500 years of solitude [5/?]
Title: 500 years of solitude [5/?]
Author: clubotaku
Pairing: Kris/Luhan with minor Sehun/Luhan, Lay/Luhan
Characters: EXO-M with mentions of Hangeng, Victoria and others
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Romance, Supernatural, Historical Au!
Previous chapters: http://clubotaku.livejournal.com/17349.html
http://clubotaku.livejournal.com/17488.html
http://clubotaku.livejournal.com/18586.html
http://clubotaku.livejournal.com/19031.html
A/N: So after writing mermaid Au! crack featuring his Haughtiness Sehun I'm back to this but argh my Layhan feels... Kris's new hair :'(
惆怅阶前红牡丹
I’m saddened by the peonies before the steps, so red,
晚来唯有两只残
As evening came I found only two remained.
明朝风起应吹尽
Once morning’s winds have blown, they surely won’t survive,
夜惜衰红把火看
At night I gaze by lamplight, to cherish the fading red
Bai Juyi 白居易-Regret for Peony Flowers惜牡丹花
The air is still, silent and cold. There are lines on his fingers from holding the bow too tight, pulling the string too hard. Hangeng had been distant this evening, talking only when spoken to and retiring early to his rooms. Though he had tried, his brother had pushed him away, staring at him but not looking at him, mind elsewhere. Songqian is singing somewhere down the corridor, her lovely voice accompanied by Yiyun’s reed flute. As she rises to a crescendo he moves, out into the garden, bundle in hand. Yixing will be here soon and he wants to be back in his room. Though Yixing knows about his pet-can it really be considered as such though?-there is disapproval of his actions. He’s just a neat freak that’s all, he thinks, I only control my bed but he controls everything else. The memory of a few days ago creeps in with a sigh and he flushes, half in shame and half confused. It was a kiss, would be taken by others as a kiss but no! Yixing is his sworn-brother, and the bonds between them cannot be broken by the pervasive thoughts and spiteful words of others. Hangeng doesn’t say it, doesn’t tell him but he knows what the servants think, what the soldiers think. How men turn to each other for comfort, or boys to one another when a woman is unavailable. ‘Learning to use the jade staff’ was what one servant had whispered, before casting her eyes downwards as he walked past.
“He is my friend,” he mutters, “My closest friend and sworn brother. No secrets between us.”
There was nothing in Yixing’s eyes at that time, though he had searched for something. Why search though when you know it is better not to? No… No. The other boy acted like normal and so Luhan did too, telling himself it was another prank, a game between them that he had lost. After all I challenged him right? If he acted any differently, would it drive Yixing away?
“I am going to be a man,” he says, resolute, “Men do not do these things.”
Yixing was familiarity, comfort and friendship. It worries him and yet, he cannot bring himself to feel disgust at the memory of the herbalist’s lips on his. It was not his first ‘kiss’ as such, no, Luhan had been somewhat of a kissing fiend as a child and that honour went to another noble playmate of his-a girl swathed in silk and finely sewn shoes. The air seems to huff, impatient, waiting. He blinks-he is at the wall.
“Sorry I’m late,” Luhan says, pushes the bundle out and unties it, spilling the contents onto the grass before he slides back in and replaces the stones.
Yixing is waiting for him when he returns, brewing their tea and, he notes with a grimace, more of his medicinal brew that he had kissed into-no, fed-Luhan at the barracks.
“You are to take this for the next few months until your Coming-of-Age ceremony is over,” he says, failing to keep the laughter out of his voice, “Doctor’s orders.”
“As long as you don’t force me,” it comes out before he can stop himself. Luhan freezes, watches for a reaction but Yixing gives none, none save his usual placid smile before flopping onto Luhan’s bed.
“So soft,” he says, drool soaking into Luhan’s pillow.
Luhan stops thinking and launches himself at the offender who has defiled his holy space. All thoughts of medicine, force-fed or otherwise, of the lines that are beginning to blur between brother and something else, forgotten.
Wufan buries the remains of his dinner, lip curling at having to wait longer than usual. The boy… Luhan had taken longer than usual to deliver his daily meal, head clearly in the clouds. There is no doubt that archery is not what bothers him considering the feeble progress the young lord has made. Young lording Oh Sehun was little to no help, constantly feeding compliments when there should be none to give. A low growl sounds from his throat, scaring a nearby crow who bolts upon realizing the danger it is in. Wufan snorts, cleans his whiskers and watches it fly into the night. As if a puny bird could escape him. His mind turns back to today’s session, where Luhan had finally mastered the art of stringing the bow correctly and was no longer in danger of shooting himself. The fox smirks, sharp teeth bared as it barks in laughter at the memory of sending Sehun away with some mundane excuse-really, humans were so gullible. To be fair, thinks Wufan, picking his teeth with a stray bone, Luhan had been trying harder even if it was a constant battle to get him to focus. The dreamy look that came into his eyes was both captivating and infuriating to him; what was it the boy was thinking about? It had been tempting… Very tempting to use his tricks and make the soldiers see arrows flying their way or even an arrow aimed at Sehun’s head but such petty, low level tricks were not worth his time. Not that time is an issue here. If anything, there’s too much time. The fox stretches, unfurling its’ tails. Out here, where fewer humans dare to go and few animals are foolish enough to come near, the fox, Wufan can show his true form. Eight tails curl in the breeze; claws flex and mark the earth. Scents multiply, intensify around him; everything is visible to him, like strings tying their smells to him. Luhan. It nags him to the core, the fox is so hungry, it hungers. Wufan runs, a golden streak under moonlight. So hungry. Always hungry.
Luhan awakes, beads of sweat rolling down from his head, down his neck and disappearing beneath his night shirt. Beside him, one arm draped carelessly over his torso, Yixing snores softly. The dream… It had felt so real. He swallows, but his mouth is dry and he licks his lips, trying to get some moisture on them.
“What’s wrong?” Yixing has awoken.
“Bad dream,” says Luhan smiling, “I dreamt Xiumin had turned into a water buffalo and was trying to get Chen to give him something to help his ‘jade staff’ and Sehun was a little woodpecker that wouldn’t stop pecking.”
Yixing pauses, considering something. Luhan knows what he wants to ask, hopes inside he won’t since he usually doesn’t but tonight, Yixing does ask.
“Was it about the incident in the field? About being chased?”
“No!” It comes out too fast, not that Luhan has been the most proficient at lying, especially to Yixing. The other leans closer, too close thinks Luhan, eyes widening as his best friend stares at him.
“Do you want me to make you a sleeping draught? You’ve gone pale, you’re sweating too.”
Too close, too close, thinks Luhan, already tired brain going into overdrive as Yixing’s cold hands cup his forehead, calm down, we are sworn-brothers, he is a herbalist, this is normal. Somehow Hangeng’s face pops into his mind, stern and forbidding and Luhan jerks back. Yixing seems not to notice, instead getting up to pluck herbs from his bag.
“Was it worse dreaming about it?” His voice is soft, soothing and non-invasive.
It’s one of the things Luhan likes about him; the fact Yixing won’t press you in a way that seems nosy or for some morbid self-satisfaction the way some of the older ladies and wives did. And Luhan being the type of person who hated to burden anyone with his worries appreciated this. The question doesn’t need an answer, or rather; an answer is not expected by the other. They know each other too well, Yixing knows the answer already but sometimes talking it out helps lessen the flood inside Luhan’s mind, of pent up fears and frustrations. Yixing takes the cup and places it on the stand above a candle, warming it, stirring. A lone cricket chirps outside, somewhere by the window. Yixing stands in shadow, watches the light stream across the floor and on Luhan, highlighting the hollows between his collarbones and the skin drawn against his cheekbones. The other looks down, eyes downcast and shadowed as Yixing traces patterns into the stone wall, waiting.
“It was worse.” Luhan’s voice is rough. “I was completely lost in the field… I could hear it, feel it. It was everywhere but I couldn’t see it and that… That was horrible. Knowing you’re being hunted but not seeing your hunter.”
Yixing sighs, sits down next to him. Luhan continues, one hand scrunching up the silk sheets. He doesn’t notice when the sheets are replaced with Yixing’s hand, fingers drumming a steady beat against his palm.
“Everything was gold… The field, the sky. The lights of the city were never close, no matter how hard I ran or in whichever direction. They turned on and off, like fireflies, changing position so I had to keep running in a different direction, like they were mocking me. I was so lost, I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t even scream though I tried, I remember opening my mouth but nothing came out. It was silent, apart from the wind. I didn’t even hear your voice.”
“Of course you didn’t, it was a dream,” murmurs Yixing, though he knows anything is possible in the realm of dreams. A line of steam rises from the draught, a slight scent of wolfberries mixed with orange peel.
“I heard your voice at that time though, when I was running.”
The cup is warm in his hands and Yixing blows, watches the ripples spread and stop.
“You need sleep. Focus on your archery and your Coming-of-Age.”
“You were there, in my head,” says Luhan, already half asleep, “Telling me to run.”
Yixing chuckles and presses the drink into his hands, Luhan accepting it mutely without protest.
“You need sleep little deer or you’ll think I’m everywhere doing everything. Not all of us have the energy of a child.”
“Not all of us are old men,” retorts Luhan, passing the empty cup back.
By the time Yixing returns to the bed Luhan is asleep, face buried into the pillow, one hand beneath and the other stretched out. The other boy settles down next to him, in the curve left by himself earlier, still warm. He flops one arm around the other, slides his hand into the one beneath the pillow, tucks his face into the crook of his neck. Blissfully asleep and free from dreams, Luhan is oblivious, and Yixing listens to the cricket chirping, closes his eyes.
Outside, from where he had been hidden behind the door, Hangeng releases the breath he’s been holding and walks off, brooding. He throws one last look through the opening that serves as a window into his brother’s room, sees how Yixing and his hands are intertwined and his chest tightens. No, this will not do at all, thinks Hangeng, this is not how things should be. A lone maid bows respectfully as he passes, before hurrying to peek into the young Master’s room. Like a scene from an old tale, she thinks wistfully, two beautiful boys bonded as sworn-brothers but destined to be apart. How scandalous it all is! How shameful… Such a waste.
Inside, Luhan’s eyes open, slow and searching as they stare at the pillow hiding the hand tucked into his. Then, slowly, he uncurls his fingers and pulls his hand out. Yixing stirs next to him, mumbles something unintelligible. His mind is a mess, too many questions to deal with as he fights the urge to return to sleep, too many answers he fears confirming. In Yixing’s bed, where they had ended up after Luhan had kicked him off his bed, Yixing’s bed where he lies now - he doesn’t want to think of how this looks. He doesn’t want to turn and face Yixing, even as he sleeps, because now in the shaded world halfway between consciousness and oblivion something is becoming more and more obvious to him though the solution and how to deal with it are totally different matters. I’m sorry Yixing. 对不起。
The fox drifts, alone and angry through the fog. The ground sinks like sand beneath its’ paws, breath forming rolling balls that dissipate after leaving a long blue trail steaming in its wake. Somewhere in the distance the faint outline of a wandering crane spirit is visible, somewhere behind it the low grunt of a buffalo spirit. There are spirits and deities, friends, acquaintances, strangers, wandering this cold realm of dreams. No enemies; the fox has killed all who would challenge it, though from time to time the ghosts of these beings whisper in its’ ear and dance around it while it sleeps. It doesn’t matter, doesn’t bother the fox, for the dead stay dead and even the wandering damned are caught eventually. The realm of dreams smells like chrysanthemum today, the mist settling into droplets on golden fur.
“Wufan?”
Wufan runs towards the voice, tears through the mist towards the blurred figure that is perched on something, something, what is it?
Don’t leave me! He wants to scream, but all that comes out is a frustrated snarl. He tries to smell past the overwhelming stench of flowers, tries to find that familiar smell of mulberry. Please don’t leave me here! The mist opens before him and there! Just a little more, just a bit closer…
No!
The figure is gone and Wufan is standing in an empty lotus pond, soaked and panting as he swims back to shore, human and filled with self-loathing. Leaves shred between strong hands and slip between his fingers to join the mist; the lotus flowers bloom, cyan clouds floating up and away. Wufan screams and the pond is on fire, flames licking the surface, devouring everything. Nearby some spirits scatter, dark shapes in the smoke as they flee the fox spirit’s wrath. Wufan stalks the dream realm, fox fire creeping into the unsuspecting minds of dreamers, feeding off their newfound terror and anguish. Somewhere in his wandering he comes across the minds of soldiers, sick with triumph and the spoils of battle, celebrating in their dreams, dreams of recognition, power, money and desire. Tails unfold, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, reaching out even as his hands reach out to twist and corrupt their dreams; disgusting, selfish men. A man dreams of being awarded and medal, which turns into a golden python that strangles him, another surrounded by hungry wolves instead of beautiful women, which drag him in every direction, jaws slavering. The hunger in his belly grows as he walks, weaving, drives him as he continues to fill the dreamscape with flames. Children wake up crying to concerned parents who fight their own fears as they wake; housewives roll around restlessly; animals shake their heads trying to rid themselves of the instinctive urge to flee from the invisible.
北方有佳人
(In the North there’s a beauty)
绝世而独立
(The most beautiful in the world)
The voice breaks through the madness in his mind, the flames ceasing to shake as wildly as before.
一顾倾人成
(At one glance the city bows)
在顾倾人国
(A second glance and an empire falls)
Wufan walks, ignores the way sleeping men’s minds shrink away from him, somehow sensing the destruction wrought upon unlucky dreamers. Onwards he walks, ears fixated on the gentle voice of the singer. On his left a group of lowly rat spirits quiver, cowering and whispering as he passes, onwards towards the voice. It is a man, undoubtedly, light and soothing to the ear without the usual deep tone or robustness that characterizes most male singers. Wufan treads upwards onto a dream slope, the landscape clearing before him as he sits on a grassy hillock, overlooking a field of corn where two boys run, laughing as they drag kites across a crimson sky. The taller, older one ducks as the younger tries to throw sheaves of corn, giggling. The corn swallows them up and from the opposite side, two more appear, one boy-the younger-the same and another boy of the same age stumbling out behind him. The boy, bright eyed and emanating youth, continues his mischief, running in and out to confuse his friend who follows blindly, faithfully.
宁不知倾城与倾国
There isn’t an empire or city,
佳人难在的
One could love more than this beauty
Wufan looks up to follow the sound of the voice and there, on the opposite side of the field, lying beneath a hawthorn tree Luhan sits, watching his dream selves, his brother and the herbalist, singing. As he sings, wistful and longing, watching his memories, Wufan watches him. At last the song fades, the last note hanging in the still air of the dreamscape despite the wind that blows the field below. Luhan looks up and Wufan doesn’t look away, both silent and captivated.
You remind me of…
In his dreams, Luhan’s heart stops, a swell of mixed emotions rising like the tide within him as he gazes at the glowing being standing opposite, at the long hair cradling a sharp face, the tails the billow around him like a cloak, the gown of mourning white that is stained with red at the bottom. Pointed ears that protrude from layers of aureate hair and his gaze travels down, down until he stares through golden strands that mask piercing golden eyes.
Run
Luhan wakes.
A/N: Hopefully this chapter isn't too confusing... Listened to Ayumi Hamasaki's 'Hanabi' on repeat while writing.
Also, the song Luhan sings in his dream is 'Beauty Song' sung by Zhang Ziyi in 'House of Flying Daggers'. Chrysanthemums are flowers traditionally associated with death and mourning and hawthorn trees supposedly represent everlasting devotion.
Sorry for the long wait between chapters!
Author: clubotaku
Pairing: Kris/Luhan with minor Sehun/Luhan, Lay/Luhan
Characters: EXO-M with mentions of Hangeng, Victoria and others
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Romance, Supernatural, Historical Au!
Previous chapters: http://clubotaku.livejournal.com/17349.html
http://clubotaku.livejournal.com/17488.html
http://clubotaku.livejournal.com/18586.html
http://clubotaku.livejournal.com/19031.html
A/N: So after writing mermaid Au! crack featuring his Haughtiness Sehun I'm back to this but argh my Layhan feels... Kris's new hair :'(
惆怅阶前红牡丹
I’m saddened by the peonies before the steps, so red,
晚来唯有两只残
As evening came I found only two remained.
明朝风起应吹尽
Once morning’s winds have blown, they surely won’t survive,
夜惜衰红把火看
At night I gaze by lamplight, to cherish the fading red
Bai Juyi 白居易-Regret for Peony Flowers惜牡丹花
The air is still, silent and cold. There are lines on his fingers from holding the bow too tight, pulling the string too hard. Hangeng had been distant this evening, talking only when spoken to and retiring early to his rooms. Though he had tried, his brother had pushed him away, staring at him but not looking at him, mind elsewhere. Songqian is singing somewhere down the corridor, her lovely voice accompanied by Yiyun’s reed flute. As she rises to a crescendo he moves, out into the garden, bundle in hand. Yixing will be here soon and he wants to be back in his room. Though Yixing knows about his pet-can it really be considered as such though?-there is disapproval of his actions. He’s just a neat freak that’s all, he thinks, I only control my bed but he controls everything else. The memory of a few days ago creeps in with a sigh and he flushes, half in shame and half confused. It was a kiss, would be taken by others as a kiss but no! Yixing is his sworn-brother, and the bonds between them cannot be broken by the pervasive thoughts and spiteful words of others. Hangeng doesn’t say it, doesn’t tell him but he knows what the servants think, what the soldiers think. How men turn to each other for comfort, or boys to one another when a woman is unavailable. ‘Learning to use the jade staff’ was what one servant had whispered, before casting her eyes downwards as he walked past.
“He is my friend,” he mutters, “My closest friend and sworn brother. No secrets between us.”
There was nothing in Yixing’s eyes at that time, though he had searched for something. Why search though when you know it is better not to? No… No. The other boy acted like normal and so Luhan did too, telling himself it was another prank, a game between them that he had lost. After all I challenged him right? If he acted any differently, would it drive Yixing away?
“I am going to be a man,” he says, resolute, “Men do not do these things.”
Yixing was familiarity, comfort and friendship. It worries him and yet, he cannot bring himself to feel disgust at the memory of the herbalist’s lips on his. It was not his first ‘kiss’ as such, no, Luhan had been somewhat of a kissing fiend as a child and that honour went to another noble playmate of his-a girl swathed in silk and finely sewn shoes. The air seems to huff, impatient, waiting. He blinks-he is at the wall.
“Sorry I’m late,” Luhan says, pushes the bundle out and unties it, spilling the contents onto the grass before he slides back in and replaces the stones.
Yixing is waiting for him when he returns, brewing their tea and, he notes with a grimace, more of his medicinal brew that he had kissed into-no, fed-Luhan at the barracks.
“You are to take this for the next few months until your Coming-of-Age ceremony is over,” he says, failing to keep the laughter out of his voice, “Doctor’s orders.”
“As long as you don’t force me,” it comes out before he can stop himself. Luhan freezes, watches for a reaction but Yixing gives none, none save his usual placid smile before flopping onto Luhan’s bed.
“So soft,” he says, drool soaking into Luhan’s pillow.
Luhan stops thinking and launches himself at the offender who has defiled his holy space. All thoughts of medicine, force-fed or otherwise, of the lines that are beginning to blur between brother and something else, forgotten.
Wufan buries the remains of his dinner, lip curling at having to wait longer than usual. The boy… Luhan had taken longer than usual to deliver his daily meal, head clearly in the clouds. There is no doubt that archery is not what bothers him considering the feeble progress the young lord has made. Young lording Oh Sehun was little to no help, constantly feeding compliments when there should be none to give. A low growl sounds from his throat, scaring a nearby crow who bolts upon realizing the danger it is in. Wufan snorts, cleans his whiskers and watches it fly into the night. As if a puny bird could escape him. His mind turns back to today’s session, where Luhan had finally mastered the art of stringing the bow correctly and was no longer in danger of shooting himself. The fox smirks, sharp teeth bared as it barks in laughter at the memory of sending Sehun away with some mundane excuse-really, humans were so gullible. To be fair, thinks Wufan, picking his teeth with a stray bone, Luhan had been trying harder even if it was a constant battle to get him to focus. The dreamy look that came into his eyes was both captivating and infuriating to him; what was it the boy was thinking about? It had been tempting… Very tempting to use his tricks and make the soldiers see arrows flying their way or even an arrow aimed at Sehun’s head but such petty, low level tricks were not worth his time. Not that time is an issue here. If anything, there’s too much time. The fox stretches, unfurling its’ tails. Out here, where fewer humans dare to go and few animals are foolish enough to come near, the fox, Wufan can show his true form. Eight tails curl in the breeze; claws flex and mark the earth. Scents multiply, intensify around him; everything is visible to him, like strings tying their smells to him. Luhan. It nags him to the core, the fox is so hungry, it hungers. Wufan runs, a golden streak under moonlight. So hungry. Always hungry.
Luhan awakes, beads of sweat rolling down from his head, down his neck and disappearing beneath his night shirt. Beside him, one arm draped carelessly over his torso, Yixing snores softly. The dream… It had felt so real. He swallows, but his mouth is dry and he licks his lips, trying to get some moisture on them.
“What’s wrong?” Yixing has awoken.
“Bad dream,” says Luhan smiling, “I dreamt Xiumin had turned into a water buffalo and was trying to get Chen to give him something to help his ‘jade staff’ and Sehun was a little woodpecker that wouldn’t stop pecking.”
Yixing pauses, considering something. Luhan knows what he wants to ask, hopes inside he won’t since he usually doesn’t but tonight, Yixing does ask.
“Was it about the incident in the field? About being chased?”
“No!” It comes out too fast, not that Luhan has been the most proficient at lying, especially to Yixing. The other leans closer, too close thinks Luhan, eyes widening as his best friend stares at him.
“Do you want me to make you a sleeping draught? You’ve gone pale, you’re sweating too.”
Too close, too close, thinks Luhan, already tired brain going into overdrive as Yixing’s cold hands cup his forehead, calm down, we are sworn-brothers, he is a herbalist, this is normal. Somehow Hangeng’s face pops into his mind, stern and forbidding and Luhan jerks back. Yixing seems not to notice, instead getting up to pluck herbs from his bag.
“Was it worse dreaming about it?” His voice is soft, soothing and non-invasive.
It’s one of the things Luhan likes about him; the fact Yixing won’t press you in a way that seems nosy or for some morbid self-satisfaction the way some of the older ladies and wives did. And Luhan being the type of person who hated to burden anyone with his worries appreciated this. The question doesn’t need an answer, or rather; an answer is not expected by the other. They know each other too well, Yixing knows the answer already but sometimes talking it out helps lessen the flood inside Luhan’s mind, of pent up fears and frustrations. Yixing takes the cup and places it on the stand above a candle, warming it, stirring. A lone cricket chirps outside, somewhere by the window. Yixing stands in shadow, watches the light stream across the floor and on Luhan, highlighting the hollows between his collarbones and the skin drawn against his cheekbones. The other looks down, eyes downcast and shadowed as Yixing traces patterns into the stone wall, waiting.
“It was worse.” Luhan’s voice is rough. “I was completely lost in the field… I could hear it, feel it. It was everywhere but I couldn’t see it and that… That was horrible. Knowing you’re being hunted but not seeing your hunter.”
Yixing sighs, sits down next to him. Luhan continues, one hand scrunching up the silk sheets. He doesn’t notice when the sheets are replaced with Yixing’s hand, fingers drumming a steady beat against his palm.
“Everything was gold… The field, the sky. The lights of the city were never close, no matter how hard I ran or in whichever direction. They turned on and off, like fireflies, changing position so I had to keep running in a different direction, like they were mocking me. I was so lost, I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t even scream though I tried, I remember opening my mouth but nothing came out. It was silent, apart from the wind. I didn’t even hear your voice.”
“Of course you didn’t, it was a dream,” murmurs Yixing, though he knows anything is possible in the realm of dreams. A line of steam rises from the draught, a slight scent of wolfberries mixed with orange peel.
“I heard your voice at that time though, when I was running.”
The cup is warm in his hands and Yixing blows, watches the ripples spread and stop.
“You need sleep. Focus on your archery and your Coming-of-Age.”
“You were there, in my head,” says Luhan, already half asleep, “Telling me to run.”
Yixing chuckles and presses the drink into his hands, Luhan accepting it mutely without protest.
“You need sleep little deer or you’ll think I’m everywhere doing everything. Not all of us have the energy of a child.”
“Not all of us are old men,” retorts Luhan, passing the empty cup back.
By the time Yixing returns to the bed Luhan is asleep, face buried into the pillow, one hand beneath and the other stretched out. The other boy settles down next to him, in the curve left by himself earlier, still warm. He flops one arm around the other, slides his hand into the one beneath the pillow, tucks his face into the crook of his neck. Blissfully asleep and free from dreams, Luhan is oblivious, and Yixing listens to the cricket chirping, closes his eyes.
Outside, from where he had been hidden behind the door, Hangeng releases the breath he’s been holding and walks off, brooding. He throws one last look through the opening that serves as a window into his brother’s room, sees how Yixing and his hands are intertwined and his chest tightens. No, this will not do at all, thinks Hangeng, this is not how things should be. A lone maid bows respectfully as he passes, before hurrying to peek into the young Master’s room. Like a scene from an old tale, she thinks wistfully, two beautiful boys bonded as sworn-brothers but destined to be apart. How scandalous it all is! How shameful… Such a waste.
Inside, Luhan’s eyes open, slow and searching as they stare at the pillow hiding the hand tucked into his. Then, slowly, he uncurls his fingers and pulls his hand out. Yixing stirs next to him, mumbles something unintelligible. His mind is a mess, too many questions to deal with as he fights the urge to return to sleep, too many answers he fears confirming. In Yixing’s bed, where they had ended up after Luhan had kicked him off his bed, Yixing’s bed where he lies now - he doesn’t want to think of how this looks. He doesn’t want to turn and face Yixing, even as he sleeps, because now in the shaded world halfway between consciousness and oblivion something is becoming more and more obvious to him though the solution and how to deal with it are totally different matters. I’m sorry Yixing. 对不起。
The fox drifts, alone and angry through the fog. The ground sinks like sand beneath its’ paws, breath forming rolling balls that dissipate after leaving a long blue trail steaming in its wake. Somewhere in the distance the faint outline of a wandering crane spirit is visible, somewhere behind it the low grunt of a buffalo spirit. There are spirits and deities, friends, acquaintances, strangers, wandering this cold realm of dreams. No enemies; the fox has killed all who would challenge it, though from time to time the ghosts of these beings whisper in its’ ear and dance around it while it sleeps. It doesn’t matter, doesn’t bother the fox, for the dead stay dead and even the wandering damned are caught eventually. The realm of dreams smells like chrysanthemum today, the mist settling into droplets on golden fur.
“Wufan?”
Wufan runs towards the voice, tears through the mist towards the blurred figure that is perched on something, something, what is it?
Don’t leave me! He wants to scream, but all that comes out is a frustrated snarl. He tries to smell past the overwhelming stench of flowers, tries to find that familiar smell of mulberry. Please don’t leave me here! The mist opens before him and there! Just a little more, just a bit closer…
No!
The figure is gone and Wufan is standing in an empty lotus pond, soaked and panting as he swims back to shore, human and filled with self-loathing. Leaves shred between strong hands and slip between his fingers to join the mist; the lotus flowers bloom, cyan clouds floating up and away. Wufan screams and the pond is on fire, flames licking the surface, devouring everything. Nearby some spirits scatter, dark shapes in the smoke as they flee the fox spirit’s wrath. Wufan stalks the dream realm, fox fire creeping into the unsuspecting minds of dreamers, feeding off their newfound terror and anguish. Somewhere in his wandering he comes across the minds of soldiers, sick with triumph and the spoils of battle, celebrating in their dreams, dreams of recognition, power, money and desire. Tails unfold, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, reaching out even as his hands reach out to twist and corrupt their dreams; disgusting, selfish men. A man dreams of being awarded and medal, which turns into a golden python that strangles him, another surrounded by hungry wolves instead of beautiful women, which drag him in every direction, jaws slavering. The hunger in his belly grows as he walks, weaving, drives him as he continues to fill the dreamscape with flames. Children wake up crying to concerned parents who fight their own fears as they wake; housewives roll around restlessly; animals shake their heads trying to rid themselves of the instinctive urge to flee from the invisible.
北方有佳人
(In the North there’s a beauty)
绝世而独立
(The most beautiful in the world)
The voice breaks through the madness in his mind, the flames ceasing to shake as wildly as before.
一顾倾人成
(At one glance the city bows)
在顾倾人国
(A second glance and an empire falls)
Wufan walks, ignores the way sleeping men’s minds shrink away from him, somehow sensing the destruction wrought upon unlucky dreamers. Onwards he walks, ears fixated on the gentle voice of the singer. On his left a group of lowly rat spirits quiver, cowering and whispering as he passes, onwards towards the voice. It is a man, undoubtedly, light and soothing to the ear without the usual deep tone or robustness that characterizes most male singers. Wufan treads upwards onto a dream slope, the landscape clearing before him as he sits on a grassy hillock, overlooking a field of corn where two boys run, laughing as they drag kites across a crimson sky. The taller, older one ducks as the younger tries to throw sheaves of corn, giggling. The corn swallows them up and from the opposite side, two more appear, one boy-the younger-the same and another boy of the same age stumbling out behind him. The boy, bright eyed and emanating youth, continues his mischief, running in and out to confuse his friend who follows blindly, faithfully.
宁不知倾城与倾国
There isn’t an empire or city,
佳人难在的
One could love more than this beauty
Wufan looks up to follow the sound of the voice and there, on the opposite side of the field, lying beneath a hawthorn tree Luhan sits, watching his dream selves, his brother and the herbalist, singing. As he sings, wistful and longing, watching his memories, Wufan watches him. At last the song fades, the last note hanging in the still air of the dreamscape despite the wind that blows the field below. Luhan looks up and Wufan doesn’t look away, both silent and captivated.
You remind me of…
In his dreams, Luhan’s heart stops, a swell of mixed emotions rising like the tide within him as he gazes at the glowing being standing opposite, at the long hair cradling a sharp face, the tails the billow around him like a cloak, the gown of mourning white that is stained with red at the bottom. Pointed ears that protrude from layers of aureate hair and his gaze travels down, down until he stares through golden strands that mask piercing golden eyes.
Run
Luhan wakes.
A/N: Hopefully this chapter isn't too confusing... Listened to Ayumi Hamasaki's 'Hanabi' on repeat while writing.
Also, the song Luhan sings in his dream is 'Beauty Song' sung by Zhang Ziyi in 'House of Flying Daggers'. Chrysanthemums are flowers traditionally associated with death and mourning and hawthorn trees supposedly represent everlasting devotion.
Sorry for the long wait between chapters!