Chapter Text
Within the outskirts of Yiling, a grand manor stood amidst the sandy hills.
It started as a small brothel, not too far from the centre of the city. There flows a small creek behind it, with smaller stalls aligning the clearing. There weren't many villagers in Yiling, and frankly enough the men find it inconvenient to walk up the hills in order to visit. The women often charge more than what they could afford, all in the promise of a good time. Alas, foot traffic was slow, there were days where they would have no patron to serve.
All until a war broke out.
Madam Bai, owner of said brothel, could never have imagined a war breaking out between Yiling and Qishan. From the little news that she received, the leader of Qishan Wen was a tyrannical and greedy man. They took other cities down with little to no effort, with their threatening number of disciples and power. She always thought that the Wens considered taking Yiling as an afterthought. A small city like theirs, which rests at the foot of a mountain that has been a burial site for nearly a century, should not pose a threat nor a help to a grand city like Qishan. It would just be another small city, usurped by a larger clan.
So when the Wen soldiers called for a retreat the same night they've arrived, and ran away with their tails between their legs, the entire city was taken aback at the turn of events.
That night, as the first warning torch burned over Yiling, a mass of creatures lurking in the Burial Mounds began pouring down the mountain. They first came without a sound, an advancing tide of beasts and men while the townspeople barricaded themselves indoors, whispering desperate prayers to any deity who might listen. When word reached Wen Ruohan, he dispatched twice the number of troops. Then three times. Yet with every attempt, his soldiers failed to even cross Yiling’s borders; shadows curled around their ankles, dragging them into the dark before they could raise a blade. Human-like figures with stag heads loomed over the fallen, tearing through men as if they were made of straw.
The city pulsed with restlessness and fear. Between the Wen forces pressing in and the strange creatures roaming the streets, the people of Yiling hardly knew which threat to dread more. Their answer came quickly enough: for all their mystery, the creatures could speak, barter, and behave almost like ordinary folk. Beyond guarding the city, they carried themselves with bold confidence—and, somehow, with enough wealth to spend freely. The brothel, perched between the town and the mountain, soon found its halls busy with these unusual patrons. The first time a frog-headed man appeared at her doorstep, Madam Bai nearly fainted on the spot. But she was nothing if not sharp, and she wasn’t about to turn down a chance to earn a tidy profit.
So what started as a small brothel quickly grew in size and popularity.
Now, the building stands proud and tall, its path to the manor always illuminated by lanterns that cast a warm orange glow. All year round, the place thrums with life: the rowdy shouts of drunken men and creatures alike, music drifting through every corridor, servants whispering gossip as they pass, and—every so often—a brawl sparked by someone who couldn’t hold their liquor.
One night, a cloaked figure stepped into her establishment.
However hard the newcomer tried to slip by unnoticed, it was impossible. The moment he crossed the threshold, every person in the room became acutely aware of him. Seven years had passed since the war began, yet Madam Bai had never encountered a creature quite like this.
The stench of rotting flesh seeped from beneath the cloak. Inky shadows coiled from the floor, nipping at the hem of the dark fabric as it dragged across the ground. The figure moved toward the main desk with slow, deliberate steps. Madam Bai was no fool; she noticed how several creatures lounging in the hall went rigid the instant he appeared. However horrifying he looked, this one clearly held a high rank among Yiling Laozu’s forces.
“Good evening. What are you looking for today?”
At her voice, the room gradually returned to motion, though people still stole nervous glances in his direction.
“Music,” the figure replied.
“Right,” she managed, swallowing. “Anything else?”
A low grunt. “Just music.”
Madam Bai drew in a steadying breath to keep her composure—but instantly regretted it as the stench flooded her senses. She coughed, fighting down the wave of nausea rising in her throat.
“Ah,” she managed, giving a slight nod as she swallowed hard. “Alright. We’ll get you sorted quickly. Please wait for a moment.”
She stepped away from the counter and slipped into the back room, where several of her workers were already whispering anxiously among themselves.
“He wants music,” she announced. “Prepare a private room. We can’t let him stay in the common hall; the other patrons will flee the moment he sits down.”
Her gaze swept the group as she tried to decide who to send. “Mengyuan, get your pipa—”
Mengyuan cut in immediately. “With all due respect, Madam Bai, I don’t think I could endure being in the same room as that… thing.”
“You people—” Madam Bai snapped, pressing a hand to her temple as an ache began to form. “Mengyuan, you’re the only musician available. If you don’t take this guest, then who will?”
The others turned toward Mengyuan, who could only look away, avoiding every pair of eyes on him.
ㅤ
“Listen, Meng-er,” Madam Bai tried again, her tone softening out of desperation. “If you take this customer, you can have two days off—paid. Alright?”
Even with the promise of double pay, the man wavered, shoulders tense with dread. No one else stepped forward. The headache behind Madam Bai’s eyes throbbed harder. A customer was waiting, and she was running out of options.
Just as she was considering how to politely turn him away, a voice spoke up lightly behind her:
“I’ll do it.”
Lan Wangji was wrapping up his guqin when a voice came through the open door frame.
“Ge, finishing up?” the voice piped up.
He looked up to find Mo Xuanyu peeking his head into the room, a bag of fresh laundry clutched in his arms.
“Mn.” Lan Wangji replied with a nod.
“Ah okay, then don’t go downstairs just yet. I’ve heard there's a weird customer at the front desk that smells like shit and nobody wants to take him in. Just stay here to avoid getting called.”
He furrowed his brow, a little curiosity blooming inside his mind but quickly dismissed. “Alright, thank you,” he replied. Mo Xuanyu nodded back and went away to complete his task.
If there was a commotion about a customer downstairs, Lan Wangji would probably hear about it soon enough. Gossip travels at the speed of light in this building, and even if he doesn’t actively seek it out, he hears enough bits of information to piece together a whole picture of the situation. In spite of Mo Xuanyu’s warning, Lan Wangji still had to go downstairs into the worker's back room. The cleaning ladies found out that his patron left early and thus came to clean the room, ushering Lan Wangji out.
He considered going to the kitchen but quickly dismissed the idea as the kitchen ladies would definitely kick him out almost immediately. With nowhere else to go, he strapped his guqin onto his back and made his way downstairs.
Before he even reached the bottom of the stairs, he could already hear Madam Bai’s hushed voice.
“You people-”, she paused, anger evident in her voice. “Mengyuan. You’re the only musician that is available right now. If you don’t take this customer, then who will?!”
The group went silent, Lan Wangji continued downstairs to find Madam Bai trying to persuade Mengyuan to play. “Listen, Meng-er, if you take this customer, you can have two days off, and still get paid. Okay?”
It was clear to him that Mengyuan did not want anything to do with the customer, it was then he decided to speak up:
“I’ll do it.”
Madam Bai spun around, startled by the sudden voice behind her. “Lan Wangji!” she exclaimed, giving his arm a light smack.
“Aren’t you supposed to be tending to Lord Li? Why are you here?” she asked.
“Lord Li left early. He mentioned an emergency he had to attend to.” he replied.
Madam Bai nodded—quickly, a bit frazzled. “Alright, alright. Lan Wangji, are you sure you can handle this customer?”
“I will try my best.”
“Ah, whatever,” she muttered, waving a hand. “Just play him a few songs and then tell him you have another session lined up. And let me get you a napkin to breathe into. Trust me, boy, it’s necessary.”
“No need, Madam Bai. I will tend to the customer’s needs.”
"“Ah, Lan Wangji, you’re sweet enough to spoil tea,” she sighed. “But you’ll still need the napkin. That creature out front… heavens, the stench could peel paint off the walls.” she murmured.
Lan Wangji bowed his head slightly. “I will manage.”
Madam Bai huffed, half in admiration, half in exasperation. “If you say so. Don’t faint on me, boy. I don’t have time to drag your unconscious body out of a room tonight.” She waved him off toward the washroom. “Go on. Five minutes. Then to the private room.”
When Lan Wangji stepped into the room, he immediately realised just how gravely he had underestimated the creature’s stench. It struck like a physical force—sharp, clinging, and vile. For a brief moment, he couldn’t tell whether the being before him was man or monster. Cloaked head to toe, the figure sat hunched behind a desk, motionless.
Lan Wangji regained his composure with practiced discipline and crossed the room in steady steps, setting his guqin down with deliberate care. The figure hadn’t spoken once since his arrival. With no clear way to offer a proper greeting, Lan Wangji chose the simplest approach.
“Good evening. My name is Lan Wangji. I will be tending to your needs tonight. Do you have any particular composition you wish to hear?” he asked quietly.
The man shook his head. The movement sent a few strands of hair slipping forward, though his face remained completely hidden beneath the hood. No light touched him; it was as if the darkness clung to his features.
“Anything will be fine,” he said—so quietly Lan Wangji might have mistaken it for a murmur. His voice held a rough edge, the rasp of someone who had not used it in far too long, dry and unused like an abandoned instrument.
The man lifted a hand to loosen the collar of his cloak. Instantly, another wave of rot rolled across the room. Lan Wangji held his breath, steadying himself with practiced control. Not a flicker of revulsion crossed his face.
“Sorry,” the man murmured, the word strained and soft, as though even speaking it cost him something. Lan Wangji shook his head, “I will start now.”
He chose a familiar tune, one often heard drifting through the streets of Yiling. A gentle melody that captured the calm of the countryside, its rolling fields and quiet streams. A song that yearned for the days before the war, when children could wander the outskirts without fear of Wen soldiers lurking beyond the hills.
Without meaning to, his thoughts drifted. He wondered how his brother fared, how his uncle’s health held up. He had been fifteen when they survived the burning of Cloud Recesses. His uncle had taken a devastating blow to shield him and his brother, losing his core in the process.
In the aftermath, they had settled in a small village south of Qinghe, joined by a ragtag band of survivors who once made up the proud Lan Clan. Those who escaped the flames scattered at first, but most eventually found their way to the same humble refuge.
Lan Wangji was the one who chose to leave.
ㅤ
It was painful to watch his uncle and brother struggle to provide for what remained of their clan. Lan Wangji took whatever work he could find, but with the Wen forces tightening their grip on every region except Yiling, he had inevitably been driven toward the city.
He loaded carts for merchants, assisted blacksmiths at their forges, helped farmers plough their fields and harvest rice, yet none of those jobs lasted long. The Wen soldiers always found him eventually. Even with his hair tied down and his forehead ribbon tucked carefully away, he was still unmistakable. One of the Twin Jades of Lan was not easily forgotten, not even burned out of memory by war. All a soldier needed was a second look, a tilt of the head, and recognition sparked like flint. Then he would vanish before trouble could catch him.
As the final notes of the melody faded, Lan Wangji let the last vibration settle beneath his fingertips. The man before him made no comment. He remained hunched, still, silent. Lan Wangji paused, listening. The man’s breathing was slow and even.
Not even one song in and he was already asleep.
“Gongzi?” Lan Wangji called softly.
There was no response. The inky shadows that had once writhed at the man’s feet had stilled, drawn back into him like breath returning to a resting chest. They no longer crept along the floorboards or curled around the legs of the desk. Instead, they lay dormant, clinging faintly to the edges of his cloak like proper soot.
Lan Wangji was used to his music coaxing patrons into sleep; many sought him out for precisely that. Ordinarily, once a patron drifted off, he would slip quietly out of the room and leave them to rest. But something about this man made him hesitate. A creature whose shadows seemed alive, but now slept as soundly as any mortal, there was a strangeness to it that tugged at the edge of his senses.
Madam Bai had entrusted this patron to him, and he had sworn—if only within himself—to see the task through.
He played another soft, lingering song, letting the notes drift through the stillness like lantern light through fog, before finally allowing the final tone to fade and beginning to wrap up his guqin.
ㅤㅤ
Lan Wangji was woken up by a loud cough.
He blinked away the drowsiness, his back aching from having fallen asleep upright at his desk, guqin still resting before him. He had intended to stay alert through the night, just in case the creature asked him to play something else, but exhaustion had gotten the better of him.
When his vision cleared, he found the cloaked figure already on his feet.
ㅤ
The man clicked his tongue. “Ah, I’m very sorry, I must’ve fallen asleep,” he rasped, his voice still stretched thin and raw.
The sound jolted Lan Wangji fully awake. He rose quickly, hands smoothing over his robes more out of habit than necessity.
“No need to apologise,” he said.
Silence followed. Awkward, uneasy. The stench had returned. Lighter than the night before, but still wrong. Heavy, metallic, clinging to the back of his throat. Lan Wangji swallowed and tried not to react, though the man seemed far too accustomed to other people’s reactions to miss it. He sighed and reached into his cloak.
A hand emerged. Thin enough to pass for bone, the skin an unhealthy, ashen grey. Long blackened nails curved like a talon from each finger. It held a small pouch, bulging at the seams.
“Here. For your trouble. You play very well.”
“You can make the payment downstairs, with Madam Bai,” Lan Wangji replied without hesitation.
ㅤㅤ
“It’s a tip. You play very well. I have made a large enough deposit to that woman yesterday.”
ㅤㅤ
Lan Wangji hesitated, then extended his hand. The pouch dropped into his palm with expected weight. Far too much for a simple tip. Do not be greedy, he told himself. He would send most of it to his brother. This was not greed, he reminds himself. It was necessity.
ㅤㅤ
“Do you mind if I come back another time?” the man whispered. “Ah, never mind—I likely made you very uncomfortable—”
ㅤㅤ
Without quite knowing why, Lan Wangji nodded. “It is no trouble. I will be here if you come back.”
The man withdrew his skeletal hand back beneath the cloak. “Ah… okay. I have to go now. Thank you, once again.” He turned and slipped out the door.
Only then did Lan Wangji release the breath he’d been holding. He braced himself for the lingering stench, only to realise the air did not smell like anything at all.
Start by pulling him out of the fire and
hoping that he will forget the smell.