Chapter Text
Once, he dreamed of a life in the sky. The path of an immortal, paved with discipline and risk. He has a golden core, and has been developing it since he was a child. His mother always told him he'd learn how to use it. That he would be like his father, a man of significance and reputation.
The hope kept him from drowning in rage at his mother's predicament; sold by her family to pay off debts, unable to run because she made the Madam enough money to be worth going after. The assurance that he has a fate beyond all this makes him try hard in spite of the walls closing in around him. He practices on his own, alongside his daily chores. He suffers lecherous looks and comments, all with the knowledge that one day, he would look down from a coral tower.
And when Meng Yao finally walks up all of those steps, he ends up being kicked back down.
He bows to the man who pushes him, his father, and tells himself the scream of his muscles prove he will rise above this setup. It's a shield, politeness a weapon to avoid being beaten, or even some impulse immersed deep in his psyche. The same thing that tells him he’s never good enough, will never be good enough when options keep being torn from him.
As he limps away, the wrath that constantly simmers at the bare surface of his skin boils with a vengeance. He returns to his mother a failure, but he vows to try again. To find some other way to become a cultivator to make his mother proud.
Then his mother gets sick. His leg is still healing, and he cannot leave her.
So he stays, making the singular agreement with the Madam that he never thought he would.
His body, for the right to live there. If he were to refuse the compromise, his mother and he would be thrown out – and with her illness, he could never hope to make enough money for medicine, shelter, and food. This way, she can heal.
Fortunately, or unfortunately, the Madam seems to see something in him he does not. A potential due to his blood, and his looks. She plans on selling his first true time to the highest bidder, though he has to practice giving pleasure in other ways. And he becomes very good at it. The better he is at it, after all, the faster it's over.
Because he is never given to late night customers, or kept for long, Meng Yao is free to wander during the day and when it becomes late. He does so only after his chores are done, and when he’s sure his mother is fed, comfortable, and asleep. It is on one of his nighttime jaunts that he discovers a bump in the grass. No, not a bump, a person.
The individual is in long white and blue robes, soiled by stains - grass-green, and rusted red. Stale blood. They are shaking too, clearly injured and cold. Meng Yao hesitates, knowing full well that most people in the world do not mean kindness to others. If this man is injured, there is a reason for that.
But then the person starts to stir, hands clutching the cold grass, stretching and clawing for purchase. Meng Yao leans closer, and it's then that he notices the ribbon stretched across the man's forehead. A disciple of the Gusu Lan Clan. A very important sect.
Would it not bode well to take care of him?
“You're hurt. Please, don't move. Let me help.”
While Meng Yao is thinking logistics about how to get him up, the man wakes quite suddenly. He pushes at the hands holding him, very harshly. Were it not for the golden core humming in his chest, Meng Yao would have been flung back so far he might have been hurt himself. But he holds true, trying to quell the man.
“I mean you no harm! I am going to take you somewhere to heal. Do not be afraid, please.”
The words feel strange – having to assure someone so clearly capable that he will not hurt them.
The man’s hazy gaze meets his, and he pauses his struggles. He looks Meng Yao up and down, as well as he can, before settling.
“Thank you, I…” clearly wanting to say more but unable. His voice is so very hoarse with disuse and a dire need of water. Meng Yao hums with approval, but otherwise focuses on getting the man back to the house.
Specifically to his room. If anyone is to gain from assisting such a man, he promises himself that it will be Meng Yao and his mother. Besides, he has training in the care of wounds. It is a necessary skill when one is a helper in a brothel – he was raised knowing how to suture and even treat external as well as some internal bleeds.
Nevertheless, it is a challenge to get the Lan disciple inside without getting caught. But it is late, and it is not as though they have a strong guard around the brothel. What few armed men they do have largely guard the rooms of the most important assets. Meng Yao is not yet one of them – not until his blood reputation gets around more, and if he proves himself beyond that.
The shame of it brings heat to Meng Yao's cheeks. He glances at the man clinging to his shoulder, wondering if helping him might prevent his fate. It is unlikely, but there is no harm in trying. But it is not merely the potential advantage. The man needs help – and the Gusu Lan clan is known for assisting anyone who asks for assistance. Often for free. It is likely he is a good person, one who is hurting. Meng Yao is surrounded by so many who are hurting, all the time. He sees enough suffering.
He manages to get the cultivator inside. He is very thankful for his golden core, or he would not have been able to carry the man's weight this far and this successfully. He deposits the man on his own bed, uncaring to the stains it will cause. After, he obtains water and searches for his medicine kit. He sits on the bed to get a closer look, making sure not to needlessly touch the wounded man. However, he does bring a cup to his lips, entreating him to drink. The other does, though just a little, before the dryness of his own mouth causes him to cough.
“Lan-gongzi,” Meng Yao says, finding that it's the most precise name he can give. The man may not possess the Lan name and merely be a Lan disciple but no matter, “I must remove your clothing to check on your wounds. Will you let me?”
It takes a moment for the other to look up, meeting his eyes long enough that two beats of thick eyelashes eat the time between their stare.
“Who are you?” the man asks first.
“My name is Meng Yao. I am only trying to help.”
“... Meng.. Yao. I am...” then the man seems distressed, not continuing. Rather he closes his eyes and nods, permission given.
Only then does Meng Yao peel back the layers of soiled white and blue. There are a great many wounds on the Lan disciple, but most of them are superficial. Some cuts, bruises, and a great many burns. Relatively simple injuries although numerous. Time spent without rest, food, or water must bear a greater brunt in the lack of healing.
“You will be okay, Lan-gongzi,” he reassures as he administers healing paste onto the wounds. He does not let his eyes linger for long on his bare skin, feeling as though it is a slight against the man's clearly noble disposition. Not that skin itself is sacred, Meng Yao knows better than that, but there is something about him – the square angle of his jaw, the line of his nose. He must be important in the cultivation world. Someone with such a face would never be less than revered.
He lets his mind ruminate on who the stranger could possibly be while he takes care of him. There are a few well known Lan disciples, including the Twin Jades. This person is surely handsome enough – he has a face sculpted like fine china, and his clothing is both reserved and refined enough. But he could not possibly be a Jade. He would have stated his name, if only to make sure he received excellent treatment. Besides, no one would dare harm Zewu-Jun or Hanguang-Jun.
~~
“Let me in, Meng Yao!”
“Yi Shun, you are drunk. My mother is sleeping. You need to return to your room, no need to...” the comparatively quiet voice is suddenly silenced by the sound of a body hitting the wall.
Xichen jerks awake to the clamor, very unsure of what is going on while self-preservation kicks in. He sits up, every aching injury pulling at his skin and screaming to be left alone, but he drags himself up anyways. He looks around the strange room, taking in all he can in the quick seconds. He sees another bed, and another person, but they look very much asleep. Then he spots a wooden partition; perhaps a closet. He clamors to the space behind it, edging back against the clothing held within before positioning the partition back in place.
It is just the right timing too, as the fairly flimsy barrier to the room is crested by a tumbling body. Xichen can only see so much through the horizontal tiers of wood, but what he does take in concerns him. A boy being cupped by the chin, lifted and pushed backward to the very bed Xichen was just laying on. The sheets are stained, and the boy is mindful enough to pull another sheet over the evidence, while the pushy one seems to give no care to such traces.
“You would not even look in my direction all night,” the one who must be Yi Shun complains, “Too busy gossiping with customers. You hurt my feelings, A-Meng. How are you going to make up for it?”
From this angle, Xichen can see the smaller boy's profile. His unusually large eyes widen with tempered control, though he looks back and forth as best as he can with the grip holding him tight. Like he's checking for something, and not strictly a reason to escape.
“I can bring you to your room, not here,“ he starts, certainly intending to say more but Yi Shun uses his grip to lift him up enough that he's on his knees. His fingers edge up from his chin to his cheeks, digging in so only sounds of protest can leave his mouth.
“She won’t wake up, we both know that. Here is fine.”
Xichen tries to make sense of what is going on. He scarcely remembers getting here, wherever this is, except... He abruptly recalls big brown eyes, staring at him with hope and concern. The same eyes this boy has, the one being held down while the drunken one reaches for his own robe.
He realizes what he's about to witness after a beat, and he will not stand for it. Weakened or not, Xichen still has a few tricks up his sleeve. He flicks two fingers together, a charge of blue light vibrating alive. Ignoring a subsequent wave of nausea, he aims between the small planks of wood, pausing only because he worries Yi Shun will know where the attack came from.
He rethinks his strategy, gaze settling on the woman laying nearby. The boy’s mother, he had said…
Xichen lifts a penitent gaze to the heavens, hoping that Yi Shun has more ethics than he's showing for this to work. He aims a low-grade bolt of harmless energy at the sleeping form. She stirs with an annoyed groan, waking slowly but surely.
The sound takes the bully by surprise. He stops long enough for the boy who helped Xichen to slam his elbows upwards. The move disengages the arm holding him down, and he stands and pushes back before Yi Shun has a chance to resist.
“She’s awake now, enough! Get out, get out!”
“She’s awake?” Yi Shun asks rather dumbly, staring at the ruffled form of the formerly sleeping woman, “Then come with me.”
“No, I must take care of her. Tomorrow, tomorrow,” the boy says absently, clearly elated by the excuse that seems to be working. Yi Shun is reticent to leave, but he lets himself be ushered him out. The boy takes a moment to close an additional panel over the thin sheet that acts as a door. He latches it before turning, eyes a bit wild as he looks toward his mother and then the closet.
“You can come out,” the boy says slowly.
The woman mumbles, asking what is going on, but she is clearly too weak to move or cause much of a fuss. She is also facing away from the closet, and makes no attempt to turn. As Xichen emerges from his hiding spot, the boy goes to her side. He puts a calming hand on her shoulder with an expression that says he will explain later.
“Thank you,” is the first thing the boy says, arms reaching out to form a circle with a deep bow.
A sensation of utter discontent rises in Xichen, and he reaches out in spite of the abrupt gesture pulling at the stitches and gauze on his body. His fingers touch the boy’s vibrantly colored sleeve. With the touch, he can tell the material is not good quality in spite of its flashy hue.
“Do not thank me. You saved me, didn’t you?”
The boy smiles at that, the simple and sincere line of his lips accented by brilliant dimples, “Yes. You do not remember, do you?”
“Not very well,” Xichen admits as he lowers his hand. He finds himself staring at the dimples, blinking.
The other offers another smile and a shake of his head, “You were very out of it. My name is Meng Yao. My mother over there is Meng Shi. And you are Zewu-Jun, aren’t you?”
Xichen does not quite expect that; when on the run he removed his hair ornament to avoid being recognized by stature. But his ribbon he could not bring himself to remove – though it does not point him out as one of the Twin Jades, it does indicate his Clan. It was an ill-advised risk.
Meng Yao bows his head just somewhat, “News of your escape has reached the cities. There is a reward for your capture.”
Xichen’s fingers curl into tight fists. Maybe he should be worried, but looking into those eyes, apprehension about being turned in is a scarce flutter. For one, even in his condition, he could overpower Meng Yao. But most of all, he simply feels no threat in those dark eyes.
“You can heal here,” Meng Yao continues, as though there were not even a question as to the next steps, “I will get you out of the city safely when you’re ready.”
Xichen tilts his head, wanting to be convinced but knowing his luck would be almost too good for that to be true, “I do appreciate your help but…”
He does not say the rest, for it’s clear Meng Yao knows what he means by the way his eyes flick down, “Ah, why? Many reasons. Let me explain, but first let me attend to your wounds.”
He gestures towards his bed, gathering up a medicine kit near by. He sees no reason not to do as he’s being asked, considering Meng Yao has already treated him well before. When Xichen settles on the bed, he quickly realizes how exhausted he is. There is fatigue in his very bones, stomach a gnawing cavern that he longs to both fill and keep void. He is afraid that were he to fill it, it might empty anyways.
He closes his eyes for a moment, flashes of why he's here sinking in. His Uncle, blood dribbling down his chin as he tells Xichen to run and take their books with him. The books still tucked in every available pocket of cultivation energy he has to spare.
Uncle telling him that as long as he lives, so does the Gusu Lan Clan – because Qingheng-Jun, his father, will surely not survive the annihilation of the Cloud Recesses. He is weak from seclusion and frail from hardship. Then there is the violent flare of fear for his brother, still on his journey with a target on his back.
Xichen must stay away long enough to muster his strength and find the remainder of his Clan. Until then, he truly is in need of a place to hide and rest. He is being offered one, and it feels too good to be true.
When he opens his eyes, Meng Yao is seemingly waiting for Xichen to be ready. The boy hums, the sound low and unassuming, “Your bandages may need to be changed. But after, I can bring you something to eat?”
The framing of the offer as a question soothes Xichen somehow. He nods, lips pursed as he waits for Meng Yao to start. The boy reaches for the first layer of his robes, then the second. Xichen holds in a breath, looking down at the bandages peeking out of his robes. Meng Yao will need to remove them to apply more ointment.
“Do you know where you are?” Meng Yao asks, nonchalant as he pinches his finger around a corner of the wrap, slowly pulling back.
“No,” Xichen answers honestly.
“You are in Yunping City,” Meng Yao replies. Xichen huffs at that. He recalls using his sword to get as far away as he could, but he'd been burned and hurt on his way out of the Cloud Recesses. He made it farther than he thought he would.
“So close to the Nightless City....” he winces as Meng Yao applies a stinging ointment to a burn on his arm, “And so far from the Unclean Realm.”
He says it mostly to himself, but Meng Yao's eyes flicker. He seems to consider before he tells Xichen more, “There are rumors of Lan disciples gathering near Lotus Pier. You may want to go there first.”
Xichen takes those words under advisement and yet, “You said you would explain why you're doing this. Do you not want the reward for my head?”
Bluntness is usually his brother's territory, but this situation calls for it. His Uncle was so certain that the Wen Clan would want the Sect Leader dead... Was his father indeed smothered by smoke and debris? Or given a cleaner death? His uncle? He dares to hope they are both alive, but it feels more likely that they have borne the Wen Clan's wrath in Xichen's place.
“I would rather not be responsible for your death. And I would never even see that reward money,” Meng Yao responds with certainty, daintily dabbing more ointment on another wound before bandaging it back up. “
“Even if I tried to keep it quiet, this city is small. Rumors take but a few hours to pass through the tea houses and into the streets. My madam would find out I turned you in, and I wouldn't be able to get my mother out of here quickly enough. Madam would say I owe her. And she wouldn't be wrong.”
Meng Yao does not pause his ministrations, but he and Xichen meet eyes as he processes the words. Madam. It can only mean one thing. The fact that the bully that had been in here minutes before thought he had the right to Meng Yao suddenly makes sense.
“I see,” Xichen says, voice blank of judgment. It's not in him to think ill of someone for their circumstances. If it is how one must survive, then that is for them to decide. But he does not think it is what Meng Yao wants, and it is that which brings Xichen concern.
There's an almost unnoticeable twitch in Meng Yao's otherwise smooth countenance, and Xichen cannot tell if he is hurt or not. Something roils awake in Xichen, and he is driven by the need to smooth that disturbance.
“What you do here is none of my business. At least, beyond the fact that no one should be forced into such a situation.”
Meng Yao laughs at that. Xichen is struck with the wrongness of it – a laugh should not be so dismissive, particularly when the boy's tone seems made to be warm, not cold.
“I would not have thought Sect leaders to be so naive,” Meng Yao says with a risen brow.
It is a casual comment, that Xichen is a Sect Leader – and he has indeed been acting Sect Leader for years, so it is not strange that a civilian thinks him official. But the reminder is harsh, and the fall of his features telling. Meng Yao must not know why but at the very least, he realizes he said something rather inflammatory. Still, he does not look contrite as much as he does resigned.
“But you're right. No one should be forced into such a situation,” he agrees, gaze looking past Xichen, Towards his mother, who Xichen has nearly forgotten is in the room. From the breathy rhythm in the background, she must have fallen back to sleep.
Xichen's expression softens, “I think I understand. Your mother...?”
Meng Yao nods, still not looking at him even as his fingers flutter, driven by efficient instinct alone, “She's sick. Wasn't always this way, but even before that, her life was given to this place by her father. When I was born, she tried to keep me out of it. Almost succeeded too.”
Xichen can tie together what isn't explicitly stated. If Meng Shi is sick now, and it wasn't always that way, then Meng Yao's role in this establishment has changed with it. With her illness, her debt would have shifted to Meng Yao. And it is clear he would accept any burden for the sake of his mother.
Xichen's heart aches – obligation to one's family is innate to his comprehension of the world so he understands.
“I am sorry, Meng Yao,” Xichen says. It is the first time he has said the boy's name, and the very weight of it on his tongue feels poignant. The eyes that meet his share that depth, a hope-filled waver in them that Xichen finds so very compelling.
If there was a part of him that thought Meng Yao was lying, that he was just waiting for Xichen to become complacent before turning him in, it vanishes in a wisp of pure faith.
“Thank you,” Meng Yao says after a few stagnant seconds. It seems obvious that Meng Yao is a bit thrown off, perhaps not expecting empathy. He blinks, focusing back on Xichen's wounds. He doesn't say anything for a little while, and Xichen doesn't either.
When he does speak again, it seems to suit the comparatively comfortable quiet, “There. Do you think you can eat?”
Xichen gives a hesitant nod, “I can try.”
Meng Yao returns with a bowl of rice and soup; a perfect reintroduction for Xichen's stomach. He manages to keep the food down, a miracle in itself. Afterward, he is ushered to sleep. Before he drifts off, he watches Meng Yao and his mother.
He is unsure if the boy knows that Xichen is not yet unconscious, but it doesn't seem to change his behavior. He wipes sweat off her brow, hand-feeds her another bowl of the same soup he brought to Xichen. After, he tells her that he's hiding the illustrious Zewu-Jun - “Mother, guess what? We have an important guest, but you can't tell anyone. One of the Twin Jades! Yes, yes, he's as beautiful as they say.”
The amusement in his voice stirs something in Xichen, something delightfully abashed. He feels quite certain then that Meng Yao knows he's listening, and that the boy's intentions are genuinely in the right place. After all, who could be admonished for wanting the best for their mother? For knowing that Zewu-Jun is a man of morals, and that surely, after witnessing this pair, he will be driven to return the favor? That is, if he survives the coming war – his uncle was right long ago, and the war has started with the destruction of his home.
In part because of Meng Yao’s efforts, he will recover quickly enough to join the fight. That is, if Meng Yao can keep him hidden.
There are a few close calls in the coming days. Meng Yao's room is as private as a brothel space can be, but there is plenty of risk. Yi Shun from earlier tries to get into the room again the very next night, but Meng Yao manages to get him back to his own quarters. The time it takes for him to return, and the red-rim of his eyes and mouth, tells Xichen of the cost. Not that Xichen's presence changes the course of such a night for Meng Yao; the truth of it not making reality sting any less.
Although Meng Yao seems satisfied to ignore him after such a scene, Xichen speaks enough for the both of them. At first, he tells him about Gusu. The stories naturally glide into tales of his brother – of Lan Wangji's perceived coldness, when in reality he is as multi-faceted as the stone their colloquial title is derived from. After all, green is not the only color of jade.
Then he speaks of his close friend, Nie Mingjue and the real reason he’s called Chifeng-zun. The public tale is exciting, but the personal is more rewarding in Xichen’s opinion - “Baxia is not actually scarlet, so you would assume it's the blood he's spilled. Not quite...”
Meng Yao listens, rapt and open. He asks but a few questions, and each spirals into a new tale. By the end Xichen is laughing. Unfortunately, such laughter leads to the awareness that it could be lost forever. He fears that his Uncle and brother are both dead. His father has been wasting away for years and that does, unfortunately, make his potential loss hurt a bit less.
Meng Yao is troubled by the sudden turn, and does what he can to comfort Xichen. At first it's just the assurance of words - “From your own tales, your Uncle is strong, and your brother steadfast. They will make it, and you will get back to them. I, no... Meng Yao promises to do what little I can to make sure you get the chance to see them again.”
Then, just the next day Meng Yao brings tangible news. Lan Qiren is alive, though barely. Same with Qingheng-Jun, at least for now - his state is far more precarious and Xichen is prepared for the worst. Lan Wangji too, though he is in the possession of the Wen Clan. There is also a call for all the heirs and main disciples of the major Sects to report to Qishan. Meng Yao doesn't say they are hostages – he needn't speak the words for that to be obvious. Xichen is all the more driven to get back out there, and he is so very close.
He spends his days resting and eating the food Meng Yao brings him. He also speaks with Meng Shi, the few times she is awake. She lives life from dream to dream, kept docile and painless with poppy and other mixtures. Xichen knows enough about herbal medicine to know that the mixture staves off more aggressive illnesses, and that they are rare to obtain. Meng Yao's enormous debt leaves little to the imagination.
Due to the medication, Meng Shi is cognizant only half of the time, but when she is aware she is startlingly perceptive. The first moment that Xichen witnesses is her turning to him and asking him what he lost. The question takes him so aback that he admits the truth; that he lost his home. His security. His peace.
She nods, processing before stating, “We all lose things but home can be rebuilt if you're fortunate enough.”
Xichen knows full well what she means when he sees Meng Shi's face glow the moment Meng Yao returns to the room. It is odd, to see this space as a safe haven, whilst out there Meng Yao faces untold trespasses. Xichen does not ask about it, but he cannot help but see. The smudged makeup on Meng Yao's face, his swollen lips, the bruises that are only visible when Meng Yao is in his lightest sleeping clothes. However, as much as it shames him, Xichen does note that he never returns limping. His gait remains steady, but for wobbly knees on occasion.
Xichen doesn't quite connect why until one day he hears that bully Yi Shun again; another occasion where he has followed Meng Yao to his room. He found out days ago that Yi Shun is the Madam's son, able to go where he pleases, and do as he wishes within a wide breadth of limits.
“You think you're so special. So much better than me. But you won't be able to strut around here for much longer!”
Xichen hears Meng Yao's voice clear as the moon outside, even from his hideaway amidst bright-colored clothes, “Your promises get no more potent the more you fling them in my face.”
A slam, either Yi Shun's fist in the wall, or, more likely, Meng Yao himself.
“Don't you ever get sick of acting high and mighty? We're both sons of whores, and your supposed father didn't want you. Maybe if your mother hadn't talked up your Jin blood, you would have had a way to leave. But now you just get to wait to go to the highest bidder – to the person who hates your father most. And you know there's plenty to choose from. What do you think awaits you?”
Meng Yao is uncharacteristically silent at that, which only seems to goad Yi Shun more.
“When you're just like the rest of us, I'm going to be able to wipe that smile off your face, A-Meng.”
The promise sinks into Xichen's spine like it's a personal slight. He is abruptly aware of how invested he is – it's only been over a week, and Xichen knows that even without the debt he owes, he would return here to shield Meng Yao and his mother against further violation.
He cannot be sure how Meng Yao manages it, but Yi Shun leaves. As soon as Meng Yao makes it into his room, he flattens himself against the wall, breathing hard. It's all Xichen can hear at first – the raucous in and out of air. Xichen pushes his way out of the closeted partition that has become his frequent hiding spot and to the boy so quickly he surprises even himself.
Once he stands in front of him, he is not so certain. He reaches out, fingers reluctant, suddenly sure that Meng Yao would want nothing less than being touched.
“Meng Yao, I am so sorry,” he soothes instead, tone soft. Meng Yao shakes his head, still not looking at him. But his mouth opens, and Xichen knows just the sort of dismissal he will give, so he doesn’t let him.
“No, let me rephrase. I am sorry people can be cruel. I am sorry I am not in a position to take you out of this here and now. But... Lan Xichen will. I will come back for you, and take you and your mother away from this. And anyone else here who wants a different life. The world can be cold, but as long as my Sect survives this war, I will open Gusu in ways it never has been before.”
He means it too. The Cloud Recesses will remain an isolated center of learning, but the surrounding territory could stand to have more open borders and policies than it does now. Xichen draws in a breath and holds it, ducking his head in a gesture that begs for Meng Yao to return his gaze. Gratefully, he does. He holds those magnificent eyes in his, treasuring them even red-rimmed and glazed with unshed pain.
“Do you believe me?” Xichen asks, far weightier than four simple words.
When Meng Yao opens his mouth to respond, a ragged gasp leaks out instead. Gone is the composure Xichen is so very used to. The gloss over his eyes turns to sharp contrast as the dropped mask trails down his cheeks in a tiny river. His lips purse into a smile, one Meng Yao hasn’t given before. It highlights his dimples and makes Xichen’s fingers twitch with an itch he doesn’t fully understand.
Meng Yao nods, once, twice, so many times that he’s shaking with it. He nudges his shoulder into Xichen’s waiting hand. It’s natural to then fold Meng Yao to his chest. The other does not wrap his arms in return, perhaps because he’s surely mindful of the still healing burns on his back and upper arms, but he does tuck his face into Xichen’s shoulder.
It feels right, holding Meng Yao like this, even as he’s crying. Xichen finds tears pricking his own eyes, and he doesn’t hesitate to let them fall; even if they do find their way to Meng Yao's hair. They stand like this for a while, until Meng Shi ushers them over.
They spend the night talking of their families, both the good and the bad. Xichen does not push for Meng Yao to explain what Yi Shun meant by ‘Jin Blood’, but he learns nonetheless. If merely because Meng Shi still waxes poetic about Jin Guangshan, and knowing the man as he does, Xichen doesn’t have the heart to correct her.
But Meng Yao knows. After his mother falls into her usual deep sleep, he tells Xichen that he went to Jin Guangshan.
“He barely even remembers my mother. And he certainly doesn't care about me. I thought he just needed something to confirm the truth. I showed him the necklace he left my mother. He laughed, said he gave such worthless trinkets to many women, and kicked me down the stairs when I wouldn't leave right away.”
He hisses through gritted teeth, “Do you know how many stairs are at Carp Tower?”
“I do,” Xichen answers, solemn. The image in his head of how far Meng Yao must have fallen, how much it would have hurt, both body and his mind, hooks deep in Xichen's conscience. He knows Jin Guangshan is a qualmless man, but to be so vicious to his own son – power has poisoned his soul.
“I didn't tell my mother,” Meng Yao continues, “I couldn't hurt her like that. So I lied to her. Told her I stayed two weeks in Carp Tower and the guards wouldn't let me close, no matter how hard I tried. Two weeks, and all I was doing was licking my wounds and wandering like a coward.”
Each word is saturated in simultaneous devastation and ire. Meng Yao seems almost made of it; a vibrating mass of curbed potential and wasted opportunities. As much as Xichen acknowledges the loss for Meng Yao, he does not see the rejection as a failure. The consequences of Jin Guangshan’s negligence are the real failure. And again, Xichen wants so very much to whisk Meng Yao and his mother away from here.
Since he cannot do that yet, he commits to what little he can.
“You're not a coward, Meng Yao,” he assures first and foremost. He makes the other look him right in the eye as he repeats himself. Meng Yao doesn't even hide the shudder of relief that pours over him – nor does he hide the absolute fatigue that drags his back down after. He's so very tired.
Every night so far, Meng Yao has insisted that Xichen take his bed. He sleeps on a soft padding of blankets next to his mother instead. But tonight, Xichen refuses to let him compromise.
With a boldness Xichen didn't think himself capable of, he carefully slides into the bed and lifts one side of the blanket up. He stares with purpose until Meng Yao starts to laugh. Xichen returns the nervous titter before silencing his own nerves with a resolute huff and a tilt of his chin.
“Please,” he asks, more for himself than for Meng Yao, but then he quickly amends it, “Only if you want to, of course. It is not my intention to-“
“It’s fine,” Meng Yao interrupts with a warm smile. However, despite the reassurance there’s trepidation in his walk. A scowl tugs at Xichen's lips. He doesn’t want to make Meng Yao uncomfortable, and yet the urge to sleep next to him feels as right as going to his side when he was crying. So he can guard him in rest, that which he cannot do during the day.
“Really, it's fine,” Meng Yao says again. He reaches out to touch the sheets on the bed, fingers curling, “I just...”
In Xichen's admittedly limited experience with Meng Yao, it is rare for him to speak without already knowing what he's going to say. So breaks in his words seldom occur. This means he's taken aback, or perhaps upset.
“If it will not hurt you, and you do not feel pressured, we will only sleep. Nothing more,” the honesty in Xichen's voice causes his lilt to waver embarrassingly.
Meng Yao does not look up, but his hands start to shake, “Zewu-Jun, you know what I do. You are a Lan, and I am not clean, and I-”
Xichen doesn't let such thoughts continue. He reaches out, folding his hand gently over Meng Yao's shaking one, “Do not. You are not unclean. Would you say such of your mother? Of any one else in your position? I know you mean it because I am a Lan, but I know my own rules. There is nothing against chaste reprieve. So if you will have me, I want only to hold you while you dream.”
Strictly speaking, there are some rules against sleeping in the same bed with your betrothed, but the situation matters. And Meng Yao is not his betrothed. There are also rules against prostitution, but this is not a transaction. This is permissible. More than that – this is something Xichen wants. He is so certain that if Meng Yao does refuse, there will be a part of him that will struggle to recover.
Meng Yao looks at Xichen then, mouth parted in questions he doesn't let leak. Instead, he swallows them with a smile – one that is so bright his dimples look all the more precious. Xichen drops the blanket he's holding to stare, like his brain can only handle so much activity. It's not merely the smile that settles something meltingly heavy over Xichen's heart – it's the radiance of his eyes. The hope in them, the trust.
“I am glad you're considering,” Xichen says in lieu of just grinning stupidly.
Meng Yao's smile only gets more intense, and he doesn't look away even as he gets into the bed. He immediately rolls onto his back, looking up at Xichen. That is his cue to lower down as well, so he is not lording over Meng Yao. He does not want to think about what looking down at those big eyes and the steady smile would do to his churning gut.
He focuses on getting the blanket over the both of them, then they both settle so they're on their sides. Xichen throws an arm over Meng Yao, having fully meant what he said. He wants to hold him, nothing more, nothing less. At first, Meng Yao is tight with coiled tension; it cannot be comfortable.
“Meng Yao,” he says with kind admonishment. The boy seems to know what he's talking about and he forcefully relaxes.
“You're not doing this because you think you have to?” Meng Yao asks suddenly.
Xichen blinks, going tense himself before he lets that leech out, “No. I want to. Very much.”
That seems to be all Meng Yao needs to hear. He finally lets out a long breath, and eases into Xichen's embrace. The difference is astounding, the way Meng Yao's smaller body fits into his. His soft hair just below Xichen's chin, the smell of him floral and tinged with the heat of incense. In a fit of solace, Xichen goes entirely lax but for where his arm tucks near Meng Yao's stomach.
They both fall asleep after a little while. At one point, Xichen wakes up to find his hand in Meng Yao's. He's not sure which of them sleepily let it happen, but he does nothing more than grip tighter.