#this is 38

It’s crumpled and frayed at the edges and yellowed with age. Lan Guoyan hands it over warily, but Lan Wangji does not seem too bothered. He turns away from the map to unfold it with only half a mind; it changes as soon as he sees the contents—he inhales sharply as he stares at the message, hidden from view from the rest of the tent, and the hand holding it begins to shake. Concerned, Lan Guoyan steps forward to take it from him, only for Lan Wangji to close his fingers around the paper, crushing it in his fist. He rounds on the soldier.

“Where is he?” he demands. “Bring him here immediately.”

“At once, Er-dianxia.”

As the soldier hurries out of the tent, Lan Guoyan turns to his cousin

“What is it?” he asks, worried. “What does it say?”

But Lan Wangji is too focused on the entrance to the tent to answer. He clutches the piece of paper close, as if afraid it will somehow vanish into thin air. Every muscle in his body is quivering with tension as he struggles to hold himself still, to stop himself from running out of the tent to meet with this mysterious messenger. It’s a look that has become all-too familiar in recent months, ever since he returned from Yunmeng: hyper-aware of his surroundings, constantly chasing the shadows on the fringes of his awareness, searching for something—someone—that continues to elude him.

Sometimes, Lan Guoyan thinks he can understand. He knows those shadows too, sees them creeping up on him when he finds himself alone with his thoughts. But he has been on the front lines for almost a year longer than Lan Wangji, has had time for certain feelings to fade. Still, he understands, so he does his best to hold Lan Wangji together until they can return home.

“Hanguang-wang.”

The boy bows low at the waist, his hands clasped before him. Lan Wangji shifts almost imperceptibly towards him, hands twitching as if to reach out, but changes his mind at the last minute. Instead, he draws his shoulders back and fixes him with a penetrating gaze.

“Raise your head.”

Lan Wangji’s heart sinks as he takes in the unfamiliar features, his own face shuttering behind the stern, expressionless facade to mask the bitterness of his disappointment. He holds up the crumpled piece of paper.

“How did you get this?” he asks.

The boy smiles without a trace of fear or concern about facing down the renowned Second Prince of Gusu.

“Responding to Hanguang-wang, it was given to me,” he replies simply.

“By whom?”

“An ally.” At Lan Guoyan’s disbelieving huff, the boy bows again. “Please be assured, Jing-junwangye, Qishan Wen is no friend of ours. My master and I are allies of your cause.”

He straightens again, still smiling serenely at them. Lan Guoyan frowns, his hand going to the hilt of his sword in warning.

“Who is your master?” he demands to know. “How do we know we can trust him?”

But the boy ignores him, turning instead to Lan Wangji and eyeing the piece of paper in his hand knowingly.

“Hanguang-wang,” he says. “You will do well to keep your forces concentrated in Jiangling and wait for reinforcements from Baling before you march on Yiling.”

“Baling has declined to come to our aid in fear of Qishan Wen forces,” Lan Wangji tells him. “Why would they come now?”

The boy’s smile turns secretive, and Lan Wangji feels a faint twinge of recognition in the way his eyes dance with amusement. When he speaks, his voice is full of confidence.

“Ouyang-jiangjun owes my master a life debt,” he says. “He will come.”

He meets Lan Wangji’s eyes squarely, the smile on his face settling into one of polite deference. There is something odd about this boy, something familiar that Lan Wangji cannot name, but it is enough to sway his judgment. He inclines his head at the boy.

“Many thanks to your master,” he says over Lan Guoyan’s protests. “Tell him I will heed his advice.”

“Dianxia!”

The boy’s smile widens once more and he bows again.

“My master will be most pleased,” he says. “I must return to deliver the news. Best of luck, Hanguang-wang.”

“Wait.”

The boy turns around, already half out of the tent.

“Yes, Hanguang-wang?”

Lan Wangji hesitates, glancing down at the paper in his hand.

“What is your name?” he asks. “Why are you and your master helping us?”

The boy bows, one last time.

“Hanguang-wang can call me Diezi,” he says. “We are the Eyes of God.”

Notes:

jiangjun (将军) - General

Diezi (蝶子) - Butterfly; also sounds very similar to the word die (諜), which means “spy”, taken from the Chinese name for the Eyes of God organisation (diezhitianyan 諜紙天眼) from Legend of Chu Qiao

Master Post is here