#anaran

君子兰 white clivia]

I’m really excited to share this piece I commissioned from the wonderful @uwibbit! I wanted something lovely and peaceful of Zhang Zheng/Anaran, because their story really stuck with me. It felt so romantic.

Anaran hides him away and scours the land to find a cure to Zhang Zheng's illness. Maybe when he finds one, he's forced to give up something valuable in exchange for it. But what does Anaran have except Zhang Zheng himself? He exchanges the Dark Sword for it. After all, can he use the Dark Sword now that its wielder is believed to be dead? Surely someone in the Yiqi Alliance would spot the famous blade and grow suspicious.

Zhang Zheng recovers. He is healthy enough, but although he tries, he never regains the full vigor, stamina, and strength it takes to wield a sword like he once had. He dives into scholarship, finding a home in books and ink and scrolls, deciding to use his time to compile stories, to compile history, as they travel across the mortal world. They never stay for more than about a year in the same place, on the small off chance they are found out.

He wears his hair up in a bun, as scholars often do, and his clothes are generally jewel-toned—maroons and blues—in opposition to the light shades he once preferred. Instead of a sword at his side, he tends to have an ink brush stuck in his hair like a pin. He cannot change his face, but these are small things he can do to hide the fact that he used to be someone else.

Anaran still wields his blade, although he has to do it much less often than if he were a part of the Yiqi Alliance. Every once in a while he takes jobs that require his prowess, but Zhang Zheng insists he not take too many risks, that he not engage in anything too unscrupulous. It's not worth the money. They'll find other ways to earn income. Sometimes, his sense of justice may force him to enter battles where members of the Yiqi alliance are involved. The chance of him being recognized is slim (he is dead, after all), but he still wears a mask.

Anaran wears his hair down, a small portion of it pulled back and held with a chai* given to him by Zhang Zheng. He is not and never has been picky about his clothing, usually allowing Zhang Zheng to dress him. Zhang Zheng favors golds and greens, and he swears Anaran wears those colors better than he does. He has always been tender in a way that Anaran still doesn't understand how he deserves.

In public, they go by other names, but in private, they remain Zhang Zheng and Anaran, two boys, now men, who have escaped a cruel fate.

Those who meet them in passing assume they are twin brothers, but those who get to know them beyond mere acquaintanceship know better; know that they'd once returned from the village they were closest to one day, shyly holding crimson wedding garments; that they'd decorated the house they were sharing with 囍 paper cutouts, crossed the saddle together, bowed to heaven, earth, and the family they'd left behind, and then shared cross-cupped wine under the moonlight before falling into bed together.

Know that it was not blood that formed their bond, but something even more powerful, something they'd created themselves.

*chai is a type of two pronged hairpin that is often given as a token to lovers.

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