Without Sorrow

Chapter 5

Just a short story. The missing scene from after Jin Ling stabbed Wei Wuxian.

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The world blushed with cherry blossom pinks and the sweetest peach tones, the mountains turning grey as the last golden rays of sunlight blazed through the skies. Birds circled and through the trees came the sounds of animals and insects disappearing into safety as their world turned to darkness.

High in the treetops, there were droplets of rain clinging to the green leaves from the earlier downpour and there within the branches, Lan Wangji stood still. A figure in white and silver, the brilliant skies around him, the world falling away. He appeared like a breath of magic, there suddenly and yet even to the birds, it seemed as if he had always been there. As if these branches were his home.

Eyes of gold watched as the sun faded in its riot of color, a halo of red dipping down into the mountains. Soon it would be dark, the valley plunged into a moonless night judging by the heavy clouds already building.

The beauty of it, preserved in hundreds of poems and paintings, would always remind him of Wei Ying. Half-turned towards him in the setting sun of the Burial Mounds, his long untamed hair glittering in the golden light, shadows playing along his cheekbones, grey eyes brighter than the sun, ethereal in their gleaming beauty. He was the promise of the moon among the stars, with his own light and with that thought, Lan Wangji would stare up at the sky and remember.

Lan Wangji had spent countless sunsets wishing and longing, melancholy settling once more in his weary heart. The day's distractions disappearing as the sun sank below the horizon, leaving only grief and the lonely call, forever desperate and transformed into sound with the strings of a guqin.

For it was another day gone, another sunrise without Wei Ying, another night with the storms of cold grief. He had dreams of Wei Ying to look forward to and nightmares to wrench him awake. Hours of silence, heavy and lonely. All he had were his failures, his memories and his regrets. All he had was an undying love.

From a distance his tall figure was perfect and pristine, like white jade. A figure from a story about heroes and war, an immortal stepping down to this mortal world. Something otherworldly and enchanting.

Yet, his face beautiful and stern, was ashen and his hand gripping Bichen's hilt was bone-white. Hidden in the folds of his robes, there was blood, still wet seeping through the cloth, leaving a faint pink stain in the lightly falling rain.

Not that his appearance held any interest in the chaos of his mind, in the panicked beat of his heart. His eyes scouring the forest below and the skies above for any sign of pursuers. They were coming. From one direction or another, they would be here soon.

As twilight fell over the land, in blues and greys, Lan Wangji turned and stepped off the branch with the grace of a white crane. He landed soundlessly on the forest floor, as if he had simply descended the last step, his robes shifting only slightly.

Gold eyes carefully looked around and he listened intently. Nothing.

Nimble feet carried him quickly through the trees, weaving his way as a pale shadow over the fallen leaves and a small stream. Down the hill half-hidden behind a hollow, there was a white shape slowly becoming grey as the light dimmed. He leapt gracefully into the air and dropped smoothly before the old tree, already sliding to his knees uncaring of the ground.

Leaning heavily against the scarred bark was the Yiling Patriarch.

Like old enemies fear and grief rose like a tidal wave. Trembling fingers reached for that perfect, slender neck, relief slamming into him as he felt the thready pulse, the proof that Wei Ying's heart still beat.