Work Text:
It had finally happened. It was inevitable that even the great Sword-Plundering Nemesis would have his moments of weakness, and sure enough, he had fallen—to a cold, that is.
The trio of Lang Wu Yao, Mu Tian Ming, and Shang Bu Huan had gotten caught in a sudden storm. One minute the sky was clear, and then in the next, thunderheads had rolled in and unleashed a torrent of rain upon them. By the time they had found shelter in a nearby cave, all of them were drenched. Shang and Lang had waited near the front of the cave with their backs turned as Tian Ming changed into dry clothes to give her privacy. Then Lang took his turn, separate from Shang, because he was sensitive about showing his body and being naked around others, even other men. That left Shang as the last one to get out of his soaked clothing and therefore the most vulnerable to catching a cold.
Although Ling Ya had gotten wet as well, he was blessed to be impervious to such human afflictions. All he needed was to be wiped down, and he was good as new. He couldn’t help but feel a little smug about that, but when he voiced that feeling out loud, Lang had strummed his strings in annoyance, effectively shutting him up.
In any case, the next morning, Shang could not get out of his bedroll. When Tian Ming put a hand to his forehead, she found it was hot and made the executive decision for the group to stay there in the cave for the time being until Shang recovered from his fever instead of moving on in their latest excursion. Before the storm had hit, they had been on their way to check out some trouble that they had heard about from some people in a nearby village—trouble that they suspected was caused by unnatural sources, possibly even a Shen Hui Mo Xie. But with their most experienced and powerful member out of action and needing care, there was no point in trying to pursue that lead for now.
As Tian Ming placed a wet handkerchief on Shang’s forehead, Lang hovered anxiously in the background. Ling Ya could feel Lang’s distress, not just from his expression and observable behavior, but from deep within himself. Since his body was made of wood, he did not really experience the same physiological sensations that his human companions did, but he felt a throbbing ache of worry all the same, coming from what might be called his soul, which was unquestionably connected to Lang’s.
“Ya know, pacing isn’t going to make Shang get better any faster, Wu Yao. You could just save yourself the effort.”
Lang huffed wordlessly, and his grip on Ling Ya’s neck tightened. While Ling Ya felt the increase in pressure, it didn’t really hurt the way it would have if he’d had a neck made of flesh. If it had, Lang wouldn’t have done it. He would never deliberately hurt Ling Ya. The worst he ever did was agitate Ling Ya’s strings, and that mostly just tickled. In fact, Lang took meticulous care of Ling Ya’s physical form, polishing his lacquered surface more often than was probably necessary, and tuning him every day at least, sometimes more frequently if the weather or even more localized ambient conditions affected the tension in his strings. Though he couldn’t say for certain what it would have felt like to a human, Ling Ya supposed the tuning was equivalent to getting a massage, or an itch scratched. Being out of tune made him feel out of sorts, and the tuning restored him to equilibrium. That was the closest thing he experienced to getting sick and recovering.
After placing the handkerchief on Shang’s head, Tian Ming went about wiping down most of Shang’s body with another cloth. When she removed Shang’s shirt, Lang pointedly looked away. Ling Ya didn’t have the facial muscles to smirk, but the joints in his head swiveled so that his jaw waggled down and up again in a silent chuckle at Lang’s obvious embarrassment. Lately Lang had been getting flustered around Shang, and while Ling Ya didn’t know firsthand what it was like to have a crush, he had observed enough human behavior in his years that he recognized it for what it was. Lang had reacted pretty much the same way back when he was getting to know Tian Ming.
Watching Lang fumble his way around these two people was entertaining but also frustrating. Lang didn’t like to use his words because he wanted to avoid causing issues through his enchanted voice, but it went beyond that to repressing a lot of his emotions and hesitating to act on them. Getting him to take down a target of his righteous anger was simple enough—it was pure instinct to him. But getting him to pursue an object of his romantic affections? Good luck.
Sometimes Ling Ya wished he had arms and legs so he could just push Lang toward Shang and Tian Ming and tell them all to kiss already, or whatever humans did to show their affection, and get it over with. However, even though he had far fewer inhibitions against running his mouth than Lang, he wasn’t so thoughtless that he would casually blurt out that particular sort of opinion. Ultimately this was something Lang needed to figure out on his own. Until then, Ling Ya would be there to listen to Lang’s troubles and be the comforting presence that Lang could reach for without hesitation and without fail.
When Tian Ming finally finished wiping Shang down, she addressed Lang. “If you don’t mind, Wu Yao, I would like for you to go find some herbs for me that we can use for reducing Bu Huan’s fever. Our medicine supplies are running low.” Tian Ming excelled at fighting, but she was also knowledgeable about healing, which came in handy at times like this when someone got sick or injured. After briefing Lang on what to look for and where to search, she sent him off on his errand—with Ling Ya in tow as usual, strapped to his back so he could keep his hands free.
Ling Ya was grateful to Tian Ming for giving Lang an outlet for his listlessness. Of the three humans, she seemed to be the most emotionally stable and mature despite not even being the oldest. While Shang wasn’t prone to the borderline childish tantrums that overcame Lang at times, he could also be quite muleheaded in his own way. Tian Ming balanced them out with her patience and flexibility. That didn’t mean she was a pushover, though. She would still scold Shang and Lang as necessary when it became apparent they needed that intervention. Neither Shang nor Lang wanted to get on her bad side, and for good reason. Ling Ya really respected how she could go for the jugular without even raising her voice.
Outside the cave, the rain had long since stopped, but the ground had yet to dry. It was times like these that Ling Ya was glad he did not have legs. The squelch of mud beneath Lang’s feet made him shudder a little. As an instrument, he was particularly sensitive to sound, and that was one sound he found deeply unpleasant. Apparently sensing Ling Ya’s discomfort, Lang reached back to touch the back of his neck in a gesture of reassurance.
“So, Shang, huh? A handsome guy by human standards, am I right?” Now that the two of them were alone, Ling Ya couldn’t resist teasing Lang a little.
“Mmm.”
It wasn’t a yes or a no, but Ling Ya didn’t need one. Regardless of how Shang was perceived by others, Lang was deeply attracted to him. Not so much for his face or any other part of his appearance, but rather because of who he was on the inside. He was pure of heart and brave in a way that Lang couldn’t ever imagine being. It wasn’t much different from why he had fallen for Tian Ming. Although he had only known them for a little less than a year now, the two of them had become everything to Lang. His gaze followed them without him even meaning to. Even without his supernatural connection to Lang, it was plain as day to Ling Ya how much his companion cared for them.
“Are ya ever gonna tell them how ya feel?”
He thought Lang would dodge the question like he had the previous one, but he surprised Ling Ya by answering. “There’s no point. I’m not worthy of them.”
Ling Ya didn’t have a pithy retort for that. Lang had been through so much in his life already, and he had not emerged unscathed. He was perpetually haunted by his past mistakes—his mother’s death, his unknowing manipulation of the tavern patrons, the bloody Court Virtuoso competition, and his utter helplessness in the face of Chao Feng’s twisted love and his submission to her will. Ling Ya wanted to tell Lang that none of it was his fault, but Lang wouldn’t accept that kind of consolation. Though he had managed to break free of Chao Feng’s cage, his sense of self was still mired in the feeling of guilt for existing at all. He believed he brought everyone misfortune regardless of any evidence to the contrary that was accumulating during his time with his new companions. Ling Ya could only hope that one day, with Shang Bu Huan and Mu Tian Ming’s help, Lang would be able to overcome that feeling.
For a while after that, Lang said nothing more, and Ling Ya decided to keep quiet as well.
Eventually, Lang reached the forest the group had passed through the previous day. Tian Ming had told him to look for a plant that was usually found growing at the base of a particular type of tree. If it had been something that made a sound, it would have been easier for him to find, but instead, he was reliant on his sight. Ling Ya tried to help as much as he could, but without a flexible neck, his field of vision was severely reduced compared to a human’s, and without limbs, he could not go off on his own to search either. Once again, he found himself wishing he had a human body so he could make himself more useful to Lang.
Perhaps half an hour after they began searching the forest, they found the herb growing in a patch at the base of a tree, the very type that Tian Ming had instructed them to look for. Lang pulled out a few of the plants by their roots and placed them inside a piece of oiled paper to protect them.
“That’s one down!” Ling Ya said encouragingly. “Two more to go!”
Lang gave a curt grunt in reply. Even though there were no other humans around, there was a chance his voice could still attract trouble of a different sort, or even disturb the local wildlife, so he continued to use words sparingly.
They spent the better part of the morning hunting for the herbs. Ling Ya threw in some idle chatter at intervals in an attempt to distract Lang from his worries, but he was unsure of how successful he was. He could still feel a knot of tension radiating from Lang through their connection all the while.
It was nearly lunchtime when Lang returned to the cave. Shang was either asleep or not lucid enough to notice Lang’s return or greet him, for he did not stir from his resting position.
Lang handed the packet of freshly picked herbs to Tian Ming wordlessly. After verifying the contents, Tian Ming smiled at him. “Thank you very much, Wu Yao.”
Lang ducked his head a little. “It was nothing.” Ling Ya once again laughed inwardly. Even though Lang had gotten more comfortable around Tian Ming in general, there were still plenty of moments when he would turn shy again in her presence.
“Don’t say that. Thanks to your efforts, now I can cook some medicine for Bu Huan. Speaking of which, can you help start a fire while I’m preparing these herbs?”
Lang didn’t need further prompting or instruction. Although there were many things he had never learned to do as a consequence of his unusual upbringing and adolescence, starting a fire was a task he had no issues with. It was one of the first skills he had learned from his mother as a child living up in the snowy mountains. Ling Ya could remember the sight of a young Lang dutifully tending to the fire in their hut. It was one of his own earliest memories from the time he had come into existence. Although Lang’s wilderness survival skills had atrophied for years during his time living at the tavern and in the imperial palace, he’d gotten plenty of practice anew since joining Tian Ming and Shang in their cross-country journey.
With greater confidence this time, Lang went out once again to gather some tinder, looking for branches and twigs that were relatively dry. It wasn’t easy since the storm had drenched most things the previous day, but he did his best.
Back in the cave, Tian Ming had begun sorting through the plants, separating them into usable and unusable parts, and grinding down the portions that would be going into Shang's medicine using a mortar and pestle from her medicine kit.
Lang set down the kindling and got to work on his own task, with Ling Ya still strapped to his back. Anyone else might have found the weight burdensome, but Lang was used to it and liked having Ling Ya close by. He and Tian Ming spent some time toiling in companionable silence. For a while, all that could be heard in the cave was the rhythmic scrape of pestle against mortar and the rustle of wood against wood. Though Lang had never said it outright, Ling Ya figured that one of the reasons he enjoyed Tian Ming’s company was the way she could accommodate the silences between them without forcing anyone to fill it with chatter. Though not as reticent and taciturn as Lang, Tian Ming wasn’t the type to ramble aimlessly for the sake of it either.
Once the fire was going, Tian Ming took to boiling some water from their water carriers. Whereas Shang had one made of sheepskin, Tian Ming’s was a polished bottle gourd, and Lang used a flat silver flask that he had brought with him from Phoenix Light Palace—one of the few concrete remnants of that life that he still carried, and more for practical reasons than for sentimental ones. Between the water from their portable vessels and some rainwater that Tian Ming had collected using large leaves that curled at the edges into a scoop-like shape, she managed to cook not only Shang’s medicine but also some congee using the rice they had gotten from the village they had passed through recently.
Toward the end of their labors, Shang finally awoke. Lang heard him stir before he even saw him move and rushed to his side to help him sit up.
“Shang!”
“How long have I been out?” Shang asked groggily. His voice sounded weak and raspy.
“About half a day,” Ling Ya piped up from Lang’s back. “We’ve been worried about ya!”
“Sorry for getting sick at a time like this.”
“It happens sometimes,” said Tian Ming. She walked over with a bowl of medicine and sat down beside Shang. Filling the spoon, she brought it toward Shang’s mouth.
“There’s no need to baby me,” Shang complained with a grimace. “I have hands.”
“We can’t afford to have you accidentally dropping this bowl, Bu Huan,” Tian Ming said firmly. “That would be a terrible waste of Wu Yao’s efforts. He spent most of the morning looking for the ingredients that are in this, after all.”
“Oh, really? Thanks, Wu Yao.” Shang gave him a nod and a grin.
Lang shook his head. “It was nothing.”
“Lang’s been worrying about ya all morning, so ya better drink up!” said Ling Ya.
“Okay, okay, I get it.” Shang opened his mouth and let Tian Ming feed him.
Shang almost spit out the first mouthful. “Ugh, what’s in this? It’s so bitter!”
“It’s good for your health and will help reduce your fever,” Tian Ming said. Her tone made it clear she would not accept further argument or complaint, so Shang obediently drank down the rest, though not without looking a bit pained.
After the medicine was gone, Tian Ming went to ladle out some congee for Shang. Lang probably assumed she would feed him again, but instead she passed the bowl to Lang. From the way she looked at him expectantly, he eventually realized he was supposed to be the one on feeding duty this time.
Ling Ya felt the prickle of heat from Lang’s embarrassment and almost cackled with glee. “You can’t expect Tian Ming to do all the work around here, Lang,” Ling Ya said, not bothering to hide his amusement. “Time to step up and do your fair share!”
With his hands full and Ling Ya on his back, Lang couldn’t flick his fingers across Ling Ya’s strings, so he merely scowled before sauntering back over to Shang’s side to sit beside him. He filled the spoon and lifted it toward Shang. “Here.”
Shang slurped up the rice porridge. The wrinkle in his brow relaxed a little as he sighed in satisfaction. “Ohhh, that’s good. Nothing like some congee when you’re sick.” He licked his lips.
Lang flushed. Ling Ya guessed he had probably been staring too intently at Shang’s mouth just now.
Unfortunately, Shang noticed Lang’s flush. “Hmm, Wu Yao, are you alright? Your face looks kind of red. Are you sure you didn’t catch a cold too?”
Ling Ya snorted but said nothing to avoid drawing Lang’s ire.
“No, I’m fine,” Lang replied. He resumed feeding Shang, who frowned a little but didn’t push the issue. As far as Ling Ya could tell, Shang was oblivious to why Lang was acting so strangely.
This is really gonna take a while to go anywhere… he mused inwardly. If he’d had a jointed neck he would have shaken his head in resignation.
Once Shang had finished his congee and lay back down again to rest some more, Lang jumped up as if a fire had been lit under him and fled to the other side of the cave. Tian Ming took the used bowl and spoon from him and handed him a new bowl filled with congee for his own consumption. He nodded in thanks and settled down to eat.
“It’s nice to be able to take care of Bu Huan like this,” Tian Ming remarked as she stacked the empty bowl Lang had given her on top of the one that had been used for Shang’s medicine. “As you’ve probably noticed during our time together, he doesn’t like to accept help from other people even though he’s constantly helping others himself. He’s always doing the difficult things that no one else is able or willing to do. He deserves to be spoiled every once in a while.”
Lang bobbed his head in agreement, not pausing in his eating. No doubt he was hungry after all he had done throughout the day so far.
“It took him being unable to resist for ya to be able to do it,” Ling Ya quipped. “He’s as stubborn as they come.”
“Indeed. But he’s not the only one.” She left it at that, not naming who exactly she meant. She could have been referring to herself or Lang, but Ling Ya suspected that it was the latter. She was more emotionally perceptive than Shang and had probably picked up on Lang’s feelings for him. Perhaps getting him to feed Shang had been her subtle push to bring them closer together.
As for why she had not said anything about Lang’s feelings for her, Ling Ya wondered if she was like him and waiting for Lang to come to a place where he could accept and confront his feelings enough to express them without assuming they would be a burden on his companions. Whatever the case, Lang still had a long way to go before he would reach that point.
Tian Ming and Lang spent the remainder of the day alternating caring for Shang. His fever broke later in the evening, but he remained bedridden due to fatigue. During that interval, Tian Ming and Lang played a duet for him, with Tian Ming also singing, to help lift his spirits and keep him from getting too bored. For the duration of the performance, Ling Ya kept his mouth shut and let his body do the talking, Lang’s graceful fingers moving over his strings with a practiced ease. The sublime joy of being played like this was something no human would ever understand, in Ling Ya’s opinion.
After another day, Shang was finally well enough to travel, much to everyone’s relief.
As Shang and Tian Ming packed up their belongings, Lang went to put out the fire and make sure there were no leftover embers that might set off a wildfire if they escaped the cave. Ling Ya sensed a pang of regret emanating from him. “Do ya wish ya could’ve spent more time looking after him? Maybe ya should hope he gets sick again so ya can feed him again.”
“Shut up.”
Ling Ya grinned. “Don’t worry, there’ll be more opportunities if ya stick around. Or maybe next time it’ll be Tian Ming ya get to feed, hehe. Wouldn’t that be nice?”
“I said, shut up.” Ling Ya could tell Lang’s heart wasn’t fully in it though. His affection for his companions had only grown throughout the past two days. It was obvious from the way he perked up immediately when they called his name from outside the cave and hurried to join them.
Ling Ya hoped, for Lang’s sake, that there would be more such memories waiting for Lang in the future.