lazingroyalty | (no subject)

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It could have been worse.

The statement, despite being true, doesn't fill Guangyao with any sense of relief. If anything, it's annoying. Of cours eh didn't want to die, but to have even that taken away from him at the end, stripped of rank, title, any distinguishing mark of who he once was? He might as well have been dead.

No cinnabar mark dotted his brow. No scholar's hat on his head. No robes of gold and cream.

Instead it was replaced with...plainness, though one would struggle to describe Guangyao's face as plain even now. White robes, an unadorned home. The area was breathtakingly beautiful, of course, as the land of the Gusu Lan Sect usually are.

But there is nothing.

Oh there's birds and animals that wander by. There are servants who come to tidy the place, but none dare to speak to him. They're smart to refrain from doing so, Guangyao will reluctantly admit, but it's annoying all the same. He finds himself more and more looking anxiously and eagerly for Xichen's visits, needing something to break up the monotony.

So he paces, hands clasped behind his back, making sure his steps are measured and slow so as not to be mistaken for the agitation and impatience that it was. Her shoulder still ached from the scarred wound from Wangji's blade very nearly cleaving it from him; it had been close, sure, but Gusu's healers were famed for a reason. Just another tally on the list of things he owes Xichen for saving him from.

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It's not an ideal situation for anyone.

Xichen is half-in seclusion, meaning he would prefer to fully cut himself off from the world but the responsibility of a former sect leader detained on his turf means he can't, instead enforcing strict rules about no contact with Jin Guangyao from the disciples. They are well-trained and respect him, they even idolise Wangji to a degree, so it hasn't been hard (so far) to keep Jin Guangyao isolated. There will be an incident sooner or later, he knows in his bones, but he is expecting one so it shan't be too much of a surprise when his old zhiji lashes out.

It isn't as if Jin Guangyao can help himself, after all. Vicious, violent liar that he is.

Xichen visits him once a week, the rest of the time leaving the man in his own seclusion with the 4000 rules of Lan decorum and a painting set. Nothing more. A courtesy from an old friend, and all Xichen could bear to allow to keep Jin Guangyao somewhat sane up the mountain retreat: the Lans are not cruel, not even to someone as depraved as ...

When he arrives in the garden, his gaze drifts up between the open doors to the figure beyond cast in the shade of his mother's house. Pacing, Jin Guangyao looks almost like himself again, an imperious note to the way he carries himself even in private that Xichen never paid attention to before. The sect leader has a box of new paintbrushes with him: a small gift in case they are needed. He has no idea if the other man has taken up his old hobby or simply been festering with spite, but ... just in case.

He walks up the porch, a silent sigh prefacing his voice.

"A-Yao."

Once upon a time, Guangyao would've been thankful for the peace and quiet away from everyone bustling to his attention. Just a few minutes peace.

He'd give anything to have that business again now.

He turns upon hearing Xichen's voice, a smile automatically spreading on his face. Despite everything, he's always glad to see Xichen. So long as Xichen continues to visit him, he knows he's going to live for a while longer, that he hasn't been abandoned. If there's anything that would hurt him even worse it'd be being completely forgotten after everything he'd done--good and bad.

"Zewu-jun," he greets Xichen politely. 'Zewu-jun' but said in the same warm tone like he was using 'er ge' again. He bows, because of course he does, and glances up at him. "How lovely to know you still deign to visit my prison. I've been looking forward to this all week. Shall I make us tea?"

The soft scorn has him wincing as he looks away. Prison is such a spiteful way of putting it, even if it's true: Jin Guangyao knows he doesn't have to be so thankless about this whole setup, and yet. Xichen sometimes wonders if his life would have been easier had his former zhiji died, then guilt rolls through him in the middle of the night and he can't sleep either way.

He steps inside and nods to the offer of tea. The box of new brushes is set down quietly on the table, voice stuck in his throat.

It hurts to hurt Xichen .It hurts even more that Xichen does nothing against it. Guangyao can't tell if he'd feel better or worse if Xichen were to lash out against him.

He drops his arms to his side, his shoulders slumping, and he sighs deeply. It's not use trying to put up some act like none of this bothers him, but he doesn't think it'd do any good to hide his irritation.

Being trapped here is what's best for him if he doesn't want to die, and Guangyao always wants to live. "Zewu-jun-- Er ge--" He doesn't even know how to address him anymore. It's hard to know what direction to take any of this.

He falls quiet again and wanders into the home, kept neat and clean. He cleans up the papers he'd been painting on--so yes, they're getting use even if only to try and paint the landscape--and begins to make the tea for them both. "I look forward to your visits," he says at length, for lack of something else to talk about in the moment.

Er-ge is too overly familiar coming from a monster, yet shadows of the past blend his acceptance of it into the cracks of his bones and he doesn't correct him. They have known each other too long for propriety to be entirely useful, here at what feels like the end of all days.

When Jin Guangyao rephrases himself, Xichen stiffens a little. He doesn't enjoy giving away his mood, heart worn on his sleeve around this man against his own wishes.

"I brought you new brushes."

Finer ones, the type Jin Guangyao might have enjoyed before: Xichen shouldn't have. He doesn't address the fact Jin Guangyao is happy to see him.

He glances over and then moves to collect the gift, making sure his fingers touch Xichen's as he takes them. "Thank you. I'll treasure them."

It's not like he has much else to treasure. It's another thing given to him by Xichen, allowed by him. Like his very existence right now. Guangyao sets his jaw and bids his mind to calmness, the anger warming in his belly despite it.

He wants to live.

He wishes Xichen would've let him die.

The juxtaposition of emotions makes him feel ill as he goes to put it away safely. When he wanders back, he stands and watches Xichen for a moment. He's never felt this awkward forced politeness between them before and at this time he doesn't know what to do with it. There's still that warm familiarity, that affection and warmth mired under bitterness and resentment and the knowledge that Xichen knows him now.

What does one do with being known?

Guangyao observes Xichen as he goes about the motions of serving the tea, the steps coming as naturally as breathing. He says nothing the entire time, watching and waiting, like an abused animal waiting for the sharp sting of another blow.

"You torture yourself." Is all he says in the end, pouring the tea. He doesn't even know if he's talking about Xichen or himself.

He sits and half-meditates in the back of his mind to remain calm, staring at nothing as the tea is served and the skin on the back of his hand prickles. His fingers curl into his robes on a knee.

"I suppose someone in prison would know about that," he answers demurely, accepting his tea to sip behind a sleeve.

The anger flares again, white-hot. "I am not here willing-- Tch!"

He sets the cup down just too hard, splashing the burning tea onto the back of his hand. He recoils, the pain almost pleasant and at the same time, not at all.

That riotous anger which was so deftly concealed from him for so long somehow makes it easier to remain level-headed. Xichen watches Jin Guangyao scald himself, passive in the way he was so long ago when Wen Chao tried to intimidate him in his own home.

"There is nowhere else for you to go," he says coolly, gaze lifting with a flick of lashes. "Even if we both wish there were."

And I were rid of you, here, where another was once imprisoned.

He nurses his hand to himself, examining the reddened skin to assure there's no damage beyond the surface level. His glare flits to Xichen. He wants to rage as much as he wants to cry, to lash out with words, or tears, or weapons he doesn't have any longer.

Guangyao inhales sharply through his nose, holds the breath for a beat too long and then exhales slowly.

"What do you want of me, Lan Xichen." He gestures around the house. "Am I an ornament now? A war trophy? A prisoner? You treat me like none of these things, so what do you want from me? Am I to play the part of your wife now?"

He knows, because of course he does, what this place was so long ago. If he just the next in a line of wives imprisoned by their sect leader husband? What a legacy to continue on. "Would you have me bearing your children, be that I could? Why am I here?"

What is the end goal here? Not knowing his place or what role he should play or where he should fit in chafes at him more than anything else.

Alarmed out of his calm by the word wife, his frown deepens across the table the longer Jin Guangyao talks ... as is the way when he visits, usually. Of course. This is a step nastier than last time, though.

"You are held here," he softly states with none the less sternness for a lack of volume, "because you have hurt so many people, that is all. It is not my wish to have you within all the breadth of Gusu, let alone Cloud Recesses."

Heat stings behind his eyes, blinked away slowly as a muscle works in his jaw. In no time at all since arriving, Xichen feels ill and off-kilter.

"Don't speak like a madman when you are not one."

Which makes it worse.

Guangyao smiles, but it's not pleasant. "Then why have me here? Why continue to visit me? Do you hope to rehabilitate me? What is your goal, Lan Xichen. It cannot be to simply let me rot and wither here."

He gestures around. "You say I'm not a madman, but what am I to become in a place like this without purpose? I've been working, constantly, continuously, for years, and now I'm dropped here and supposed to do-- What? Rest? Think of my misdeeds I have already confessed to, that have already tormented me for years, until I do become a madman?"

He already feels like he's going insane without answers here. He drops his hands and then rubs a hand over tired eyes. He covers his eyes and tilts his head up, as if trying to contain himself again.

"I thought I knew you so well, but nothing of this makes sense to me."

It is as he expects, as Wei Wuxian and Wangji always warn him before he visits: Jin Guangyao has nothing but words to turn into weapons and it is still his first instinct to do so. Disappointing and predictable, with Lan Xichen sitting as cool as jade where he watches the performance take place, the huffing and whining and insulting pleas that come off hard-done-by as if Jin Guangyao is the one suffering now compared to all the evils he visited on people. Self-centred. Everything is still about him.

Xichen hates that he knows what the echo of loving this man feels like, a tight and bitter knot in his chest.

"You never knew me," he says quietly after the tirade thrown his way. A slow blink speaks of tiredness, of resignation. "All you knew was how to keep me pacified."

Rising in a sussurating hiss of blue robes, his expression is stony and hard where he looks down at his former zhiji, so fallen from grace and goodness that it feels hard to breathe no matter how calm he forces himself to be. Xichen is known for his smiles and warmth but he grew up surrounded by ice and snow, and he has felt a quiet winter storm brewing in his breast for months after the fallout of the Guanyin temple.

"If I wanted to keep you safely here like a wife, merely errant and misbehaving, it would be a kindness compared to how little you deserve from me. In all honesty, I am astonished the spirit of Baxia has not returned to drag you to the Cold Pond to be drowned, for I do not know if I would stop it."

Xichen’s sudden rise startles him, Guangyao shrinking back like a wounded animal. He stares, wide-eyed, and then frowns.

Slowly he rises as well, folding his hands in front of him, fixing Xichen with a cool, disappointed look.

“What does it matter? I could stay here for a hundred years, flogging myself, repenting. You wouldn’t believe me anyhow.”

He’s quiet for a moment before looking away almost dismissively. “The closest I have ever been to my true self, to being happy and content, was with you. But you won’t believe me. You refuse to see me as capable of regret or redemption.

And I do regret. But even if I say such a thing, you don’t believe me.”

Guangyao bows his head, rubbing a hand over his eyes, confessing softly, “That is my fault, I know. What I do not know is how to change it.”

But he turns away then, as if he’s the one to decide this conversation is over and Xichen’s welcome has been overstayed.

"You will never be forgiven, a-Yao. Repenting is only good for your own soul, not whether I or others believe in you. Do it for yourself, not to prove a point."

That said, he whisks his robes and heads away from that turned back, intending to leave. Perhaps he will return next week and he may bring new paints ... or perhaps not, he cannot navigate his patience at this moment, striding for the doors.

What was the point in forgiving himself if it made no difference in how he was treated by those around him? What good would repenting do if the outcome would be the same regardless of if he did or not?

He says nothing, turning his back on Xichen to allow him to leave unimpeded. He doesn't break the tea cups, though he very badly wants to. He wants to be feral and wild for just a minute and destroy this entire house just to sate it, but he refrains. He paces like a caged tiger for a while, until his legs ache and the muscles straining to keep going satisfies him enough to permit himself to rest.

The next time Xichen comes, Guangyao is calm again, though he looks surprised to see him. He hadn't been sure he was even going to come again, but he lowers his eyes and bows politely in greeting, gesturing for Xichen to come inside.

In all truth, Xichen doesn't really want to return. He has to meditate for hours beforehand, spend time with Wangji, and take his mind off the whole thing by attending the new summer lectures with the collected students of the sects. It all works in his favour and his mood is much higher when he makes his way to the secluded house up the mountain, albeit without any gifts this time.

Any apprehension he has about Jin Guangyao's bitter nature is momentarily eased when he sees that polite bow, entering with a cursory glance around.

"Have you been keeping busy?"

He watches Xichen, quiet and-- not sullen, exactly, but it wouldn't be far to assume that Guangyao was pouting about this all.

The place is still neat and spotless, one side of the room set up for use as an area for him to paint. Otherwise there's nothing to suggest someone else has been living there.

"I have," he answers simply, looking meaningfully toward the paintings. His voice sounds a little scratchy--when does he had time to really use it here?--but otherwise he seems fine. He moves to start doing the tea for them, watching Xichen with a slight wariness.

Someone is awfully quiet, he thinks, making his way over to the paintings to look them over. A small smile curls in the corner of his lips, enjoying their dimensions of colour.

"These are good."

It's not a compliment he would give if they weren't, able to flatter without being direct where necessary ... but he's honest, and he does like them. They speak of something like softness.

Guangyao gives a soft 'ha' of amusement, shaking his head.

"You pay me too high a compliment. You flatter me. My scribbles hardly can hold a candle to a master's work."

But he smiles a little, please regardless. "I have the hardest time with the sunlight."

"Sunlight and water are the most difficult, don't feel bad," he agrees, gracefully taking the compliment without making a fuss. He glances over at Jin Guangyao, assessing his demeanour. "Your effort with these is clear, they weren't just past-times."

As with everything else Jin Guangyao gives a damn about, he really tried and got quite far along. Xichen joins him at the table, kneeling.

"What made you choose those scenes?"

At least the conversation is going better than before, even though Guangyao doesn't feel like he can relax.

He bows his head at the praise, taking a seat opposite Xichen to pour the tea. He seems in a better mood too, Guangyao notices, though he can't be sure why or what's changed. Even before Guangyao had provoked him last Xichen had seemed tense enough to snap at a swift breeze.

Finished with the tea, he looks toward the paintings and then toward one of the windows. "...It's a sight that greets me every morning. It feels important to capture it as it is." He's deliberately trying to not be nasty and say that it's the only thing he can see around him at any point in time, or that he wants to capture it in case there comes a day it's decided he should never see it again.

"I'm not sure what else to paint yet."

"The other scenery is much the same, albeit not as picturesque as your first choice."

Sipping his tea, he thinks on it for a moment. Unsure what possesses him to offer, he decides with very little hesitation.

"You may paint me, if you like."

Edited 2023-07-07 10:42 (UTC)

Guangyao gives a soft snort of amusement, nodding; he knows that much. No matter which way he might try to look, it'll be roughly the same. Maybe he should just climb on the roof at some point...

Xichen's offer startles him and he freezes, looking at the other with a wide-eyed bafflement. It's getting a little harder for his emotions to be hidden behind the mask, if only because he's had no one to practice on up here. "...You?"

Oh.

It wasn't a terrible idea, honestly, but he's still surprised Xichen suggested it first. "...I wouldn't mind it. No, in fact...I think it'd be a good idea. I can't think of a better model and inspiration for a piece than the illustrious First Jade of Lan."

"There are not many paintings of him, I hear."

The flattery is let go with a polite smile, though he is pleased that Jin Guangyao accepts the idea and even likes it. Maybe it will be a good distraction, better stimulation than mere plants.

"Where do you think you would like me for it?"

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buys a paid again for this

uh oh icon time got real

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