Shāng Bù Huàn felt the cold nipping at his ears as the wind threatened to pull the furs from his shoulders. Not once the entire journey had he let go of his tight grip on Líng Yá. The pipa hadn't called him an idiot or made a smart remark or cursed at anything along the way. He'd been a silent reminder of everything that went wrong. Without Làng's sorcerous songs and hopes and wishes he'd put into the pipa, Líng Yá had essentially died with him. He didn't want to think about it. Everything just hurt.

Mù Tiān Mìng turned at the top of the long mountain climb. "We're here."

Shāng glanced around. The summit was covered in snow and ice, nearly burying a worn wooden hut and a fire pit in the cold. This was certainly the strangest place Mù had taken him. "What is this place?"

"Wū Yáo's home," Mù replied.

Làng wasn't exactly vocal about his past. Shāng knew he had been through a lot of hardships, used and abused most of his time like a supernatural blade. In a way, he was. He referred to himself as a blade, but Làng was much more than that. He was a person and a friend, one that was now lost deep down a cliffside due to Shāng's own misjudgment. "This is his home?"

"Do you remember when we took him with us?" Mù recalled. "Before he had his own resolve?"

"We showed him what the supernatural swords could do, and I said some harsh words to him," Shāng remembered. They had shown him what the Dark Phantom sword was capable of doing in the hands of the empire. Shāng had called Làng a blade and compared him to the Dark Phantom and other swords they'd collected. There was no malice behind them, but they were still harsh. He wanted to give him some peace of mind, but it probably just hurt.

"He retreated up here," Mù continued. "I knew he lived in the area. He let it slip once. But where was the question. I found him here, singing his heart out with not a soul to listen to his words. It was a powerful song that day."

She walked towards the overhang where the fire pit stood covered in snow and icicles. Mù still recalled that day quite clearly. "I came to say my peace. I wasn't even sure he'd listen, but he did. If I hadn't come, I wonder if he would've simply resolved to die up here in the cold much as Líng Yá had said."

"He wouldn't have fallen off the bridge," Shāng frowned.

"Bù Huàn…" Mù could still see the pain written on his face. He blamed himself for Làng's death, and there was little she could say otherwise. It wasn't his fault, though. He made a bad call, but he did what he thought was right. Mù was just as much to blame as she didn't see the seal guardian's attack coming either.

Mù pulled the guqin from her back, pulling the notes of a tune that Làng had taught her, the one his mother had written. "He came to visit me so many times when he was still singing for the taverns. It was those times where he looked happy. He came to life, his eyes no longer holding that sadness. But as soon as he left, that sadness always returned."

Shāng had heard her tell this before. When they had to leave, he had begun to wonder what became of Làng. The few times she'd returned to the pagoda, she didn't encounter him under the moonlight night sky. Finding him in the palace was quite the surprise.

"I could always feel it, the pain in his soul crying out to be heard, that desire to be something greater than what he only had ever known," Mù continued. "He was miserable with that life. Even if I hadn't come to speak to him, I don't think he would've stayed up here. I think eventually he would've found his way with us, with the only friends he'd ever known."

Shāng sat down next to her, listening to the tune and her words. He had seen that pain in Làng's face when Xiào Kuáng Juàn demanded he return to the palace. Làng was the empire's property, and he didn't like it. When he didn't return as Xiào had demanded, they took Làng with them. He was a good person, able to see through the lies he was told.

Eventually Làng joined them. Willingly.

Shāng played it over and over again in his mind. They were fighting Xiào Kuáng Juàn's army as the old man created the Index for him. That was when Làng showed up in a flurry of orange and white. He'd made a choice, he found something for himself. Shāng questioned if he was okay with the decision. Làng said he would have it no other way.

He stared at the pipa in his arms. That was when Líng Yá awoke and Làng had taken on a new appearance of his own choosing. But even more, Shāng had gained a new friend.

And now that friend was gone only two years later.

Mù finished plucking the last notes, looking out into the snowy mountains. She recalled that song so clearly when he sang it. His mother had taught it to him, but there was so much more than words in that song. He sang from deep within his soul, his feelings coming out through his supernatural voice. He did have a tendency to speak in song, even if he wouldn't admit to it.

"I thought we should return here to where it all began," Mù said. "Where he first grew up, where he returned when he thought he should be alone, where he made his decision to come with us. A fitting place for a memorial, even if only we know it's here."

Shāng peered out at the mountains as well. There was nothing nearby. No towns, no shrines, nothing. They passed no one along the way. There wasn't even a pathway leading up the mountainside. He wasn't certain how Mù had remembered where it was with no visible landmarks.

He stood up, pulling the scrap of Làng's sleeve from his pocket and tying it around the pipa's neck. He set Líng Yá down next to the small house just under the roof's overhang. "I could feel him angry at me as we left that shrine. He knew something was coming and I just wouldn't listen. He was so insistent."

"I don't think he would blame you for what happened," Mù said.

He stared down at Líng Yá with the fabric scrap tied around his neck. "Would he?"

"Líng Yá would have some remark about how Wū Yáo really just wanted to protect us and was upset about not being able to do so," Mù Mùsed. "Then Wū Yáo would quickly shut him up by violently plucking the strings."

Shāng cracked a smile for the first time. "That would happen, wouldn't it?" But it didn't. That small smile quickly faded. If only that cliffside hadn't been so steep, they could've gotten to him before he'd fallen a second time. Perhaps he would've even jumped down after Làng. The thought had crossed his mind, but he'd been too horrified at the moment to properly act. That probably wasn't any better of an option either, given that sheer cliffside underneath the bridge.

They both probably would die in that case and then Mù would be the one mourning two people instead of just one.

He glanced at her. She was trying to hold back the emotions as much as he was. She had known him longer. She was his first friend, the only person he'd actually opened up to. They had spent so much time by that river, singing together and playing music.

They stared in silence for a moment.

"Bù Huàn." Mù finally spoke. "I think we should rest. We need to heal, we need to handle everything that has happened."

He looked up at the hut. It was the only shelter in this cold as the sun began to set. Làng had grown up here, enduring whatever it was that shaped him into the refined blade they called their friend. It felt strange to intrude on this house, but it had been abandoned, now standing as a memorial to someone dear to them.

"And after that, I think we should continue our work," Mù added. "It's the only right thing to do. We need to complete the Index in his memory."

Shāng pursed his lips together. She wasn't wrong. They had started this to protect Xī Yōu against the supernatural swords. Làng had been dragged into the mix in the middle of the battle, set on helping them complete the Index. It was his choice, his resolve. He knew what he was doing, perhaps for the first time in his life.

Yes, he would continue on in Làng's memory. It was the only right thing to do.

….

Author's musings

It seems that Xiao's plan is working so far, doesn't it? Shang blames himself for what he thinks is Lang's death, but so does Mu. Mu would usually be the more emotional but she's trying to keep it together since Shang is really not doing so hot in that department. I mean, can you blame him though? He thinks his own decision caused Lang's death.

The idea of Shang's reaction honestly came from Season 2 when Lang and Shang have a bit of a fight over dealing with Di Kong. There's a brief pause where they don't say anything and Lang eventually storms off. What if something happened because of a disagreement about someone's intent in their past? And that in the present, this sort of event made Shang hesitate just the slightest? Well, time to agonize about Lang's supposed death.

I wonder how this will all play out.