The Handsome Companion, Part Nine: 3

For reasons he could not name, Wei Wuxian felt strangely guilty that night, and so he had not dared, as he always did, to climb onto the couch and crowd in beside Lan Wangji to sleep; instead he had sat on the floor, making do as best he could, until at some unmarked hour his head tipped sideways and he drifted off against the wooden couch. He dozed in that crooked posture until dawn, when he felt someone lift him with a gentle, careful motion and lay him flat upon the couch. Wei Wuxian forced his eyes open, and Lan Wangji's face, cool and composed as ever, swam into view.

He came five or six parts awake all at once. 'Lan Zhan,' he called.

Lan Wangji answered him with a low 'Mn.' Wei Wuxian asked again, 'Right now, are you awake, or are you drunk?'

'Awake,' said Lan Wangji.

'Oh...' said Wei Wuxian. 'So it's the Rabbit hour.'

Every day Lan Wangji woke at this exact moment, punctual to the hour, so that Wei Wuxian needed no glance at the sky beyond the window to judge the time. Lan Wangji took up Wei Wuxian's wrist; both wrists bore several livid welts, red as raw blood. From his sleeve he drew a small porcelain bottle of pale celadon and, bowing his head, began to treat them. Where the fine salve touched, a coolness spread at once. Wei Wuxian narrowed his eyes. 'That hurts... Hanguang-Jun, when you've had a drink you really have no manners at all.'

Without lifting his eyes, Lan Wangji said, 'You brought it on yourself.'

Wei Wuxian's heart gave a small lurch. 'Lan Zhan, what you did after you got drunk—you really don't remember, do you?'

'I don't remember,' said Lan Wangji.

Wei Wuxian thought: 'He probably doesn't. Otherwise, with that shame on top of the fury, he'd have flayed me alive.'

And so he felt both relieved that Lan Wangji did not remember and faintly sorry that he did not. It was rather like having quietly done something wicked, having stolen a bite of something sweet, and then crouching alone in a corner to chuckle to himself in secret delight that no one had noticed, while also regretting that there was no one to share the unspeakable joy with. Without meaning to, his eyes fixed once more on Lan Wangji's lips.

The corners never once turned up, and yet they looked soft, and soft they truly were.

Wei Wuxian bit his own lip unconsciously and let his mind go wandering off into the void again: 'The Gusu Lan Clan's discipline is so strict, and Lan Zhan is a man who hasn't the faintest grasp of romance, so surely he never kissed a girl before. What's to be done about that, then? I've snatched first prize off him. Should I tell him? If he knew, would he be so furious he'd cry? Hah, as a boy he might have, but not now. And he's like some wooden little monk, so maybe his heart never once stirred in that direction... No, wrong! Last time he was drunk, I asked him whether he had someone he liked, and he answered yes. So maybe he kissed that person long ago? Still, given how Lan Zhan is, forever holding himself in check, it would surely have stayed within the bounds of propriety, feeling stirred but going no further. He's likely never kissed anyone, certainly never even held hands. Come to think of it, perhaps at the time he didn't even understand what sort of liking my 'liking' meant...'

When Lan Wangji had finished applying the salve to Wei Wuxian, there came a soft knock at the door, three times, and Lan Sizhui's voice carried through. 'Hanguang-Jun, everyone's up. Are we setting out?'

'Wait downstairs,' said Lan Wangji.

The party left the city, and at the foot of the gate-tower they were about to go their separate ways. Until now the scions of the various great clans had been no more than familiar faces to one another, paying visits back and forth whenever someone's house held a discussion gathering; yet over these few days they had lived through the cat-corpse affair together, had passed one heart-stopping day and night together inside a fog-bound Ghost City, had burned Joss Paper together, sneaked wine together, quarreled together, cursed together, and so had grown thoroughly close. Now, at the moment of parting, they were all reluctant to go, dawdling at the gate, promising one another that they'd come and play at this one's discussion gathering, that they'd come and Night Hunt on that one's territory. Nor did Lan Wangji hurry them; he let them talk this over and that over, standing silent beneath a tree and saying nothing. Pinned beneath his gaze, Fairy dared neither bark nor bolt, and could only huddle under the tree as well, gazing longingly toward Jin Ling's direction with his tail wagging wildly.

While Lan Wangji held Fairy fast with his stare, Wei Wuxian slung an arm around Jin Ling's shoulders and walked him off a good long way.

Mo Xuanyu had been one of Jin Guangshan's illegitimate sons, a half-brother to Jin Zixuan and Jin Guangyao by the same father, so that by blood he counted as a sort of little uncle to Jin Ling, which gave him every right to use an elder's tone in admonishing him. As they walked, he said, 'Once you're back, don't quarrel and talk back to your uncle anymore. Listen to him, and from now on be careful—don't go running off alone to Night Hunt again.'

Though Jin Ling was born of a great house, gossip and idle tongues spare no one; with neither father nor mother, he could hardly help being impatient for success, eager to prove himself. Wei Wuxian went on, 'You're only in your teens. None of the clan scions your age have hunted any demon or monster worth speaking of. Why be in such a rush, why insist on being first?'

Sullenly, Jin Ling said, 'My uncle and my little uncle made their names in their teens too.'

Wei Wuxian thought: 'How is that the same? Back then the Qishan Wen Clan was bearing down on everyone, hearts were uneasy, and if you didn't train and fight for your life, who could say the next one to fall wouldn't be himself? In the Sunshot Campaign they dragged you onto the battlefield whether you were in your teens or whatever age. But now the times are settled and every house is at peace, so naturally the mood isn't so taut, and everyone trains far less desperately. There's no need for it.'

Jin Ling went on, 'Even Wei Ying, that Wei dog, was in his teens when he slaughtered the Xuanwu of Slaughter. If even he could do it, why can't I?'

Hearing his own surname linked to the word that followed, Wei Wuxian felt a wave crawl over his skin, and once he had shaken off the gooseflesh with some effort, he said, 'Was that his kill? Wasn't that Hanguang-Jun who killed it?'

At the mention of Lan Wangji, Jin Ling shot him a glance of unreadable meaning, seemed about to say something, then forced it down. 'You and Hanguang-Jun... never mind. That's your own business. In short, I don't want to meddle in your affairs in the least. If you want to cut sleeves, then go cut sleeves; this is one illness there's no curing.'

'How is that an illness?' Wei Wuxian said with a snort of a laugh, while inwardly he was doubled over: 'He still thinks I'm shamelessly pestering Lan Zhan?!'

Jin Ling continued, 'I already know what the Gusu Lan Clan's forehead ribbon means. Since things have come to this, then stay properly at Hanguang-Jun's side. Even cutting sleeves, do it cleanly and keep yourself decent—don't go provoking other men, and least of all our own people! Otherwise don't blame me for showing you no mercy.'

By 'our own people' he meant both the Lanling Jin Clan and the Yunmeng Jiang Clan; it seemed his tolerance for the cutting of sleeves had risen a notch, so that as long as Wei Wuxian didn't go after his kin, he could pretend not to see. Wei Wuxian said, 'You child! What do you mean, provoking other men—you make me sound like some sort of creature. Forehead ribbon? Does the Gusu Lan Clan's forehead ribbon have some meaning?'

Jin Ling said, 'Don't play dumb! You've got the better end of it and still want to look innocent—don't let it go to your head. I don't want to talk about this anymore. Are you Wei Ying?'

On the heel of those three remarks he flung out the last in a single thrust, straight to the point, catching one wholly off guard. Unruffled, Wei Wuxian replied, 'Do you think I look like him?'

Jin Ling fell silent a long while, then suddenly gave a short whistle. 'Fairy!'

Called by name, Fairy came bounding over, tongue lolling, all four legs flung wide. Wei Wuxian took to his heels at a dead run. 'Let's talk like civilized people—what are you setting the dog on me for!'

'Hmph! Goodbye!' said Jin Ling.

And with his goodbye said, he strode off, head high and chest out, in the direction of Lanling—still, it seemed, not daring to go back to Yunmeng Lotus Pier and face Jiang Cheng. The scions of the other houses, too, drifted off homeward by twos and threes in their various directions. In the end there remained only Wei Wuxian, Lan Wangji, and a handful of the Lan juniors.

As they walked, the young ones could not keep themselves from glancing back again and again. Lan Jingyi said nothing aloud, but his face was written all over with a hollow reluctance. 'Where do we go next?' he asked.

Lan Sizhui said, 'Zewu-Jun is Night Hunting somewhere around Tanzhou just now. Do we go straight back to the Cloud Recesses, or go there to meet him?'

'Tanzhou,' said Lan Wangji. 'We meet him.'

Wei Wuxian said, 'Good enough. We might even be of some help. In any case we've no idea where to look next for my good brother's head.'

The two of them walked ahead, the rest of the youths trailing far behind. When they had gone a stretch, Lan Wangji said, 'Jiang Cheng knows who you are.'

Wei Wuxian sat astride the flower donkey, letting Little Apple amble along at a crawl. 'He does,' he said. 'But what of it, knowing? He can't produce any proof.'

The Offering of the Self differed from Body Possession in that it left no trace to be traced. Jiang Cheng had judged it only from the look on his face when he saw the dog. But for one thing, Jiang Cheng had never told a soul about Wei Wuxian's fear of dogs; and for another, expressions and reactions are things no one but the most intimate can draw conclusions from, and they make for no iron-clad evidence either. Even if Jiang Cheng now papered the world with notices proclaiming far and wide that the Yiling Patriarch Wei Wuxian was a coward who quailed at dogs, everyone would likely take it only as the Sandu Shengshou having chased the Yiling Patriarch for years, forever seizing the wrong man, and at last gone mad.

Wei Wuxian said, 'So I really am curious. How on earth did you recognize me?'

In a level voice Lan Wangji said, 'I'm curious too—why your memory is so poor.'

In a few days they reached Tanzhou, and before they had met up with Lan Xichen the party passed by a certain garden. Seeing how vast it was, of no ordinary grandeur, and with no one tending it, the juniors could not master their curiosity and went in to look around. So long as a thing did not violate the family precepts and rules, Lan Wangji never stopped them, and so he let them go in. Within the garden stood stone pavilions and stone railings, stone tables and stone stools, set there for the viewing of flowers and the moon; yet years of rain and wind had stripped a corner from the pavilion and toppled two of the stools. Nowhere in the whole garden was a single bloom to be seen—only withered branches and ruined leaves. This garden had lain abandoned for many years.

After the juniors had toured a small circuit with high spirits, Lan Sizhui said, 'This is the Flower Maiden's garden, isn't it?'

Lan Jingyi said blankly, 'The Flower Maiden? Who's that? Does this garden have an owner? Why does it look so ruined, as if no one's tended it in ages?'

Flowers of brief season, blooming each in its proper time, are called shihua, the tended blooms; many in kind, varied in hue, they fill a whole garden with fragrance when they open. At the name something stirred in Wei Wuxian's heart, and he recalled a little of it. Lan Sizhui stroked a pillar of the stone pavilion, pondered a moment, then said, 'If I remember rightly, it should be the one. This garden was once quite famous—I read of it in a book. The chapter Soul of the Tending Maiden's Flowers records: In Tanzhou there is a flower plot, and in the plot there is a maiden. Recite verse beneath the moon, and if the verse is fine, she gifts a single tended bloom that for three years will not wilt and whose fragrance endures. But if the verse is poor, or recited in error, the maiden bursts forth, hurls a flower at one's face, and then withdraws.'

Lan Jingyi said, 'Recite a poem wrong and you get a flower thrown in your face? That flower had better have no thorns, or if I tried it I'd surely get my face stuck and bleeding. What kind of monster is this?'

Lan Sizhui said, 'A monster, probably not—better to call it a sprite. The story goes that the earliest owner of the flower plot was a poet who planted these flowers with his own hands, befriended them, and recited verse here day after day. Steeped in the scent of books and the feeling of poetry, the flowers of the garden condensed a wisp of essence-soul and took form as the Flower Maiden. When outsiders came and recited well, putting her in mind of the one who had planted her, she would be pleased and bestow a flower. But if they recited poorly or wrongly, she would emerge from the flower beds and strike them about the head and face with blooms. Whoever was struck would faint, and on waking would find himself flung out of the garden. A dozen years ago, the people coming to this garden were, one might say, an unbroken stream.'

Wei Wuxian said, 'Elegant, elegant. But the Library Pavilion of the Gusu Lan Clan certainly holds no book recording such a thing. Sizhui, be honest—what book were you reading, and who let you see it?'

Lan Sizhui flushed and stole a glance at Lan Wangji, afraid he might be punished. Lan Jingyi said, 'Was the Flower Maiden very beautiful? Otherwise why would so many people come?'

Seeing no hint of reproach in Lan Wangji, Lan Sizhui quietly let out a breath, and only then answered with a smile, 'She should have been very beautiful. After all, she's so elegant a sprite, condensed from so lovely a thing. But in truth no one ever saw the Flower Maiden's face clearly—after all, even one who can't compose verse can hardly find it hard to memorize a poem or two and recite them, so most people received the Flower Maiden's gift of a bloom. And the rare ones who recited wrong and were struck fainted at once, with no chance to glimpse her. Except... except for one person.'

Another of the youths asked, 'Which person?'

Wei Wuxian gave a light cough.

Lan Sizhui said, 'The Yiling Patriarch, Wei Wuxian.'

Wei Wuxian coughed again. 'Er, how is it him again? Can't we talk about something else?'

No one paid him any mind. Lan Jingyi waved a hand, anxious. 'Don't interrupt! What about Wei Wuxian? That great demon—what did he do this time? Did he drag the Flower Maiden out by force?'

Lan Sizhui said, 'That, no. But to see the Flower Maiden's face clearly, he came all the way from Yunmeng to Tanzhou, to this garden, and each time recited his verse wrong on purpose, provoking the Flower Maiden into a rage so she'd strike him with flowers and fling him out. When he came to, he'd crawl back in and go on reciting wrong at the top of his voice. Over twenty times back and forth, until at last he saw the Flower Maiden's face clearly and went out praising it to everyone. But the Flower Maiden was so vexed by him that for a long while she would no longer come out at all—the moment she saw him enter, down would come a wild rain of flowers, blossoms flying every which way to strike him, a marvel beyond marvels...'

The youths all burst out laughing together, saying, 'That Wei Wuxian was really insufferable!'

'How could anyone be so idle!'

Wei Wuxian rubbed his chin. 'What's so idle about it! Who hasn't done a thing or two like that in his youth? Then again—how does anyone even know about such a thing? And recorded so solemnly in a book at that. Now that's what I call truly idle.'

Lan Wangji watched him, and though his face held no expression, a strange light rippled in the depths of his eyes, as if he were laughing at him. Wei Wuxian thought: 'Hah, Lan Zhan actually has the nerve to laugh at me. The embarrassing things I know about his own youth, if there aren't ten then there are eight, and sooner or later I'll tell this gaggle of little ones and wreck the image they hold of Hanguang-Jun, pure as ice and jade and sacred beyond reproach. Just you wait.'

He said, 'You little ones, your hearts are restless and your minds unclear—you must spend every day reading idle books instead of training in earnest. When you're back, I'll have Hanguang-Jun punish you with copying out the family precepts. Ten times.'

The youths went pale with alarm. 'Ten times, and standing on our heads no less?!'

Wei Wuxian was startled too, and looked at Lan Wangji. 'Your house makes you copy punishment lines standing on your head? That's brutal.'

In a level voice Lan Wangji said, 'Copying alone, and some never learn the lesson. Upside down, the lesson sinks deep, and it trains them besides.'

Wei Wuxian was, of course, precisely the sort who never learned the lesson; he feigned not catching the meaning, turned away, and silently congratulated himself that in those years they'd never made him copy standing on his head.

The pack of youths, their spirits roused by the tale, decided to camp the night in the Flower Garden. Camping out is, after all, a common thing on a Night Hunt, so they gathered bits from here and there, piled up a heap of withered branches and ruined leaves, and lit a bonfire. Lan Wangji went out to patrol, making certain the area was safe and laying down a array in passing, against any midnight assault. Wei Wuxian stretched his legs straight out and sat by the fire, and seeing that Lan Wangji had finally gone, with a chance now to settle his question, he said, 'Right—a question. Your family's forehead ribbon, what does it actually mean?'

At the mention of it the youths' faces changed all at once, and they began to hem and haw. Wei Wuxian's heart gave a sudden thud, and it began to pound.

Carefully, Lan Sizhui said, 'Senior, you don't know?'

Wei Wuxian said, 'If I knew, would I be asking? Do I look like such an idle man?'

Lan Jingyi muttered, 'You do, rather... after all, you're the sort who'd even trick us into lining up to gawk at that kind of thing...' Wei Wuxian stirred the fire with a twig so the sparks scattered up in flurries. 'Wasn't that to make you train properly and break past your own limits? It's genuinely useful—remember my words, and you'll all reap endless benefit from them in years to come.'

Lan Sizhui seemed to be weighing his words, and deliberated a good while before he said, 'It's like this. The Gusu Lan Clan's forehead ribbon signifies the binding of the self—Senior, you know that much, don't you?'

Wei Wuxian said, 'I know. And then?'

Lan Sizhui went on: 'And Lan An, founding ancestor of the Gusu Lan Clan, left these words — that only before one's destined person, one's beloved, need one hold to no restraint at all. So the teaching handed down through the generations is, ah, that the forehead ribbon of our clan is a very, very private and sensitive treasure; apart from oneself, no other person may Suibian touch it, may Suibian take it off, and still less may it be tied upon another — that is forbidden. Mm, only, only…'

Only what, there was no need to say.

By the bonfire these young, tender faces had flushed crimson all together, and Lan Sizhui could not go on.

Wei Wuxian felt more than half the blood in his body rush up to his head.

This forehead ribbon, this forehead ribbon, this, this, this—

The meaning of this forehead ribbon was a weighty thing indeed!

All at once he felt a desperate need for fresh air, sprang to his feet, and bolted out, steadying himself with a hand against a withered tree before he could barely hold his form upright. He thought: '...Mother of mine! What on earth have I done!'

In those years, in Qishan, the Wen Clan had once held a Hundred Clans Discussion Assembly, a great gathering lasting seven days, with a different diversion appointed for each of the seven. Among them, one day was given to a contest of archery.

The rules of the contest had the youths of each house, those not yet capped at manhood, enter the field to vie in the hunt. Among more than a thousand paper-man targets, each lifelike and life-sized and darting nimbly about, only a hundred had a Fierce Spirit lodged within; shoot the wrong one and you were obliged to withdraw at once, and only by striking, again and again, the correct paper men with the Fierce Spirits inside could one stay in the field. At the end they reckoned who had hit the most and the truest, and ranked them in order.

At such an occasion Wei Wuxian was, of course, to take part as one of the Yunmeng Jiang Clan's entrants. Before the contest he had already sat through a whole morning of the houses' debating, listening until his head spun and ached, and only on shouldering his bow and quiver did he at last recover a little spirit. Yawning his way toward the hunting field, he let his eyes drift and suddenly saw, at his side, a handsome young man with a face powder-pale and a manner cold as frost, dressed in a round-collared robe of true vermilion, belted with nine rings, the sleeves drawn close and narrow. This was in fact the uniform dress for the juniors at this Qishan Hundred Clans gathering, yet on him it looked uncommonly fine—three parts refined, three parts gallant, and ten parts, all added together, sheer beauty—so that one's eyes brightened against one's will.

This young man bore a sheaf of arrows fletched with snow-white tail feathers, and head bowed, was just then testing his bow. His fingers were long and slender, and at a single pluck of the string they drew forth a note like that of a qin, sweet to the ear and yet firm and strong.

Wei Wuxian found the young man somewhat familiar, thought a moment, then slapped his thigh and hailed him in high delight: 'Eh! Isn't this Wangji-xiong?'

By then, more than a year had passed since Wei Wuxian had studied at the Cloud Recesses and been packed off back to Yunmeng. After returning to Yunmeng he had treated people to a long account of his Gusu doings, including a great deal of talk along the lines of how Lan Wangji's face was good-looking enough but how stiff and how tiresome he was, and not long after he had flung those days behind him and gone back to churning up waves on the lake and running wild in the hills. He had only ever seen Lan Wangji in the plain, mourning-pale everyday robes of the Gusu Lan Clan, never in so bright and striking a getup, and paired now with that overly beautiful face, the sudden reunion left him, for a moment, all but blinded, unable to place him at once.

Over there Lan Wangji finished testing his bow, turned his head, and walked off. Finding it a thankless business, Wei Wuxian said to Jiang Cheng, 'Ignoring me again. Hah.'

With a cold expression Jiang Cheng shot him a sidelong glare and clearly had no intention of paying him any mind either. The target field had over twenty entrances, one for each house, and as Lan Wangji walked up to the Gusu Lan Clan's entrance, Wei Wuxian darted ahead and slipped into it first. Lan Wangji turned sideways, and he turned too; Lan Wangji shifted his step, and he shifted too. In short, he stood in the way and would not let him through.

At last Lan Wangji halted where he stood, lifted his chin slightly, and said gravely, 'Let me pass.'

Wei Wuxian said, 'So you'll deign to acknowledge me now? Just then, were you pretending not to know me, or pretending not to hear?'

Not far off, the youths of the other houses were all watching this way, some marveling, some laughing. With an impatient smack of his lips, Jiang Cheng shouldered his own arrows and went off to a different entrance.

Lan Wangji coldly raised his eyelids and repeated, 'Let me pass.'

A smile played at the corners of Wei Wuxian's mouth; he cocked an eyebrow and turned aside. The arch of the entrance was narrow, and Lan Wangji had no choice but to brush past him pressed close. As he entered the field, Wei Wuxian called out at his back, 'Lan Zhan, your forehead ribbon's crooked.'

Clan scions set great store by their appearance, the Gusu Lan Clan most of all. At the words, Lan Wangji raised a hand without thinking to set it right—but the ribbon was plainly worn perfectly straight, and when he turned his head, he cast an unfriendly look toward Wei Wuxian, who had long since laughed his way over to the Yunmeng Jiang Clan's entrance.

Once the field opened and the contest properly began, clan scions kept dropping out, having shot a common paper man by mistake. Wei Wuxian took one per arrow, shooting slowly yet never once missing, and in no time at all seventeen or eighteen arrows had gone from his quiver. He was just about to try how it would go shooting reversed-grip when something drifted onto his face.

The thing was light and soft, tickling Wei Wuxian's cheek like a stray strand of floss. He looked back, and found that without his noticing it Lan Wangji had come over near him, back turned, in the act of drawing his bow at a paper man.

The streaming end of that forehead ribbon had lifted on the wind and brushed, soft and light, against Wei Wuxian's face.

He narrowed his eyes. 'Wangji-xiong!'

Lan Wangji drew the bow full as a round moon, paused a moment, and still said, 'What is it.'

Wei Wuxian said, 'Your forehead ribbon's crooked.'

This time, though, Lan Wangji would no longer believe him; an arrow flew, and without turning his head he flung out two words: 'How idle.'

Wei Wuxian said, 'This time it's real! Truly crooked. If you don't believe me, look—I'll set it straight for you.'

No sooner said than done: he caught hold of the ribbon's trailing end as it floated to and fro before his eyes. But the trouble was, the man had wretched hands—from years of yanking the braids of the little girls back in Yunmeng, his fingers, the moment they closed on anything cord-shaped, itched to give it a tug, and so this time too, without thinking, he gave it a tug. Who could have known that the ribbon, already a touch askew and somewhat loose, slid clean off Lan Wangji's brow at his pull.

The hand that held Lan Wangji's bow gave a sudden tremble.

It was a long while before he turned his head, stiffly, his gaze swinging toward Wei Wuxian very, very slowly.

The soft ribbon still in his hand, Wei Wuxian said, 'Sorry, I didn't mean to. Here, you put it back on.'

Lan Wangji's face was very grim.

Between his brows there hung what seemed an actual cloud of black qi, the veins standing out on the back of the hand that held the bow, his whole frame looking as if he might shake with fury. Seeing what appeared to be threads of blood creeping into his eyes, Wei Wuxian could not help giving the ribbon a squeeze, and thought: 'This thing I tugged off really is a forehead ribbon, and not some part of him, is it?'

Seeing that he actually still dared to squeeze it, Lan Wangji snatched the ribbon out of his hand.

At his snatch, Wei Wuxian let go. The other Lan scions stopped loosing arrows too, and all came crowding around. Lan Xichen slung an arm over his younger brother's shoulders and murmured something to the silent Lan Wangji, while the rest, faces grave as if facing a great foe, talked and shook their heads, and now and then turned strange, unreadable looks toward Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian caught only blurred fragments—'accident,' 'no need to be angry,' 'pay it no mind,' 'a man,' 'family rules,' and the like—and grew more and more at a loss. Lan Wangji glared at him fiercely, swept his sleeve about as he turned, and walked straight off the field.

Jiang Cheng came over. 'What did you do this time? Didn't I tell you not to provoke him? You're not happy unless you've gone looking to die at least once a day.'

Spreading his hands, Wei Wuxian said, 'I said his forehead ribbon was crooked—the first time I was teasing him, but the second time it really was. He didn't believe me, and got angry. I didn't tug his ribbon off on purpose. Tell me, why was he so furious? He won't even compete now.'

Jiang Cheng sneered, 'Need you ask? Because he finds you especially loathsome, of course!'

The arrows at his back were nearly spent; seeing this, Wei Wuxian set to in earnest as well.

This whole episode, in all these years, he had never thought through with any care; it was not that he had never wondered whether the forehead ribbon held some special meaning for the Lan family, but once the contest was over he had flung the matter behind him again. Now, thinking it over—the way the other Lan scions present had looked at him at the time—

To have his forehead ribbon forcibly stripped off by some scoundrel of a boy in front of everyone, and for Lan Zhan not to have shot him dead on the spot—his self-restraint really was terrifyingly good! Worthy of Hanguang-Jun indeed!!!

And come to think of it carefully, after coming back, it seemed he had touched Lan Wangji's forehead ribbon more than once!!!

Lan Jingyi said, puzzled, 'What's he pacing back and forth over there for? Ate too much and can't sit still?'

Another youth said, 'And his color keeps going red, then green... did something he ate disagree with him...'

'But we didn't eat anything... is it because of the forehead ribbon's meaning? No need to get so worked up over it. Looks like he really is infatuated with Hanguang-Jun—look how delighted it's made him...'

Wei Wuxian circled a clump of withered flowers some fifty-odd times before he managed, barely, to calm down, and at the last line he was caught between laughter and tears. Just then, from behind him, came the sound of dead leaves being crushed underfoot.

By the footfalls it was no child, so it ought to be Lan Wangji come back. Wei Wuxian swiftly composed his expression and turned—only to see a black figure standing not far behind, in the shadow of a dead tree.

This figure was very tall, very straight, very full of menace.

Only it was short one head.