Chapter Text
In the winding streets of Yiling, a small 5-year-old boy named Wei Ying crouched beneath a broken cart. His black robes were muddied and torn; a red ribbon tangled in his hair. He was trembling not only from the cold, but from fear. Stray dogs had chased him for a piece of bread, biting and scratching as he ran. Now, bleeding from his wounds, he clutched the half-eaten bread close to his chest, though it had done little to ease his hunger.
The cold wind cut through his thin, tattered clothes. His small body shook, his lips blue. Yet on his dirt-streaked face, there was a bright, toothy smile.
In his tiny hands, he held three handmade straw figures. They were crude but made with care, one for his mother, one for his father and one for himself. He still remembered their faces. His mother's laughter echoed in his memory, her voice soft and gentle:
"Always keep smiling, Wei Ying."
One memory stood out: his mother sitting atop a donkey, laughing at a joke from his father, while Wei Ying sat in front of her, bouncing along the trail. The sun had been warm, the trees swaying gently and their laughter had felt endless.
But joy never lasts.
He remembered the last night he saw them. They were dressed in their night-hunt robes, weapons strapped to their backs. His mother had cupped his cheeks, whispering, "Be good, A-Ying. Wait for us to come back."
He had waited. One night passed. Then two. Then a week. But they never returned.
Since then, Wei Ying had wandered the streets alone, an orphan with no one left to wait for. He searched for food, ran from dogs and clung to memories because they were all he had left.
Elsewhere on that same street, a six-year-old boy named Lan Zhan walked silently beside his older brother, Lan Huan and their uncle, Lan Qiren. All three wore flowing white robes with cloud patterns and forehead ribbons tied in the Lan Clan's strict fashion. Their presence stood out in the muddy streets of Yiling like pearls in the dust.
Their uncle paused to greet an acquaintance, falling into quiet conversation. The two brothers stood patiently at his side.
Lan Zhan's expression was still, his back straight, his silence absolute. But his eyes, cool and curious, wandered. They fell on a nearby cart of tanghulu bright red candied hawthorn skewers glistening in the sun.
Lan Huan followed his gaze. Smiling, he asked, "Lan Zhan, if you want something, you can say it. I'll buy it for you."
Lan Zhan glanced away. His hands remained at his sides.
Lan Huan chuckled softly and bought the tanghulu anyway. As he handed it to his little brother, he said gently, "You don't have to worry about the rules this time. It's alright to enjoy something sweet once in a while."
"...Hm," Lan Zhan murmured, accepting the treat.
As he looked down at the glossy red hawthorn, a quiet ache stirred in his chest.
He remembered himself as a shy, quiet child, standing beside Lan Huan as they waited outside a courtyard. Once a month, they were allowed to visit their mother, who lived under house arrest. When the door opened, she would kneel and welcome them with open arms.
He would climb into her lap, and she would tease him with soft laughter, brushing his hair aside and calling him her quite little one. Her warmth had filled his world in those fleeting moments.
And then she was gone.
After her death, Lan Zhan would return to that courtyard alone. He would kneel in the snow before the locked door, waiting, hoping she might appear. But the door never opened.
The warmth he had once known faded. Slowly, so did the childlike spark in his heart. Surrounded by silence and strict rules, he grew cold. Disciplined. Distant. The Lan Clan left no room for mourning or for childhood.
And yet, just as he stood there with the tanghulu in his hand, something caught his eye.
Beneath a broken cart, half-hidden in shadow, was a small boy in torn robes. His face was dirty, cheeks scratched and bleeding, but he smiled. Wide, bright and carefree. It was a smile so full of life that it took Lan Zhan's breath away.
It reminded him.
Of his mother's smile.
He didn't speak. He simply walked away from his brother's side and approached the cart. The boy looked up, startled at first but then his grin widened.
Lan Zhan knelt and held out the tanghulu.
The boy blinked. "Is... is this for me?"
"...Hm," Lan Zhan said softly.
The boy's hands trembled as he took it. "Thank you!" he beamed, as if it were the greatest gift in the world.
Lan Zhan stared at him, silent and still. But inside, something warm flickered to life. Something he hadn't felt in a long, long time.
Meanwhile, Lan Huan turned to speak but his brother was no longer at his side. Alarmed, he glanced around and quickly called out to Uncle Qiren. Together, they began to search the nearby alleys.
They found Lan Zhan kneeling beside a small, ragged boy. The boy was smiling, tanghulu in hand. Lan Zhan said nothing, but his uncle and brother noticed the soft change in his expression, something rare and almost imperceptible. A small crack in the ice.
And though they didn't know it yet, something had quietly begun that day. A thread had been tied between a lonely boy who had lost everything but his smile and another boy who had forgotten how to smile.