Red Sun

Wen Ruohan wanted to have a lavish wedding, with a feast lasting a lifetime, and a festival of the eternal solstice; Wen Ruohan wanted to dress the whole city in red, grow many flowers, along the roads, and set off fireworks; Wen Ruohan wanted the whole world to know about the event, to see Yiling Laozu in greatness and glory and expensive clothes, and to bow down to him. He did none of these things. Because this wedding was not made for him, because his wishes did not matter, because he conceived the whole thing only for one person — and Wen Ruohan knows that none of it would have pleased Yiling Laozu himself. So there was nothing but their red robes (equal, because Yiling Laozu deserves nothing less), a monk who did not belong to the lands of either order, and the clan leaders, their spouses and their heirs, respectively. Eleven people, not counting the two of them and the monk, and Wen Ruohan would have thrown them all out, including his first-born son, if Yiling Laozu had uttered a hint of displeasure. (Originally, he had planned to adopt Yiling Laozu: maybe steal him from the rivers and the darkness, hide him from everything until the end of time, gifting him with everything he could; maybe call him by blood, lying to everyone’s face, even Yiling Laozu; maybe do everything right and bring him into the family in slow, long strides. But he could not wait. (And it was even a week long when he found out about the qi deflection in one of the visiting students in the Cloud Recesses). The position of third son, recognized or bastard, is extremely precarious. Even if he kills anyone who even thinks to look at Yiling Laozu obliquely, even if he paves the marble slabs with the skinned bones of the elders, even if he makes the most loyal of all, Wen Xu, stand by his brother’s side every minute — something will happen. Because the Nightless City is a canvas of intrigue (an arena of vipers without proper stakes, — laughed Nie Tao, feebly waving a bottle of their best liquor) that existed even before he was born. These intrigues are what robbed him of all his brothers and sisters when he was still something closer to human. So he cannot let a tired man like Yiling Laozu face it. Then he thought of this: a place beside himself that gives no power and yet gives so much of it; a place not so important that the elders, in the name of whatever it may seem to them, try to bring Yiling Laozu down daily; a place because of which he would not dare be touched. He should have made Yiling Laozu his husband). First bow for their ancestors, who betrayed them. Yiling Laozu is young with that face when he thinks about it; younger than his second son, younger than almost everyone in this room except his own shidi and Nie Tao’s youngest grandson. Yiling Laozu does not smile, not once since he met him, not once for him — but it’s okay, Wen Ruohan will do his best to fix it. Jiangs, in the unanimity of father, son and mother, stares into his back with sultry stares. Lan Qiren does not hide his condemnation while his eldest nephew’s hand rests on his shoulder. Nie Mingjue, the stubborn boy, one step away from pulling out his saber, but his younger brother glaring with intelligent and dangerous (so familiarly green) eyes, hiding behind his fan, dissecting it with a mere thought. Jins… he’s just glad he didn’t kill that slimy worm here and now, he doesn’t want to tarnish Yiling Laozu’s face or accidentally stain himself with the slug’s blood. Is his own son a lump of misunderstanding, latent anger, and, what does he see, a drop of disapproval? Perhaps Wen Xu is not as submissive to him as he thought. It is even amusing; he barely suppresses a carnivorous chuckle as he returns his gaze to his husband. The second — to Heaven, which rejected them, and to Earth, where they died. Yiling Laozu is wearing three shades of red, his hair mostly loose rather than folded, except for the unnatural black hairpin that supports the tuft of hair. Wen Ruohan senses a dark energy from the hairpin, certain that it is only there to kill him if he does something wrong. Wen Ruohan smiles softly at this fact: Yiling Laozu has begun to take care of himself. In the third — they bow to each other.

***

Wei Ying sits on the bed, too big, too luxurious, with sheets that seem wrongly smooth under his palms. He does not raise his head, feeling the emptiness that has been with him since the moment in the night and the woods along the Gusu Lan gate, since the moment he awoke. When he accepted the offer, of a monster like himself. He breathed, smelling the scent of unknown flowers and burning kindling, looking at the flickering fire of the candles, keenly feeling the weight of the same cheap dizi in the folds of his red belt, and the damn hairpin that Madame Yu of her clan had given him (thing that took many who deserved it, — the woman told him, weaving it into his hair, trying to find his eyes in the mirror reflection). He could hear the sounds of the city from the open window; there was no fanfare, no celebration, no loud noises — it was soothing. The world goes on as if nothing is happening. Not paying any attention to it. And that’s fascinating. Wei Ying doesn’t know how long he sits like this, surrounded by the embrace of shadows, the smells of an unfamiliar city, and lost in the present as he realizes that no one is touching him. Wei Ying blinks and looks before her, at his husband, the man whose war has taken everything. “Yiling Laozu”, smile at him unbearably softly and say that name with a caress that makes want to scream as the man gets down on one knee in front of him. Without touching, still never once touching him; so many-many hands tearing him apart at his command. Wen Ruohan before him is patient and gentle, not ordering, not demanding, not taking what is his: “I’ll never do anything if you don’t want me to”, and it sounds like truth; it sounds like the voice of Wen Qing’s gratitude and Wen Ning’s respect; it sounds like the truth that the sun rises in the east and his shijie is the most beautiful woman in the world, “I want you to understand: that whatever belongs to me — belongs to you; whatever you want — I will do; whatever you ask — I will put into action”. And so that Wei Ying could finally be convinced of his own madness, Wen Ruohan, the one who has made war only because he thought everyone was beneath him, bows to him. “Don’t…” Wei Ying catches himself falling off the edge of the bed, forcing the man up. Wen Ruohan still isn’t touching him, not even reflexively, because Wei Ying is holding the man by the shoulders. “I’m not worth—” “You are worth all this miserable world”, interrupts him with the conviction he expected from the man, but not in this matter. It can’t be true, Wei Ying knows what he deserves. But even death has not accepted him. Wei Ying finds himself nodding, pulling on a smile that looks more human, thanks to rehearsals in front of the mirror. Wen Ruohan frowns, but says nothing. The man leaves after a few minutes, asking his permission to put him back on the bed. Wei Ying asks, still feeling only hollow: why ask such a thing? The spouse has every right to this body, — Wen Ruohan chuckles as if it were obvious, blowing out the candles. “I will not touch you, if you do not let me, Yiling Laozu”. Wei Ying spends his wedding night in silence and solitude until dawn. His skin is cold and empty. It is attractive.