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Meng Yao did not often stumble upon humans in his remote part of the woods. He preferred it that way, preferred to revert to his true form away from prying eyes and stretch his limbs where no one could see after a long day of work back in the city. The refuge of his rundown cottage in the middle of nowhere made him feel about as safe as he thought himself able to feel and he had never taken kindly to intruders.
The young man lying between the ferns and shrubbery close to his home looked to be no older than twenty and was almost as pale as his robes. Those robes had once been white and still were in places, though most of the fabric was torn and stained by either dirt, blood, or what appeared to be singe marks. Still, the finely done embroidery, practically invisible unless the light hit it just the right way, betrayed their noble origin – drifting clouds in silver and light blues; delicate and understated while still conveying a wealth most people would never amass in their lives. A cultivator of the Lan Clan of Gusu.
Considering what had transpired in Gusu a little over a week ago, the young master’s sorry state was of no surprise. From what Meng Yao had heard in town, the Lan Clan had been all but decimated, with their ancestral seat reduced to ash and their leading family now firmly under the Wen Clan’s control – something about a hostage. Meng Yao had too many problems of his own to care much about the woes of the type of people soaring through the clouds on a daily basis, but seeing one of them so close did move his heart at least a little bit. He had a kind face, underneath the bruises. Maybe he could at least make his passing painless.
Meng Yao extended a hand towards the young cultivator’s throat, placing his fingers on his pulse points, as his unbidden visitor’s eyes opened just a smidge. He withdrew his hands immediately, wary of the power even an injured cultivator might wield, but no attack came. Quite the contrary. The cultivator’s lips curled into a smile as his half-opened eyes focused on Meng Yao, interest clear in his gaze.
There was no way back now.
Even if he had been willing to disregard this man finding his home, he could not afford to let him go now. Having people know about his true nature was a risk too substantial to take, considering the type of attention it would invite. And besides, without help, this cultivator would probably not survive much longer anyway…
Just as Meng Yao decided to reach for his knife, he felt gentle fingers on his left ear. He looked down and once again met glassy grey eyes, sparkling with mirth.
“Cute,” whispered the mighty cultivator, still playing with Meng Yao’s ear. Apart from the soot being smeared into his fur, the sensation was not at all unpleasant. The cultivator looked up at him completely entranced, his touch careful, if a little clumsy… and his smile positively dazzling.
He really did have a kind face.
Well.
Meng Yao supposed that, all things considered, this man had really not seen all that much. He was obviously nursing a substantial head injury and showed early signs of fever, if the childlike wonder in his eyes and the flush on his cheeks were anything to go by…
He felt his own lips curve into a smile and gently took the cultivator’s left hand when he tried to raise it too; the knife all but forgotten.
“Let me see what I can do for you…”
_
Lan Xichen awoke with a terrible headache in a bed that was not his own. Where was he? And how did he end up here?
The week he had spent on the run was blurring together in his mind; no water, no food, no rest, just the ever-present terror and the stench of smoke that would not leave his nose. His home, his family… His body had failed him in the middle of some forest, who knew where. He remembered lying in the dewy grass of a clearing and staring up at the bright, cloudless sky, thinking that this would be his end, the end of his clan, his ultimate failure.
And he remembered warm hands on his skin and a smile.
“It is good to see you awake, gongzi.”
Lan Xichen looked up and saw the smile from his hazy memory once again directed at him. In the doorway of the tiny hut he was in stood a young man in simple robes. He bowed and entered the room, placing a few vegetables on a low table in the corner before turning back to Lan Xichen.
“My name is Meng Yao,” said the man and sat down next to Lan Xichen’s cot with a recently filled teapot and two cups, “At your service. I found you outside my home two days ago. You were delirious and I took you in, I am glad you seem to be improving.”
Another close-lipped smile.
“Is there a name gongzi would feel comfortable sharing with me?”
Two days. Two days, that would mean that his hunters had undoubtedly caught up to him, and…
Meng Yao handed Lan Xichen, who was trying his best to calm his racing heartbeat, one of the cups and waited for him to drink before taking a sip himself. With his throat less dry, Lan Xichen felt secure enough to attempt speech.
“I am deeply grateful for your help, Meng-gongzi,” he said, bowed as deeply as his position allowed, and tried his utmost not to cough, “I am in your debt, and I will try to repay it in any way possible, but I fear I have to leave – Dangerous people are following me, and I do not wish to bring them into your home, please…”
The rest of his sentence was delayed by the cough he had tried to suppress. Gods, when had he ever felt this weak…?
Meng Yao waited for him to finish coughing and pressed the refilled cup into his hands once more.
“There is no need to worry about your pursuers.”
Another smile, showing teeth this time. Strangely prominent canines…
“They will not bother you again.”
Transfixed by Meng Yao’s smile, Lan Xichen recalled another image from the haze of his memories.
“Did you not have…”
He stopped himself before finishing the sentence. His uncle would have his head if he knew that he had almost asked a perfect stranger who had saved his life whether he had not had ears the last time he had seen him – he really did feel quite dizzy. What other explanation than hallucination was there for the image of fox ears nestled amidst Meng Yao’s dark brown hair, and slitted pupils turning round as they met his eyes? He remembered reaching up – oh, if it did not violate decorum, his uncle would faint on the spot. Petting strange men’s heads; really, Xichen, where are your manners; and to think you represent all that is left of the Gusu Lan…
Meng Yao was still smiling at him, his head cocked to the side and his golden eyes warm and gentle.
“Gongzi was quite ill the last time we spoke,” he said, “And should not worry about my perception of him. Though I would like to know what to call him by.”
“Lan Xichen,” he answered, suddenly sure that he wanted to trust this man, “Please call me Lan Xichen.”