New Horizons (4/6)
Jul. 11th, 2023 08:03 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
silver_sunNew Horizons - part 4
It’s late afternoon when they arrive in Yiling. Although the sun is still well above the horizon, sunset at least two hours away, the temperature has already started to drop, which makes Song Lan think that they will wake to frost in the morning. The money they have with them will run to a few nights at an inn if needed. The harder part will be getting Xiao Xingchen to rest if they find no new information or if what they discover leads them to another town.
They go to a large inn just inside the town walls, the first any travellers would be likely to see. If they had been there perhaps Cangse Sanren, her husband and their son had stayed there and if they had then perhaps someone there might know if Wei Changze had family in the area with whom they might have left their son.
Finding out that the child is safe and being cared for by relatives, Song Lan thinks, would help Xiao Xingchen a lot. It would be the best possible outcome. Although he doesn’t know much about Cangse Sanren or her husband, he has confidence that someone raised in the same place as Xingchen wouldn’t have just abandoned their young son to go on a night hunt.
The clientele of the inn seem to mostly be travelling merchants or owners of local businesses, who are there to eat and make deals. The place itself is clean and well kept, and Song Lan thinks that if they do have to stay the night here he wouldn’t mind.
With that in mind, he approaches the man who is clearly in charge of the establishment about getting a room for the night. They can stop and eat, talk to as many people here as they can, and hopefully with rest and some answers, Xiao Xingchen will stop being so worryingly pale and quiet.
The innkeeper looks at them, taking in first the horsehair whisks and then their swords. There is something like a flicker of annoyance or resignation in his gaze at the sight of the swords. “What can I do for you, Daozhangs?”
“Do you have other cultivators staying here often?” Xiao Xingchen asks. Then, without waiting for an answer and sounding as if he is pinning all his hope on the answer, he asks, “Do you remember seeing a man and a woman, both cultivators, travelling with a young child?”
“Oh I remember them,” the inn keeper says, clearly less than pleased at having to remember the occurrence.
“Why do you say it like that?” Song Lan asks. “Did something happen while they were here?”
“It’s more what happened afterwards. They left their son here for nearly a week and only paid me for two days of that. Then they collected him in the middle of the night and left their annoying donkey behind,” he says, clearly unhappy with those events. “The beast is still there, braying at all hours. My wife says it was useful to carry things back from the market. If you know where they are, you can tell that if they don’t come to collect it soon, I’m going to sell it.”
Xiao Xingchen sounds shaken as he questions what he’s been told. “They collected him?”
“Well I suppose they did,” the innkeeper says a little off handedly, half his attention on a small group of reasonably wealthy looking merchants who have just arrived. “I went to bed and in the morning the boy was gone. What else could it be?”
“He must have gone to see if he could find them. He could be anywhere,” Xiao Xingchen says more to himself than to the innkeeper.
“Why do you say that?” he asks. “What do you mean?”
“They could not have returned,” Xiao Xingchen replies. “You see, they died, just a day or two after they left him here they died. They asked you to keep their son safe.”
“How was I supposed to know what happened to them?” he replies defensively. “Cultivators like yourselves are customers often enough here, but your ways aren’t those of us everyday people. Who knows what you think or do?”
“He’s a child, just a little boy,” Xingchen says, sounding like he might cry. “Do you not care at all?”
“Xingchen,” Song Lan says, moving closer to him, ready to reach out to him if tears do start to fall. “We will keep looking. We will find him.”
“What does it matter to two daozhangs like yourselves where the boy is? Who is he to you?”
“He is my shijie child,” Xiao Xingchen replies, “I just want to know he’s safe.”
The innkeeper does look rather apologetic now, saying a little awkwardly. “Well I hope you find him then. He was no trouble when he was here. Always talking and smiling at the customers. It’s just that I’m running a business here, not an orphanage or a school. An inn isn’t the place for a child.”
“You have made that clear to us,” Song Lan says, trying to bring an end to the conversation, before Xingchen hears anything that might upset him further. “We will take the donkey with us. You said it was a nuisance.”
There is a moment when he thinks that the innkeeper is going to ask for payment over having to feed the animal, but the man seems to think better of it given the circumstances. Finally he nods and says, “It’s tethered up at the back. Take it and be on your way.”
It was a spur of the moment request, more something to give Xiao Xingchen a small distraction until they were away from the crowded inn. What they are going to do with a donkey Song Lan doesn’t know, but for now he can’t bring himself to suggest that they sell it, despite it being the most sensible course of action. They don’t own enough to require an animal to carry it, and there are times when it is more practical to travel by sword - not something that can be done with a donkey with them.
They find the donkey where the innkeeper said it would be. It noses against Xiao Xingchen’s hand as he unties the rope, as if expecting a treat. “Do you miss them?” he says, patting it, then giving it a scratch behind its ears. “You do, don’t you?”
Even wearing the travelling cloak over his robes, Xiao Xingchen looks cold, as he leads the donkey out into the street. It follows willingly enough, glad to be freed of the confines of the yard. Song Lan can’t help but wish that the innkeeper had kept better care of the child, had taken more notice of him.
“Do you think he is still here?” Xingchen asks, gazing round at the street, its businesses and its people. “Do you think he…” he stops, looking upset. “Zichen, could a child live by themself for so long? It’s been months.”
“If he is here we will find him.” It is a promise that Song Lan hopes he can keep. He needs Xingchen to be okay, because it hurts to see him as lost and upset as he is right now. If they don’t find the child or worse find something has happened to him, he dreads to think what it will do to him.
“If he isn’t? What if he’s…” he stops again as the donkey noses at his hand, wanting him to move or give him food.
“Do not think that way,” Song Lan replies, trying to think of something that might be comforting to say. “There are children such as him in every town and city. Temples and monasteries will sometimes take them in if they can. It was this way for myself. The Baixue temple took me in when my family was gone.”
“There is some hope then,” Xiao Xingchen says, sounding like he barely dares to believe it. “Should we look for temples? Would they be in town?”
“Perhaps.” Yiling isn’t a town Song Lan is particularly familiar with and he is unwilling to ask for any further information from the innkeeper unless it becomes truly necessary. “We should go to the market, there will be people from many parts of the town there. Someone will know if there is anywhere that might take in a lost child.”
“Children like markets, don’t they? There always seem to be children playing close to them, hoping for fruit or sweets.” There is a fragile hope in Xiao Xingchen’s voice. “Maybe he’ll be there. We could ask the children in the market if he plays there, maybe they know them. Maybe a family has taken him in.”
Any possibility of persuading Xingchen to perhaps take a little rest beforehand, even if it is just to eat or drink, seems remote. Looking at the watery sunlight still visible from behind the clouds, Song Lan thinks that they’ve probably got a couple of hours until it starts getting dark and many of the traders will think of returning home for the night. Two hours and then he will tell him that they have to stop and rest, that he cannot push himself further than he already has without rest, that it is unhealthy.
The market is busy despite the coldness of the afternoon, stalls selling food, clothes, jewellery, cosmetics, sweets, household goods and even a few caged birds cluster along the edges of the street. Children old enough to assist their parents help on the stalls or watch their younger siblings and stop them wandering off or getting into trouble.
There is little room to lead the donkey with them through the crowded streets, so they tether him on a patch of grass, leaving him to eat while they start their search.
After an hour or so of looking Song Lan can see that Xiao Xingchen is getting more and more dejected, any hope for quick or easy answers fading fast. They’ve asked a lot of people, but without any kind of description of the child apart from his approximate age it’s almost impossible to tell if anyone has seen him or not.
He is about to suggest that they stop and come up with a better plan than asking anyone who doesn’t look too busy to stop and talk to them when there is a commotion from the otherside of the market.
There is a substantial amount of shouting, followed by a dog barking frantically. It’s unlikely to be connected, but Song Lan finds he can’t say no when Xiao Xingchen glances at him before going to see what the cause of the disturbance is.
The reason is soon discovered. A hand cart has tipped over depositing baskets of vegetables on the ground. Next to it a young man is being verbally berated by his mother about his carelessness. Carelessness which was apparently caused by him being more interested in looking at a group of women at a make up stall than looking where he was going.
“We can try again in the morning,” Song Lan says, seeing the dejected look on Xingchen’s face. “You cannot do more than you have.”
“Can’t I?” There is something sharp and hurt in Xingchen’s tone. “Because it feels like I have done very little at all.”
It startles Song Lan to hear him sound like this. It worries him too, as despite wearing a heavy cloak he is still shivering periodically, while the frequency with which he tries to ease the ache in his arm, cradling it with his other across his chest, has increased. “You need to rest.”
“How can I? How can I do anything else when I promised her I’d find him?”
There is no easy way to argue against what Xiao Xingchen wants to do. The child is lost and alone, either trying to survive by themself or having been taken in. Even if that were the case there was no guarantee that anyone who took in such a child would have their best interests at heart. Yet he can’t just watch as Xingchen pushes himself past the limits of his endurance, ignoring food and drink, going without sufficient rest, not even seeming to care that he is injured.
Song Lan is still trying to think of what to say when a dog starts barking again. Louder and closer this time, he sees the crowd move slightly, but it isn’t the dog that they are letting through. A child, a boy of about four, scared and crying, darts out.
Loose shoe sole flapping, he trips as he passes Song Lan, the squashed pancake he was holding in his small hands falling in the dust and dirt of the road.
Scrambling to his feet again, the child hides behind Xiao Xingchen’s cloak. Holding on tight, face hidden so he can no longer see the dog chasing him, he wails, “Don’t let it eat me!”
A moment later the dog appears. A small scruffy creature, mostly likely a stray, it stops when it sees its way is blocked. All Song Lan has to do is take a step towards it before it turns tail and runs. It is hardly a fearsome creature, but he supposes that it would seem much larger and scarier to a young child.
“It’s gone, you can come out now,” Xiao Xingchen says gently, trying not to frighten the child. “Are you alright?”
Hesitantly, the boy peeks out front round the side of Xingchen, small hands still clinging to his cloak.
“It’s alright, you’re safe.” Xiao Xingchen looks around at the stalls. No one seems to be taking any notice of them. “We won’t let anything hurt you. Did it bite you?”
Still hesitant, he lets go and moves around to where they can see him. “Not this time.”
The child is unkempt and dirty, his clothes torn and stained in a way that Song Lan thinks even the poorest of families would be ashamed of. Repairing things before they became too damaged to use was far more important if you couldn’t afford to replace the item.
“Is your family here?” Xiao Xingchen asks, kindly. “Do you want us to take you home?”
The boy shakes his head and wipes the frightened tears from face, leaving grimy streaks behind.
“Xingchen,” Song Lan says, hoping that it won’t be too upsetting for either him or the child. “I don’t think he has a family.”
“I do!” The boy says quickly. “They’re just away. They're going to come back. They will.”
There is a fragile look of hope on Xingchen’s face and Song Lan can see what he is thinking. The chance of this being Cangse Sanren’s son, he thinks, is small. Yet the child seems to be about the correct age and he is without a family.
“Are there any children without parents here?” Xiao Xingchen asks.
The boy nods, then says, “But they’re all bigger than me. They don’t want to play.”
“Do you…” Xiao Xingchen’s voice wavers. “Do you know any children here whose family name is Wei?”
“But that’s me,” he replies, sounding confused. “That’s my name. I’m Wei Ying.”
Wei Ying looks at the jade token hanging from a code on Xiao Xingchen’s belt, eyes going wide as he sees it, his lip starting to wobble. “Did a-niang send you?”
The name and the recognition of the sect token that both he and Canse Sanren carried is all the confirmation he needs to be certain that the child in front of him is his shijie’s son. Song Lan can see Xingchen’s eyes filling with tears as he says, “In a way she did, yes.”
Wei Ying sniffs, rubbing at his nose and eyes. “They’re gone, aren’t they? They died, a-niang and a-die.” The tears start to fall faster than he can wipe them away, as he adds, “They didn’t forget me. I knew they wouldn’t. They always came back before.”
Crouching down next to him in the street, Xingchen hugs Wei Ying, as the child starts to sob. Not sure what to do, Song Lan stands between them and the people in the market who are looking in confusion at the unusual sight of a young daozhang kneeling in the middle of the street, holding a ragged and sobbing child.
Most seem content to stare, but one elderly woman who is selling woven baskets, leaves her stall for a moment and comes over to him.
“I’ve seen that boy about the market a lot, he’s much too young to be on his own. Did he get lost?” she asks. She looks at their swords and horsehair whisks. “So is he from your sect or temple? I’m not sure of these things. You are cultivators, yes?”
“Yes,” Song Lan replies, although it isn’t exactly accurate for either of them now. “The boy is the child of my friend’s shijie. We recently learnt of her death and came to find him.”
“Poor little thing,” she says, “He’ll be safe now at least. It gets so cold here in the winter.”
“He will,” Song Lan reassures her, knowing that Xiao Xingchen would never let it be otherwise. “We will not let any harm come to him.”
It takes a few more minutes for Wei Ying to stop crying and even when Xiao Xingchen stands again, he clings onto him, scared he is going to be left alone again.
“Do you want to get something to eat?” Xiao Xingchen asks. Taking a handkerchief from his sleeve, he wipes Wei Ying’s face.
Wei Ying looks down sadly as the squashed pancake that he’d dropped when he’d been running away from the dog, and then nods.
“That’s good, because it’s time for some food. But there’s someone we have to collect first,” Xiao Xingchen says, “I think you’ll want to meet him.”
There is a moment when Song Lan is confused by what he means and then he remembers the donkey that they left tethered to graze.
Wei Ying looks doubtful, but nods again anyway and keeps a tight hold of Xingchen’s hand as they walk back through the market.
The donkey is where they had left it, while the patch of grass and the plants around it are much reduced. It barely acknowledges their approach, chewing noisily on a clump of straggly weeds with apparent enjoyment.
Wei Ying looks at the donkey for a moment, then at Xiao Xingchen, before letting go of his hand and running over to it. Wrapping his small arms about its neck, he hugs the donkey. “Turnip, the mean old innkeeper didn’t eat you.”
“Eat him?” Xiao Xingchen says, sounding confused. “But donkeys are more useful for riding than eating, aren’t they?”
“But I heard him!” Wei Ying says. “He said he’d put Turnip in a stew if he wasn’t quiet. He did.”
“I don’t think he meant it,” Xiao Xingchen says, trying to reassure him. “He was just a bit cross because the donkey was being noisy.”
“He’s not just a donkey, he’s called Turnip,” he says, “A-niang said they found him in a turnip field. He was naughty as he was eating turnips that weren’t his. They took him with them as the farmer was really cross with Turnip.”
“We won’t let anyone eat Turnip,” Xiao Xingchen says, patting the donkey’s short, scrubby mane. “You’re Wei Ying’s friend, aren’t you?”
Turnip makes a noise that is probably snort or a sneeze, but Wei Ying takes it as confirmation that the donkey agrees that he is his friend. Smiling he hugs Turnip again, “You’re my friend too! I won’t leave you behind again. Not ever.”
They need somewhere to stay for the night as well, but Song Lan has no wish for them to return to the inn that had taken such poor care of Wei Ying. Fortunately Yiling is large enough to have more than a single inn. Although smaller and less well placed than one by the main gates, they find one just a street or two from the market. Despite its smaller size and location it is busy, the tables inside are full of people either eating or waiting for their food to be brought to them.
The two women running the inn, who both seem quite elderly to Song Lan, are busy cooking and serving, but no one is hurrying them, content it seems to wait. A sign, he decides, that the food here is worth the wait.
It is, he decided when it arrives. It is simple cooking, designed to make those eating think of home cooked meals. There is perhaps little surprise that many of the people there are those who might be missing such things - people who were away from home and family or those who found themselves alone in life.
Uncertain what to say to Wei Ying and preferring to talk to Xiao Xingchen alone about what their plans should be now, Song Lan takes the task of getting them a room for the night. Although the inn is busy it seems most of the customers are buying food rather than staying the night, so they are able to get a room without any difficulty.
The room is clean, if very sparsely furnished. The woman who had shown him it had been apologetic that they would need to provide their own sleeping mats, as the only room they had with a bed was already in use.
Not wanting to inconvenience their elderly hosts, Song Lan takes on the task of filling the bathtub that has been provided. Wei Ying definitely needs a bath and Xiao Xingchen looks as if he would benefit from warming up in one.
Many of Wei Ying’s things are in Cangse Sanren’s qiankun pouch. Some spare clothes, including nightwear, a blanket and a sleeping mat. The room at the inn where Wei Ying had been left must have had a bed, Song Lan decides. It is fortunate that they have these things or they would need to buy a lot more for him. Shoes however are a problem, as the pair in the pouch prove to be old ones that WeI Ying has grown out of, while the pair he has on are damaged beyond repair.
Leaving Xiao Xingchen to wash and detangle Wei Ying’s hair, Song Lan leaves the inn and returns to the market. He doesn’t know what to do with the child or even what to say to him. Practical help, fetching and carrying things, allowing Xingchen not to have to deal with such things is, he decides, a better use of his time.
The night market is busy, perhaps even more so than when they had been searching there for Wei Ying. Most of the stalls that are left are selling food and fancy goods such, cosmetics, jewellery, painted lanterns and toys. Brightly coloured lanterns are hung in strings across the street, the scent and sound of food, sweet and savoury being fried fills the air, along with the voices of those in the market talking.
Song Lan feels out of place, disconnected from it in a way that never seems to happen when Xiao Xingchen is with him. He has never really fit in with people his own age, but for the most part it has never bothered him. So he avoids the groups of young men who are out drinking wine and women talking in excited groups about what they are going to buy or eat. Nor does he engage with any of the aunties who are keeping an eagle eye on the young men, less bolstered by wine, they speak or act out of turn.
There are still some stalls selling what he needs to buy, and to his relief they aren’t as busy, so he doesn’t have to deal with people pushing past him. He keeps a list in mind of what they need, more medicine to replace what they had used in Fuling, dried or pickled or salted food that will keep well while travelling, and shoes for Wei Ying.
All the same, Song Lan is glad when he can return to the inn. Far less busy now, the clientele now seeming to mostly be older people talking, playing mahjong and sharing tea or wine, he makes his way back to their room.
Wei Ying is already asleep as he lets himself in. Clean, fed and dressed in fresh clothes, he is curled up on his sleeping mat. The not quite complete woven grass toy donkey that had been in Cangse Sanren’s qiankun bag clutched tightly in his hands.
Xiao Xingchen is still awake. Sitting on his own sleeping mat, he has his blanket pulled up around him, his hair still damp from bathing hanging loose over his shoulder.
“You didn’t have to wait up for me,” Song Lan says, placing down everything that he has bought. “You are tired.”
“I was thinking,” he says. Getting up, still keeping the blanket around him, Xiao Xingchen comes to see the purchases.
There are a lot of things to think about now that they have found the child. The most pressing question, Song Lan’s opinion, is what they are going to do next. They have been so focused on finding Wei Ying that they haven’t spoken of what comes next. Where will they take the child? To Yunmeng to see if there are relatives of Wei Changze living there? To Baoshan Sanren’s mountain so that Wei Ying can be raised in the same place as his mother? Or even to the Baixue Temple where he’d grown up, where they could visit often and know that he was well cared for. They all have positive aspects in Song Lan’s opinion, but he hadn’t wanted to raise the issue while Wei Ying was still away, in case the child found it too upsetting.
It would be Xiao Xingchen’s decision, there are no others who can make it. Wei Ying is technically his martial nephew, despite both Cangse Sanren and Xiao Xingchen having left the sect that they shared.
“Have you decided what we are going to do with him?” he asks, after he has given Xiao Xingchen time to look through the food, medicine and other supplies that he has bought, as well as a pair of shoes to replace Wei Ying’s pair that were beyond repair.
“Do?” Xiao Xingchen sounds confused. “What do you mean ‘do’?”
“Where will we take him?”
“With us.” He pulls the blanket he has around him a little tighter, obviously still feeling the cold. “We really need to take a paid job, don’t we? We can try the quarry at Jinsha, the one with the haunting. We’ll go tomorrow, I don’t think there’s anything else we need to do here. Wei Ying can ride the donkey, he told me that’s what he did before. So if you…” He stops, his expression going from tired but enthusiastic about things to just tired. “You didn’t mean that, did you?”
“I thought perhaps you would want to take him to your sect, so he can be raised there, like you were,” Song Lan replies. Xiao Xingchen’s reaction isn’t what he’d expected, he feels wrong footed now, uncertain what to say. “Or we could look for his family if you like. If he has grandparents they would want to know he is safe.”
“You…you don’t want him with us?”
Xiao Xingchen’s voice is so small and hurt that Song Lan almost agrees to just keeping Wei Ying with them on the spot. Yet would that be right for the child? Was it fair on him? Would he not be better off with a safe and secure home? With other children to play with, with teachers who would help him learn? Wei Ying has already suffered the loss of his parents, by taking him with them, perhaps having to leave at an inn while they night hunted wouldn’t that be too upsetting for him?
“How would we look after him?” Song Lan says, hoping that what he needs to say won’t upset Xingchen too much. “He is still very young. Is it practical to have him travel with us?”
“Practical?”
Xiao Xingchen turns away. The hurt in his voice is clear and Song Lan feels his heart sink. “I didn't mean it badly,” he tries again. “But what do we know about raising a child? What kind of life can we give him?”
He doesn’t turn back, his shoulders slumping in defeat, and if anything Song Lan feels even worse. “I don’t mean-”
“Stop. Please, stop. Don’t say anymore,” Xiao Xingchen says, sounding exhausted and as if he wants to cry. “I really don’t want to argue with you.”
“Xingchen-”
“No.” He shakes his head and moves away, back towards his sleeping mat. “Say no more tonight.”
“I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“I’ve made my choice, Zichen.” Laying down, Xiao Xingchen keeps his face turned away from Song Lan, although the wetness in voice when he speaks again leaves little doubt that it is to hide the tears that have started to fall. “I’m going to sleep now. You…you can do whatever you wish.”
What Song Lan wishes is that everything could continue as it had been. With him and Xiao Xingchen travelling and night hunting together for their whole life. Yet he cannot say it out loud, because it is too cruel. It is not the child’s fault that he was orphaned or that he is now with them. No, Wei Ying is blameless in everything that is happening and doesn’t need to be made to feel like he is unwanted. He has no idea how to explain any of it to Xiao Xingchen in a way that won’t upset him further - because everything he can think of sounds suspiciously close to telling him he thinks he would be useless at raising a child. At nineteen, they are barely out of childhood themselves, what do either of them know of raising a child?
He feels sick. He’s wrecked everything and he’s just standing there in silence, like having made his best friend cry is nothing, as if it doesn’t matter to him at all. He forces himself to breathe, to take slower breaths to centre himself again, like does when touch or dirt or sometimes even sounds get too much.
It works to an extent, enough at least that he manages to say, “Sleep well.” Before his throat feels too tight to say anything more.
Xiao Xingchen doesn’t reply, he just pulls the blanket up further, hiding his face not only from Song Lan, but from the world.
Sleep doesn’t come easily for Song Lan, even meditation beforehand fails to ease the sick fear that he has ruined everything they might have had together. Finally in the early hours of the morning, tiredness wins out over the misery that has lodged in his chest like a cold, hard stone, and he sleeps.
Part 5 = https://silver-sun.dreamwidth.org/270830.html
It’s late afternoon when they arrive in Yiling. Although the sun is still well above the horizon, sunset at least two hours away, the temperature has already started to drop, which makes Song Lan think that they will wake to frost in the morning. The money they have with them will run to a few nights at an inn if needed. The harder part will be getting Xiao Xingchen to rest if they find no new information or if what they discover leads them to another town.
They go to a large inn just inside the town walls, the first any travellers would be likely to see. If they had been there perhaps Cangse Sanren, her husband and their son had stayed there and if they had then perhaps someone there might know if Wei Changze had family in the area with whom they might have left their son.
Finding out that the child is safe and being cared for by relatives, Song Lan thinks, would help Xiao Xingchen a lot. It would be the best possible outcome. Although he doesn’t know much about Cangse Sanren or her husband, he has confidence that someone raised in the same place as Xingchen wouldn’t have just abandoned their young son to go on a night hunt.
The clientele of the inn seem to mostly be travelling merchants or owners of local businesses, who are there to eat and make deals. The place itself is clean and well kept, and Song Lan thinks that if they do have to stay the night here he wouldn’t mind.
With that in mind, he approaches the man who is clearly in charge of the establishment about getting a room for the night. They can stop and eat, talk to as many people here as they can, and hopefully with rest and some answers, Xiao Xingchen will stop being so worryingly pale and quiet.
The innkeeper looks at them, taking in first the horsehair whisks and then their swords. There is something like a flicker of annoyance or resignation in his gaze at the sight of the swords. “What can I do for you, Daozhangs?”
“Do you have other cultivators staying here often?” Xiao Xingchen asks. Then, without waiting for an answer and sounding as if he is pinning all his hope on the answer, he asks, “Do you remember seeing a man and a woman, both cultivators, travelling with a young child?”
“Oh I remember them,” the inn keeper says, clearly less than pleased at having to remember the occurrence.
“Why do you say it like that?” Song Lan asks. “Did something happen while they were here?”
“It’s more what happened afterwards. They left their son here for nearly a week and only paid me for two days of that. Then they collected him in the middle of the night and left their annoying donkey behind,” he says, clearly unhappy with those events. “The beast is still there, braying at all hours. My wife says it was useful to carry things back from the market. If you know where they are, you can tell that if they don’t come to collect it soon, I’m going to sell it.”
Xiao Xingchen sounds shaken as he questions what he’s been told. “They collected him?”
“Well I suppose they did,” the innkeeper says a little off handedly, half his attention on a small group of reasonably wealthy looking merchants who have just arrived. “I went to bed and in the morning the boy was gone. What else could it be?”
“He must have gone to see if he could find them. He could be anywhere,” Xiao Xingchen says more to himself than to the innkeeper.
“Why do you say that?” he asks. “What do you mean?”
“They could not have returned,” Xiao Xingchen replies. “You see, they died, just a day or two after they left him here they died. They asked you to keep their son safe.”
“How was I supposed to know what happened to them?” he replies defensively. “Cultivators like yourselves are customers often enough here, but your ways aren’t those of us everyday people. Who knows what you think or do?”
“He’s a child, just a little boy,” Xingchen says, sounding like he might cry. “Do you not care at all?”
“Xingchen,” Song Lan says, moving closer to him, ready to reach out to him if tears do start to fall. “We will keep looking. We will find him.”
“What does it matter to two daozhangs like yourselves where the boy is? Who is he to you?”
“He is my shijie child,” Xiao Xingchen replies, “I just want to know he’s safe.”
The innkeeper does look rather apologetic now, saying a little awkwardly. “Well I hope you find him then. He was no trouble when he was here. Always talking and smiling at the customers. It’s just that I’m running a business here, not an orphanage or a school. An inn isn’t the place for a child.”
“You have made that clear to us,” Song Lan says, trying to bring an end to the conversation, before Xingchen hears anything that might upset him further. “We will take the donkey with us. You said it was a nuisance.”
There is a moment when he thinks that the innkeeper is going to ask for payment over having to feed the animal, but the man seems to think better of it given the circumstances. Finally he nods and says, “It’s tethered up at the back. Take it and be on your way.”
It was a spur of the moment request, more something to give Xiao Xingchen a small distraction until they were away from the crowded inn. What they are going to do with a donkey Song Lan doesn’t know, but for now he can’t bring himself to suggest that they sell it, despite it being the most sensible course of action. They don’t own enough to require an animal to carry it, and there are times when it is more practical to travel by sword - not something that can be done with a donkey with them.
They find the donkey where the innkeeper said it would be. It noses against Xiao Xingchen’s hand as he unties the rope, as if expecting a treat. “Do you miss them?” he says, patting it, then giving it a scratch behind its ears. “You do, don’t you?”
Even wearing the travelling cloak over his robes, Xiao Xingchen looks cold, as he leads the donkey out into the street. It follows willingly enough, glad to be freed of the confines of the yard. Song Lan can’t help but wish that the innkeeper had kept better care of the child, had taken more notice of him.
“Do you think he is still here?” Xingchen asks, gazing round at the street, its businesses and its people. “Do you think he…” he stops, looking upset. “Zichen, could a child live by themself for so long? It’s been months.”
“If he is here we will find him.” It is a promise that Song Lan hopes he can keep. He needs Xingchen to be okay, because it hurts to see him as lost and upset as he is right now. If they don’t find the child or worse find something has happened to him, he dreads to think what it will do to him.
“If he isn’t? What if he’s…” he stops again as the donkey noses at his hand, wanting him to move or give him food.
“Do not think that way,” Song Lan replies, trying to think of something that might be comforting to say. “There are children such as him in every town and city. Temples and monasteries will sometimes take them in if they can. It was this way for myself. The Baixue temple took me in when my family was gone.”
“There is some hope then,” Xiao Xingchen says, sounding like he barely dares to believe it. “Should we look for temples? Would they be in town?”
“Perhaps.” Yiling isn’t a town Song Lan is particularly familiar with and he is unwilling to ask for any further information from the innkeeper unless it becomes truly necessary. “We should go to the market, there will be people from many parts of the town there. Someone will know if there is anywhere that might take in a lost child.”
“Children like markets, don’t they? There always seem to be children playing close to them, hoping for fruit or sweets.” There is a fragile hope in Xiao Xingchen’s voice. “Maybe he’ll be there. We could ask the children in the market if he plays there, maybe they know them. Maybe a family has taken him in.”
Any possibility of persuading Xingchen to perhaps take a little rest beforehand, even if it is just to eat or drink, seems remote. Looking at the watery sunlight still visible from behind the clouds, Song Lan thinks that they’ve probably got a couple of hours until it starts getting dark and many of the traders will think of returning home for the night. Two hours and then he will tell him that they have to stop and rest, that he cannot push himself further than he already has without rest, that it is unhealthy.
The market is busy despite the coldness of the afternoon, stalls selling food, clothes, jewellery, cosmetics, sweets, household goods and even a few caged birds cluster along the edges of the street. Children old enough to assist their parents help on the stalls or watch their younger siblings and stop them wandering off or getting into trouble.
There is little room to lead the donkey with them through the crowded streets, so they tether him on a patch of grass, leaving him to eat while they start their search.
After an hour or so of looking Song Lan can see that Xiao Xingchen is getting more and more dejected, any hope for quick or easy answers fading fast. They’ve asked a lot of people, but without any kind of description of the child apart from his approximate age it’s almost impossible to tell if anyone has seen him or not.
He is about to suggest that they stop and come up with a better plan than asking anyone who doesn’t look too busy to stop and talk to them when there is a commotion from the otherside of the market.
There is a substantial amount of shouting, followed by a dog barking frantically. It’s unlikely to be connected, but Song Lan finds he can’t say no when Xiao Xingchen glances at him before going to see what the cause of the disturbance is.
The reason is soon discovered. A hand cart has tipped over depositing baskets of vegetables on the ground. Next to it a young man is being verbally berated by his mother about his carelessness. Carelessness which was apparently caused by him being more interested in looking at a group of women at a make up stall than looking where he was going.
“We can try again in the morning,” Song Lan says, seeing the dejected look on Xingchen’s face. “You cannot do more than you have.”
“Can’t I?” There is something sharp and hurt in Xingchen’s tone. “Because it feels like I have done very little at all.”
It startles Song Lan to hear him sound like this. It worries him too, as despite wearing a heavy cloak he is still shivering periodically, while the frequency with which he tries to ease the ache in his arm, cradling it with his other across his chest, has increased. “You need to rest.”
“How can I? How can I do anything else when I promised her I’d find him?”
There is no easy way to argue against what Xiao Xingchen wants to do. The child is lost and alone, either trying to survive by themself or having been taken in. Even if that were the case there was no guarantee that anyone who took in such a child would have their best interests at heart. Yet he can’t just watch as Xingchen pushes himself past the limits of his endurance, ignoring food and drink, going without sufficient rest, not even seeming to care that he is injured.
Song Lan is still trying to think of what to say when a dog starts barking again. Louder and closer this time, he sees the crowd move slightly, but it isn’t the dog that they are letting through. A child, a boy of about four, scared and crying, darts out.
Loose shoe sole flapping, he trips as he passes Song Lan, the squashed pancake he was holding in his small hands falling in the dust and dirt of the road.
Scrambling to his feet again, the child hides behind Xiao Xingchen’s cloak. Holding on tight, face hidden so he can no longer see the dog chasing him, he wails, “Don’t let it eat me!”
A moment later the dog appears. A small scruffy creature, mostly likely a stray, it stops when it sees its way is blocked. All Song Lan has to do is take a step towards it before it turns tail and runs. It is hardly a fearsome creature, but he supposes that it would seem much larger and scarier to a young child.
“It’s gone, you can come out now,” Xiao Xingchen says gently, trying not to frighten the child. “Are you alright?”
Hesitantly, the boy peeks out front round the side of Xingchen, small hands still clinging to his cloak.
“It’s alright, you’re safe.” Xiao Xingchen looks around at the stalls. No one seems to be taking any notice of them. “We won’t let anything hurt you. Did it bite you?”
Still hesitant, he lets go and moves around to where they can see him. “Not this time.”
The child is unkempt and dirty, his clothes torn and stained in a way that Song Lan thinks even the poorest of families would be ashamed of. Repairing things before they became too damaged to use was far more important if you couldn’t afford to replace the item.
“Is your family here?” Xiao Xingchen asks, kindly. “Do you want us to take you home?”
The boy shakes his head and wipes the frightened tears from face, leaving grimy streaks behind.
“Xingchen,” Song Lan says, hoping that it won’t be too upsetting for either him or the child. “I don’t think he has a family.”
“I do!” The boy says quickly. “They’re just away. They're going to come back. They will.”
There is a fragile look of hope on Xingchen’s face and Song Lan can see what he is thinking. The chance of this being Cangse Sanren’s son, he thinks, is small. Yet the child seems to be about the correct age and he is without a family.
“Are there any children without parents here?” Xiao Xingchen asks.
The boy nods, then says, “But they’re all bigger than me. They don’t want to play.”
“Do you…” Xiao Xingchen’s voice wavers. “Do you know any children here whose family name is Wei?”
“But that’s me,” he replies, sounding confused. “That’s my name. I’m Wei Ying.”
Wei Ying looks at the jade token hanging from a code on Xiao Xingchen’s belt, eyes going wide as he sees it, his lip starting to wobble. “Did a-niang send you?”
The name and the recognition of the sect token that both he and Canse Sanren carried is all the confirmation he needs to be certain that the child in front of him is his shijie’s son. Song Lan can see Xingchen’s eyes filling with tears as he says, “In a way she did, yes.”
Wei Ying sniffs, rubbing at his nose and eyes. “They’re gone, aren’t they? They died, a-niang and a-die.” The tears start to fall faster than he can wipe them away, as he adds, “They didn’t forget me. I knew they wouldn’t. They always came back before.”
Crouching down next to him in the street, Xingchen hugs Wei Ying, as the child starts to sob. Not sure what to do, Song Lan stands between them and the people in the market who are looking in confusion at the unusual sight of a young daozhang kneeling in the middle of the street, holding a ragged and sobbing child.
Most seem content to stare, but one elderly woman who is selling woven baskets, leaves her stall for a moment and comes over to him.
“I’ve seen that boy about the market a lot, he’s much too young to be on his own. Did he get lost?” she asks. She looks at their swords and horsehair whisks. “So is he from your sect or temple? I’m not sure of these things. You are cultivators, yes?”
“Yes,” Song Lan replies, although it isn’t exactly accurate for either of them now. “The boy is the child of my friend’s shijie. We recently learnt of her death and came to find him.”
“Poor little thing,” she says, “He’ll be safe now at least. It gets so cold here in the winter.”
“He will,” Song Lan reassures her, knowing that Xiao Xingchen would never let it be otherwise. “We will not let any harm come to him.”
It takes a few more minutes for Wei Ying to stop crying and even when Xiao Xingchen stands again, he clings onto him, scared he is going to be left alone again.
“Do you want to get something to eat?” Xiao Xingchen asks. Taking a handkerchief from his sleeve, he wipes Wei Ying’s face.
Wei Ying looks down sadly as the squashed pancake that he’d dropped when he’d been running away from the dog, and then nods.
“That’s good, because it’s time for some food. But there’s someone we have to collect first,” Xiao Xingchen says, “I think you’ll want to meet him.”
There is a moment when Song Lan is confused by what he means and then he remembers the donkey that they left tethered to graze.
Wei Ying looks doubtful, but nods again anyway and keeps a tight hold of Xingchen’s hand as they walk back through the market.
The donkey is where they had left it, while the patch of grass and the plants around it are much reduced. It barely acknowledges their approach, chewing noisily on a clump of straggly weeds with apparent enjoyment.
Wei Ying looks at the donkey for a moment, then at Xiao Xingchen, before letting go of his hand and running over to it. Wrapping his small arms about its neck, he hugs the donkey. “Turnip, the mean old innkeeper didn’t eat you.”
“Eat him?” Xiao Xingchen says, sounding confused. “But donkeys are more useful for riding than eating, aren’t they?”
“But I heard him!” Wei Ying says. “He said he’d put Turnip in a stew if he wasn’t quiet. He did.”
“I don’t think he meant it,” Xiao Xingchen says, trying to reassure him. “He was just a bit cross because the donkey was being noisy.”
“He’s not just a donkey, he’s called Turnip,” he says, “A-niang said they found him in a turnip field. He was naughty as he was eating turnips that weren’t his. They took him with them as the farmer was really cross with Turnip.”
“We won’t let anyone eat Turnip,” Xiao Xingchen says, patting the donkey’s short, scrubby mane. “You’re Wei Ying’s friend, aren’t you?”
Turnip makes a noise that is probably snort or a sneeze, but Wei Ying takes it as confirmation that the donkey agrees that he is his friend. Smiling he hugs Turnip again, “You’re my friend too! I won’t leave you behind again. Not ever.”
They need somewhere to stay for the night as well, but Song Lan has no wish for them to return to the inn that had taken such poor care of Wei Ying. Fortunately Yiling is large enough to have more than a single inn. Although smaller and less well placed than one by the main gates, they find one just a street or two from the market. Despite its smaller size and location it is busy, the tables inside are full of people either eating or waiting for their food to be brought to them.
The two women running the inn, who both seem quite elderly to Song Lan, are busy cooking and serving, but no one is hurrying them, content it seems to wait. A sign, he decides, that the food here is worth the wait.
It is, he decided when it arrives. It is simple cooking, designed to make those eating think of home cooked meals. There is perhaps little surprise that many of the people there are those who might be missing such things - people who were away from home and family or those who found themselves alone in life.
Uncertain what to say to Wei Ying and preferring to talk to Xiao Xingchen alone about what their plans should be now, Song Lan takes the task of getting them a room for the night. Although the inn is busy it seems most of the customers are buying food rather than staying the night, so they are able to get a room without any difficulty.
The room is clean, if very sparsely furnished. The woman who had shown him it had been apologetic that they would need to provide their own sleeping mats, as the only room they had with a bed was already in use.
Not wanting to inconvenience their elderly hosts, Song Lan takes on the task of filling the bathtub that has been provided. Wei Ying definitely needs a bath and Xiao Xingchen looks as if he would benefit from warming up in one.
Many of Wei Ying’s things are in Cangse Sanren’s qiankun pouch. Some spare clothes, including nightwear, a blanket and a sleeping mat. The room at the inn where Wei Ying had been left must have had a bed, Song Lan decides. It is fortunate that they have these things or they would need to buy a lot more for him. Shoes however are a problem, as the pair in the pouch prove to be old ones that WeI Ying has grown out of, while the pair he has on are damaged beyond repair.
Leaving Xiao Xingchen to wash and detangle Wei Ying’s hair, Song Lan leaves the inn and returns to the market. He doesn’t know what to do with the child or even what to say to him. Practical help, fetching and carrying things, allowing Xingchen not to have to deal with such things is, he decides, a better use of his time.
The night market is busy, perhaps even more so than when they had been searching there for Wei Ying. Most of the stalls that are left are selling food and fancy goods such, cosmetics, jewellery, painted lanterns and toys. Brightly coloured lanterns are hung in strings across the street, the scent and sound of food, sweet and savoury being fried fills the air, along with the voices of those in the market talking.
Song Lan feels out of place, disconnected from it in a way that never seems to happen when Xiao Xingchen is with him. He has never really fit in with people his own age, but for the most part it has never bothered him. So he avoids the groups of young men who are out drinking wine and women talking in excited groups about what they are going to buy or eat. Nor does he engage with any of the aunties who are keeping an eagle eye on the young men, less bolstered by wine, they speak or act out of turn.
There are still some stalls selling what he needs to buy, and to his relief they aren’t as busy, so he doesn’t have to deal with people pushing past him. He keeps a list in mind of what they need, more medicine to replace what they had used in Fuling, dried or pickled or salted food that will keep well while travelling, and shoes for Wei Ying.
All the same, Song Lan is glad when he can return to the inn. Far less busy now, the clientele now seeming to mostly be older people talking, playing mahjong and sharing tea or wine, he makes his way back to their room.
Wei Ying is already asleep as he lets himself in. Clean, fed and dressed in fresh clothes, he is curled up on his sleeping mat. The not quite complete woven grass toy donkey that had been in Cangse Sanren’s qiankun bag clutched tightly in his hands.
Xiao Xingchen is still awake. Sitting on his own sleeping mat, he has his blanket pulled up around him, his hair still damp from bathing hanging loose over his shoulder.
“You didn’t have to wait up for me,” Song Lan says, placing down everything that he has bought. “You are tired.”
“I was thinking,” he says. Getting up, still keeping the blanket around him, Xiao Xingchen comes to see the purchases.
There are a lot of things to think about now that they have found the child. The most pressing question, Song Lan’s opinion, is what they are going to do next. They have been so focused on finding Wei Ying that they haven’t spoken of what comes next. Where will they take the child? To Yunmeng to see if there are relatives of Wei Changze living there? To Baoshan Sanren’s mountain so that Wei Ying can be raised in the same place as his mother? Or even to the Baixue Temple where he’d grown up, where they could visit often and know that he was well cared for. They all have positive aspects in Song Lan’s opinion, but he hadn’t wanted to raise the issue while Wei Ying was still away, in case the child found it too upsetting.
It would be Xiao Xingchen’s decision, there are no others who can make it. Wei Ying is technically his martial nephew, despite both Cangse Sanren and Xiao Xingchen having left the sect that they shared.
“Have you decided what we are going to do with him?” he asks, after he has given Xiao Xingchen time to look through the food, medicine and other supplies that he has bought, as well as a pair of shoes to replace Wei Ying’s pair that were beyond repair.
“Do?” Xiao Xingchen sounds confused. “What do you mean ‘do’?”
“Where will we take him?”
“With us.” He pulls the blanket he has around him a little tighter, obviously still feeling the cold. “We really need to take a paid job, don’t we? We can try the quarry at Jinsha, the one with the haunting. We’ll go tomorrow, I don’t think there’s anything else we need to do here. Wei Ying can ride the donkey, he told me that’s what he did before. So if you…” He stops, his expression going from tired but enthusiastic about things to just tired. “You didn’t mean that, did you?”
“I thought perhaps you would want to take him to your sect, so he can be raised there, like you were,” Song Lan replies. Xiao Xingchen’s reaction isn’t what he’d expected, he feels wrong footed now, uncertain what to say. “Or we could look for his family if you like. If he has grandparents they would want to know he is safe.”
“You…you don’t want him with us?”
Xiao Xingchen’s voice is so small and hurt that Song Lan almost agrees to just keeping Wei Ying with them on the spot. Yet would that be right for the child? Was it fair on him? Would he not be better off with a safe and secure home? With other children to play with, with teachers who would help him learn? Wei Ying has already suffered the loss of his parents, by taking him with them, perhaps having to leave at an inn while they night hunted wouldn’t that be too upsetting for him?
“How would we look after him?” Song Lan says, hoping that what he needs to say won’t upset Xingchen too much. “He is still very young. Is it practical to have him travel with us?”
“Practical?”
Xiao Xingchen turns away. The hurt in his voice is clear and Song Lan feels his heart sink. “I didn't mean it badly,” he tries again. “But what do we know about raising a child? What kind of life can we give him?”
He doesn’t turn back, his shoulders slumping in defeat, and if anything Song Lan feels even worse. “I don’t mean-”
“Stop. Please, stop. Don’t say anymore,” Xiao Xingchen says, sounding exhausted and as if he wants to cry. “I really don’t want to argue with you.”
“Xingchen-”
“No.” He shakes his head and moves away, back towards his sleeping mat. “Say no more tonight.”
“I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“I’ve made my choice, Zichen.” Laying down, Xiao Xingchen keeps his face turned away from Song Lan, although the wetness in voice when he speaks again leaves little doubt that it is to hide the tears that have started to fall. “I’m going to sleep now. You…you can do whatever you wish.”
What Song Lan wishes is that everything could continue as it had been. With him and Xiao Xingchen travelling and night hunting together for their whole life. Yet he cannot say it out loud, because it is too cruel. It is not the child’s fault that he was orphaned or that he is now with them. No, Wei Ying is blameless in everything that is happening and doesn’t need to be made to feel like he is unwanted. He has no idea how to explain any of it to Xiao Xingchen in a way that won’t upset him further - because everything he can think of sounds suspiciously close to telling him he thinks he would be useless at raising a child. At nineteen, they are barely out of childhood themselves, what do either of them know of raising a child?
He feels sick. He’s wrecked everything and he’s just standing there in silence, like having made his best friend cry is nothing, as if it doesn’t matter to him at all. He forces himself to breathe, to take slower breaths to centre himself again, like does when touch or dirt or sometimes even sounds get too much.
It works to an extent, enough at least that he manages to say, “Sleep well.” Before his throat feels too tight to say anything more.
Xiao Xingchen doesn’t reply, he just pulls the blanket up further, hiding his face not only from Song Lan, but from the world.
Sleep doesn’t come easily for Song Lan, even meditation beforehand fails to ease the sick fear that he has ruined everything they might have had together. Finally in the early hours of the morning, tiredness wins out over the misery that has lodged in his chest like a cold, hard stone, and he sleeps.
Part 5 = https://silver-sun.dreamwidth.org/270830.html