Beloved by all, you never seemed to be alone. I'd been more than okay with that, though–grateful, even. Because for all the fame you'd garnered, you never acted like it. You were loud, you were touchy, you were persistent. Shameless. You never did see me as that icy Second Jade of Lan. 'Too cold to touch,' 'Too honorable to sully,' 'Too strict to approach'. My titles never seemed to make you waver. It had been frustrating to say the least, maddening to be more accurate, but confusing if I was being truthful. "Everyone wants you, so why do you follow after me?"
But you'd matched me strike for strike that night on the rooftop. The clash of our blades the rhythm, and the shine of the stars the spotlight, we got as close to dancing the night away as the rules would ever allow. It was a moment of change, brought about by a catalyst as unpredictable as yourself. How very much like Wei Ying to move the unmovable.
Our youth had been a blaze of glory. And with that fire in your eyes, I sought to match you—in honor and in step.
But it's been so many years now. I'd watched you fall, first from grace in the way your smile faded and your friends re-discovered your faults. Still, your resolve never wavered. That's when I saw for the first time our likeness runs deeper than surface level. I fell a bit with that realization, myself. But then, they weren't content with dropping you, letting you go–letting you down. Because one moment, you were there, fighting for victory, morals, life. And the next, I could see something akin to acceptance in your eyes. A grim, selfless sacrifice clouded over your features.
"Let me go." Something kept telling me that no, no that's wrong, never let Wei Ying go. But then you smiled and I almost believed you. "Lan Zhan, please." It burns. "Lan Zhan, don't hurt yourself for me." All semblance that hid your desperation was gone."Don't do this." And something in the way your voice cracked around the words alerted me. I was aware—hyper-aware—of everything around us. And–oh—the injury on my arm had reopened. Our enjoined hands were stained red and I realized that the little glance your eyes made and the desperate lilt of your voice meant you'd realized sooner than I did. Of course. Caring about everyone before yourself.
Our youth had been a blaze of glory. I watched your flames die out that day.
Even now, I can't quite place the feeling, put a finger on it, and slide it past my tongue. It's odd how, even with something so heavily present, I can't find where it hurts. Does it even hurt for that matter? When I think back on the memories, they are all perfect. So why is it that rather than tugging the corners of my lips up, they pull at my heart instead? In the more metaphoric part of my mind, peace came in white and blue. It reflected in glass flowers, and flowing ribbons, and crystal water. Somewhere along the way, however, a soft clamor of bells and my own rushing heartbeat resounded in the back of my mind. Since then, the scene has changed.
Perfection, it seems, comes in gold–much like the waters of Yunmeng at dusk. Because perfection is memories of you. The coloring itself is faded, more of an afterthought—like stray light from a sunset. Each scene is framed in petals from early spring blossoms and smells like the days that grew it: crisp Gusu air, fresh cold spring water, and the Emperor's Smile I'd catch on your breath from time to time. In a way, I can hear the serenity. It sounds quite like your humming, like the low murmur of conversation around us, and like wind strumming the strands of grass we lay in... And I'm brought to peace knowing it's all me and you.
Our youth had been a blaze of glory. Even now, the embers you left behind continue to keep me warm.