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At first, Lan Qiren had foolishly thought that he could suppress the illness with the weight of his exceptional cultivation. He had been seventeen, and the handsome young heir to the Qishan Wen Sect had grinned down at him from where he was perched in the branches of the magnolia tree. Lan Qiren had felt a strange itchiness in the back of his throat but had thought little of it.
Lan Qiren is nineteen when the itchiness turns into an occasional cough, but by this point, he knows its cause and feels the tentative roots burn to nothing with the power of his golden core. Wen Ruohan drops a causal arm over his shoulder, calls him, “Lan-xiong~,” in that teasing tone, and Lan Qiren does not have the heart to shrug off the warm weight of his friend’s affection. The roots always come back.
By the time he is twenty-three, the occasional cough turns far more severe – but Lan Qiren is someone who can suppress things, and so the coughs only come out when there is nobody around to see him curl in on himself and struggle for air. There are times when he is almost caught, when Wen Ruohan laughingly asks, “What’s this?” plucking a fragrant red sword lily petal from the front of his robes, and Lan Qiren pretends to be surprised, or when his older brother cautiously asks him, “Qiren… Have you been well?”
Better than you, Lan Qiren wants to say, looking with pity at his brother’s paling countenance. There is something Lan Qizheng is not telling him either.
At twenty-four, Lan Qiren attends the wedding of the newly-appointed Sect Leader of the Qishan Wen Sect, and self-appointed best friend. The woman he marries is respectable, and Lan Qiren can find no fault with her, which irks him further.
“My mother arranged all this,” Wen Ruohan says with a sigh, rolling his eyes. “Ah, well, I suppose I must have heirs, however apathetic I am to this marriage. Well, she’s a nice girl, I’m sure…”
“Congratulations.” Lan Qiren nods, then smiles slightly, smoothing out Wen Ruohan’s red and gold outer robe. “I wish you happiness.”
Wen Ruohan nods. “Now that my father’s dead… I’ll be really busy. Even if I can’t come visit you, I’ll write to you. I promise.”
“I will write back,” Lan Qiren promises, in turn, lungs burning as he struggles to keep down his cough.
Lan Qiren is twenty-five when the illness takes him over, hacking coughs wracking his body, blood and red sword lily petals falling from his mouth.
Wen Ruohan has become the Sect Leader of the Qishan Wen Sect, has married, and the woman now has his son within her. Lan Qizheng, the illustrious Qingheng-Jun has just entered seclusion, his murderous wife clawing at the walls of her sweet cottage prison. And Lan Qiren chokes for air in his narrow bed, clawing his throat and chest as the room fills with the scent of blood and sword lily flowers.
He manages sect affairs directly from his bed, though he has had to give up teaching. The elders look at him as if they are not sure whether to admire him or pity him. They do both, and Lan Qiren begins to hate them for it, even as he writes out another trading agreement with the Baling Ouyang Sect, or another lesson plan, or has to find someone else to attend the Yearly Sect Conference in his stead.
Lan Qiren had never been a particularly sociable person to begin with, and an occasional illness is normal, even for cultivators. His absence is no great matter. No outsider knows of Master Lan’s miserable condition, for if they did, the Gusu Lan Sect’s position would be tenuous at best, not even to speak of the great personal shame it would bring Lan Qiren to have his condition be known by others.
Lan Qiren keeps up the correspondence between him and Wen Ruohan, writing letters as they always have.
His brother visits him to urge him to confess, actually leaving seclusion in secret to climb in through the window of Lan Qiren’s inner quarters, clutch at his hand and beg, “A-Yun, A-Yun, please, you must tell that person, you cannot go on like this!” He has not called him that since they were children.
Lan Qiren shakes his head stubbornly, wiping his hand with the back of his mouth, leaving a smear of blood. “It would not help, Xiong-zhang,” he says hoarsely. “It is no use. I will die, and when I do, you must return to lead our Gusu Lan Sect.”
The second time his brother visits, he says, “At least tell me who it is that is killing you like this.”
Lan Qiren chokes around Wen Ruohan’s name, then shakes his head. “It does not matter.”
“Qiren,” Lan Qizheng sighs. “Why must you be this stubborn?” His eyes are red and his hands shake, bit he shakes his head with a fond smile. “You were always like this, even as a child. Mother told me… That because I was your older brother, it was my duty to protect you. And I swore I would. Tell me… How can I protect you from this?”
Coughing out an entire crumpled flower, Lan Qiren laughs a short, mirthless laugh, “Do not call it ‘duty’, Xiong-zhang. Duty never mattered to you. Call it love, or stubbornness.” He coughs again, then places his hand over Lan Qizheng’s. “We are both men grown, Xiong-zhang. There is nothing either of us can do. That person… Has been a dear friend of mine for many years. He already has a wife, a pregnant wife, and is busy with his own affairs. All my confession will do is spoil his happiness. I cannot do that to the one I love.”
Lan Qizheng shakes his head. “What happiness?” he spits. “Your love for him is killing you, and you care about his happiness? Do you not want him by your side, no matter the cost?” There are tears streaming down his brother’s face now, but Lan Qiren feels only cold.
Lan Qiren settles back onto the pillows and coughs weakly. “Xiong-zhang…” he sighs. “I am tired. Please, leave me.”
A week later, Wen Ruohan arrives to the Cloud Recesses, urged by a missive from the secluded Sect Leader of the Gusu Lan Sect. Lan Qiren hates and loves his brother for it, in his last moments.
Lan Qiren tries to read, but he is too tired to make out the characters on the page, and the book slips from his hands to lie open on the covers. He shudders, a trickle of blood running from the corner of his mouth, petals fluttering to the blanket around him. Time is almost up, for him.
When the door crashes open, he does his best to sit up, raising himself up on one elbow and almost choking from the effort it takes.
In a whirlwind of flame-patterned robes, Wen Ruohan is by the bedside, and his hands have grabbed the front of Lan Qiren’s robe. “Lan Qiren, you bastard! Why didn’t you tell me?!” he roars, but then his voice cracks.
Lan Qiren finally tries to look up into Wen Ruohan’s face, surprised to see the tears welling in his friend’s eyes. “…What do you wish to know?” he finally finds himself asking, his voice scratching at his raw throat.
“Qingheng-Jun only told me you were sick, I didn’t realize it was-” Wen Ruohan cuts himself off, gritting his teeth and trying to take a calming breath, lowering Lan Qiren back down and letting the front of his robes go. He sinks to his knees at Lan Qiren’s bedside, taking Lan Qiren’s wrist and beginning to transfer spiritual energy. “You would just have died like this,” he says hollowly. “You wouldn’t have said anything, and you would just have died here, alone.”
“…I’m sorry,” Lan Qiren says, though he knows those aren’t quite the right words. “I told Xiong-zhang not to-”
Wen Ruohan looks up with flaming eyes. “Not to what?! Not to allow me to help you?! Are you really so proud?! So disgusted by me, that even now-”
“You know that’s not it…” Lan Qiren says hoarsely.
Wen Ruohan’s voice shakes again. “Then you really…”
Lan Qiren looks at him. “You can’t save me… Though I thank you for trying. I didn’t want you to know, because it was you. You would be distracted from your duties… From your family. You would think you were… Responsible for my-”
Wen Ruohan does not want to hear anymore. He leans over and presses his mouth to Lan Qiren’s. His hand comes up to cup Lan Qiren’s hollow cheek, still radiating spiritual energy into Lan Qiren’s body, his other hand gripping his shoulder painfully hard, as if he is afraid that Lan Qiren will somehow gain the strength to pull away from this.
Lan Qiren allows his eyes to flutter closed.
It’s warm.
It’s softer than he’d thought.
Wen Ruohan pulls back. “Did it work?” he asks urgently. “Hey, Lan-”
It’s easier to breathe, but only a little. It still hurts, his body too ruined by the illness to recover. Lan Qiren shakes his head. “…It’s too far gone.”
Wen Ruohan’s eyes are red-rimmed. “But I really…”
“I know,” Lan Qiren sighs.
“I meant it…” His voice cracks again, and he takes Lan Qiren’s limp hand with both of his own, leaning his forehead against it.
“I know.”
Wen Ruohan looks up, tears tracing glittering lines down the sides of his face. “I’ll find a cure. I’ll kill anyone who fails me. You have to believe me, I will save you,” he says, trembling. “I’ll do anything-”
Lan Qiren huffs, reaching out with a weak hand to rub away the tears with his knuckles, hand dropping weakly back down to the covers. “Don’t kill anyone over this. You know better.”
“I don’t,” Wen Ruohan says stubbornly. “I don’t know better! Without you, I don’t know what’s better and worse, what’s black and white, what’s right and wrong! I’ll- I’ll end up doing horrible things, that you’ll hate me for!” He’s shouting, but he sounds more terrified than angry, like a lost child with far too much power, choking on his own breath as the words spill out. “You’re the better one of us, the one that believes in duty, in honor, in justice-”
Lan Qiren sighs. “I truly have been… A useless teacher, then…”
Wen Ruohan shakes his head desperately. “No! You’ve been the best one, you’ve always-”
Lan Qiren can’t help smiling slightly. “…Good.”
There are searingly hot drops falling onto the back of his hand as Wen Ruohan bows over it, shoulders shaking.
“Don’t cry…” Lan Qiren calls softly, reaching out to brush tears away again. His time really is up. This tired and weak, he had never wanted anyone to see him like this, much less Wen Ruohan. His damned older brother… How could he? Though, really, Lan Qizheng had always specialized in betrayal, prioritizing his own overwhelming love over anything else.
Seeing Wen Ruohan break down like this, Lan Qiren thinks for a moment that he understands his brother a little better.
“I… I really…- I’ve always…-” Wen Ruohan’s breaking voice sounds distant.
Lan Qiren’s hand weakly slips down the side of Wen Ruohan’s face, and he allows his eyes to flutter shut.
Just for a moment.
He can rest just for a moment, and then he’ll answer.
He’ll say, I know.
And, Live well.
Maybe even something like, Look for me again.
He just wants to rest a little bit…
And then, he’ll…-