#songxiaolin

It was her turn to smile as she took his hand, turning it palm up.

He left first thing this morning. He said we’re out of tea, she wrote.

If Xiao Xingchen thought there was anything strange to that, he didn’t show it, except perhaps in the way his brows pulled downward slightly. 

“Ah. He does need his routine.” 

Or he becomes even grumpier.

Xiao Xingchen swallowed his laugh at the words pressed into his hand and chided, “Lin Ming, you even tease him when he isn’t here!”

“Of course she does.” 

A sheepish look crossed Lin Ming’s face as she glanced towards the courtyard where Song Lan was approaching, steps light but purposeful. He stopped in front of them, one corner of his mouth curled as he looked down at her. 

“You don’t even need to tell me what she said, I’m certain I already know,” Song Lan said.

Now Xiao Xingchen laughed without holding it back, reaching out to hook his arm around the other man’s.

“You have perfect timing, Zichen,” he said.

“It wasn’t intended.” Catching sight of Lin Ming’s eyes narrowed in mock suspicion, he added, “It wasn’t.”

She shrugged her shoulders, one eyebrow raised as if she didn’t believe him. Song Lan blinked and then sighed.

Still laughing, Xiao Xingchen’s free hand found her arm, pulling her towards him.

“The two of you are too much,” he said, turning them both back inside the small home. “Zichen, did you know what day it is?”

                                             *********************

The sky stayed clear well past sunset, the moon bright and filling the courtyard with a soft, white light that seemed to reflect off Xiao Xingchen’s clothing. Song Lan paused, staring for a moment - the affection in his eyes mirrored in Lin Ming’s as she watched - before taking a seat next to him, brushing off the dust first. 

“Do you know the story of Chang’e, Zichen?” asked Xiao Xingchen, barely waiting until he was settled. 

“Yes, I do.” Celebration in Baixue temple had been subdued; each year the master would tell the story under the moonlight, letting the children stay up past bedtime. By the third year, Song Lan had memorized it word for word.

“Then tell it, for us,” he said, leaning against Song Lan’s shoulder.

“Alright.” He took a breath and when he spoke, his voice was clear and even and carried across the courtyard. “Once, long ago, the ten suns rose together, at the same time, causing crops and rivers to dry up. Seeing the distress of the people, Hou Yi, who was a brilliant archer, took up his bow and shot down all the suns but one, so the people would have light. His deed was so great that an immortal gave him an elixir so he, too, could live forever. But Hou Yi had a wife named Chang’e whom he loved deeply for she was beautiful and good natured and he did not want to leave her.”

Song Lan paused for a moment, letting the words hang in the air, smiling slightly as Lin Ming leaned forward, eyes wide, her fingers already entwined with Xiao Xingchen’s, who was no less eager to hear the rest.

“So he bid her to hide the elixir. One day, a man named Peng Meng came, claiming to admire Hou Yi and wanting to be his apprentice. The truth, however, is he had learned of the elixir and coveted it and when Hou Yi went out hunting, he broke into the home searching for it. Knowing she could not defeat him and not wanting such a man to become immortal, Chang’e drank the elixir and flew into the heavens.”

At his side, Xiao Xingchen held onto his arm, a sad sigh escaping him.

“But she couldn’t stand to be too far from her beloved husband, so she stopped at the moon, to at least be able to look down at him. When Hou Yi returned home and discovered what had happened, he was overcome with grief. He brought out the cakes that Chang’e favored into the yard, under the moon, and offered them up in sacrifice, swearing he would never forget the one he loved and in hopes they would one day be reunited. To this day, people still give thanks to Chang’e in honor of the sacrifice she and Hou Yi made.”

For a moment, Lin Ming looked up at the moon, wondering what it would be like to be so far away from the ones she loved, wondering how it would feel to be separated from her home and heart. By the way Xiao Xingchen tightened his grip on her hand and how he was curling his fingers into Song Lan’s sleeve, she knew he was thinking the same. 

Shifting slightly, Song Lan removed a small, round bamboo box from the folds of his clothing, the kind that often held steamed buns. He opened it.

“Here. I knew Xingchen would ask me to tell the story,” he said, removing a round, golden brown cake with delicate writing embossed on the surface. He handed the first one to Xiao Xingchen. “He does so every year but forgets.”

A pleased flush crossed Xiao Xingchen’s face as he took the cake with a laugh.

“Ah, it’s true. I do. I only remember when Zichen starts telling the story,” he said. “Have you ever heard the story before, Lin Ming?”

She shook the bell twice, loud in the quiet night; she knew of it but nothing more.

“I’ll tell it next year, too,” said Song Lan, fingers lingering against hers as he gave one of the cakes. “You don’t even have to ask.”

Her smile was soft; he was steady like that and it was a comfort. 

Thank you, she signed and he returned her smile.

“Because I will,” said Xiao Xingchen swallowing the first bite of the cake.

She gave a quiet laugh, shoulders shaking in amusement, as she took a bite of her own cake, the pastry soft and the red bean paste not too sweet. 

“Yes, because Xingchen will ask,” agreed Song Lan and there was no mistaking the affection in the words.

“There’s no need to thank me.” He tugged the comb through the tangle. “I don’t mind.”

I know but I’m going to anyway.

She could feel him laugh quietly against her back.

“Of course,” he said, the same exasperated affection in his voice that she had come to love. Song Lan wasn’t as outward with his affection as Xiao Xingchen but it was just as meaningful. Taking another section of her hair, he began to untangle it. “Your hair is very thick.”

Lin Ming’s nose twitched.

I’m sorry. It’s not as fine and straight as yours or Xingchen’s, she signed, the tension both clear in her fingers and shoulders.  

Song Lan paused, brushing back her hair with one hand and setting the other on her shoulder. He pulled her towards him until she was half in his lap, facing him.

“I like it.” He tucked a strand behind her ear, thumb rubbing over her cheek. “It’s very pretty, hua zhi, and reminds me of fields when the wind blows.”

It took her a moment to realize what he had said. She had heard him recite poetry before, had heard him refer to Xiao Xingchen with flowery words, and while she knew Song Lan loved her just the same, he had always been hesitant even after their time together on the mountain. So it took her a moment.

Hua zhi.

The phrase meant a sprig of a plant just beginning to bloom but it was used in poetry to describe a beautiful woman. 

Her cheeks became hot, a deep flush crossing them, and she hid her face behind her hand. With her free hand, Lin Ming shoved him though there was no real force behind it.

Song Lan caught her hand and wrapped his arms around her as she squirmed in embarrassment that was only partially exaggerated. 

“I mean it,” he said, taking her chin between his fingers and lifting her head so their eyes met. “Unlike you, I don’t tease.”

She nodded, hands full.

“Sorry.”

He stepped out of her way and she nudged his side lightly with her elbow as she passed. Lin Ming dumped the eggplant pieces into the bowl of now room temperature water. She poked a few pieces, making sure they were submerged before turning back to the wok.

It took her a moment to find the bottle of oil and the thought crossed her mind that it needed to organized better, if only for Xiao Xingchen’s sake. She picked it up and shook it, listening to the liquid slosh inside. Taking a step back, she felt her shoulder bump against something firm. Lin Ming looked up.

“I thought I had moved out the way,” said Song Lan, hands on her shoulders to steady her.

Her mouth quivered slightly as she tried not to smile.

Yes, she signed with one hand. And then you moved back in the way.

“I’ll be more careful,” he said.  

As she moved past him, she touched his cheek affectionately, a smile on her face.

She poured some of the oil into the wok, heat and the nutty smell of the sesame rising, and then poured some more in, just to be safe. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as Song Lan leaned against the counter. Right in front of the ginger and garlic she had set aside. She sighed, stepping up to him.

“Oh.” He looked down. “I’m sorry. What do you need?”

Ginger and garlic.

Song Lan reached behind him and handed her both, nose wrinkling slightly.

“How much ginger are you going to add?” The concern was clear in his voice.

Her eyebrows shot up, mouth open in a wide smile.

I think that depends, she signed.

“…Lin Ming,” he said as he backed up, trying to find a spot in the small kitchen where he wouldn’t be in the way. “I said I was sorry.”

Still smiling, she dumped the ingredients in, listening to the sizzle and pop. For a moment, she stood, going over the steps of the recipe in her head. Already she was fuzzy on the details. Behind her, Song Lan leaned over her shoulder, one hand resting lightly on her back.

It was comforting and gentle and when she turned to retrieve the bowl of water where the eggplant was soaking, it meant he was in her way again.

A slow look of realization crossed his face.

“-- oh no.”

Every time, I’m adding more peppers, she signed.

His shoulders slumped.

“You wouldn’t,” he said.

She put a hand on his waist and moved him out of her way, picking up the bowl and grinning.

Would you drain this? she mouthed the words.

“Of course,” he said, the nod he gave as he moved to complete his task solemn, serious.

Lin Ming’s face softened as she watched him before grabbing the jars of soy sauce, black vinegar, and bean paste, adding enough of each to create the base of the yu xiang sauce. By the time she had mixed it well with the long wooden spoon, Song Lan returned with the eggplant, his nose wrinkling even more as the aroma hit him.

“That smells spicy.” A beat. “Is this good?”

He held out the bowl to her and she examined it, giving him a short nod of approval before taking it to the counter and searching for the bag of cornstarch. Song Lan followed after her. When the first shelf she looked over yielded nothing, she turned around towards the cabinet and collided with Song Lan. He caught her by the arms.

“I promise I’m not doing this on purpose,” he said. There was a look of embarrassment mixed with amusement on his face, the situation so ridiculous that even he couldn’t help but find the humor in it.

Giving an exaggerated sigh, she signed, I know. Chop the green onions, there in the basket.

“I can do that.” He rubbed her arms in apology. “And I will stay out of the way.”

One of her eyebrow’s quirked upwards as if she didn’t quite believe him and then returned to the task at hand. When the cornstarch was found, she lightly coated the eggplant with it. That on purpose and the cornstarch that clung to her clothing and hands on accident.

She wiped her hands on the towel that hung on a hook, considered doing the same for her clothing and decided against it. Her eyes narrowed. There was an ingredient she was missing. Scanning the kitchen, she saw the jar of chopped and pickled peppers she had set aside earlier and then forgotten about. Carefully, she moved to grab it, keeping an eye on Song Lan the entire time. Just in case.

“Are you adding all of that?”

The words sounded so dejected that Lin Ming froze like a rabbit that had been spotted by a hawk. Song Lan had paused in middle of chopping, knife poised over the remaining green onions, looking at the jar in her hand with trepidation. She had been about to dump the entire contents into the wok. The look on her face became sheepish and she shook her head.

No, I won’t add it all. Just a little, she signed.

He smiled at her.

“Thank you, Lin Ming.”

True to her word, she only shook a bit of the pickled peppers out, mixing it into the sauce that was now a dark, close to black, reddish-brown. He brought over the green onion, dumping it in as she continued to mix. It looked right. Only one step left. She tilted her head, looking past Song Lan, to where the eggplant sat. This time, she squeezed past him, not bothering to move him out of the way. It seemed to be a fruitless task. The corner of his mouth twitched.

Almost done, she signed after she dumped the eggplant in, coating it with oil and sauce, mixing it as she watched it cook. When it looked close to done, she lifted the spoon and tasted the sauce.

“Is it good?” asked Song Lan.

Lifting herself up on her the tips of her toes, she kissed him, the mix of ginger and pepper cut with the saltiness of the soy sauce. He brushed a bit of cornstarch off her chin.

“They’re doing good, aren’t they?”

Xiao Xingchen touched the leaves of the seedling with gentle fingers, feeling the edges and then the thin stalk. It was delicate; so much in the world could crush it but it still reached up and outwards, needing the world to grow despite it’s fragility. 

In answer, Lin Ming rang her bell once.

“I knew they would,” said Xiao Xingchen, that simple confidence close to impossible to shake.

Each day, the three of them tended to the plants in different ways though no less caring, a mirror of how they approached the world; Song Lan meticulous, face serious even doing the simplest task, Lin Ming putting her sort of angry stubbornness into pulling up weeds, and Xiao Xingchen’s soft encouragement as he watered the plants.

"Come.” Xiao Xingchen touched her head, trying to smooth the pieces of hair that had come loose, no matter how hard she tried to keep them in place. After a moment, he gave up. “Let’s tell Zichen.”

He pulled her to her feet and Lin Ming looked back at the garden, the green sprouts bright against the deep brown of the dirt, and she smiled.

                                                  ******************

Where the garden had once been a lifeless brown, it was now covered with wide green leaves, the red of peppers contrasting here and there. The air was heavy with the smell of plants and wet dirt, heavy with the smell of life. Song Lan knelt carefully, trying not to get his robes stained, and turned one of the peppers in his hand. 

“Do you think it’s ready?” he asked. 

Lin Ming reached out, one hand covering his, the other testing the pepper to see how easily it yielded under her fingers. He watched as if he was trying to memorize the action and the shape of her hand. When she pulled back, he mimicked her.

“It’s firm.”

She nodded and wrote in the dirt, It’s ready to be harvested. They all should be.

“I’m surprised the crops grew so well,” said Song Lan, resting his hand against the dirt. “The ground seemed so barren.”

“Anything can grow with enough care.” A basket was looped over Xiao Xingchen’s arm. His smile was serene, face turned slightly upwards, his thoughts somewhere else. “It only takes patience.”

None of them believed he was only talking about the garden. Before, Lin Ming had felt as barren as this land had once been. Before, Song Lan had only planted his regrets and grief in his heart. Before, Xiao Xingchen had been spread too thin, making room for everyone but himself. It had taken care and love and patience, each in their own way, to bloom fully. 

Xiao Xingchen held out the basket.

“Here, pick the best and we’ll cook them for dinner. It’ll be perfect.”

With a faint, almost reverent smile, Song Lan twisted the pepper until the stem popped, freeing it from the branch and placing into the basket. 

They were sleeping now, curled up together under all the blankets they had scavenged but it was still cold and he worried. Xiao Xingchen’s color had come back, he talked more, but there were times when he fell silent, troublingly not present. Lin Ming was no longer hesitant with him but he saw the fear, as if she was afraid he would take back the words he had said. Both of them were hurt, badly, and Song Lan was terrified of making it worse.

All he wanted to do was fix it, fix them, but he couldn’t and so he was trying desperately to fix the broken flue.

With a clang, he hooked the opening of the flue on the end of the poker and pulled. It creaked but didn’t budge. Song Lan frowned, shifting where he knelt, and pulled again. It creaked more but this time began to move. Bracing himself against the brick of the oven, he put all his strength into it. With a loud clang, the flue opened. It sent a cloud of soot spilling out and Song Lan stumbling back, coughing.

The soot covered his black clothing, a slightly lighter shade, and he could taste it in his mouth. He had to stop himself from licking his lips, instead trying to wipe off the ash from them with the cleanest part of his hand.

He was aware of Lin Ming moving from the bed before Xiao Xingchen spoke.

“What was that? Zichen, is everything alright?” he asked, concern in his voice.

“It’s—It’s fine, Xingchen. Just the flue for the chimney was stuck,” said Song Lan. There was a warble to his voice that he had to fight to hold back.

Xiao Xingchen was already sitting up, hair down around his shoulders, stuck in against his bandage in places. Next to him, Lin Ming took his hand and wrote something that caused him to frown, worry on her face as she looked back at Song Lan.

“Are you sure you’re not hurt? Lin Ming says you’re covered in soot and you sound…” Xiao Xingchen trailed off.

Song Lan looked down at his hands and tried to clean them on his robe. He knew how he sounded right now. The idea that this was another thing he had failed at, another way he had let the two of them down, was eating at him.

“I’m fine, I’m not hurt,” he said, reaching for the iron poker, thinking he’d feel better if he could at least fix something, and trying to ignore the movement at his sides.

“Zichen…”

Kneeling next to him, Xiao Xingchen reached out and took his arm, fingers moving until he found Song Lan’s hand and took it in his, the touch matching the gentle concern that tugged at his mouth.

“You’ll get your clothes dirty,” said Song Lan. Already there was black clinging to Xiao Xingchen’s white inner robes.

“I don’t mind. I don’t care about that,” he said, tightening his grip and brushing strands of Song Lan’s hair back so he could rest his head against his shoulder.

At his other side, Song Lan felt Lin Ming clutch at his robes, hesitant at first, and he thought that was odd. He turned to look at her. The expression on her face was wide-eyed with worry. She touched his cheek with her thumb, wiping away the tears that had fallen against his will. Her eyes flicked to Xiao Xingchen, mouth partially open. Song Lan shook his head, the movement barely perceptible.

Please, don’t, he mouthed. He didn’t want Xiao Xingchen to know he was crying anymore than he wanted her to know but that couldn’t be helped.

Her chest rose and fell but she didn’t make any move to tell Xiao Xingchen. Instead, she took Song Lan’s face in her hands and pressed her forehead to his before hugging him tightly. The breath he took was shaky and there was no hiding that from Xiao Xingchen.

“Ah, Zichen,” he said as he wrapped his arms around Song Lan, letting go of his hand to hold him as close as he possibly could. “What’s wrong? You can tell us.”

“I—” His hands shook and he clenched them, trying to will away the tears. “I only wanted to fix it.”

Song Lan didn’t just mean the chimney flue. Both them knew it, he could tell by the way Lin Ming clung to him tighter, the kiss Xiao Xingchen pressed to his cheek, not caring about the ash that still covered his skin.

“I know.” Xiao Xingchen kissed him again. “I know but we can help, right, Lin Ming?”

The silver bell was still hanging on the nail on the wall next to the bed so Lin Ming nodded, firmly against his chest.

“I didn’t want either of you to be troubled,” he said and his voice was quieter than he wanted.

Against him, Xiao Xingchen took a deep breath.

“It would never be trouble. Whatever it is, Zichen, we can fix it together,” said Xiao Xingchen. “I think that, together, the three us can fix anything. Don’t you think so?”

Sitting there on the cold floor, covered in soot and held close by the two people dearest to him, Song Lan thought that he was right. Things were broken, mistakes were made, but the most important things were never beyond fixing, not with them. Even now it was warmer. Song Lan slipped one arm around each of them, holding them to him.