Drunken Mistake

DM 37

The days drifted by, and the bruises on Wei Ying's neck faded to nothing but faint shadows, barely there. He moved with more ease, no longer wincing as he shifted from one position to another. Lan Zhan never noticed the changes, and Wei Ying was determined to keep it that way. But every so often, a strange, lingering warmth settled over him, a feverish haze that made his limbs heavy and his thoughts fuzzy. He blamed the crisp autumn air; Cloud Recess, perched atop the hill, was cool and serene, its lush greenery creating a haven from the heat below. Lan Zhan and Wei Ying kept a polite distance, an unspoken understanding to avoid brushing fingertips or locking eyes for too long. And yet, Wei Ying felt a magnetic pull toward Lan Zhan, a quiet longing that made him hover in the Jingshi, content just to be near. Lan Zhan pretended not to notice but secretly delighted in Wei Ying's quiet presence, like a soft shadow that followed him wherever he went.

One afternoon, everything changed. Lan Huan arrived at Jingshi, cradling a small bundle of fur in his arms. Wei Ying, sitting on the floor with Lan Zhan, busied himself with painting. His brush danced lightly across the paper, sweeping a wash of color across the landscape until his eye caught the movement at the doorway. His hand froze mid-stroke, the wet bristles hovering. The sight of the tiny dog in Lan Huan's hands sent a spike of terror through him, an icy wave that rooted him to the spot. His fingers trembled, and a dark stain of maroon bloomed on his paper, an unfixable splotch in the middle of a pale blue sky.

Lan Zhan, immersed in his game, sensed Wei Ying's tension before he even looked up. When he finally glanced over, he saw Wei Ying's pale face, the widened eyes that tracked the dog with unmistakable fear. Concern flickered across Lan Zhan's features, and he swiftly moved, stepping between Wei Ying and the newcomer.

"Chen-ge, no dog," he said, his voice soft but firm, a gentle command that brooked no argument.

Lan Huan blinked in surprise, looking down at the tiny puppy that had begun to squirm in his hands. "Oh—my girlfriend gave me the dog," he explained, his tone apologetic but still puzzled.
Lan Zhan didn't budge. "It doesn't matter," he said quietly, glancing back at Wei Ying, whose hands had slipped around his leg in an instinctive grip. "Wei Ying is terrified."

Understanding dawned in Lan Huan's eyes, and he nodded with a sympathetic smile. "I'll make arrangements for it," he promised, retreating as carefully as he had entered.

But the damage was done. Wei Ying couldn't bring himself to return to the Jingshi, his steps faltering each time he even thought about it. The fear held him back, and Lan Zhan respected his distance, joining him in the Hanshi whenever he could. Lan Qiren watched their growing closeness with approval, pleased to see his nephew and son bonding over the traditions and studies in the Hanshi, unaware of the deeper connection that bound them. Lan Zhan was quietly grateful for his uncle's obliviousness, savoring these shared, hidden moments that were just for the two of them.

Then, as if nature sensed their charged secrecy, a storm brewed over Suzhou, the sky darkening into an oppressive gray. Sleet and hail pelted the roof in a relentless cacophony, jagged bolts of lightning slicing through the clouds. The coldness wasn't enough to bring snow but left the air wet and biting, seeping through walls, and settling into the bones. Wei Ying clung to Lan Zhan, first with glances, then with subtle touches, and soon, they were sharing the same bed, seeking warmth in the dim, chilled night. The younger boy curled around Lan Zhan as if they could somehow shield each other from the weather's fury, from the secrets that clung to them as tightly as the storm itself. Lan Qiren, ever the pragmatist, found nothing amiss in two adolescent boys huddling together for warmth, his perception oblivious to the deeper layer binding them.

It was in this charged atmosphere that Lan Huan's concerns grew. One day, while Lan Zhan was absent, he called Wei Ying aside, his voice gentle yet shadowed with something akin to worry.