The Cloud Recesses, roughly 2800 years ago

 

Hidden deep in the safe confines of the mountains, there stood a small cottage surrounded by gentian blossoms. They swayed in the breeze, a stark contrast of bright blue against the dark night. It was said these gentians were so beautiful they lit up the otherwise solemn view of the lone house, but, despite this, it was rare for anyone to come and enjoy the sight. Only one woman resided in the cottage, and even she did not venture out to appreciate the garden herself.

The night was quiet, as with all nights in the Cloud Recesses. It was nearing the time when everyone would retire to bed. True enough, not a single soul walked the silent paths of the mountain at that moment. However, if one were to dare, they would not only hear the haunting moans of the evening wind, but the whispers of children from inside the cottage.

If they were curious enough, they would see a woman smiling at her children, not once taking her eyes off them. Her smiles were cherished by her boys, who seldom saw her since the day they were born. One of them – the older of the pair – sat by his mother, flickering through a book they had read countless times during their visits here. The younger child was nestled in the woman's arms, listening to his brother recite the same story again and again.

Of course, no one was ever curious – or foolish – enough to venture close to the cottage. The woman that resided there never left. The rumours said that she was ill, imprisoned in a home where she slowly withered away. Others wondered if there was another explanation; a darker reason as to why the lady never left her cottage, and why her husband did not even live with her.

Regardless, gossip was forbidden in the Cloud Recesses. As such, the rumours dissipated into nothing, and the cottage was all but a lonely home amidst the azure gentians.

“Mother, don't you get lonely here?” the older child asked.

If their mother was lonely, she did not show it. Often, her children would catch her gazing out of the window, silently staring at the mountains that hid the rest of the world from her. Perhaps, if they had been older, more observant, they would have read the strange expression in her eyes as longing.

But they were only children. They could not have known, not yet.

As always, their mother reassured them with gentle smiles and warm eyes. She pulled her boys closer.

“I have you two. I look forward to each and every one of your visits,” she would say every time.

The youngest child cuddled closer, his arms clinging around his mother's neck. “But we're not here all the time.”

Their mother laughed. It was quiet and barely a laugh at all. To the boys, it was the loveliest sound they had ever heard. “This is enough.”

It was enough, for that night. As each night passed and turned into weeks, months, years, perhaps it would no longer be enough. The mother would continue to gaze out of her window, wondering when her boys would turn into adults, wondering if she would still be there to witness it.

A sigh only she could hear escaped her lips. As a habit, her head turned towards the open window.

“Ah, look,” she said. “It's already dark out.”

In unison, both boys looked outside. The sky was a blanket of jet-black, dotted with stars. While the sight was beautiful, the three of them knew it would not be long until the children had to leave. They had already overstayed their visit.

As if it would stop the inevitable, the mother held her children closer. “A-Zhan, do you think the stars are pretty?”

The youngest child nodded, stifling a yawn. Beside him, his brother jumped to his feet and gave a large grin that was brighter than any star out there.

“Uncle says that when we're older, we'll learn to fly on our swords!” he said.

Hearing this, the younger child's eyes widened and all traces of drowsiness from his face was chased away. “I want to fly...” he mumbled.

“We'll have to work very hard, A-Zhan!”

“I'm sure both of you will make the most wonderful cultivators,” their mother encouraged.

The oldest of the pair took this to heart and stood up straighter. He was three years older than his brother, not quite aware of the full responsibility his future would bring.

“Mother, when I'm older, I'll take you up to see the stars closer!”

Neither child noticed the strain in their mother's smile. She nodded, forcing out a laugh that sounded too loud compared to the eerie silence of the evening.

“I'm fine here,” she said, stroking her son's cheek. “You two will just have to tell me all about the stars.”

Her mention of the stars made the younger son curious. He slipped out from his mother's arms and walked towards the window, frowning up at the multitude of stars that glittered above their home.

“Lots of stars...”

“Yes, A-Zhan,” the mother said. “With each star, there is a story behind it.”

Confused, the small child looked back at her and tilted his head. “A story? What stories?”

“I'm afraid I don't know any of them. Perhaps you two can find out for me.”

“Every star?” The oldest son gasped out. “That is a lot of stories.”

Sighing, the mother pulled her children back into her arms. It was a lot of stories; by now, she knew she would never be able to find them herself. She would remain in this isolated cottage for the rest of her life, counting each day that was stolen from her.

Did she hate it? Could she hate it? She had her children, who missed her just as much as she missed them. When her sons were with her, each visit felt as if it would be enough—just enough to ignore the overwhelming solitude that soon followed after they left. Each day crawled by on dying legs, but as soon as she saw her children, she was at peace. She was happy.

“It's a big world, A-Huan,” she said with another sigh.

She leaned down to their eye level and gazed into the naïve curiosity that greeted her back. One day, her sons would grow up into fine cultivators. One day, they would understand why she had to stay in this cottage, why she could not be the mother she wanted to be. One day, she would no longer be here, waiting, just waiting.

“I want both of you to go out there and enjoy everything this world has to offer,” she told them. “You don't have to take me to see the stars myself; I only wish to hear the stories from my two, precious boys.”

Her sons looked at each other, unaware of their mother's thoughts stirring behind her words.

“Okay,” they promised.

Their mother smiled once again.

 

- x -

 

The Cloud Recesses, now

 

Wangji had remained silent for the duration of their travels, but it is only when he sees the towering wall of rules does he finally speak up.

“This place...” he murmurs, frowning at the towering wall in front of them.

The characters on the wall have eroded away and it is now impossible to make out a single rule. Nevertheless, the wall is there, as imposing as ever, reminding him of a different lifetime when many disciples roamed these lands.

He looks around. Instead of disciples, there are tourists, snapping pictures of every monument, every corner, every place that he used to think of as a home, but now has turned into... into an attraction.

He is not sure what to say.

“Do you recognise it?” his brother asks.

Wangji nods. “The Cloud Recesses.”

Granted, it is a cheap imitation of what was once the Cloud Recesses. Thousands of years may have passed, but the memories that return to Wangji here are strong, real. He remembers where every building stood, where each group of disciples liked to gather around for their studies. He remembers the particular tree that Wei Ying once climbed atop, hiding from a dog that scared him in the middle of the night. He remembers the same building they met on, fighting on that roof with only the moon as their witness.

Now, there are some buildings that were not there before. There is a gift shop near the entrance, surrounded by a small crowd listening to a tourist guide.

“That's right,” his brother says, following the direction of his gaze. “Although, it seems to be a tourist attraction now.”

How strange. Wangji has never been known to speak much, but now he is truly speechless. He can only stare at the countless tourists, wondering what it must be like to see this place as something to admire, rather than the home he was born in.

It's... not an unpleasant feeling, but nor is it comfortable. It is a reminder of how much time has changed and left him behind.

Maybe, if he was still immortal, he would have been hurt at this sight.

“It is odd, isn't it?” Xichen says, reading his thoughts as usual. “Once a home, this place is now nothing but history.”

History. No matter how much the tourists here are told about this place, they will soon forget everything when they leave. They will have their photos and their souvenirs, but it will be nothing to them; just a small reminder of a day out they had with their family. They will never know what it was like to walk through this place in the morning, when the air carried with it the faint conversations of disciples that could not help but gossip. The pictures these tourists take will not capture the tranquil calm that washed over Gusu in the afternoon, when everyone permitted themselves a moment's rest. There is no one left in this world who will preserve those memories.

“We are still here,” Wangji says, more as a reminder to himself, rather than a response to his brother.

Xichen turns to him with a smile, nodding. “Come. Follow me.”

He leads them past the tourist guides, past the library pavilion that has clearly been refurbished, past the gardens that the rabbits used to love exploring. For many years, Wangji thought his memories had faded, but now it is as if he is a cultivator once again. If he ignores the clothes they are wearing and the many tourists here, he can imagine that he is taking an afternoon stroll around the Cloud Recesses with his brother.

When he sees the gentians, he stops.

He breathes in, slowly, and wonders why, after all these years, it still hurts.

“Mother's cottage,” he says. It is as he remembers it; small, homely, surrounded by flowers bluer than anything he has ever seen. And there, not too far away, is the adjacent cottage where his father secluded himself for the remainder of his life.

Two cottages; one surrounded by gentians, and the other still filled with the air of guilt and regret.

“It is said that these cottages belonged to one of the former sect leaders and his wife. The couple lived separately, secluding themselves in these cottages and never once stepping outside,” one of the tourist guides say in the distance. He points at each cottage, pausing to allow the crowd to take their pictures again.

“Why is that?” someone asks.

“It's hard to say for certain, since there's not much recorded about them. It could be the result of a loveless marriage.” The tourist guide shrugs and then motions to the gentians. “However, we do know that the wife loved gentian flowers. Even after her death, the former leader ordered to keep the flowers alive.”

Neither of the brothers say anything. They quietly walk away from the group until the voice of the tourist guide could no longer be heard. Above them, the sky has turned into a mixture of amber and violet as the day begins to retire. It will not be long until they have to go home—to their new homes. Not this place. The Cloud Recesses is no longer their home.

“It doesn't feel real,” his brother mumbles after a while. He is still staring ahead, eyes fixed on their mother's cottage.

Wangji frowns at the railings in front of the cottage's door. In a way, it is ridiculous that they cannot even enter their own mother's house. To anyone here, he and Xichen are also tourists, nothing more, nothing less.

“Brother, why did you bring us here?” he asks, unable to help himself.

Xichen frowns. “Do you wish I didn't?”

Wangji shakes his head.

“I was curious. Do not mistake me; I am glad that we are here now. I... do not regret anything,” Xichen says. “But it is strange nonetheless. These people around us will only look at this place and think of it as history. An inaccurate story told to them; one they will most likely forget as soon as they return home.”

His brother shares the same sentiments that he has. Wangji looks back at the people around them. He would have never anticipated that he would return here, thousands of years later to witness strangers take selfies in front of the wall of rules.

Before he knows it, he is smiling. It is absurd. If Wei Ying were here, he would be laughing. He would also be dragging Wangji in front of that wall, taking a dozen photos with him in order to post them online afterwards.

So much has changed, but Wangji has finally stopped worrying about that. He and his brother will no longer be left behind.

Still smiling, he gazes back up at the sky. It is too early for any of the stars to appear, but being here reminds him of a memory he has kept safe for all of these centuries.

“We never managed to tell Mother any stories about the stars,” he says.

His brother slowly nods. “No, I suppose we did not.”

Wangji still does not know any, except the story Wei Ying told him about Baoshan Sanren. When they were children, his mother told him there was a story for every star that existed; billions and billions of tales she wanted them to find out for themselves.

“She will not mind. We have other stories to tell,” Xichen tells him, patting his back. “We will have to be sure to tell her all about them... One day.”

“One day,” Wangji repeats. He nods and smiles back at his brother.

“Should we go home then?” Xichen asks. “I imagine a certain someone is waiting for you.”

"And you?"

Xichen's smile falters for a second. Forcing out a laugh, he takes out his phone and shows Wangji the screen. There is a dozen missed calls from Jiang Cheng.

"What is... wrong?"

"Nothing," Xichen laughs. "Aside from the fact I may have accidentally broken another oven earlier. I believe he must have found out by now."

Biting back another question, Wangji says nothing. The limitations of being human are still no match for his brother's uncontrolled strength, it seems.

"Let us go home then," he says.

Wangji spares one last glance at their mother's cottage. They will face her when that time comes. For now, they have this life and their own homes to return to.

 

- x -

 

There is a peculiar rhythm that comes with being content. Everyday is the same. Wangji wakes up, drives Sizhui and Wei Ying to school. He works, and earns money, and cooks, and does everything a normal human will do. Life falls into a daily, repetitive schedule that sometimes leaves him tired and drained.

It is the same monotonous regiment he has been living for centuries, but now he is... content. He does not look at the days before him and wonder if they will ever end. He does not question the meaning of his existence. He simply lives, because he is happy to do just that.

One day, just like the Cloud Recesses, he will be forgotten to history. No matter how long he has lived, he too will be another passing memory.

It is not so bad. Before that happens, Wangji will cherish each day he has left.

He lifts his head and finds Wei Ying still sitting by his desk, muttering to himself as he marks homework. Occasionally, Wangji will hear him complaining, usually because a student's handwriting is barely legible, or Jingyi has written yet another joke for an answer.

Wangji is no longer immortal. He has no idea what the future will bring, but he knows what he wants.

“Wei Ying,” he calls out, waiting for Wei Ying to look over his shoulder. “Marry me.”

Wei Ying drops the pen he's holding. “What?”

“Marry me.”

It takes a while for Wei Ying to respond. He pushes his papers aside and turns his chair to face Wangji. “Are you drunk again?”

“No, I am asking you to marry me.” Wangji pauses, lowering his voice. “If you do not want to—”

“What makes you think I don't want to marry you?” Wei Ying scoffs. “I was planning on asking you myself. You weren't supposed to beat me to it.”

Now it is Wangji's turn to be surprised. He raises his eyebrows. “Oh?”

“Yeah, I just needed to find a way to make the proposal more memorable than you proposing to me with a chicken.”

Wangji sighs. “I was drunk.”

“I know. Everyone knows.”

Wangji can only sigh again. Over a week has passed since that... incident and Wei Ying is still laughing about it. Clearly, he will never stop. Wangji has given up on salvaging what little pride he has left.

Wei Ying rises from his seat and closes the distance between them. Nothing more is said; instead, Wei Ying pushes Wangji's head down and meets him with a kiss.

There are many stories to tell his mother. None of them will be about constellations or legends, but a kaleidoscope of what this life has had to offer; of travels that led him to each end of the earth, of places she could never visit, people she could never meet. Most of all, he will tell his mother that he was happy, that he is glad he has lived through all of this.

Wei Ying is the first to pull away. The blush on his cheeks does not match the smirk he lets out.

“Although, I gotta say... Technically, we've only been dating for a few months. This is all so sudden, Lan Zhan...”

Wangji raises an eyebrow, allowing himself to smile at that. “I have waited for you for almost three thousand years.”

Wei Ying laughs, loud and clear. “In that case, then why didn't you ask me sooner? Three thousand years is such a long time, Lan Zhan. Think of all the sex we could have had in that time! All the babies we could have made!”

“Wei Ying.”