“What is it?” Zhou Zishu asked, tilting his head slightly to meet Wen Kexing’s eyes.

Wen Kexing ran his comb through Zhou Zishu’s hair, gently and deftly smoothing out the knots. He marveled again at its softness. A quiet chuckle slipped past his lips as he remembered the tangled mess that adorned A-Xu’s head when they first met.

“Just thinking about the bird’s nest you sported when you were in disguise,” he answered, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Hmm, lucky I have you to keep my hair nice and neat now, don’t I?”

Wen Kexing hummed in answer, pushing Zhou Zishu’s head forward again as his fingers divided a small section of hair into three strands and began braiding. This had become a quiet ritual for them after they had sealed the armoury and relocated permanently to the mountains. Every morning, Wen Kexing would comb Zhou Zishu’s hair before carefully braiding it. The style was different day to day, ranging from one long, simple braid down the centre of Zishu’s back, to a complex set of plaits arranged at the crown of his head, held in place with one of a dozen zan, the lengths free-flowing around his shoulders. No matter the style though, Wen Kexing was careful, moving with care, and savouring every second spent braiding his A-Xu’s tresses.

"That reminds me,” Zhou Zishu starts, leaning his head back again. “ You do my hair everyday now, and used to do A-Xiang’s too, but you never let either of us touch yours. Why is that?” 

The hair falls from Wen Kexing’s frozen fingers, the soft smile drops from his face. His breath stilled in his chest, and he can feel his eyes getting hot.

“Lao Wen? What is it?” Zhou Zishu asks.

Taking a deep breath, and clutching at Zhou Zishu’s shoulder for strength, Wen Kexing tells him.

“A-Yan, do you know why I braid your hair so carefully every morning?” he hears his mother ask. She is standing behind him, her hands working to gently weave his hair into two long braids she will pin up to keep out of his face. Her hands run over the zan’s cloud-shaped top.

“No Mama, but the other boys don’t braid their hair. Why do we?”

“Because, A-Yan, our hair is very precious to us. In the Healer Valley, we’re taught that hair is sacred. It’s how your Nainai recognises you. Our hair connects us to the people who came before us, and it’s where we carry our spirits. So it’s important to protect it and keep it safe. Do you understand, little one?” She asks the last as she comes around to crouch in front of him, his braids tied off and pinned up. 

Zhen Yan nodded. “But why braids?” Gu Miaomiao smiled and laid a hand on his small shoulder.

“We let our hair grow long and braid it for protection. The three strands represent the body, mind, and spirit, and when we weave them together, they can protect and strengthen each other. Three strands are stronger than one, just like three people are stronger than one. But it’s important to only touch and braid your hair with good thoughts, and only let people you trust touch your hair, people you know will touch your spirit with love.”

“I understand Mama. That’s why you can touch my hair and so can Baba, but the boy that pushed me yesterday can’t because he’s mean and he’ll make my spirit bad.Can I go play now?”

Gu Miaomiao laughed even as she nodded, watching A-Yan run out of their home, hair pinned up and out of harm’s way.

The peaceful scene collapsed. Zhen Yan ran into a pair of unfamiliar black-clad legs. 

“Oh sorry mister!” he exclaimed, brushing himself off. “I’m so-”

SMACK. Zhen Yan crumbled to the ground, his cheek stinging with the slap.

“A-Yan!” Gu Miaomiao shouted, running out to protect him, Wen Ruyu not far behind. The rest dissolves into a confusing blur of fear and confusion, Zhen Yan abandoned in the dirt, flashes of black, white, and red as ghosts surged forwards to surround his parents. He could hear himself screaming, crying out for his Mama and Baba but they never came. Zhen Yan didn’t understand why they weren’t coming to him until the big man who had hit him called the ghosts away and he saw them. His parents’ bodies, motionless on the ground. 

Why were they sleeping? 

Before Zhen Yan could ask the big man what his parents were doing on the ground, the big man’s hand reached out, picking him up by his hair. Zhen Yan cried out in pain, but that only made the man yank on the soft strands harder. He couldn’t understand why the big man would do that to him; would risk damaging his very spirit like that. Hadn’t his Mama said hair was sacred? That it should only be touched with care and with love? So then why was the big man hauling him by his hair?

Zhen Yan was dragged all the way to the Ghost Valley by his hair. The big man brought him to a large cavern and stood in the middle of a crowd of ghosts and demons, all jeering at the small child clutched within their master’s grip. A sharp cry pierced the hair, Zhen Yan crying out against the pain as his feet left the ground, his hair bearing his entire weight as the big man lifted him up for all to see. 

The shling of a sword being drawn. A woosh of hair caressing his cheek. A crack as small knees hit the hard-packed earth. Laughter, manic and fierce, as the ghosts watched a human child frantically gathering the long pieces of hair off the ground. It only got louder when the child started patting his own head, crying out at the realisation that it was his hair. His hair that had been defiled and shorn short. His spirit that had been tarnished. His last connection to his parents, to his ancestors, severed. 

Wen Kexing didn’t realise he was shaking until Zhou Zishu’s arms wrapped around his waist. 

“Lao Wen,” he started before pausing and drawing Wen Kexing into a tight hug instead. He pulled him in tightly, as if to soothe away the old hurt. His hands rubbed warm, soothing circles on his lower back, careful as ever not to touch Wen Kexing’s hair. He held on until the shaking stopped, until Wen Kexing’s breathing slowed and returned to normal.

Stealing himself, Wen Kexing pushed himself away slightly before he continued.

“Zhen Yan died that day. His life was cut short along with his hair.” He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady himself. “It took a while for me to recover after that, but it wasn’t all bad in Ghost Valley, as long as I stayed close to Luo Fumeng. She raised and protected me until I was strong enough to protect myself. She is the only one who has touched my hair since the old Valley Master cut it, and she’s the one who taught me to braid when I took in A-Xiang. She used to braid my hair too, but I told her to stop. Wen Kexing is not worthy of the sacred nature of braids.” 

Zhou Zishu drew in a sharp breath at those last words. Wen Kexing turned away from him again, refusing to meet his eyes. A hand landed on his shoulder, but he shrugged it off, hunching into himself again. He couldn’t stand to see the softness, the love and compassion and comfort, in Zhou Zishu’s eyes. He couldn’t stand to be told that he is worthy of braids, of everything, not when he knows it’s not true.

A sigh, and Wen Kexing heard rustling as Zhou Zishu stood from where he had still been sat on the stool. The air grew heavy as he felt his companion draw closer. He tensed as he felt a gentle tug on a loose strand of hair.

“Is this okay?” Zhou Zishu whispered from behind him, fingers dragging lightly through the dark strands. “You can trust me, Lao Wen. Me and A-Xiang, and Chengling too. None of us would ever hurt you.”

Air rushed out of Wen Kexing’s lungs as he nodded jerkily, eyes squeezed shut, hands shaking again even as he passed Zhou Zishu the comb. A little laugh, a small, joyful sound, rustled the hair at the back of his neck, and he relaxed a fraction, letting himself be pushed onto the stool. Slowly, as Zhou Zishu carefully and methodically ran the comb through his hair, Wen Kexing felt himself relax. When he felt clumsy but nevertheless gentle fingers part the long strands into three smaller sections, he closed his eyes again, a single tear running down his cheek. 

“You are worthy of this, Lao Wen,” Zhou Zishu said, as he wove the hair into an untidy braid.