Archive of Our Own

A field stretched out around him, tall grass eerily still, as if he had walked into a photograph. The black sky was a heavy lookingglass perched over him as the divine eye of the moon blinked down between the rolling clouds, then disappeared into nothing.

Wei Ying surveyed his surroundings with numb wonder, then brought a hand up and twisted the device into the conch of his ear, taking a few tries to get it to fit.

It issued an electric whine that made his teeth itch until he gave a few hard whacks against the side of his head. The whine resolved into Wen Qing's voice, distant, as though she was speaking across a room filled with wool.

"—Ying, confirm your position."

"I'm here," he answered as he rotated on the spot to get a full 360 of his surroundings. "I'm in the Black Field. Which is unexpected, I thought conditions were right for the Canopy. I'm going to have to sit back down with the board, I've clearly missed something."

"Or it's random, like I've been telling you all along."

"And like I've said—no technology is truly random, Qing-jie. I've just got to figure out the algorithm."

"Do it on your own time. What do you see?"

"Same old," Wei Ying answered. "Nighttime. Grass field. Everything's in black and white."

"Black and white, or grayscale?"

"Black and white like an old movie."

"So, grayscale."

Wei Ying laughed. "Yeah, okay, you win."

"And you're alone?"

Wei Ying’s eyes scraped through the grass and down the horizon; there was nothing there. And yet…

"Maybe," he said, looking back up at the moon.

"What do you mean 'maybe'?"

"Aiyah, Qing-jie! It's hard to explain! It's like…I don't see anything or anyone, but it's hard to say you're alone when your whole body is screaming 'Danger! Danger, Wei Ying!'"

"Are you in danger?" Wen Qing asked, voice sharpened to a point. "I'm pulling you out."

"No! No, I’m not, don’t—It's fine, it's just…the field always feels like this. But nothing ever happens here. Let's just keep moving."

He took a step forward, the grass hissing as it crushed beneath his feet and coiled away into black vapor.

The field wasn't so bad, of all the options available, but it was uneventful and went on for hours. Wei Ying hated getting dropped here. He'd prefer a little action, even if Wen Qing would berate him if he were to say as much. Better bored than dead!

Well, it was for the best then that his thoughts were still his own: Wei Ying didn't have the heart to argue with her. Not considering why he was here in the first place.

This was his fifty-first time descending. Each time, Wei Ying learned a little bit more about the Underneath and how it worked.

For instance, there was no use drawing out a map. Not in the traditional sense, anyway. Nothing in the Underneath was put together in any way that paper could capture, much to Wen Qing's irritation. They had tried at first, but time and again, Wei Ying would bring his map with him and find everything was wrong. It wasn't that things moved around, exactly. It was that things weren't in places so much as they were in feelings. This explanation had yet to satisfy Wen Qing, which…yeah, he got it. Unless you'd been in the Underneath, unless you'd descended yourself, it just wouldn't make sense.

The Black Fields, for instance, stretched on until you were certain they were never going to end. And then, a little further. It wasn't until you were ready to give up—until the weariness, the fear, the sense that, this time, it would be endless overtook you—that finally you came close to the edge.

Which was unfortunate since Wei Ying had been here often enough that he knew the field would end; it was just going to take a long time to get anywhere.

There was nothing for it but to keep walking.

Wen Qing kept him company as he walked. This was another thing they'd never managed to quite figure out. Time passed differently in the Underneath. For Wei Ying, the march would be hours. For Wen Qing, minutes. And yet, she could talk with him the whole time; their memories of the conversation would be the same. Their experiments to measure the time differential had all been fruitless. Any timepiece Wei Ying brought with him inevitably failed. He had nothing to go off of except his own gut.

The unknowableness of it was a thorn in Wen Qing’s side, a popcorn kernel caught in her gums. Wei Ying understood, but liked to think he was able to approach the strangeness of the Underneath with a little more…flexibility. The Underneath just required a bit of creative thinking; so long as he embraced the rules of the place as they were instead of trying to force them to make sense in a way that he understood, things were easier to accept.

Currently, he was walking in circles, just for the heck of it. It didn't matter what direction he walked anyway, and this way at least he could draw pictures in his head rather than just plod along with the sameness dragged out in a straight neverending line.

Not that this was any less neverending. Enough time passed that, were this the real world, Wei Ying was sure he'd be seeing the first signs of dawn bringing a rosy blush to the sky. Dawn was Wei Ying's favorite time of day. Surprising, perhaps, given Wei Ying’s dedication to staying up late and sleeping in until the afternoon. He got that it was weird; he was absolutely not a morning person. But some of his fondest memories were of the early morning, watching the sky go from black to pink to blue. 

Or maybe he had just liked the company.

He shook his head, casting the thought away. The sun wouldn't rise here. It never did in the Underneath.

He reached the edge of the field unexpectedly and all at once. With a blink, he opened his eyes and light hit him like the blade of a sword.

"Fuck!"

He slammed his palms over his eyes, digging in to massage away the sharpness.

"What happened? What's going on?"

"Ah, I'm alright, I'm alright!" He rubbed at his eyes, then slowly spread his fingers to peek between them; the world on the other side came slowly into focus, shapes emerging like submerged bodies floating to the surface of a dazzling sunbright lake. "I'm on the Peak."

"The Peak? Are you sure?” The sound of papers rustling crackled over the line. “The Peak isn't anywhere near the fields."

"And yet…" Wei Ying trailed off wistfully.

The White Peak was one of the rarer spots in the Underneath. Wei Ying had only made it here twice before. While most places he could predict—current unexpected descent into the Black Field notwithstanding—he wasn’t ever sure what brought him here. He tried to find a pattern, with what limited data he had, but time and again he had failed to pinpoint a cause. It seemed to him that the Underneath had its own reasons for bringing him to this place. A ridiculous idea—they controlled the technology that allowed him to submerge into the Underneath. And besides, the Underneath was a space, a dimension of sorts that existed beneath the surface of their own world. It was not, as Wen Qing reminded him frequently, a sentient being. It did not have intention. It did not make plans. And yet, whenever Wei Ying had ended up at the White Peak, it always felt…intentional. It felt like he had been invited in, like a guest who’s shown up to a party after everyone else has already gone home.

Maybe that should have been disconcerting. Maybe that should have made him nervous. But Wei Ying wasn’t going to waste his time on nerves; he planned to take full advantage of the opportunity and go exploring.

“Be careful,” Wen Qing warned as he trudged forward, hiking up the steep rocky ground.

“Yes, jiejie,” Wei Ying said, in a wooden tone that he knew would earn him a slap to the head were he in the room. As it was, he heard a soft whack over the mic, and could only imagine that Wen Qing had gone ahead and smacked him anyway, even though he couldn’t feel it. He smiled to himself, picturing it. Wen Qing’s affection was a dangerous thing.

He understood her concern, on some level. Were their roles reversed, he’d be a bundle of nerves sitting in a room, unable to contribute directly, unable to even see what was happening, with nothing but a mostly dead body for a companion. But he felt confident—as confident as one could in the circumstances, at least—that the White Peak wasn't dangerous. Every time he’d been here, it had been as empty as the Fields.

The emptiness, though, was where the similarities ended. Where the Black Fields were dark and endless and the same, the White Peak was brilliant and ever-changing. It was the only brightly lit place that Wei Ying had found in the whole of the Underneath, the landscape a constantly shifting shape around him. Trees gave way to sea, which gave way to city streets and again to a lotus pond so familiar that Wei Ying couldn’t look at it directly.

The only thing that remained the same was the peak itself; radiant as white jade, jutting upward at an angle high over its surroundings. Wei Ying had climbed the peak the last time he was here; he had climbed until his legs ached, his calves cramping with every step, breathing heavily as the air shifted from the hot, damp choke of summer days by the water to the bite of frost. There were moments when he wasn’t sure he would make it to the top; when he’d doubted that there was a top to reach at all. But Wei Ying was determined to keep going, either until he got to the end, or else Wen Qing got sick of his bullshit and pulled him back.

There was a top, as he discovered. That day, he’d made it to the summit of the Peak and found that he had climbed all the way into the sky; there floating just out of arm's reach, radiating a cool light that spread over the world like a shimmering blanket, was a moon. Or at least it looked like a moon to Wei Ying, except that it was too smooth. It had no crags nor craters, no rabbit carved into its rocky face by violence and age. Maybe it wasn't a moon at all but a glowing pearl radiating pinned to the sky, close enough that Wei Ying was sure he could take a leap and grab it if he tried.

Wen Qing had forbidden him from trying.

He'd hit his time limit for being under shortly after. He'd come to in the dark lab, throat spasming around the tracheal tube as he blinked the orange afterburn of the pearl from his eyes.

Today he had time, though. At least, he thought he did. It could be hard to tell when he was under, but he was determined to move fast.

The Underneath seemed to be in agreement, great swathes of ground crunched beneath his feet like warm, never melting snow. The sound of it was strange, out of sync with the evenness of his gait. There was a rhythm to it, a melody almost, something familiar but forgotten, the echo swallowed by the openness of the sky. He found his thoughts drifting as he searched back in his mind, trying to place it.

A lullaby perhaps? No, it felt too big for a lullaby. But he was sure he hadn't heard anything like it on the radio. Where else could he have heard it?

Lost in thought, Wei Ying didn't notice he'd reached the top of the peak until his foot skidded off the edge.

"Shit!" he shouted, instinct kicking in as he threw his weight backward to land hard, ass flat on the ground.

"Wei Ying? What happened?"

"Ah—nothing, nothing. I just…slipped."

"Are you hurt? If you get hurt—"

"It still counts, I know. I'm fine, just a little bruised pride. And maybe a bruised ass."

"I'll bruise your ass if you scare me like that again. Be careful."

"Aw, A-Qing! If you wanted to have a go at my ass, all you had to do was ask~"

"I have no interest in your ass, Wei Ying. Tell me what's happening."

"I'm at the top of the peak. Same as last time. World's gone kind of gloppy, can't really make out anything except…" Wei Ying trailed off, eyes catching on something strange.

"Except?"

"I…I'm not sure. Hang on."

"Wei Ying—"

Her protest went unheard as Wei Ying dug the earpiece out of his ear, trying to focus.

It worked.

The moon was exactly where it should be. It was the same smooth, brilliant sphere, small enough that he could circle his arms around it.

What was different was the fluttering white ribbon that dangled beneath it.

The last thing he heard before he jumped was Wen Qing's small voice from the palm of his hand, then gone as the earpiece fell into the opening void beneath him and he grabbed the ribbon with both hands.

∗ ∗ ∗

He opened his eyes to a sky filled with stars. They sparkled above him, the width of heaven dappled with gems.

He blinked, trying to orient himself to his new surroundings. This wasn’t the peak. It was dark and still as a painting. Wei Ying pushed himself up to his elbows, the surface beneath his hands as cold and smooth as ice. He could feel the curve of the world beneath his hands, the horizon arcing sharply downward. It made him dizzy, as if he was about to slide off the side of the planet into open space.

Instinctively, he reached up to his ear to check his connection, only to remember that he’d dropped it back on the Peak.

He huffed a bemused laugh and shook his head. Reckless. Wen Qing was going to kill him. She was probably already starting up the procedure to yank him out of the Underneath by his metaphorical ankles so that she could string him up by his very real ones.

“You’d deserve it,” he berated himself. There was nothing to do now but to accept his fate. That, and explore a little while he had the time.

Carefully, he rose to his feet, his body oddly light. He took a tentative step forward—the push off of his back foot bouncing him into the air, landing softly on his hands and knees a few feet away.

“Whoa,” he said. “That is wild.”

He got back to his feet and tried again, growing more bold with each step, launching himself into the air and skidding along the smooth surface as he landed. It was like the videos he’d seen of astronauts on the moon, except there was no bulky spacesuit to hinder his motions. He took a soaring leap, wrapping his arms around himself and spinning, laughing with a wild feeling of abandon to be so weightless.

His laughter cut off abruptly as he came back down with a crash, colliding with something hard, limbs tangling with silk.

It wasn’t until a pair of strong hands gripped the back of his head, cushioning his fall, that Wei Ying realized that he wasn’t alone.

He shook the dizziness from his eyes, focusing on the shadowed face of a man. A man who was staring down at him, eyes wide with surprise, though he couldn't be more shocked than Wei Ying who, even over a decade later, would never forget that face.

"Lan Zhan?"

Lan Zhan said nothing, but the hand on the back of Wei Ying’s head tightened, pulling at the roots of his hair as Lan Zhan’s expression changed into one of confusion.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying said again, breath hitching in his chest. “What are you—what are you doing here?”

It had been thirteen years since Wei Ying last spoke to Lan Zhan. Thirteen years since he’d heard his voice. Seven years since he’d stopped looking.

Six years since they’d declared him dead.

But he was here. Lan Zhan was here, and he was holding Wei Ying. His lips parted, a small frown playing at the corners, as he spoke, “Who are you?”

Wei Ying sat up abruptly, throwing his arms around Lan Zhan’s neck. Lan Zhan froze, then shoved him backward, standing swiftly and putting distance between them. “Lan Zhan…” Wei Ying stared up at him, swallowing his heart back into his chest. “It's me. Wei Ying!”

He frowned at him, that familiar crinkle between his eyebrows as he sorted out his thoughts, searching for the words. “Wei Ying.”

“Lan Zhan.” How long had it been since he’d said his name? Too long. He never should have stopped. “Lan Zhan, everyone's been looking for you. They were. For…for so long. Where have you…Are you…Lan Zhan, do you know where we are?”

Lan Zhan didn’t answer. He stared down at Wei Ying, who couldn't help but stare back. Thirteen years, and Lan Zhan looked the same. The same intense eyes, the same hard face and soft skin. The same straight nose, the same cute ears, the same full upper lip, the same round chin. His hair was longer, though. It reached his waist now, blowing around him even though there was no wind. Strangest of all were his clothes: there was a silk ribbon tied around his forehead, and layers upon layers of white ribbons that swirled around his knees, and at his hip, held in the tight grip of his hand…

"Lan Zhan.” Wei Ying swallowed. “Where do you get that sword?"

Lan Zhan looked down at the sword as though surprised to find it there, then back at Wei Ying. "Wei Ying. You are dead."

Wei Ying opened his mouth to answer, but before he could get a word out he felt a familiar, nauseating tug behind his navel.

He was out of time.

"No…shit, not yet. Wen Qing, not yet!”

It was pointless though. She couldn’t hear him, and even if she could, she wouldn’t be able to stop things now if she tried.

The sensation hooked deep into his guts and pulled.

Pins and needles shrieked through Wei Ying's skin. He could feel every hair on his body, every cell of his blood.

He reached for Lan Zhan, his hand turning to black smoke before his eyes. “Wait—”

Re-entering his body was never a good feeling. Every time it was a fight. The longer he was gone, the harder it was to make space for himself, to force back in. The path grew narrower and narrower each time he went under; a secret that he had never told Wen Qing.

He pushed harder this time, cutting his way in, brutal and inelegant, his body screaming with pain. It didn’t matter. There was no time—

"Put me back!" he attempted to shout at Wen Qing when he regained control of his mouth again. His throat contracted around the tracheal tube, tears springing to his eyes as he choked on it.

He was too submerged to rip it out, his limbs unresponsive.

Wen Qing ignored his pained moans, focused on his monitors, checking as his functions returned.

When she finally pulled the tube out, Wei Ying was past his limit, tugging at the wrist cuffs that bolted him to the bed.

"Get me back down there now."

He should have known better.

"No," she said shortly, turning back to her clipboard. "You’ve been under too long already.”

“You have to—!”

She spun on him, jabbing her pen at him, eyes flashing. “I don’t have to, and I couldn't anyway. You're so full of adrenaline, it's gonna be at least an hour before you're ready to go again. And I'm not doing it then either."

"Fuck, Wen Qing!" Wei Ying shouted, falling back onto the bed, unable to free himself from the restraints. "You don’t understand. I have to go back. I saw him!"

Wen Qing’s pen froze mid-stroke with an inhale like a gasp. When she spoke, her voice was sharp with the barest tremble in it. "You saw A-Ning?"

Oh. “No, it wasn’t…I’m sorry, Qing-jie. It wasn’t A-Ning.”

She closed her eyes softly, shoulders rising and falling with several deep breaths. Wei Ying tried to be patient, he did, but—

“But, Qing-jie…it was Lan Zhan."

"Who?"

"Lan Zhan. Lan Wangji!"

Her forehead crinkled as she thought back, trying to place the name. "Lan Wangji? That kid you used to bully back in school?"

"I didn't bully him!” Wei Ying snapped, then remembered that…ah, yes. That’s probably how it looked to outsiders. His face heated as he thought back to just how wrong that perception had been. “But yes, him! Lan Wangji, who has been missing for—"

"Thirteen years."

"You do remember!"

Wen Qing’s mouth thinned. "It was the same time A-Ning first went under."

"Ah."

They stared at each other, neither entirely certain what it meant, but Wei Ying felt sure that they both were of the same mind; it couldn’t be a coincidence.

Eventually, Wen Qing shook her head and began unhooking Wei Ying from all the machines, unstrapping his wrist restraints first so that he could help with the numerous wires and tubes connected through the surgical ports in his hands, neck, and chest.

They worked in silence. Wei Ying wanted to go back, but he knew that Wen Qing was right. He wouldn’t be able to go under now with enough sedative to knock out a horse, which she would never give him. He’d have to wait it out for now, and hope that he could find him again. If he could get back to White Peak, get back to the moon—

"What was he doing there?"

Wei Ying shrugged, something tugging behind his ear. He reached up and yanked the catheter free, more roughly than was wise. He always forgot about that one. "I don’t know,” he answered, trying not to sound as irritated as he felt. Then unable to stop himself, “You pulled me out before I could get an answer."

"Oh, I'm so sorry for pulling you back up from the fucking world of the dead after you took out your comm piece and stopped communicating with me," Wen Qing said, cold as ice. “I’m sorry that I heard a goddamn explosion and assumed that you were in danger."

“An explosion?”

“That’s what I said.”

"Ah." Wei Ying didn’t remember an explosion of any kind but, then, he had been ever-so-slightly unconscious for a moment there.

"Ah," she repeated back to him in a mocking tone.

His stomach writhed unpleasantly. There it was: the guilt. But guilty or not, it didn't change things. Wei Ying had seen Lan Zhan. That meant that their hypothesis was correct; it was possible for someone to end up in the Underneath. And if Lan Zhan was there, Wen Ning could be too.  "When can I go back?"

"After you finish your report." Wen Qing sat across from him, arms and legs crossed so tight she looked as if she might tie herself into a permanent knot.  "And after you’ve rested for at least six hours."

Wei Ying groaned. “Six hours? But Qing-jie—”

“No buts!” she interrupted. “You’re going to rest, and you’re going to eat.”

Food had never sounded less appealing than it did now, with his stomach somersaulting in his abdomen with excitement, anxiety, and the nausea that surfacing always brought on. But Wen Qing, amazing doctor though she was, had the bedside manner of a misanthropic robot. He’d be better off trying to squeeze sympathy out of a stone.

Wei Ying flopped back onto the bed, throwing an arm over his face just as a granola bar smacked him in the side of the head.

“Eat,” Wen Qing said. “And tell me what happened."

Wei Ying sighed. He might as well get it over with.

He started from the beginning.

∗ ∗ ∗

"Shit!" Wei Ying swore as he opened his eyes to a vast room with high ceilings and pillars running the length of the hall. Lanterns floated overhead, illuminating a narrow strip leading to a large, golden throne.

“What’s your position?”

“I’m in the Throne Room.”

“Shit,” Wen Qing echoed the sentiment back to him.

Shit, indeed.

“Do I need to pull you out?”

“Not yet,” Wei Ying said, although, in all honesty, she probably should. The Throne Room was one of the most dangerous places in all of the Underneath. But it also meant that it was largely unexplored.

"Wei Ying—"

"I'll let you know if it gets dangerous. Let's not waste the opportunity though. I’m gonna have a look around."

"Of course. We wouldn’t want to take away the opportunity for it to try to kill you."

“Aw, Qing-jie, I knew you cared.”

The colorful rejoinder he received to that was how Wei Ying knew that he’d won for now.

In truth, Wen Qing had reason to be worried, and Wei Ying knew it. It was only a matter of time before things went wrong, and there was no way to predict how long that would be.

But there was no sense in wasting time worrying about that. He walked down the hall towards the throne for a bit, then turned and veered off into the shadows.

Unlike many of the other places in the Underneath, which seemed limitless, the Throne Room was large but contained: there was a ceiling, and floor, and four walls that ringed it all in. And on every surface—pillars, ceiling, walls, everything except the throne itself, there was the mural.

Drawings of forests, of mountains, of the sea. Drawings of men and women, of children and beasts. Drawings of monsters and gods. They watched him as he walked, eyes turning towards him, following him through the room. He never saw them move, but when he turned around he knew he’d find every head turned to watch his back.

He kept his eyes firmly fixed forward, or else overhead at the elegant figures of the cranes caught mid-flight.

He hated the Throne Room.

He hated that it had taken something beautiful and twisted it into darkness. His eyes dropped from the ceiling, landing on the image of a galloping doe. He used to love camping. He probably still loved it—he didn’t know, it had been years since he’d tried. There was one trip in particular, back in college…he’d grown sick of the city. Sick of being cramped in elbow to elbow with millions of strangers everyday. He needed space, and air, and green. The need had gotten so bad that he was ready to rent a car and drive himself into the country until he ran out of gas.

It hadn’t come to that, though. Spring break arrived just in time, and Wei Ying managed to convince his friends to spend spring break camping.

That trip had been special, because that was the trip that Lan Zhan had finally given in and come with him. Wei Ying could hardly believe it when Lan Zhan had agreed, delighted at his good fortune. That trip, they'd shared a tent. They’d stayed up late into the night talking, the quiet of the woods and the intimacy of their shared space drawing out deeply held truths from both of them.

It was one of Wei Ying's happier memories.

A flash of white flashed in his periphery.

Wei Ying spun toward it, hand flying towards the short knife he kept holstered at his side. The pillar behind him writhed like a heat mirage, then lunged at him a serpentine head blooming from stone, fanged jaws snapping on air as he leapt out of the way. He swung the knife, the blade of it skittering sparks as it dragged across stone.

Shit. He’d dropped his guard. He knew better, you can't drop your guard in the Underneath. Especially not here.

"Wen Qing! I've got a situation!"

"Evacuate?"

"That's probably a good—wait!"

A bright glare of white light flew toward the snake like a twirling blade and sliced clean through it. The head slid free from the neck, falling to the floor and shattering into gravel. The body followed shortly after, tipping toward Wei Ying and bringing him to the ground with it.

He grunted as the air was forced out of his lungs, trapped between the floor and the heavy stone body of the snake. He shoved at it, trying to get free, but the body didn’t budge. Wei Ying swore. Or he would have, if he could breathe. As it was, it came out as a weak wheeze, his lungs screaming as his ribs constricted around them.

“Wei Ying? Wei Ying! Am I waiting? What’s happening?”

His vision was starting to tunnel in, black spots popping in his eyes as his brain screamed for oxygen. She wouldn’t be able to get him out in time. He was going to black out, and then the Throne Room would have him.

He couldn’t panic. It wasn’t over yet, he had to fight. He shoved at the solid stone of the snake’s body again and was surprised as, this time, it moved easily off of him. He swallowed a grateful mouthful of air, his brain going fuzzy with the bounty. Then let it out just as quickly and the stone body was thrown aside, and Lan Zhan stood over him, robes and ribbon and hair billowing behind him.

"Lan Zhan…"

"Wei Ying."

Their eyes locked, and Wei Ying saw the recognition in Lan Zhan’s eyes, and behind that a deep, limitless mourning. “Lan Zhan, I’m not—look out!”

He threw himself forward, colliding with Lan Zhan’s knees, forcing him to the side just as another pillar-snake struck for him, fangs snapping on ears with a crack like exploding rock. Wei Ying looked over his shoulder and found a pile of rubble where Lan Zhan had stood a moment ago, where the snake had collided with the ground.

“Why couldn’t the one that fell on me do that?” Wei Ying peevishly asked no one in particular.

“Wei Ying…” Lan Zhan wheezed from beneath him.

“Ah, sorry!” Wei Ying scrambled to get off of Lan Zhan, who rubbed his ribs where Wei Ying’s elbow had dug in. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“Wei Ying, if you don’t tell me what the fuck is going on right this fucking moment—!”

“All good, Qing-jie!” Wei Yin said, holding one finger up to Lan Zhan as he pressed his hand against the earpiece in the universal signal for ‘I’m on the phone.’ “Just a little snake problem, but we’re good. Lan Zhan took care of them.”

“Lan Wangji is there?”

“Yeah! Say hi, Lan Zhan!”

Lan Zhan’s eyebrows lifted in a miniature display of bemusement. Wei Ying waved him forward, leaning his head in close. “Hello,” Lan Zhan said, dry as a very-dry bone.

“Holy shit, he’s actually real.”

“Hey! What do you mean ‘actually real’? Did you think I’d made it up, Qing-jie—”

“Wei Ying.”

Wei Ying turned toward Lan Zhan, prepared to continue defending his sanity, but his mouth went dry as he saw what Lan Zhan was looking at. The whole room was shimmering, the pillars twisting as they transformed row by row, leading up to the throne. The throne itself was changing as well, the large talons of the legs flexing against the floor with a metallic screech as the thing unwound itself and a pair of massive golden dragon heads rose into the air.

“Wen Qing. No matter what you hear, make me a promise. Don’t pull me out.”

“Wei Ying—”

He ripped the earpiece from his ear and shoved it into his pocket, then held his knife out in front of him. “We’re getting out of here, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Zhan looked at the knife, then out the army of creatures that awaited them.

“Mn,” he hummed, then, without warning, grabbed Wei Ying’s wrist. Something soft and slippery wrapped around it. Wei Ying risked the glance down and saw Lan Zhan’s ribbon.

“Lan Zhan, what—”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan interrupted, turning toward him, his back to the enemy. “Jump.”

∗ ∗ ∗

Wei Ying awoke on the Moon.

He was on the ground, something soft under his head, warm light flickering to his right. He turned toward it and saw a small camping fire crackling, the orange flames reflecting from the crystalline surface like evening sun breaking over rippling water.

“Are you hurt?”

The voice came from overhead. Wei Ying turned his head towards it and realized that the soft thing beneath his head was Lan Zhan’s thigh, robes gathered to provide extra cushion. Wei Ying’s heart made a tight, crisp thunk against his rib cage, and he wondered that the bones didn’t crack.

“Ah—no. I’m fine.”

He started to push himself to sitting, but a large, surprisingly warm hand caught his shoulder, holding him in place.

“Don’t move.”

“Lan Zhan?”

“You hit your head when we landed.” His voice was even, but Wei Ying couldhear the strain. “I didn’t catch you.”

Wei Ying’s head did hurt, now that Lan Zhan mentioned it. He reached up and felt a swollen, tender knot just over his left temple. “It’s just a little bump,” he said, not wanting Lan Zhan to blame himself. “I’m amazed we made it out of there alive. Say, Lan Zhan—how did we make it out alive?”

In answer, Lan Zhan thumb swiped over Wei Ying’s wrist, where the ribbon is still bound. “I pulled us here.”

The ribbon glowed as he touched it, soft blue light, cool against Wei Ying’s skin. “Right.” Wei Ying stroked the finger of his free hand over the ribbon, watched as it went dark beneath his touch. “But how?”

Lan Zhan shrugged. It was an odd motion for him. Wei Ying wasn’t sure that he had ever seen Lan Zhan shrug before. A laugh rose to his throat, unbidden. He tried to swallow it back down, but there was no stopping it. It came out as a strangled chuckle at first, before bursting out into a belly laugh that had him clutching his sides. Tears sprang to his eyes as he lost control of it, laughing out the strangeness, the stress, the relief—the unexpected and unfathomable relief of Lan Zhan being here, being alive—

Or.

Or whatever he was.

At some point, the laughter had shifted into sobs. Wei Ying wasn’t sure when it had happened, only that he was clutching fistfuls of Lan Zhan’s robes in his hands, burying his face in the fabric, thirteen years of heartache hurtling to the surface and spilling out of him.

He cried for an embarrassingly long time. It was stupid, it was so stupid—they needed to talk, they needed to come up with a plan or—or something. Instead, they were wasting time on Wei Ying having the worst timed breakdown in the history of everything. Lan Zhan didn’t rush him though. He didn’t tell him to stop crying or to suck it up. He let Wei Ying cry, a heavy hand stroking soothingly over his arm, a steady pressure. Without it, Wei Ying was certain that he would have burst into a thousand pieces from the too-much of it all.

After some time, Wei Ying realized that Lan Zhan was talking, his voice low. “—he is well. Upset, but responsive. No sign of inconsistent dilation.”

“Lan—Zhan?” Wei Ying hiccuped once he had calmed down enough to speak. “Who are you talking to?”

“Wen Qing.”

“Wen Qing—oh!” Wei Ying unballed his fist from Lan Zhan’s robes and felt at his ear. Sure enough, the earpiece was gone. “Oh fuck, she is going to kill me.”

Lan Zhan frowned, hand moving to his own ear and removing it, holding it in his open palm. “Should I not—”

“No, no!” Wei Ying shook his head. A mistake as a nauseating throb churned his stomach. “Ah…sorry, I need to—”

He patted the hand on his shoulder, and Lan Zhan removed it, a bit reluctantly. Wei Ying sat up slowly, offering him a smile. “Is she giving you a hard time? Sorry about that. She’s a bit of a ballbuster.”

“I can hear you.” Wei Ying snickered. It was impressive, how loud such a small person could be. He placed a hand beneath Lan Zhan’s and lifted the ear piece closer, pressing the sides of their faces together so that they could both hear her and speak clearly.

“I’m fine, Qing-jie. Thank you for worrying about me.”

“Of course I was worried. Your fucking cerebrum shut down for a fucking hour.”

“I—what?”

“You had about as much brain activity as a goddamn root vegetable.”

“Oh—I’m. I’m fine, though?”

He didn’t mean for it to come out as a question. He was fine. He felt fine.

“It’s back to normal now.” He exhaled, and if he leaned a little more heavily into Lan Zhan’s side, he thought he could be forgiven, what with the head injury and all. “I would’ve pulled you out, but I didn’t know what would happen if I did when…”

She trailed off, which was sign enough of how horrible it had been for her. The guilt was sharp in his chest.

“I’m fine,” he said, more firmly this time, reassuring them both. “Thanks to Lan Zhan.” He bumped their shoulders together, glancing sideways at him. Lan Zhan gave him a soft bump back, but there was a confused look on his face. “Lan Zhan?”

Lan Zhan’s lips pressed together, then opened, soundless, as he found the words. “Wei Ying was unconscious for only a couple of minutes.”

“Ah. Yeah, time passes differently here. There’s no real way to tell how differently though. We’ve tried. It’s pretty variable.”

Lan Zhan nodded, but his face didn’t clear. Wei Ying waited. “How long…” he trailed off. Swallowed hard, his throat bobbing. “How long have I been here?”

The world was still around them, save for the fluttering of Lan Zhan’s robes, his hair, the ends of the ribbon catching a non-existent breeze and drawing inscrutable figures in the air. “Lan Zhan…” Wei Ying took a deep breath. “How long do you think you’ve been here?”

His eyebrows drew together tighter, a deep canyon of thought forming between them. “It has been…I don’t know. Months.”

The inside of his mouth felt coarse and dry, as though Wei Ying had swallowed a handful of sand. He opened and closed it a few times, trying to find some moisture. Nonetheless, when he spoke, his voice came out cracked, split dry earth baking in the sun after a storm. “Not months,” he said, too scared to approach the truth head on. But the way Lan Zhan was looking at him, open and patient and pained, Wei Ying knew he had to push through. “Thirteen years. It’s been thirteen years.”

They didn’t say much for a while after that. Lan Zhan nodded, then turned toward the fire. He didn’t move away; he was still pressed against Wei Ying’s side, the ribbon still tying them together, but he might as well have been a world away. The silence was heavy, a slow squeeze that gripped tighter and tighter the longer it dragged out. Wei Ying endured it, breathing as quietly as possible, determined to suffer through it as long as Lan Zhan needed. Wen Qing was silent as well, although who knew how long it went on on her end. Occasionally, Wei Ying tapped the earpiece with his thumb to signal to her that he was still there, that all was well.

When Lan Zhan did speak again, it was to ask a question that Wei Ying didn’t know how to answer. “Am I dead?”

What could he say to that? As if that wasn’t the whole reason he was here. To figure out what this place was, to explore this thin layer between the worlds, the net that caught souls in the journey to the beyond, catching at the bits of life clinging to them like a clumps of flour caught in a sieve. Wei Ying didn’t know what the Underneath was. Not really. He didn’t know the purpose of it. But if Lan Zhan was here, then there was something keeping him here. Something that stopped him from moving into the next world, crossing the bridge into the next life.

“No,” he answered carefully. “Not completely.”

A terrible answer; useless at best and cruel at its worst. He half expected Wen Qing to say something, to pull him up and force a better answer out of him. But the earpiece remained silent in his hand.

Lan Zhan didn’t seem to find the answer cruel, though. He received it passively, his eyes still affixed to the fire. “Are you dead?”

“Me?” Wei Ying asked, shocked by the question. “No! I’m just…I’m here on purpose. I’m…looking for something.”

The light was orange and gold in Lan Zhan’s eyes as he turned to look at Wei Ying and said, “I’m glad.”

Something rose in Wei Ying’s throat so quickly that, for a moment, he thought he was about to vomit all over Lan Zhan’s lap. Instead, what came out was a sound so wounded that he felt guilty for letting it out into the open, vulnerable and exposed. Lan Zhan laced their fingers together and squeezed, and with effort Wei Ying forced it back down into his chest where it belonged.

“What are you looking for?”

Wei Ying focused on the sensation of Lan Zhan’s hand in his, as familiar and comforting as it had been all those years ago. Back when they had been stupid kids, reckless with their hearts, scared of the world, unaware of how rare and precious it was to have each other. Unaware of how fleeting their happiness, and how permanent the heartbreak.

“Wen Ning. Do you remember him?”

Lan Zhan nodded slowly, encouraging him to continue.

“He was sick. It started out of nowhere, he'd have episodes and just...disappear. He'd be there, physically, but he'd be gone. A few hours, a few days. And then he'd come back with these fantastic, terrible stories. Dreams, we used to think. Until he didn't come back. That was a year ago. Or, maybe more?”

“15 months,” Wen Qing said.

“Yeah…15 months.” Wei Ying agreed. “He’s been in a coma. Or…well, it’s not a coma. It doesn’t look like a coma. His brain activity is…strange. Wen Qing had never seen anything like it—understandable, I don’t know that anyone ever had before—except. Except, I recognized it.” Wei Ying slipped his hand out of Lan Zhan's, turning it over and tracing a memory into his palm as he hummed a song, strange and longing. He watched Lan Zhan’s face closely as he did it and saw the slight widening of his eyes. “You remember.”

“I do.” His lips parted, a tremulous, barely there breath passing between them. “I am surprised you did.”

“Ah, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying sighed, weaving their fingers back together. “I remember everything when it’s you.” He let the moment linger for a bit before continuing. “It was the same pattern. It wasn’t obvious at first. It took some time to see it. But when I did—I knew. Wen Ning wasn’t sick or in a coma or whatever. He was lost. Like she was. And I knew if your mother could find her way through to you,” he tightened his grip on Lan Zhan’s hand, “then maybe we could get Wen Ning back.”

“My mother…” Lan Zhan started, then paused. “She did not come back.”

“No,” Wei Ying admitted. “But she’s not here anymore. I’m sure of it. She made it through. She got out of here. She got to you.”

It was a difficult conversation to navigate. Wei Ying knew that these memories were complicated for Lan Zhan. He’d spent years being dragged between psychiatric offices, being cycled through medications and diagnoses looking for an answer to cure something that was outside of their grasp.

It had been years before Lan Zhan had confided in Wei Ying about that time in his life. Back then, Wei Ying hadn’t known what to believe. What Lan Zhan told him had seemed impossible, but Wei Ying had never had reason to doubt Lan Zhan before. He’d taken the secret and tucked it away; a vulnerable piece of Lan Zhan that he would keep safe. It didn’t matter if it was real; it was real to Lan Zhan. Whether it was grief or illness or imagination, Lan Zhan had seen his mother. He had spent every night for months as a child listening to her sing, trying desperately to hold a ghost.

And then, she was gone, leaving in her wake a brokenhearted child and a song from another world.

It was the song that Wei Ying had found in Wen Ning’s readings. The waves of it hidden in scans, pulsing in red and orange. Wei Ying still didn’t know how to explain what he saw in those readings or how he recognized it. But he did, and it had given him and Wen Qing what they needed to keep going and find a way; it had given them hope.

Hope—the thing that Wei Ying had given up for Lan Zhan. The remaining kernel of it, the bit that was too hard to degrade, too pure to erode, nothing more than a stone in his heart, a dull throb of pain with every beat, which had long since been pushed to the background.

After all, thirteen years was a long time to feel pain.

“Wei Ying.” Wei Ying startled, not having realized how deep into his thoughts he had wandered.

“Ah, sorry. I’m here, Qing-jie.”

“You’ve been in for too long,” she said with a hint of apology. “I’ve got to pull you up.”

He squeezed his eyes closed, aware, suddenly, that they were wet. Had he been crying again? Wei Ying would laugh at himself if he could. He hadn’t cried this much in years.

He didn’t laugh, though. Nothing about this was really that funny after all.

“Lan Zhan.” Wei Ying turned away from the fire, dragging Lan Zhan with him, and grabbed his other hand, bringing both to his chest and holding them there. “Lan Zhan…can I meet you here again? How can I meet you here again?”

“Yes,” Lan Zhan said, his eyelashes fluttering as he looked down at him. “I will bring you back.” He tugged on the ribbon around Wei Ying’s wrist. “Keep this with you. It will bring you to me. All you need to do is—”

“—take a leap of faith?” Wei Ying supplied, managing a chuckle this time.

“Mn,” Lan Zhan said, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Just jump.”

“Jump,” Wei Ying leaned into him, tilting his chin up slightly. “I’m good at jumping.”

Their lips brushed together, and Wei Ying’s stomach swooped.

He opened his eyes back in the lab.

∗ ∗ ∗

Now that Wei Ying knew that Lan Zhan was there, now that he knew how to get to him, he spent more time in the Underneath.

They’d limited his exposure before. For all their research, there was still much they didn’t know about the Underneath, and the risk wasn’t worth it. But that was then. The circumstances had changed.

They had a lead.

They had Lan Zhan.

“That doesn’t change the fact that we don’t know the long-term impact of going under.” Wen Qing rubbed at her temples, clearly sick of rehashing this argument yet again.

“And I’m saying that I’ve been going under for a year now and haven’t felt any side effects.” Wei Ying, however, was not done arguing. He wouldn’t be until he had won. This was a match of wills—may the most stubborn win.

Unfortunately for Wen Qing, Wei Ying had grown up with Jiang Cheng. He could out-stubborn a statue. “You know what they say; no risk, no reward!”

Wen Qing groaned, and Wei Ying thought he could hear her teeth grinding together. “The risk is too high.”

“I’m willing to take it!”

“But I’m not.” She slammed her fist into the desk, sending her mug careening to the floor where it shattered, sending coffee and ceramic flying. “You’re being reckless! We’re here to get A-Ning back—”

“I know that!”

“—and how am I supposed to do that if I lose you too?”

Wei Ying realized that her eyes were shining, as if she was about to cry. He swallowed the protest that had been rising in his throat. “Qing-jie…”

She made a harsh motion at him with her hand, cutting him off, before wiping her eyes brutally with the sleeve of her shirt. “Help me with this,” she said as she grabbed a handful of paper towels and threw them at him.

They mopped up the spill in silence, taking care as they picked up the larger pieces of broken glass. They made quick work of it, and soon it was as if there had never been a spill at all.

“You’re not going to lose me.”

Wen Qing shook her head, not looking at him. “It took an hour to get you back last time.”

He knew. He knew because he’d fought it when he’d felt her pulling him up, resisting the tug in his belly. He’d been with Lan Zhan. They’d spent that last several sessions interviewing him, gathering what he knew about the Underneath. It was good information—more than they could have ever hoped to have. He’d been everywhere Wei Ying had been, and more. The Underneath was so much larger than they had imagined. There was the White Peak, the Black Fields, the Moon, the Throne, the Canopy, the Sea…Wei Ying knew these places—he’d spent more time in some of them than he’d ever wanted. But that was less than half of what the Underneath had to offer. So far, Lan Zhan had told them in detail about the Island, the Red Forest, the City, the Mountain, the Glaciers, and on and on. The challenge of what they were doing grew larger and larger with every reveal, and some days Wei Ying dreaded that they would never manage it.

And then, the last time, as he’d leaned back against Lan Zhan’s chest, playing with the ends of his hair, Lan Zhan had spoken in barely a whisper, “The River.”

Wei Ying curled the end of a lock around his finger, watching his fingertip go red. “The River?”

He felt Lan Zhan nod. “I realized I had not mentioned it. It…it is hard to remember. I have only been there once, I think. It is far. Deep.”

It was then that he’d felt the tug, Wen Qing’s voice urgent in his ear. “Wei Ying, you have to go.”

Wei Ying ignored her. He’d been pushing her off for a while, enjoying the moment. He could hear the worry, but it would be just a little longer. He’d apologize later. “What else?” he asked. “What else do you know about it?”

“I…”

Wei Ying twisted in Lan Zhan’s lap so that they were facing each other. Lan Zhan’s hands moved from Wei Ying’s waist to his upper arms, his grip bruising as his face contorted, eyes closed tight. “I can’t—”

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying took his face in his hands, his touch delicate at first, then holding him tighter. “Stop, stop! Don’t think about it!”

When Lan Zhan opened his eyes, the pupils had contracted to pinpricks in the brown of his iris. “Wei Ying,” he said, voice growing distant. “I will remember.”

The trip back to the surface had been the worst yet. Wei Ying dug into the Underneath, trying to hold himself back, as Wen Qing’s drug cocktail wrenched him loose and dragged him up. The process of shoving his soul back into the tight enclosure of his body had been excruciating, and he’d woken like a man buried alive in his own flesh.

That was two days ago.

Too long.

Wei Ying needed to go back.

“It’ll be okay, Qing-jie,” Wei Ying said reassuringly, squeezing her shoulder in a bracing sort of way. “I know what I’m doing. Plus, we’re close. I know we are. I can feel it.”

Wen Qing heaved a sigh and plonked back down in her seat, taking up her pen. “I hope you’re right.”

Wei Ying left her to it. Wen Qing worked best with a little space.

As he hurried away, there was a bright stab of pain in his heel. He waited until he was out of the office with the door pulled closed behind him, before he looked down and saw the tiny shard of ceramic embedded in his foot, leaving a hobbling trail of bloody prints behind him.

∗ ∗ ∗

The facilities were empty when Wei Ying returned to the laboratory that night. He’d gone home with Wen Qing hours before, having worked long into the evening with her, planning what to ask Lan Zhan next, where they should look first, how they could prepare.

Wei Ying had made an effort to be exactly as helpful and antagonistic as he usually was as they volleyed ideas back and forth. Slowly, he’d felt Wen Qing’s unease thaw, and by the time they’d headed home together things felt nearly normal again.

It felt bad to betray her trust, but it also made things much easier to have earned it back.

Wei Ying had no intention to follow their plan. It would take too long. She wanted to pull him back to weekly descents, which would take months…no, years to get them anywhere. And Wei Ying wasn’t willing to take that long. Wen Ning had already been in the Underneath for over a year; Lan Zhan for thirteen.

Wei Ying wasn’t going to make them stay for a day longer than necessary.

Preparing the room for a descent by himself was tricky. Wen Qing usually managed this part of things—the meds, the tubes, basically all of the doctoring. But Wei Ying knew the theory, He’d helped her create it, and watched her go through the process dozens of times now. The only part he couldn’t manage solo was the intubation—but that was largely a precaution anyway. So long as Wei Ying stayed conscious in the Underneath, his body should be able to manage breathing on its own.

He hoped.

He laid back on the bed, inserting the final drip into the port in his wrist. It was working already—the world around him turned to waves around him, the taste of salt water filling his mouth.

He reached over and hit the start button on the computer next to the bed—the room went sharp, bright, and loud for one horrible moment as his soul rattled loose.

And then, there was darkness.

Wei Ying slipped out of his body and sank into the Underneath.

∗ ∗ ∗

“Lan Zhan!”

Lan Zhan turned toward him, the pearlescent glow of the moon beneath turning his face soft as feathers. His hands were clasped behind his back, and with his robes and his sword and his long black hair melting into the dark sky, he looked like something out of a novel. Wei Ying had never asked him about the clothes. He would have to ask him. Later. For now, a giddy feeling came over Wei Ying, and he found himself sprinting full tilt at Lan Zhan.

But Lan Zhan was far away, and Wei Ying was impatient; he wrapped his free hand around the ribbon still bound to his wrist and, laughing, jumped.

He landed in Lan Zhan’s arms, somehow ready for him.

“You caught me.” Wei Ying grinned up at him, breathless and happy.

“Yes.” Lan Zhan kept his arms around him, made no motion to let him go until Wei Ying tapped his chest at last. They had things to do.

“Come on,” he said, taking a deep breath as he tried to calm his racing heart. “Let’s go.”

“Where are we going?”

“To find Wen Ning,” Wei Ying said. “To get you both out of here.” He stared out into the sky, then lifted his hand and pointed at the thickest ribbon of stars. “It’s time we took the River,” he traced the line of it, then swung his finger down to the blackest part of the sky, “downstream.”

He expected Lan Zhan to question him, or argue with him. He thought that maybe Lan Zhan would notice the missing earpiece and ask him about it.

If he noticed, he didn’t ask. Instead, he wordlessly took Wei Ying’s hand and, without hesitation or warning, leapt and pulled him into the sky.

It felt like falling, except there was no wind rushing past him. There was no sound or colors. There was only emptiness, a lurching stomach, Lan Zhan’s hand tight in his, and dark so complete and deep that he could taste it on his tongue. Wei Ying closed his eyes, taking respite in the soft eigengrau.

His feet met ground suddenly and unexpectedly. The jolt of it shot up his legs, into his belly, then through his teeth, his sinuses, his head. He bent in two and heaved, the shock too much.

Nothing came up—a small blessing. A large hand smoothed over his back as he fought back the nausea and tried to catch his breath. He wasn’t even sure he could vomit here. He wasn’t sure he could bleed either, come to think of it. A curious thought, but not one he planned to explore today.

When he finally got his stomach back under control, Wei Ying looked around. They were in a concrete tunnel. The ceiling was low, the walls narrow. A worn red carpet pockmarked with dark water stains ran the length of the floor. The air here was damp, mildewy, and made Wei Ying’s lungs itch. Picture frames hung on the walls; uniform golden frames, each containing a blank sheet of yellowing paper.

He drew near one, trying to understand where they were. A black line appeared on the paper, as if drawn by an invisible hand. He took a step closer, and another line appeared. Another. It was writing, and the closer he got, the faster the words appeared.

Where are we? I thought he was taking me to the river. There’s something in here—oh, it’s writing. ‘Where are we? I thought he was taking me to the river. There’s something—’ holy shit it’s my thoughts

Wei Ying leapt back from the framed page.

“Wei Ying? What is wrong?”

Lan Zhan was staring at him. Wei Ying turned back to the paper and saw that it was blank.

“I—nothing.” He swallowed. “This place is just…where are we?”

A stroke of black ink appeared in the frame again. He took another step back.

“Catacombs.”

“Catacombs? But there aren’t…don’t catacombs have graves?”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan hummed. “They do.”

They followed the hallway for a long time in silence, save for the sound of water dripping into stone. The hall itself never curved, there was now discernible incline or decline, but Wei Ying couldn’t shake the sense of being submerged.

Once, when he was a child, there’d been an unseasonably cold winter in Yunmeng. They awoke one morning to find the ground coated in a thick layer of snow, and the lake behind the house frozen over. Neither Wei Ying nor Jiang Cheng had seen the lake covered in ice before, and Wei Ying had decided on the spot that he wanted to try some of the moves he’d seen the figure skaters do on tv.

He didn’t have ice skates, but he figured it was all the same. He’d run out onto the ice in his boots and jumped into the air, landing on one foot.

One night, though, had not been enough for the ice to grow thick. As he walked out onto the lake the ice crackled beneath his feet. Wei Ying ignored the warning, going further and further, determined to stand in the heart of the lake, until the ice gave out and he fell into the freezing water beneath.

Wei Ying was a strong swimmer, but the shock of the cold stunned him. When he’d tried to swim for the surface, he found he no longer knew which direction was up.

That’s how it felt now as they walked down the long corridor; as though he was sinking deeper into the Underneath and no longer knew where the surface was. This time, though, there was no Jiang Cheng to save him from drowning.

What he did have was Lan Zhan at his side.

As they ventured further down the tunnel, the neat row of frames grew to two, then three. They crowded closer and closer together, until the frames lined the entire corridor, covering the walls up into the arched ceiling overhead. Even the floor had frames, the red carpet narrowing to a single file path. Wei Ying had to walk carefully, one foot in front of the other to keep from treading on them. Black ink chased them down the corridor, but Wei Ying kept his eyes fixed forward, walking quickly, not wanting to see his thoughts scrawled out in the open for anyone to read.  

“Do you hear that?” Lan Zhan asked suddenly, his voice close, nearly at Wei Ying’s ear.

Wei Ying didn’t dare stop and let the words catch up to them where Lan Zhan might read them. “Hear what?” he asked, even as he held his breath, straining to listen.

It was faint at first, but louder with each stop. Wei Ying let the breath go just as Lan Zhan said, “Running water.”

“We must be going the right way,” Wei Ying said with relief, speeding up his steps. “It has to be the River.”

The corridor ended in a door. It was a plain thing, raw brown wood hung limply in a sagging frame. Dim green light spilled through the cracks at the hinges, along with the smell of fresh water and stone. A corroded iron handle jutted out of the middle of the door, the decorative petals of a daylily just discernible beneath the rust.

Wei Ying laid a hand on it, the metal cold and rough against his skin. “Ready?”

Lan Zhan drew his sword.

“Then let’s do this.”

A shrill creak rang through the corridor as Wei Ying pushed the door open. It was heavy, the hinges grinding together as he drove his feet into the hard stone of the ground, the soft give of the outer layer of rotted wood slick beneath his shoulder.

Slowly, slowly, he pressed the door open, revealing a large, cavernous room on the other side. High, glossy walls of stone ran high over the room coming to a dome, at the apex of which was a round opening, the light of a daybright blue sky washing over the room. From that opening, water poured into the room, down opposite walls, crashing into what must be the River.

The River was narrow—hardly 10 feet across. Wei Ying was almost tempted to call it a stream. It bisected the cavern into two halves, one side of black stone, the other in white. As Wei Ying watched the water from the doorway, an unsettling feeling crept over him, the skin of his neck prickling.

“Lan Zhan.” He spoke quietly, but his voice echoed back preternaturally loud. “What direction is the water flowing?”

Lan Zhan stepped into the doorway with him, the shoulder brushing together as he followed Wei Ying’s gaze. “Both directions.”

“Yeah,” Wei Ying said, the hairs on his arms rising. “That’s what I thought you’d say.”

Instinctively, Wei Ying reached up to his ear, only to remember that he had left the earpiece behind. There was no Wen Qing to report to. There was no lifeline back to the surface. Not until Wen Qing inevitably walked in to find him laid out on the lab table, and there was no telling when that would happen.

Well, standing in the doorway wouldn’t get them anywhere. Wei Ying wasn’t here to chicken out at the finish line.

He stepped into the room.

The first thing he noticed was that the air in here was different. The corridor had been stale and mildewed and sporous. This room was damp as well, but the vapor was clean, almost sweet on his tongue. He took a deep breath, his eyes drooping closed as he let the fresh taste of it coat his mouth, driving the bitter, earthy musk of the Catacombs away.

“Wei Ying?”

Wei Ying opened his eyes. He was standing just over the threshold of the doorway with Lan Zhan  behind him on the other side. “Come on, Lan Zhan,” he said, taking another step forward. “No time to waste! We should hurry up and…”

But as he spoke, the thought ran ahead, out of reach.

“Wei Ying?”

“Ah, sorry,” he shook his head, trying to shake his thought back into place. “Brain fart. I can’t…I can’t remember…”

He squeezed his eyes closed, trying to shut out the external stimuli and pick up the lost trail again.

“Lan Zhan.” He growled with frustration, squeezing his temples. “Lan Zhan, I. Can’t. Remember.”

“Wei Ying, come here.” It was an order. Normally, Wei Ying would tease or whine or resist in some way. But the longer he stood there, the more his threads of his thoughts snapped, leaving holes behind.

Once he was in reach, Lan Zhan’s arm snapped out, dragging Wei Ying back over the threshold, holding him against his chest, arms pinned to his sides. “Close your eyes,” Lan Zhan ordered. “And breathe.”

He gagged on the first breath of the putrid air.

The second made his eyes water, his nose sting.

With the third, he felt something thick and sweet touch his tongue. He jerked away from it, eyes flying open, but Lan Zhan held him in place with one arm, his free hand coming up to hold Wei Ying’s mouth open. “Close your eyes.”

But Wei Ying couldn’t close his eyes now. Not when he saw what was happening, the taste in his mouth finally registering. Wei Ying, habitual pen chewer, knew the taste of ink. He watched as the writing in the frames poured out into black puddles, the ink oozing towards him, seeping over his legs, up his knees, over his belly and chest, crawling up his neck into his mouth.

“It’s okay,” Lan Zhan said, hand still tight on his jaw. “Wei Ying. Let them back in.”

The ink slid down his throat, up into his nose, scrawling black words into the holes. He couldn’t breathe, no matter what Lan Zhan said, but he tried. He tried to let it in, to let it happen. He closed his eyes, and trusted that Lan Zhan wouldn’t lead him astray.

We have to get to the River, the words said. Wen Ning…we’re here for Wen Ning. We’re here to find him, to get him back. Lan Zhan is helping me. We’re at the River—

“I remember,” Wei Ying gasped. The black puddle was gone when he opened his eyes again, the picture framed lining the walls innocently black. With two fingers, he grabbed the cuff of Lan Zhan’s sleeve and tugged, a bit of black staining the white silk. “I remember. Lan Zhan, the River. It makes you forget. Even just breathing the mist. You said you were here before?”

“I believe so.”

“But you can’t remember for sure?”

Lan Zhan shook his head.

“That's it then! You were here, but you forgot. That makes sense! So we have to figure out a way to get in with breathing in too much of the mist. And we definitely can’t touch the water. Hey, do you mind if—” he tugged on Lan Zhan sleeve again, and Lan Zhan’s arm dropped at last. Wei Ying stumbled, not having realized how much he had been leaning against Lan Zhan, letting him hold him up. “Ah, thanks. But I meant…Lan Zhan, do you mind if we cut your sleeves?”

The look Lan Zhan leveled on him was flatter than the soda Wei Ying had accidentally drank after leaving it open on his desk for two days. He snorted as he replayed the words in his head, smacking Lan Zhan lightly in the chest. “Oh my god, Lan Zhan, no. I meant literally. The fabric, we can use it.” He cupped his hand over his nose and mouth to demonstrate his meaning. “Not a perfect solution, but if we’re quick it should keep the worst of it out.”

It was a weak plan, but it was all they had. Lan Zhan cut two large swathes of fabric from his sleeves, holding the longer strip of silk out to Wei Ying. The silk was thicker than Wei Ying had realized, the weave tight. That was good—but still far from a perfect solution.

“We’ll move quickly,” Wei Ying said, voice muffled by the fabric. “Try to breathe shallowly. Let me know if you find…”

He paused, aware that he wasn’t entirely sure what it was that they were looking for at the River. What clue could it hold to Wen Ning’s whereabouts? Why was he so drawn to here, of all places?

“...Let me know if you find anything out of the ordinary,” he finished, the words empty. After all, everything about the Underneath was far from ordinary.

This time, as Wei Ying crossed the threshold, he did not breathe in deeply. There was no taste to lure him into swallowing remnants of forgetfulness. Instead, he moved quickly, taking quick short breaths through his nose, and made his way towards the River. He stepped carefully, the floor was slippery beneath his feet, made of smooth black obsidian. Lan Zhan kept pace at his side, one hand on his sword, the other hovering suspiciously near Wei Ying’s elbow, as if to catch him.

Wei Ying would have rolled his eyes if he wasn’t making a deliberate effort to keep them on the floor ahead of him, determined not to fall

“Ha!” he breathed in triumph as they made it to the river bank without incident. “Made it.”

The river was even stranger to look up at close than it had been from a distance. It did flow in two directions at once, as they had believed. As he leaned over the bank, though, Wei Ying could see how the two currents wove together, a two-strand braid twisting over one another. It was beautiful, really. The water was clear as liquid glass, and the river was deep. Wei Ying leaned further over the edge, trying to see all the way to the bottom.

That was when he saw it. He reeled backward and his feet slipped out from beneath him. A strong hand grabbed his elbow and hauled him back from the bank. “Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying panted, pointing at the water. “There are bodies.”

Lan Zhan stepped around him, then knelt at the edge of the river. A vision of Lan Zhan falling into the River compelled Wei Ying to grab the back of his robes, holding on tight, anchoring him to the ground.

“Not bodies,” Lan Zhan said as he looked into the river. “Memories. Look.”

He pointed at the water. Wei Ying looked at the as a serene face floated past beneath the water. “Lan Zhan…”

“Look closer, Wei Ying.”

Wei Ying swallowed, then knelt at Lan Zhan’s side and looked again.

The face shimmered and rippled. Then it disappeared, replaced by the glinting scales of a koi.

“What—oh.”

The bed of the river swelled as a glint of koi rose to the surface, jumping over the water. The cavern filled with voices as they jumped: conversations now forgotten, confessions, fears spoken into the dark, lovers’ words held long and dear in the heart. The memories shouted over one another, echoing back into themselves off the walls of the cavern until there was nothing but formless noise.

Wei Ying listened, unable to bear covering his ears and ignoring these forgotten moments of lives long lost.

As quickly as it had started, the noise stopped. The memories settled back into the water, and the River was calm again. Wei Ying shivered at the relief of the silence.

Maybe there was peace to be found in forgetting.

He watched them memories swirl past, spinning through the twin eddies of the river. It was hypnotic, almost, the way the River flowed. Wei Ying got lost in it, in the gentle rhythm of the memories on the current, until a dark shadow passed over them.

He grabbed Lan Zhan’s hand and squeezed. “Did you see—?”

“I saw,” Lan Zhan said, rising to stand.

“What was it? Do you think—”

He couldn’t finish the question. He couldn’t ask because he knew the answer. Wei Ying didn’t know why he knew. He didn’t know why he had come to the river, or why he’d known ever since Lan Zhan mentioned it that this was where they would end up.

But he did know, and the knowledge horrified him.

“I don’t know,” Lan Zhan said, answering the unfinished question. He placed his sword gently on the rocks and began slowly removing the outer layers of his robes. “But it doesn’t belong in there.”

The first robe dropped to the ground, the end of one tattered sleeve falling over Wei Ying’s foot. “What are you doing?”

But Lan Zhan didn’t answer, another layer falling to the ground.

“Lan Zhan! What are you doing?”

“It doesn’t belong in there,” he repeated. Then, taking a deep breath—too deep, the silk of his improvised mask pulled tight over his mouth, “He doesn’t belong in there.”

No.

Wei Ying stopped breathing, his body too still for even the rise and fall of his chest.

“He won’t know you.” Lan Zhan was down to just a pair of white silk pants. He pulled off his boots last. “You need to leave as soon as you get him.”

“Lan Zhan…”

“Wei Ying.” He took another too-deep breath, then turned and pulled Wei Ying to him. “You found him. Take him home.”

“I—” Wei Ying swallowed. He brought a hand between them, pressing it into the warm skin of Lan Zhan’s chest. His heart beneath his palm, fast and hard and alive. It didn’t matter that they were here, in a world of forgetfulness, lost wanderers on the road of the dying.

He was alive enough. In here, and, maybe, out there as well.

“Lan Zhan.”

“Wei Ying.”

“You said…” he leaned in close, eyes dropping to Lan Zhan’s mouth. “You said that all I had to do was jump.”

“.... Wei Ying?”

“I’m good at jumping.” Wei Ying spun them, then shoved Lan Zhan in the chest hard, throwing him to the ground. He just had time to register the shock, then the heartbreak before he turned and jumped into the river. .

The effect was immediate. One current caught him, then the other, buffeting him in all directions. He lost track of where he was, disoriented from being tossed around, unable to understand why he was in the water.

“Wei Ying!” someone shouted from the shore.

Lan Zhan. The name bloomed before his eyes in tremulous black ink.

Lan Zhan! He swam towards his voice, breaking through the surface and inhaling a mouthful of air, swallowing the water.

A man in white was yelling something at him, the words lost in the roar of the river.

He couldn’t hear him. He slipped back beneath the water.

Wen Ning.

The name leeched out of him, drawn in bold, desperate lines. Remember.

He sank deeper and opened his eyes.

The world beneath the water was tranquil. Above him, he could see the braided currents running together and the crash of the waterfalls.

But he, the river was still and clear as a blue sky on a cloudless day.

Floating in the river, hair like the rays of a dark sun, face pale and blank, within arm’s reach, was Wen Ning.

He grabbed him, and suddenly he was light as air, careening back towards the surface.

“Lan Zhan!” he shouted as he pulled Wen Ning to the surface, slammed from one bank of the river to the other. He didn’t know what he was saying. Why was he screaming? Who would hear him?

He clung to the limp body in his arms, unwilling to let him go. This was important. This was why he was here. He didn’t know why he was here, but he couldn’t let go. He had to get them out, had to get him out.

He crashed into rock, the sharp edge of it cutting into him, hard enough that his grip slipped. “No!” he grabbed for it, he couldn’t lose it, this was the reason why he—the reason why—

An arm wrapped around his shoulders from behind. “I’ve got you.”

“It’s slipping, I can’t—!”

A second arm grabbed the body by the hair and heaved it up, getting a better grip around its collar.

“Wei Ying,” they said, voice oddly muffled and strained. “Help.”

Wei Ying.

It dripped in black from his nose down into the pale skin of the arm.

Wei Ying grabbed the body and held on tight as the person pulled them from the river.

“Wei Ying? Wei Ying!” a man hovered over him, his face close, panic over his brow and eyes, the lower half obscured by a piece of damp white silk. It was a shame for a face like that to be covered, Wei Ying thought. He could only see half of it, but from what he could see, it was a beautiful one.

“That’s my name,” Wei Ying said, attempting a smile for the beautiful worried stranger. “Don’t wear it out.”

“Wei Ying.”

Wei Ying laughed. It came out as a gurgle, then a wet cough. Ah, right. He’d almost drowned in a river.

Wei Ying flipped over onto his hands and knees, holding up a hand to the man to ask for a moment as he heaved. Water splattered the rock beneath him as his lungs burned, his stomach churning.

Except, it wasn't water. Water didn’t curl like that, rising like oil black fog, curling into words in the air before him. Lan Zhan, it read. Wen Ning.

Get them home.

Wei Ying’s head snapped up as he took in Lan Zhan, then the limp Wen Ning at his side, his chest shallowly rising and falling.

Alive.

He was alive.

But even as he saw this, he saw a blue light wash over him.

“Wei Ying! The River!”

Something was rising out of the water.

Lan Zhan grabbed him, dragging him over the stone, away from the bank.

Or, no. Wei Ying was wrong. It wasn’t something rising out of the water. It was the water itself rising, growing into a tall column, then taking shape, a silver arm reaching out of the river.

“Wen Ning!” Wei Ying shouted, wresting his wrist from Lan Zhan’s grip and slipping back over the floor to grab Wen Ning, rolling over him. He wouldn’t let the River have him again.

But the River didn’t want Wen Ning.

The River was shrieking now as the memories of everything, of all history and all time piled onto him in sound, and grabbed for Lan Zhan. He dove sideways, narrowly avoiding the River’s hand, as it split into three. Lan Zhan spun out of its grip again, but he couldn’t keep it up forever.

Wei Ying looked around wildly, needing to do something, to find something, he had to—

A hand crashed into the ground as Lan Zhan avoided it, light glinting off of something silver as the water washed it towards Wei Ying.

The sword!

Wei Ying grabbed it, scrambling to his feet.

He lifted the sword over his head.“You can’t have him!”

With all the power he could muster, he brought the blade down through the arm just as one of the hands wrapped around Lan Zhan’s middle.

It fell to the ground with a splash.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“I am fine,” Lan Zhan said, running to him. “Wei Ying, we have to…” He trailed off, eyes sliding out of focus. “We have to…”

The silk around his mouth was soaked through with river water.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying yelled over the noise of the River. “We have to get out. Can you carry Wen Ning? I can’t—my back—the River did a number on me.”

“Wen Ning? I—yes.” He shook his head, eyes clearing momentarily.

“Then let’s go.”

The noise, which had ebbed momentarily, was getting louder again. Wei Ying was sure that the river was not done with them. It wouldn’t give up that easily, and he didn’t want to stick around the find out. He helped Lan Zhan lift Wen Ning into a fireman’s carry, hoisting him over his shoulder. Around them, the scream of the River began to change.

“Hurry,” Wei Ying said, herding Lan Zhan to the door. “Hurry, hurry, before—”

But it wasn’t noise anymore.

The first notes of it hit Wei Ying like a punch to the gut.

It was a song.

A song he knew.

A song Lan Zhan knew as well.

“Move, Lan Zhan. Please.”

But Lan Zhan froze, and turned slowly to face the river.

Wei Ying turned too.

The river was rising. The water spilled out of the banks, steady, steady, higher and higher.

And on the shore, stood a woman made of water. She shimmered with silver light, her arms lifted, beckoning to Lan Zhan as she walked toward him with the rising water. There was a flower in her hair, and the song of the River turned gentle—a devastating counterpoint to the naked pain in Lan Zhan’s voice as he said, “Muqin.”

Cruel, desperate, Wei Yin grabbed Lan Zhan’s face in his hands and forced him to look at him, shaking his head. “Promise me Lan Zhan,” he said as his mouth filled with the sweet taste of black ink, the river water already reaching his knees. “Promise me you’ll take him back.”

“What—”

Wei Ying slammed his mouth into Lan Zhan’s, grabbing Lan Zhan’s chin and dragging his mouth open as poured the black ink of his memories into him.

“Promise,” he said, black coating his chin, spilling down his neck as it flooded out of him.

“Wei Ying, don’t—!”

But it was too late for ‘don’t’. It was too late to change his mind or to find another way. The black seeped from his pores, taking with it his deepest desire, the one will, one wish he had held most dear:

Save them.

Keep them safe.

Wei Ying watched as the ink lashed itself around Lan Zhan’s wrist and pulled him so hard that Lan Zhan’s feet left the ground.

In a blink, he was gone.

Wei Ying closed his eyes and thanked himself for who he was now and who he had been as the water continued to rise, faster and faster. Over his thighs, to his waist, listening to the song of the woman and his own leaping heart as it reached his chest.

“Did she make it out?” he asked her, tipping his head back for a final swallow of air as the water reached his neck.

The River woman looked at him, and her face changed to one Wei Ying had forgotten long, long ago. She nodded as the River submerged them both completely.

And then she was gone.

And Wei Ying forgot.

He forgot Wen Qing.

He forgot Wen Ning and his reason for being here.

He forgot his sister and brother.

He forgot Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan.

He forgot the woman he barely remembered, and the man who had stood with her and put Wei Ying on his shoulders as they walked through a park on a sunny autumn day.

The River pulled them out of him, the memories too slippery to hold, turned to shiny-scaled koi darting through the water.

Last was Lan Zhan.

Last was a beautiful man who Wei Ying wanted to hold, and hold, and hold.

Not him, Wei Ying thought, even as he lost the name. Not him.  

He clung tighter, but it was like trying to hold a fistful of water: the tighter he held the more he lost, the details spilling out until there was nothing left. His face blurred, the features turning into chalk smudges. His mouth was gone. His jaw. His eyebrows, until there were only his eyes left; light and cool, with a strange softness that Wei Ying no longer understood, but that made him ache.

And then, those were gone too.

Wake up.

He opened his eyes. Something trailed from his wrist. It floated in the water, weightless as a ghost; a white ribbon, the torn end of it black as if it had been dragged through wet ink. A single flower bloomed from the end, an ephemeral blossom, weak and watery and fleeting: “Jump.”

∗ ∗ ∗

He opened his eyes, and he was somewhere new.

Above him, a silver river made of speckled light glistened in the dark.

He pressed himself up, the ground smooth and flesh-warm beneath his palms.

A man stood before him. A man dressed in white so bright that his eyes watered as he looked at him.

"Wei Ying."

His voice was rich and dark, with an edge to it of an emotion so raw that he felt his breath shake.

He rose to his feet. All around him the world was warm white and glowing. He looked around, examining his surroundings, trying to get his bearings. There was nothing here except for the speckled river, the man in white, and a strange black smoke that rolled across the surface, coming from—

Ah.

He held out his hand and saw the smoke drip from him, liquid heavy, only to roll into sinuous coils as it fell to the ground, if he wore robes made of darkness made material.

“Wei Ying.”

"Who?"

The man stepped toward him. “Wei Ying,” he said again. “What do you remember?”

Remember?

He frowned. A stupid question. What was there to remember, when there had only ever been nothing?

Another step closer, and the man reached out a hand toward him. His chest felt tight, and he hardly dared to breathe. He felt as if he was standing on a precipice, preparing for a fall.

“Please,” the man said, brushing his fingertips lightly over his cheek. He dipped his fingers into the black of his robe, a bit of it clinging to his finger. The man brought this finger to his own lips, whispering something into it. He touched his cheek again lightly. “Please,” he said again, the touch moving towards his mouth. “Remember.”

The man pushed his finger between his lips and wiped the black over his tongue.

Wei Ying gasped. "Lan Zhan!"

Lan Zhan’s shoulders heaved as he collapsed forward into him, his body shaking as Wei Ying held him. “You came back.”

“I did,” Wei Ying agreed, brushing his hand over Lan Zhan’s hair. “I…I jumped. I told you I’m good at that.” His hand paused mid-stroke. “Did…did I tell you that?”

“Yes,” Lan Zhan mumbled into his neck.

“Oh. Good.”

He continued petting his hair, holding Lan Zhan until he stopped shaking. When at last Lan Zhan pulled back enough to Wei Ying, his eyes red, color high in his cheeks, Wei Ying could hardly stomach to ask. But he needed to know.

“I…I asked you to do something. To make a promise.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t remember what it was, but it was important.”

“It was.”

“Right.” Wei Ying nodded, breathing carefully. “And…did you? Was it…successful?”

“Yes,” Lan Zhan said, an almost smile in the corner of his mouth. “She says, ‘thank you.’”

“Oh.” There was a burst of pleasure and satisfaction in Wei Ying’s chest. He laughed. “That’s good! I think that’s good.”

“It is.”

“Good!”

Wei Ying let himself feel the joy, unconcerned with the details as he rocked on his feet. “So then,” he said. “What’s next?”

In answer, Lan Zhan offered his hand to him, palm up.  Around his wrist was a torn white ribbon. Wei Ying mimicked the motion, showing his own white and black-stained ribbon, the end torn in the same way.

“Look, Lan Zhan! We match!”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan hummed, still smiling. It made Wei Ying feel as if his whole body was effervescent, sparkling and popping with bright bursts of joy. “It is time to go.”

Wei Ying took Lan Zhan’s hand, swinging their arms between them. “Where are we going?”

“Here,” Lan Zhan said.

“‘Here’ where—oh.”

A bridge appeared before them. One end was planted on the warm, pearly surface of the planet. It reached across a familiar river flowing, the water tranquil as a brook. Wei Ying looked out over the bridge squinting, but found that he couldn’t see the other side.

At the entrance to the bridge sat an old woman, back stooped, hair thin and white, a large walking stick on the ground at her side. She watched as they approached, as still as stone, in either of her hands a small bowl held out to each of them.

“Meng Po,” Wei Ying said, the name coming to him easier than any memory.

“Yes,” Lan Zhan said, offering the woman a deep bow, which Wei Ying sloppily copied.

“So…we are dead, then.”

Lan Zhan didn’t answer, but Wei Ying figured that was fair. The answer seemed evident enough.

“What do we do?” he asked instead, looking at the bowl in Meng Po’s hand. “Do we just…drink and forget? That’s it? Walk across the bridge and start over?” He looked out over the bridge again, but the other end was just as inscrutable as before.

When he turned back, Lan Zhan was looking at him. “If you’d like.”

“Ah.” Wei Ying plucked at the ribbon on his wrist. “If I’d like.”

“It is your choice.”

Wei Ying sighed, looking sharply at Lan Zhan. “And what about you?” he demanded. “Isn’t it your choice, too?”

“I have made my choice,” Lan Zhan said simply, taking Wei Ying’s wrist and running his thumb over the ribbon tied there. “I choose you.”

“Ridiculous,” Wei Ying huffed. Lan Zhan startled a little, then huffed. “Lan Zhan. Did you just laugh?” Lan Zhan continued to keep his eyes trained on Wei Ying’s wrist, but Wei Ying saw his mouth twitch. “You did! You laughed! I don’t know why, but that’s…that’s the best. Come here.”

Wei Ying pulled his wrist from Lan Zhan’s grip, grabbing the end of his ribbon and tying it to his own. “It’s a choice,” he said, placing his hand over the knot, “well…I can’t make promises for—for whoever he is. Is going to be. The next me. But I can choose this now.”

He leaned in, eyes flitting down to Lan Zhan’s lips. “I hope I choose this again.”

The kiss was familiar, and not. It was new and exciting, it was comfortable and perfect. Wei Ying had done this a million times and counted every one of them; this was his first kiss, and no other kiss would ever compare.

Until the next one, when he kissed him again.

And the one after.

When they parted at last, Lan Zhan led them to Meng Po. He knelt in front of her, and Wei Ying joined. They each took a bowl and held it out in front of them and bowed to the goddess. They turned and bowed to the world on the other side of the bridge, next, and to the lives that awaited them there.

Finally, they turned to each other.

The bow was bashful; their happiness shy and bright. As they rose from the bow, Wei Ying held out his bowl. Lan Zhan interlinked the arms and Wei Ying laughed and drank the soup like wine.

The soup was sweet and thin and then it tasted like nothing. The fragments of Wei Ying slipped swiftly away.

Everything, except for Lan Zhan’s hand in his. Even as he shed the past, emerged weightless and free, the hand was still there, their palms pressed together, as they took the first step across the bridge.