you may follow.”
“We will,” Xiao Xingchen says, sending a talisman ahead of them, letting it light their way, before going inside. It flickers pale blue, illuminating the grim scene in a muted, almost eerie, glow.
They find the body of Fu Zhiling first, Lao Fu as the tea stall proprietor had called him, the father of their host the previous night. Barely inside the cave, the elderly man’s remains are small and crumpled amidst the branches and foliage that have also been dragged into the cave.
It will be upsetting for his family to know what cruel fate had befallen him, Song Lan knows, but there is hopefully some comfort to be found in the fact that the body is still whole and able to be buried.
Not far from Fu Zhuling, but now more bone than flesh are the remains of a woman, her hair still held with a carved bone pin. There is little more he can tell about her, but he hopes that the pin and bag on the ground next to her will provide enough to allow her family to find her.
There is no sense that there is any danger within the cave, so Xiao Xingchen calls back to the people outside that those who were missing had been found.
“It’s A-jie, isn’t it?” A woman’s voice says from somewhere outside. “It’s her, it’s my a-jie.”
Song Lan turns back to see a woman in the entrance to the cave drop to her knees and start to sob. He watches as Xiao Xingchen turns back and tries to comfort her, letting her lean on him as he guides her from the cave.
It is better than Xingchen does it, he tells himself. He isn’t good with people, not in the way his friend is, and never in the way that people seem to want or need. He has been aware of it almost as long as he’s been aware of anything. Even as a child he’d preferred the quiet company of the monks rather than rough and tumble games of the children his own age. Tall and quiet and awkward, making friends had often seemed impossible. Instead training and study had taken the place of social activities, and he’d told himself this made him a good student, a good disciple, that all the rest of the things were unnecessary distractions.
It’s darker still further back into the cave, the light from the talisman barely lifting the gloom, the thick, foetid air only seeming to enhance it. The white glint of bare bone against one of the walls catches his eye and carefully makes his way over it. Debris strewn on the floor of the cave catches at his feet, clothes snagging on branches that have been dragged inside.
There had been no hope of finding any of the yaoguai’s victims alive and the sheets and blankets that have been brought to wrap and carry the remains home are brought into the cave.
While Fu Rongxi and his eldest son carefully wrap Fu Zhuling’s body so they can carry him home, Xiao Xingchen remains with the woman who has lost her sister, two other men from the village carrying out the task of moving her remains.
The bare bones, which are from the bodies of two people, are identified by the elderly man who’d told them of the existence of the caves. They belong to the Ma brothers who had been traders and couriers who’d used the path through the forest and over the mountain as a shortcut. Last seen heading north into the forest at the start of Spring they had never reached their destination, becoming instead the yaoguai’s first victims.
Song Lan feels sick every moment he is in the cave, the feel of what he is needing to touch against his hands is almost overwhelmingly awful, but he refuses to flinch from his task. It is a relief when the final two bodies, those of the cultivators who’d lost their lives trying to defeat the yaoguai, are located.
There is no sign of the rest of the broken sword which probably had belonged to the male cultivator. The woman’s sword however is on the ground beside her. He wonders if perhaps the yaoguai had taken the man first, and she’d run in to save him or to avenge him. There was no way of knowing.
Picking up the sword, Song Lan looks at the blade where the name is still just visible amidst the grime and beginnings of rust. Chunfeng. Spring Breeze. It isn’t a name he recognises. Perhaps Xingchen will have heard of it when he asks. If he has not then next time they meet someone from one of the other sects in the area they will ask if they know of a woman who fought with a blade called Chunfeng.
It is an unpleasant task to gather their remains. Having been dead for two or three months decomposition is well set in. Yet as they don’t belong to anyone in the village there are none who want to attempt to recover the bodies, and Song Lan cannot bear to let them remain where they are.
It makes his skin crawl, sickness rolling in his stomach, but Song Lan pushes through although by the end he feels faint, dizzy from trying not to breathe in the foetid air. Carrying the blanket wrapped bodies from the cave he places them down outside. He wants nothing more than to be able to leave now, to go as quickly as he can and scrub himself clean, but he can’t, not yet. Only once the bodies have been brought down the mountain to Fuling can he do so.
“Zichen,” Xiao Xingchen says, seeing him. “You should have let me do it or at least let me help you. You don’t have to do everything by yourself.”
“You are still hurt. I did not want you to have to.” The fresh air outside the cave helps a little, calms his stomach enough that he’s not about to embarrass himself. “It is alright. It is done now.”
As he places down the blanket wrapped remains of the woman a carved white jade token, probably once held on a cord that has now broken or rotted away, falls through a hole in the fabric.
It lays on the ground, pale and almost shining in the late morning sun, against the bare earth. Picking it up, Xiao Xingchen turns it in his fingers, letting the light catch its delicate carvings, before his expression, curious at first, rapidly changes to one of shock.
He goes so pale so quickly that Song Lan wonders if he is going to faint, if perhaps the object is cursed, to affect him so suddenly. The fear only intensifies as goes down on his knees beside the blanket wrapped bodies. “Xingchen? What is wrong?”
He is still looking at the jade as he replies, a waver in his voice. “It’s hers. Cangse Sanren. My shijie. I hadn’t thought….” he trails off. Closing his eyes, composes himself the best he can. “The man with her must be Wei Changze. I’d heard they’d married. Before I left the mountain, we’d heard. I was happy for her. Now…now she’s dead.”
He looks so shaken that Song Lan wishes he knew how to comfort him, wishes he could put his arm around him as he’d done the previous night. But his hands and clothes are stained and dirty, the smell of rot and decay clinging to him from carrying the bodies from the cave. Bodies that now have a name. He can’t stain him with it.
“It’s alright,” Xingchen says, still sounding a little faint as he looks up at him. “I’m alright, I think it’s just a shock really, I suppose. I hadn’t even thought it could be them. I’ll help you in a moment.”
“No,” Song Lan says, quickly. It sounds too harsh, too lacking in the comfort he wants to give. He tries again, “I will carry them. Do not force yourself to do this. You can carry her sword.”
Xingchen nods, silent and shivery as he takes Chunhua from him, fingertips tracing the characters on the blade. “Thank you.”
It’s spoken so softly that Song Lan barely hears it, but it makes his heart ache all the same. It leaves him sad that he can do no more than this to help. He wants to protect him from the world and he can’t. There are just some things that he will never be able to shelter him from. It’s an unsettling, helpless feeling, to be so powerless. It is his burden though, nothing he can share, so he swallows down his own worries the best he can and pushes on with what is needed.
Xiao Xingchen sits silent, lost in thought as Song Lan and some others from the search party make a last check of the creature’s lair, the token and sword held on his lap. Finally satisfied that nothing else remains inside, Song Lan pries down rocks from the roof of the cave, collapsing the entrance and sealing it. No yaoguai or similar creature would be able to make it its home again. Then, together, they all make their way back to Fuling.
Part 3 = https://silver-sun.dreamwidth.org/270322.html