Work Text
1.
Wei Wuxian slowly opened his eyes. This was “waking up.” How strange. He hadn’t woken up in thirteen years.
He blinked, then very slowly, sat up. His hand brushed something wet, and he quickly withdrew it. Ah, there was blood on the floor, painted in an array–the leftover evidence of what appeared to be some pretty advanced demonic cultivation. How comforting to find oneself in familiar circumstances.
“It wasn’t me this time,” he said to himself. His voice echoed back to him in the large space.
Wei Wuxian continued to take stock of his situation. His attention bounced between several concerning revelations. First: he was in a library. It was nothing like the library at the Cloud Recesses, the only library he knew of comparable size. That place had been full of light and peaceful quiet. This library, however, was lightless and saturated with resentful energy.
More concerning than his unfamiliar surroundings were the unfamiliar symbols decorating his arms. The symbols glowed green–some kind of curse mark? Wei Wuxian rolled up his sleeves over arms that didn’t belong to him, thin and weak. The symbols went all the way up to the shoulder on both arms. Wei Wuxian sighed. This really was the worst luck. What a poor start to a new life.
Wei Wuxian’s attention lingered on his left wrist. Ah. It was his blood that had been used to draw the array on the floor. The previous owner of this body had opened a vein. The wound was not bleeding anymore, but it had clearly been fatal. Wei Wuxian gave it an experimental prod.
A book lay open on the ground nearby, but by this time, Wei Wuxian understood the situation, and he did not even have to look. Wei Wuxian had studied this sacrificial ritual during his research; the book on the ground was one he had written himself. Of course the Yiling Laozu would recognize his own work!
The ritual was one of utter last resort–typical of the preoccupations of the later days of his life sequestered in the Burial Mounds. This array would summon the spirit of a vengeful ghost into one’s own body, creating a contract between the cultivator and the spirit. The spirit would carry out the cultivator’s strongly held wish, but in exchange, the cultivator would lose his life. It was a spell for the weak: those who could not get their own vengeance, and who had no other hope remaining in the world.
Wei Wuxian clicked his tongue. He really had been cringe-worthy in those days.
“Well, what did you want, fellow cultivator?” Wei Wuxian said. He at last got to his feet and stretched until his back popped. “Don’t tell me you forgot to open a channel of communication before finishing the ritual…”
That wasn’t good. If Wei Wuxian couldn’t figure out what the cultivator had wanted him to do in exchange for the body, the wound in his wrist would open back up.
Wei Wuxian sensed a spike in resentful energy. There–from above. A giant spider scuttled over the high ceiling of the library. Wei Wuxian reached for a sword, but found he didn’t wear one.
“Fellow cultivator, cut me a break…” he said. Even these few words seemed to enrage the spider yao. It launched itself toward him.
Wei Wuxian dodged out of the way as the spider yao crashed to the ground. The array smeared as the spider’s legs scrambled through. “Please wait just a moment,” Wei Wuxian cried, running out of the spider’s path. “This humble scholar apologizes for disturbing your studies and will see himself out.” Wei Wuxian sprinted through the library, taking turns at random, as the spider yao careened after him.
He took a corner fast. His eyes widened. There was a boy in here using the library as intended, standing at the shelves with his nose in a book. How could he read in these circumstances? Wei Wuxian didn't know whether to laugh or cry. The boy looked up abruptly as Wei Wuxian led the spider yao right for him.
“Run, run, run,” Wei Wuxian said, gesturing broadly at the boy.
The boy dropped the book and took up after him, a half-step behind Wei Wuxian. He was missing an arm, Wei Wuxian realized. And he was young–as young as Wei Wuxian had been during the Sunshot Campaign. He didn’t carry a weapon, either.
“What are you doing, reading in a place like this?” Wei Wuxian scolded. “A monster of this caliber isn’t for juniors to handle alone.”
“If you follow the rules, it’s actually quite safe.”
“Rules? What rules?”
“When you entered the car, the rules said not to talk or run,” the boy said, panting. “I have the books we need to leave, so just stick with me.”
The spider yao began to gain behind them. The boy glanced back as well and made a frustrated noise.
“Leave it to me,” Wei Wuxian said. “If you can get out of here, go ahead.” When the boy hesitated, Wei Wuxian added, “I’ll catch up, I’ll catch up,” in an easygoing tone of voice. He waved the boy on.
Wei Wuxian made an abrupt turn, parting from the junior. The spider yao followed him, rather than take the easier prey. It was attracted to his yang energy from all the running and talking–just as the boy had said.
“Over here, over here,” Wei Wuxian called, turning another corner. “Hah, this is tiring. Haven’t you done any training, fellow cultivator?” He stretched out a cramp in his leg, letting the spider yao gain on him. He pawed at his robes, looking for something useful. The cultivator had a few talismans on him, but they would be too weak to do much of anything to a monster of this size.
“What do you expect the great and fearsome Yiling Laozu to do for you in this situation?!” Wei Wuxian shouted. “Carry a spiritual device with you, or at least some cinnabar, if you can't do that much!”
If there wasn't already a proverb about the futility of scolding the dead, Wei Wuxian would have to pen one himself.
The spider yao turned the corner, and Wei Wuxian let the weak talismans fly, already turning to run. However, the bookshelves moved into the way, and the talismans fell uselessly to the ground. From all sides, the bookshelves slid themselves into a circle surrounding the spider monster. They domed at the top–impossibly–to form a cocoon around the beast.
The junior had reappeared behind Wei Wuxian, hand braced on his knee as he caught his breath. Wei Wuxian barely spared him a glance, too taken in by the display. There were truly many kinds of spiritual cultivation in this world.
“Are you brand new or…” The junior’s eyes landed on the glowing curse mark on Wei Wuxian’s arms, and he fell short. Wei Wuxian followed his train of thought. The curse mark was changing shape–just the part on the back of his left hand. Different symbols appeared in sequence. “What…did you do?”
“What do you mean?” Wei Wuxian laughed awkwardly. “Who says I did anything?”
The junior was suddenly wary. Wei Wuxian pulled the top of his robe more closely closed. He hadn’t realized the curse mark was as far spread as his chest, all the way up to his neck. He sighed softly. There was no point in worrying about it. The curse mark would kill him or it wouldn’t. It was more likely the wound on his wrist would reopen when he failed to figure out what the previous owner of this body had wanted him to do.
As one who had been torn to pieces so thoroughly that not even a shred of his corpse remained, he supposed he must be grateful with what he could get. Except, Wei Wuxian thought, that he had never asked to be troubled with any of this. He hadn’t become a vengeful spirit, he hadn’t made any mischief. He’d gone quietly, and had been resting quite peacefully, never inconveniencing anyone!
The boy narrowed his eyes.
“Your number. It’s all nines all the way up. That’s…” the boy sucked his teeth.
Wei Wuxian watched the curse mark change. So it was a number. Not only that, it was a steady countdown, one digit at a time. Now that he understood what he was looking at, he could recognize the pattern. After watching for twenty seconds, he understood which symbol represented which numeral. He’d never encountered anything like this before.
“You know what this is?” Wei Wuxian asked.
The boy gestured for him to follow. He turned on his heel. Wei Wuxian jogged to catch up.
“How long have you been on the train?” the boy asked.
Wei Wuxian didn’t understand the question. “Ah…not long,” he said.
“You started with a number that high?”
“I guess so,” Wei Wuxian said, smiling.
The boy deposited several books into a slot. They stood before a red door with a vertical gold design across the center. He examined Wei Wuxian closely.
“The number represents a personal problem you need to deal with,” the boy said. “The number goes down the closer you get to a breakthrough. And when it reaches zero, you get off the train.”
“Personal problem, huh,” said Wei Wuxian. Regrets and unfinished business he understood. But that was a long time ago now. What needed to be said could no longer be said.
The boy grasped the gold design on the door and turned it. The door swung open, and both of them were buffeted by a strong wind.
“Yeah. You are going to be figuring that one out for a while,” the boy said. “Sorry to be blunt.” He stepped through the door, and Wei Wuxian followed.
Wei Wuxian took a deep breath. He was in a wasteland, his feet unsteady on a rumbling platform between two rectangular structures. And they were moving. The boy was continuing ahead as if completely unaffected by the incomprehensible surroundings. Wei Wuxian hurried to catch up. It wasn’t like he could leave a junior to go alone.
“Hey, young master, what’s your name?”
The boy approached another red door and pushed it open.
“Alphonse. Or Al.” He peered ahead into the room. “What’s yours?”
“Good question,” Wei Wuxian said quietly. What he wouldn’t give for a mirror. “Wei Ying.”
He looked to Al for recognition, but the foreigner clearly wasn’t familiar with the Yiling Laozu. That was some luck, at least. That business was thirteen years in the past now, but Wei Wuxian wasn’t so optimistic to think that his infamy had been wiped from memory.
“But you can call me senior,” he said with a grin.
“I don’t think I will,” Al said.
Wei Wuxian followed him through the door. He blinked, disoriented. He should have found himself inside a long and narrow room, but he instead found himself standing outdoors under a cloudless blue sky. Before him was the foundation of a sprawling compound. Wei Wuxian wasn't sure what he was looking at. The foot-high foundations and empty doorframes of the buildings implied destruction, but there was no rubble. Further, each building was fully furnished, if in an unfamiliar style. A path of square stone flags led from one building to the next. As Wei Wuxian let his gaze wander over this strange sight, he realized there were people in some of the buildings, as still as paperman effigies.
He’d been one step behind Al, but Al was on the opposite side of the compound, standing before a red door identical to the one behind Wei Wuxian.
Wei Wuxian tried to take a step forward, but a powerful spell kept him within the confines of one square flagstone. He heard Al curse loudly in the distance.
“We’re going to have to wait for more passengers,” Al called. “Four more. See those other doors?”
There were six red doors spaced evenly in a hexagram around the perimeter of the compound. Wei Wuxian tried again to step forward. He couldn’t sense any spiritual power, but sure enough, he was stuck where he stood.
“The car won’t activate until there are six of us,” Al said. “I really hate these ones. Get comfortable. This could be a while.”
Well, Wei Wuxian didn’t have to be told twice. He had a seat on the stone flag and leaned back against the red door. He closed his eyes, and, daydreaming, began to whistle a low tune. After a minute, he cracked his eyes open. He reached out for the grass to one side of the flagstone, and cautiously closed his hand around a few blades. Fascinating. Could he step onto the grass as long as he didn’t try to progress to the next flagstone? Wei Wuxian tested this theory as well.
“What are you doing?” Al called from the other side of the compound. “Don’t…don’t test things. This car could be glitching.”
“‘Glitching?’ ‘Car?’” Wei Wuxian called back.
Halfway around the perimeter, he found a little pond. He waded in, his eye on a patch of reeds. If he ran into trouble, he should really have a flute. There was no telling what dangers lay dormant here, waiting for their condition to be met.
“Yeah, you know,
car
. Like a train car.”
There was that word again–a word Wei Wuxian was supposed to know. The name of this place.
The train.
Wei Wuxian waded deeper into the pond. He felt through the reeds, looking for one that might make a good flute. He pulled a few to inspect, then tucked a couple of the more promising reeds into his sleeve. He was about to leave the pond when he noticed he had revealed something unusual behind one of the reeds he’d pulled. It was a metal box. Wei Wuxian felt around the edges, looking for a hinge.
“I found something!” he called.
Al didn’t reply–at least not to him. There was the sound of a door opening and new footsteps, followed by muted conversation. Wei Wuxian could barely hear them over the faint hum coming from the metal box. It sent goosebumps up his arms. He could feel absurd amounts of energy, though it wasn’t quite like the power he’d had at his disposal when he would put together the yin tiger tally. That power had come in bursts and searing flashes, only under his control to the extent he had been able to point its destruction in a direction. This was a metered, constant supply. Someone or something had wrangled it under tight control.
“Wei Ying!” Al called.
Wei Wuxian released a long breath.
Wei Wuxian started to exit the pond. Al might be convinced to have a look at the metal box. He seemed to know the rules that governed this place. But before he had taken more than two steps, Wei Wuxian stopped short. There was something at the bottom of the pond.
Wei Wuxian felt a prickle at the base of his spine. He stared into the water for a moment longer, then dove for the mysterious object. He squinted through the dirty water, reaching out until his fingers closed over the cold surface of a metal sphere.
Wei Wuxian at last climbed out of the pond. The metal sphere was heavy, solid most of the way through. It was white, and composed of two halves, which gave a tactile click as he twisted them against each other. The device appeared to be some kind of puzzle box, and Wei Wuxian felt no qualms about playing with it. There was no spiritual energy coming from inside.
He made his way around to Al, keeping to the grass. The doorway nearest to Al’s was now occupied–by a plain looking girl in a gray dress. She had been talking quietly with Al until she caught sight of Wei Wuxian. Her mouth fell open momentarily before she clamped it closed. Wei Wuxian greeted her courteously, dripping pond water.
Hesitatingly, she introduced herself as Jane Eyre.
“And what brings young miss to the Train?” Wei Wuxian asked. He tossed the metal orb to himself.
“That’s not really…a question you would ask,” Al said. He gave Wei Wuxian a suspicious look, and Wei Wuxian hastily laughed and corrected himself.
“Of course I mean what brings young miss to this particular area,” he said.
“What else? Walking straight ahead of me,” the girl said. Her lip quivered, but she struck Wei Wuxian with an obstinate expression. “Mr. Elric says we are trapped here until three others arrive.”
Wei Wuxian shrugged. It was a powerful array trapping them, but in situations such as these, there was usually a way to worm yourself out.
“No need to panic yet,” he said.
Wei Wuxian began to wander around the grassy outskirts, exploring where exactly he could and could not go. He couldn’t cross the stone path except at the stone flag in front of the door he’d entered by, which limited him from getting close to any of the buildings. Al and Jane Eyre continued to talk while Wei Wuxian explored.
“Have you been on the train long?” Al asked her.
“I have been here for a little under a month,” she replied softly. “I fear I will soon lose count of the days. I cannot accept it yet, but perhaps when I finally lose track of the time… Perhaps then I will finally make my peace with it, that I wander the pit of hell.”
“O..oh. Ha, yeah. This isn’t hell. Easy mistake, though.”
Wei Wuxian grew bored, and eventually began to carve a flute for himself from one of the reeds he’d taken.
“I hope you do not ask me to believe that this place was made by human hands,” Jane Eyre argued. “Ridiculous. This is the work of God or the devil, you may choose your theology.”
Wei Wuxian laughed. He liked her. “Well said, well said,” he called. However, as one who had already died and had been resting in peace until now, the only thing he knew for certain was that the Train was neither heaven nor hell. “You’re right–no human could do all this. But there is a third option.”
“What is left?” Jane Eyre scolded. “After you’ve ruled out man and God, what is there?”
“Please don’t be upset,” Al said, his voice almost lost as Wei Wuxian tested the first hole in his flute. “I can actually explain what’s going on, um–”
“Besides man and God? Vengeful spirits. Spiritual arrays. That is to say: energy and will. The intent of the individual, self-sustaining even in his demise.”
Wei Wuxian tested another hole in his flute.
“Are you very familiar with vengeful spirits?” Jane Eyre said. Her question verged on accusatory, but there was more to it than hostility.
“Okay, let’s…we should pause,” Al said. “Let’s talk about the numbers. Jane, what’s yours? Have you noticed your number do anything?”
“This?” She held up her hand. Wei Wuxian lengthened his neck to see. He could tell that it was only a three-digit number, even if he couldn’t make out the exact digits. He turned back to his flute. Well, one of them was the outlier, and to his knowledge, only one of them had woken up in a stranger’s body in the middle of a spiritual array drawn in blood, so it was probably him.
“Right, that’s your number,” Al said. “As you continue on the train, how you react to different situations will change your number. And once your number gets to zero, you get to leave. You get to go back home.”
Wei Wuxian stared at his palm. His number ticked down by one with every passing second. Well, that wasn’t right. He pulled his sleeve back down. He appeared to have broken something already. Perhaps he had to figure out what his fellow cultivator had wanted Wei Wuxian to accomplish in exchange for his body before this number counted down to zero.
“It does change,” Jane Eyre said to herself. She turned her hand over in front of her, then let it fall to her side.
Two doors opened simultaneously and slammed closed. Two boys pitched forward onto their stone flags, out of breath.
“You didn’t have to make it a race,” said a slender boy with silver hair.
“Oh yeah? Then why’d you start running, ya damned rat?”
“Because it’s impossible for me to lose to you. My body moved on its own.”
The other boy, whose hair was an intriguing shade of orange, launched himself forward, only to be repelled by the spiritual array. He staggered back into the door behind him.
“What the hell is this?” he shouted.
“Spiritual array,” Wei Wuxian said. Both boys turned their attention to him.
“Who asked you?” they said in unison.
Wei Wuxian held up his hands in surrender, then went back to the flute he was making. Their argument continued, as if neither of them had noticed the other occupants of the ‘train car.’ They called each other ‘rat’ and ‘cat’ as they bickered, rather than use names. The two of them must be good friends.
Wei Wuxian wondered what kind of a rise he might have gotten from Lan Wangji if he’d slipped ‘rabbit’ into the list of names he used to call him. Lan Wangji…Lan-er-ge…Lan Zhan…Xiao Tuzi. That perfect marble face of his might have actually blushed for once, but Wei Wuxian wouldn’t have lived long enough to reach adulthood.
“Stop struggling,” said the silver-headed ‘rat.’ The ‘cat’ was trying to beat the invisible array under a barrage of kicks. His form was quite good, though Wei Wuxian didn’t recognize the school of martial arts. “It’s obviously part of the challenge. I don’t want to be stuck here with you any longer than I have to be.”
“Oh yeah? Well I don’t want to be in here with you, either. At least I’m doing
something
to get us out of here!”
It’s refreshing to see young people with so much energy
, Wei Wuxian thought.
“You should try doing something smart,” the ‘rat’ replied, “except that it’s impossible for you.”
“You two are close,” Wei Wuxian said. “Are you martial brothers?”
The ‘cat’ stopped speaking mid-retort. He turned a look of horror on Wei Wuxian.
“Absolutely not,” the ‘rat’ replied with a tone of voice that raised the hairs on Wei Wuxian’s arms and threatened to turn his blood to ice. “We are not close.”
“But you’re in the same stance,” Wei Wuxian said. “I couldn’t help but notice. What clan are you?”
Both boys quickly dropped their stance.
“Sohma,” they both said at once. Wei Wuxian hadn’t heard of it, but there were many smaller clans, and it had been thirteen years since he’d last walked the earth.
“I see. You knew each other well even before arriving to this place,” Wei Wuxian said, carefully vague. Al had seemed suspicious when Wei Wuxian had asked Jane Eyre why she had come to the Train. Clearly ‘why’ was not a question that could be answered, and this was something he should have known.
Their conversation had caught Al’s attention. He was finally tempted to break the rules, leaving his stone flag to walk through the grass. He glanced back at Jane Eyre twice before giving his full attention to Wei Wuxian and the boys.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“These two are martial brothers from the Sohma clan,” Wei Wuxian said. The two of them grimaced.
Al had a pensive look on his face.
“You knew each other before the train?” Al asked them.
“Yes,” said the ‘rat.’ “Unfortunately. I apologize for causing a disturbance.”
“If he calls us ‘martial brothers’ one more time, I’m going to kill myself,” said the ‘cat.’
Al made another couple of comments, asking their names and how long they’d been on the train, but he was clearly distracted, slow to respond to their answers. Wei Wuxian soon realized that Al was trying to get a look at the numbers on their hands.
“Catch!” Wei Wuxian called, tossing the white orb toward Kyo–the ‘cat.’ He’d been standing with his arms crossed, but caught the ball on reflex. As he moved, Wei Wuxian caught sight of a glowing green 93 on his palm.
“What the hell? What was that?” he yelled. He tossed the orb back at Wei Wuxian with force. Wei Wuxian caught it, then shook out his wrist. His fellow cultivator’s body really had very little muscle to speak of.
“I found it in the pond,” Wei Wuxian explained. “You don’t know what it is either?”
This caught the attention of Yuki–the ‘rat.’ Wei Wuxian tossed him the orb. As he raised his hands, Wei Wuxian saw his number was also 93.
Yuki puzzled over the orb, twisting it one way and the other.
“I have no idea,” he said. He offered it to Al, who took it, gave it an experimental twist, then gave up. He handed it back to Wei Wuxian with a nod of acknowledgement that the boys missed.
“Is it unusual, Al?” Wei Wuxian asked. “Do people usually arrive at the Train alone?”
“Well, from what I’ve seen, yes.” Al’s gaze followed Kyo’s hand as he crossed his arms again, removing his number from view. “But you two boarded the train together?”
“He didn’t give me any choice,” Kyo snapped. The number on Yuki’s hand ticked up to 96.
“We were late to meet Miss Honda. Do you like making her wait?”
“What do I care if she waits or not? Is she too stupid to go home when we don’t show up?!” Kyo shouted. He shifted into his fighting stance. Wei Wuxian peeked at his number again. It had also changed to 96.
“Okay,” said Al. “I’m going to go back over there.”
“There’s room to fight on the grass,” Wei Wuxian said. “No need to yell.”
“Nobody asked you,” both boys snapped.
Wei Wuxian could acknowledge the truth in that statement.
2.
Another hour passed. Wei Wuxian finished making his flute. He tested the holes, and was disappointed to find that C was slightly flat.
Finally, the sixth person arrived. Rather, persons. The door to Wei Wuxian’s right admitted not one, but two, bringing the total in the ‘train car’ to seven. They were both boys dressed in a uniform of some kind, though they could not have been more different in appearance. One had the confident air of a prince, while the other was rumpled and slightly dirty, as well as shy. He hid half-behind the other.
“Oh, hello!” the first boy exclaimed. “What a surprise. You don’t look like denizens; can I assume you are passengers as well?”
He didn’t receive an answer, for the conditions of the ‘train car’ array had apparently been met. All the lights went out as the array was triggered. The temperature dropped, then raised again as the ‘train car’ underwent a shift of energy. What Wei Wuxian had felt emanating from the metal box in the pond, he now felt as an ambient presence all around. It raised the hair on his arms.
When the lights came back on, there was a large six-sided die sitting at Wei Wuxian’s feet. He stooped to pick it up. The last arrivals leaned over curiously, still trying to introduce themselves.
“Hullo, I know what this is,” the outgoing boy said. “Are you any good at Cluedo, Noah?”
The pale boy half-behind him pulled a face. “I don’t like murder mysteries.”
“Feel free to sit out,” his friend said. “You appear to be extraneous. I’m Gansey, by the way,” he said, directing this part to Wei Wuxian. He held out his hand to him for some reason. Wei Wuxian tossed the die to the side, interested–perhaps the boy wanted to show him his number? Or, little prince that he clearly was, did he simply extend his wrist without a word when he needed someone to check his spiritual meridians?
Wei Wuxian did not get the chance to step onto the grass and inquire. The die fell on ‘6’ and with a lurch, the ground under his feet slid him over 6 flagstones. Wei Wuxian doubled over, bracing his hands on his knees. He felt excitement run up his spine as the hair on his arms raised again. The spiritual energy at play in this place was astronomical.
He heard the clatter of the die again, and raised his head in time to see Al move forward by two stone flags.
“Murder!” came a wail. “Oh, heavens, won’t somebody help?”
“My God, this may prove gruesome,” Gansey said, scratching his hairless chin. “Or camp. Oh, I’m nervous. I don’t think I’ll be all right if Tim Curry is here.”
His friend gave him a sour look–he looked a bit sick.
“Young master, you seem to have an idea of what’s going on,” Wei Wuxian called over to him. Miss Jane Eyre was holding the die now, clearly hesitant to throw it and allow herself to be moved by an invisible will. “Enlighten us humble ones.”
“Oh, of course,” Gansey said, snapping to a more dignified posture. “This is a children’s game called Cluedo–or
Clue,
Stateside. We players must determine through process of elimination which character is the killer, with which weapon, and in which room of the house. You see, usually we would have a hand of cards–-”
“Oh, help, won’t anybody help?” wailed the unfamiliar voice from deeper afield.
“--but it seems we may be conducting live interviews instead. It’s quite alright, you can roll the die, er–?”
“Jane,” Miss Jane Eyre said.
“That’s a funny coincidence,” Gansey said, “One of my good friends is a…”
“Jane Eyre,” she finished, and tossed the die.
“...Well, now, that is alarming. I also know a rather infamous Jane Eyre,” Gansey said rather more seriously. “You aren’t pulling my leg, I suppose?”
“No, sir,” she said curtly. She was transported to the fourth square, and the die went to Yuki. This sparked another upset from Kyo. Wei Wuxian nodded to himself. Children could be so lively. “Will sir take the gravity of the situation in mind?”
“Gravity? Oh–no, I’m sorry–I suppose the denizen crying foul does make things a touch jarringly realistic, but I assure you, this is a children’s game.”
“
Children
play this?” Al shouted from across the field.
Jane Eyre gave Gansey a critical look. They all took turns rolling the die, bringing them deeper into the layout of the compound. Wei Wuxian peered through the door frame adjacent to him. The room was decorated in deep greens and reds. Although it was an unfamiliar kind of luxury, Wei Wuxian found it interesting. There was a table in the center of the room, on which two men were playing a game involving stone balls and sticks. The men both smoked and chatted with each other as they played. They were ‘men’ only in gender–they were not made of flesh, but a material with a shine to it, similar to lacquered wood. One of the ‘men’ was entirely bright yellow, while the other was purple.
Wei Wuxian let out a low whistle, watching the men move about as if they were alive. Wei Wuxian had done a lot of reanimation in his last life, but this was something else! His own whistle reminded him of an easy test he might do. Before his turn to roll the die came around again, he tested out a short tune on his flute. It was a gentle command, which both the yellow and purple man ignored. They continued to chat with each other:
“Awful racket going on,” the yellow man said. “What’s all this about a murder, do you think?”
“Bad luck,” the purple man sighed. “You know, I almost didn’t come to this soiree? Now there’ll be an investigation. We’ll be stuck here Lord knows how long.”
“My God, do you think so?” the yellow man leaned thoughtfully against the table.
The pale, smudgy looking boy stepped into Wei Wuxian’s line of sight. He leaned against the door frame with his eyebrows raised questioningly.
“Eheh, my turn already?” Wei Wuxian said, bending to pick up the die. He paused before rolling it. “Are you able to pass through unimpeded, young master?”
“Oh, how unfair,” Gansey called. “I suppose it’s because you’re number seven, Noah.”
Noah gave Wei Wuxian a suspicious, sulking sort of look, then muttered, “Guess so.”
Wei Wuxian rolled the die. This time when it landed, the path ahead changed color, as did the threshold into the room where the yellow and purple men continued to take turns at the game table.
My choice, eh?
Wei Wuxian stepped through the doorway; Noah had found somewhere else to be. Wei Wuxian entered the room, and suddenly, the two ‘men’ were able to perceive him.
“Hullo, what’s this?” said the purple one.
“Are you the police detective?” asked the yellow one.
Wei Wuxian waved the question away. He walked once clockwise around the room, then once counterclockwise. Nothing jumped out to him as suspicious. There were no talismans, nothing at all familiar to him.
“A-Ying!” called Gansey.
“So informal,” Wei Wuxian said, rubbing down the goosebumps on his arms. “Don’t you know how to address a senior?”
“Oh? Um, but aren’t you… our age?”
Wei Wuxian paused. He hadn’t taken a look at himself yet. Was he? Was he a teenager?
“I’m terribly sorry, my knowledge of Chinese culture barely breaches the surface. I spent a month in Guizhou on ley line business, but I was regrettably preoccupied. Should I call you, um, gege?”
Wei Wuxian yelped in horror. “Wei Ying is fine. Better yet, Senior Wei. Master Wei–Wei Laozu, if you like.” The goosebumps on his arms refused to go down. “Why did you call out to this esteemed ancester just now?”
“Well–so sorry, I meant to suggest that you should ask one of the gents in the room with you if they have a candlestick on them, perhaps a lead pipe? The game is won by process of elimination, so presumably these avatars will have information that rules them out of the murder.”
Wei Wuxian cocked his head.
“Does sir have a candlestick?” Wei Wuxian asked the yellow one.
“I beg pardon?” the man said. “Professor Plum and I have been playing billiards since seven o’clock. We haven’t moved from this spot. I don’t know that I like your implication.”
“Of course,” Wei Wuxian said. He continued to pace the room. He wasn’t convinced of the utility of Gansey’s approach. He toyed with the metal sphere, twisting it this way and that. The truth of the matter was, if these ‘men’ were nothing more than advanced paperman effigies, then they could only provide answers within the scope of their commands.
Something else was moving them–the same something, Wei Wuxian would warrant, that had such tight control over the spiritual energy that this place was flush with. If he could only communicate with the source, the ‘game’ would be easily solved.
Another player rolled the die, and another. Gansey had his turn, and Wei Wuxian heard him announce that he’d found the corpse in the study.
“I’ve found our Mr. Boddy,” he called. “No obvious cause of death. Anyway, he’s just a game piece, and it’d be a bit awful if the body bore investigation. We ought to keep asking after murder weapons and alibis. Oh, hold on,” Gansey said. “He’s got a watch on, and it’s stopped at 8 o’clock. I suppose time is a variable in this version.”
Wei Wuxian tooled around with his flute as he thought. Maybe it was that simple, and there was no reason to try to look behind the curtain of the game. If Gansey was right, it was only a matter of listening closely to the scripted responses–who was with whom, where, at what time, and in possession of what weapon.
Wei Wuxian turned around to leave the billiards room, only to find Noah standing in the doorway again.
“Would you stop doing that?” Noah said.
“I know; C is flat,” Wei Wuxian said. “It’s driving me nuts. Shall we?”
Noah stepped out of Wei Wuxian’s way, giving him space to roll the die.
Three incense times later, the group was in a shambles. The seven of them had convened in the library, having all of them gone around to every room and asked every question they could think of. Gansey sat on the floor with a pad of paper, where he wrote everything out again. At some point in the game, the boy had lost his vest and rolled up his sleeves.
“I don’t understand,” he said. “This shouldn’t be possible. Jane, you asked Miss Scarlet where she was at 8 o’clock, and she said she was in the lounge, where she watched Mrs. White enter the conservatory via the secret passage.” Gansey ran his hands back through his hair. “That rules out Mrs. White, who would have been much too far from the study to commit the murder, despite the fact that she was in possession, suspiciously, of both the wrench and the rope. Who else is left? Mrs. Peacock has no alibi, and she does have the lead pipe, but I used up my guess on her only to find that she was not the killer–at least not with the lead pipe. Now I’m out of play and we only have five more tries. And none of you found Mr. Green anywhere? That’s…that’s improbable.”
Wei Wuxian came over to squat next to Gansey.
“Mr. Green?”
“There are supposed to be six game pieces, just like there are six of us,” said Gansey. “Sorry, Noah, you know what I mean.”
Noah shrugged.
Wei Wuxian got up to pace the perimeter of the library. Gansey’s diagram was logically sound. Mrs. Peacock with the lead pipe in the study–this should have been the correct answer, given the information available. That left one remaining possibility.
“Our opponent is cheating,” Wei Wuxian said.
“There is no opponent,” Gansey said.
“Do you think the denizens are cheating? How are we supposed to beat the car if they can lie?” Al said, sitting up. He gave a suspicious look toward the blue lady, Mrs. Peacock. She sat on a couch in the library, sniffling. Her presence was very distracting; every so often she would burst into tears, wailing that she was a well-respected member of the community.
Wei Wuxian didn't think the denizens could cheat–at least not by their own will. They were moved by the will of whoever had harnessed the energy buzzing around them, no more in control of their actions than a fierce corpse under a thrall.
“Let’s go around again,” Wei Wuxian said. “This time, ask our hosts only questions about Mr. Green: when they saw him last, and where, to start.”
Jane Eyre took the first initiative. She sat down next to Mrs. Peacock and took her hands.
“Please compose yourself, Ma’am.” She produced a handkerchief, which the lady took. Mrs. Peacock dabbed at her face, although there was no moisture there. “Are you acquainted with a Mr. Green?”
The six of them went in separate directions to ask after the missing man. They were constrained in their movement by the roll of the dice, and so this round of questioning took just as long as the first.
The picture began to come together, but it was extremely strange. Colonel Mustard reported that he had seen Mr. Green in the kitchen at 7:30, but when Yuki asked him to confirm where he had been himself, Colonel Mustard insisted again that he had not moved from the billiards room since 7 o’clock.
Professor Plum had had a drink in the Lounge with Mr. Green a little before 8, but he too insisted that he had never left the billiards room. And so on. The group reconvened in the library once again. Gansey wrote out everyone’s findings.
“The car is glitching,” Al mumbled to himself, eyes scanning Gansey’s notes. “All of this is contradictory.”
“What do you mean by ‘glitching’?” Wei Wuxian asked.
“Well it’s…broken. Something’s gone wrong,” Gansey said. “Rather than maliciously cheating or lying, our denizens appear to be in a state of confusion.” Gansey paused. He looked to Al for confirmation–Al gave a nod. “The train cars seem to be programmed by computer, albeit an extremely advanced one. If something happens which the computer could not have foreseen, the result is…this. The cars aren't endlessly adaptable.”
“Ah,” Wei Wuxian pointed his flute at him, grinning. “The Computer–that’s our opponent.”
“I guess you could say that,” Gansey said testily. “If you really must have an opponent.”
Wei Wuxian spun his flute in his fingers, thinking.
“The Computer is the one who determined the answer that will open the door, correct? If it has been rendered unable to provide the clues to its own puzzle…” Wei Wuxian said, “we have to ask directly.”
Wei Wuxian rolled the die, leaving the others behind in the library. Al and Gansey trailed after him. Jane Eyre and the juniors of the Sohma clan stayed behind. Noah kept pace, not constrained by the dice rolls. Eventually, he figured out Wei Wuxian's intentions and went on ahead. When chance finally allowed it, Wei Wuxian arrived at the study, where he found Noah waiting.
The lacquer man Gansey had called Mr. Boddy lay in a dramatic sprawl. Noah sat beside him, chin propped thoughtfully in his hand.
“Demonic cultivation doesn’t work on the game pieces,” Wei Wuxian explained. He thought he might be able to control them like paperman effigies, but he wasn’t looking for an empty husk to do his bidding. He was hoping to delve a bit deeper than that. “However, if a game piece were to die, would that still be the case?”
“I don’t follow,” Al said.
“I’m afraid you can’t, where I’m going.” Wei Wuxian rolled up his sleeves with a grin. His number continued to tick steadily down. “I’m going to take a look and see who killed Mr. Boddy.”
He was too rusty to be doing something like Empathy, especially considering the tether binding him to his current body was no stronger than an unfulfilled contract. He gave Noah a pat on the shoulder and a smile.
“I think you’ll be able to push me out, if it comes to that,” he said. “No worries if not.”
Wei Wuxian folded himself down into a meditative pose. Then he reached out and touched Mr. Boddy.
He felt a thrill as his consciousness shifted. ‘Empathy’ was a tool of last resort for most cultivators, as it meant leaving one’s own body unguarded. An unfocused mind could become trapped in the powerful emotions and memories of the dead.
Wei Wuxian did not think he was going to have that problem. He felt incredibly claustrophobic, stuffed inside the limited consciousness of a game piece that could not think, feel, or move. His field of vision was also limited; he could see three red doors out of six. However, he knew more about his surroundings than he could actively perceive. He knew the position of every other game piece relative to himself, for example. He could feel the steady thrum of power coursing through his meridians–though it was the feeling of being
under
power, not in control.
Only one of the three doors that Wei Wuxian could see had a person standing before it. It was a young boy with a shock of white hair. He tossed a white ball to himself, clearly bored. He paced in a circle, sighed, and tossed the ball again. Occasionally, the ball spoke.
“Again, Killua, again!” it said. Then, in a different voice: “Please, no more. I get motion sickness.”
Wei Wuxian recognized that ball. It was the metal sphere that he’d been playing with himself a few moments ago.
The boy named Killua continued to toss it to himself. Then, abruptly, he stopped.
“This is
boring
,” he yelled at the empty room. “How long are you going to keep me here?”
Neither the room nor the Computer facilitating it gave any answer. Killua resumed tossing the ball to himself.
It wasn’t long before another door opened, one that Wei Wuxian couldn’t see from his angle. The next occupant of the room didn’t seem inclined to speak, and all Killua said was a mumbled “About time.”
Wei Wuxian might have dozed off from boredom if not for the oppressive energy with its iron grip on Mr. Boddy. It really was uncomfortable being a pawn for a force more powerful than yourself. Wen Ning had probably felt like this a few times during his days as Wei Wuxian’s Ghost General.
Wei Wuxian felt the stirring of regret, but he was able to catch it like a snake by the tail.
What’s done is done, and anyone worth apologizing to has already been reduced to ash years ago.
Another door opened behind Wei Wuxian. A bubbly pair of voices filled the air. These two dragged introductions from the others. They wandered around on the grass as Wei Wuxian had done, testing the limits of the car.
“I’m Fai D. Fluorite, but please call me Fai for short,” came one voice. “This is Mokona. What can we call you, friend?”
A rustle of fabric and soft jingle of metal was the only reply from that corner.
“It’s alright if you don’t want to talk, but you should have a name,” Fai continued. “Mokona, what do you think?”
“Mokona thinks so, too!”
“Shall I give you one?” Fai prompted.
“No,” said the man. He paused. “Ansem. If you have to.”
“Ansem, Ansem!” sing-songed the one called Mokona.
“A pleasure to meet you, Ansem-chan,” said Fai.
Ansem did not reply.
The newcomers cut across the grass, coming into view. Fai was tall, a stretched-out beanpole with hair even lighter than Al’s, but not quite the off-putting white of Killua’s. He had a yao beast with him–this must be the one called Mokona. It had ears like a rabbit’s, but otherwise resembled a steamed bun. Fai held it casually in his arms as he approached Killua with a smile.
Mokona’s eyes narrowed in on Wei Wuxian–rather, Mr. Boddy. It stared in intense silence.
“What’s wrong, Mokona? Do you sense a feather?”
“Mokona doesn’t think so. But Mokona feels funny, like Mokona is being watched!”
That sent a shiver up Wei Wuxian’s spine. But Mokona was probably talking about the powerful energy of the Computer that controlled this game.
“That's because we are. The train knows everything we do.” Killua held up his hand, showing off a four-digit number. “We even get a score.” He paused. “I’m Killua.”
“Fai D. Fluorite, at your service.”
“And Mokona!”
Fai gave Mokona’s head a pat. “Killua-kun, you seem to know a lot about this place. Have you noticed anything strange lately?”
“Sure,” said Killua. “Lots of cars getting shuffled around. Lots of changes. I’ve heard there’s a new conductor, but who knows?”
“That sounds like a person to meet,” Fai said cheerfully. “Do you know where to find them?”
Killua laughed derisively. “Front of the train. If you don’t want to wait for that number to go down–and I wouldn’t–you’ll want to head that way.”
“Is that where Killua-kun is going?” Fai asked.
“My number’s busted. I’ve beaten every challenge, and it doesn’t budge.” Killua shrugged. “And I’m getting bored, so I’m ready to go home.”
“Killua-kun isn’t from this world?” Mokona asked.
“Nobody is,” Killua said. He gave Fai and Mokona a critical look. “Obviously.”
“Obviously, obviously,” Fai laughed, waving his hand in a flippant gesture. Wei Wuxian thought that was interesting. Just like Wei Wuxian, Fai also didn’t know something that most of the people on the train naturally understood. Wei Wuxian wondered how far ahead Fai and Mokona were. Maybe he could catch up.
Wei Wuxian put that thought on hold as the fourth person entered the car. He recognized him–well, not him, exactly, but after such a long day in the presence of foreigners, seeing a boy in the colors of the Jin clan, cinnabar dot and all, Wei Wuxian felt that he had encountered an old friend from the same hometown.
The Jin junior tried to march ahead, only to be stopped in place by the invisible barrier.
“What’s going on?” he barked. “What is that?”
The Jin junior backpedaled at the sight of Mokona.
“Mokona is Mokona!” Mokona chirped.
The room introduced themselves again–with the exception of Ansem, who was introduced as Ansem-chan by Fai and Mokona.
“I’m Jin Ling of Golden Carp Tower,” the boy said. He was preoccupied by his robes, kneading at one particular spot as if he was trying to rub out a stain. “You guys are the first people I’ve met. Everyone else is…is…”
“They’re called denizens,” Killua said.
Wei Wuxian ceased to be able to hear the conversation. Rather, he could hear it, but he couldn't retain it. He stared at the boy named ‘Jin Ling.’ This was
that
Jin Ling, there was no mistaking it. He looked a little like Jin Zixuan, but moreso like Wei Wuxian’s shijie. Thirteen years had gone by, and here he was: Shijie’s son all grown up. What could Wei Wuxian feel except shock? He had no right to even look. Jin Ling’s own parents hadn’t lived long enough to see him write his own name, let alone pick up a sword, so how was it that the one who had sent Jin Zixuan and Jiang Yanli to their graves dared to look at their son?
If Wei Wuxian could have moved Mr. Boddy’s arms, he would have slapped himself in the face.
Instead, he tried to focus once again on the conversation. Fai was the most interested in talking, but every pleasant question seemed to have an unusual undertone of interrogation.
“Is Jin Ling hurt?” Fai asked.
“No,” the boy said rudely. He dropped the corner of his robes which he had resumed rubbing. “Why?”
“I thought that stain might be blood; I’m glad you’re not injured.”
Jin Ling flushed red up to his ears. What a strange reaction–but the Jin clan could be fussy about appearances. Maybe he didn't like the stain pointed out.
If Wei Wuxian could have been killed by shock alone, the person who stepped through the door to Jin Ling’s right would have been the one to deliver him to the afterlife.
What was this?
Seriously, what was this?!
Lan Wangji had just entered the train car, his white robes stained and slightly out of order. He looked terrible. The second jade of Gusu–renowned and admired for his beauty and composure–was
grubby
. He didn’t look how Wei Wuxian remembered, and at the distance, it was hard to tell at first what was wrong with him. Wei Wuxian realized it a moment later, of course.
Thirteen years had gone by since Wei Wuxian had last seen this man. At that time, they had been in their early twenties. They had been through a war together. By now, Lan Wangji should have been in his mid-thirties. But the boy standing in front of the red door, every sign indicating that he had reached the summit of his endurance, couldn’t have been older than seventeen.
In fact, Wei Wuxian knew exactly how old he was. He could almost have narrowed it down to the day. Although Lan Wangji had not taken more than one step since he had entered the car, Wei Wuxian noticed he held himself so his weight rested solely on one leg.
This was Lan Wangji at sixteen. His leg was broken. His father was critically injured, his brother was missing, and his clan’s library had been reduced to ash. He was about to embark for Qishan, where the Wen clan would hold him and many other disciples from the various clans hostage in the name of ‘education.’
Crazed laughter bubbled up inside Wei Wuxian, unable to be released. He wanted to pinch those round cheeks–he hadn’t thought of them as round back then, because he hadn’t yet known what Lan Wangji would look like seven years and many trials later. This little jade, angry eyes scanning his surroundings, wasn’t yet the refined beauty who young women showered with flowers.
But why, and how, was he here?
3.
Lan Wangji no longer believed he had fallen and hit his head. He understood now that this was real, and that the talking teapot he’d encountered was not a product of his own troubled mind.
He had spent a day in meditation, and when he had returned his attention to the matter at hand, the teapot was still there. It introduced itself as Blanche Worthington Who-knows Wedgewood III.
Lan Wangji closed his eyes and returned to meditation. He was concerned. His body was not in top form; he could not withstand even a minor qi deviation in his current state.
He had emerged from this second period of meditation feeling much better. Blanche the teapot offered him tea. Lan Wangji calmly accepted her hospitality. Blanche brewed and poured tea according to a custom that Lan Wangji was not familiar with, into a teacup that was hardly recognizable as such.
When she had finished, Lan Wangji raised the cup. There was a sachet floating in the water. He held it up to Blanche in silent question.
“I hope Lipton’s okay,” Blanche said. “I have Sweet ‘N’ Low if you want some.”
Lan Wangji gently lowered the sachet back into the water. He took a calming breath, then took a sip of tea.
Lan Wangji set his cup down with shaking fingers.
“Thank you,” he said. He delicately mopped a stream of blood from both nostrils.
“I betcha have a lot of questions,” Blanche said. “Well, I’ve got the answers. You’re on the train, hon!”
Lan Wangji gave her his full attention out of courtesy, despite the fact that he was bleeding from one of the seven apertures.
“You’ve got a number on your hand, right? Well, once that reaches zero, you’re outta here. You get to go back home. But until then, there’s a lot to do and see.”
Lan Wangji furrowed his brow. He had to accept that this was real, but he couldn’t. If he accepted this was real, he would have a qi deviation. Another spurt of blood escaped from his nose. He quickly pressed his sleeve up against it, staining the white silk with a spider-web pattern of blood.
“You want a snack, hon?” Blanche asked.
“No,” Lan Wangji said, voice distorted by the pressure on his nose. He closed his eyes. He could do this. He had been persevering this whole time. The Cloud Recesses had burned before his eyes, and he hadn’t lost control of himself then, so this should be easy to withstand.
A trickle of blood escaped from the corner of his eye. Lan Wangji blinked it away. This was ridiculous. He breathed deeply, centering himself. For some reason, he thought of Wei Ying. Wei Ying would not have been incapacitated in this situation. In fact, Wei Ying would thrive in this frivolous environment. He would have engaged the teapot in small talk. By now, Wei Ying would have known if Blanche was married, if she had any children, and how many, and their names. He would probably have said something inappropriate and shameless.
Lan Wangji sat in silence until he had once again regained his composure. Then, he said:
“Is this a number?”
He held up his palm so Blanche could see the three characters inexplicably tattooed upon it. They glowed faintly green. If it was a curse mark, it was an unfamiliar kind.
“One hundred and eight,” Blanche said. “Pish posh, you’ll be outta here in no time.”
Lan Wangji looked down at the characters. He closed his fist around them.
“What do I have to do?” he asked.
“Drink your tea,” Blanche said. “After that, whatever you like!”
Lan Wangji drank his tea. The awfulness of it had a clarifying effect on his mind, almost like sitting under any icy waterfall of spring snowmelt. Lan Wangji felt a twinge of annoyance at himself at the thought. It was silly.
“Oops,” said Blanche. “Was it something I said?”
She gestured toward Lan Wangji’s hand with her spout. The number had changed to 1-0-9. Blanche had been recounting a local legend among her and her fellow ‘denizens,’ chatting to fill the time. The story featured a one-armed man. No one knew if he was a denizen or a passenger, but he roamed from place to place, fixing things. Tinkering. In this particular legend, the one-armed man had used a magical ability to keep a river from flooding its banks.
“What condition will change the number?” Lan Wangji asked.
“Getting worse or getting better,” Blanche said. “Try not to think too hard about it. Grade-grubbing doesn’t work. Although, what do I know, I’m just a teapot.” She lowered her voice. “But trust me, it doesn’t work.”
“Getting worse,” Lan Wangji said quietly. He stared down at the bloom of red on his sleeve, which was quickly drying to a stiff, unattractive brown.
He moved on from Blanche’s car soon enough. He’d limped through the challenge she set, which was as frivolous as it was humiliating. His task was to manage a tea shop. He learned how to make something called a macaron, and then he made five dozen of them. He wiped a stray smudge of buttercream frosting from his finger.
He found this place exhausting. It was hard work learning the bizarre recipes–and learning how to manage his time. His stock disappeared out from under him as a steady stream of customers–none of them human–ate his pastries faster than he could make new ones. Lan Wangji picked up the pace, despite his broken leg.
Sweating hard as he worked, he again thought that Wei Ying would have liked this place. It would have inflamed his competitive side, but he also would have found it funny. He seemed perfectly able to find joy in adversity, something Lan Wangji had thought frivolous–until he found his own heart so laden that he would have given anything for the ability to set down a burden for a while.
There was no time for inner tranquility in the hot kitchen. Lan Wangji’s customers were becoming irate. Lan Wangji did not notice the exact moment his number ticked back down to 108.
*
The next car was a puzzle of different colored blocks that must be placed in the correct order according to a pattern. After that, Lan Wangji was forced to rest. The following car was a rainforest, and Lan Wangji could not even spare the energy to be embarrassed when he made himself a bed of leaves and curled up to sleep.
In the next car, he had to help an elderly woman navigate the busy streets of a city without accident. He carried her groceries for her. In the next car, he had to solve a stupid riddle. In the next car, he rested again.
His number stayed firmly at 108. He had trouble getting to sleep. He stared angrily at nothing, annoyed with himself for expending so much energy without any results to show for it.
*
The next car was some kind of compound that had been leveled to its foundations. Brightly painted statues stood in rooms without walls. Lan Wangji wanted to get a closer look, but a spiritual array kept him in place.
There were other people here. To his left, standing on a flagstone before his own red door, was a junior of the Jin clan. Lan Wangji felt equal parts horror and relief. He realized that a part of him had still been hoping this was a nightmare. The presence of the familiar in this unfamiliar world forced him further down the path of acceptance. But at least he was not alone.
The fellow junior stared at him, mouth slightly open.
“Ha…Hanguang-jun,” he said, barely voicing the words.
“Beg pardon?” Lan Wangji said.
The Jin junior clamped his hands over his mouth. He stared at Lan Wangji in undisguised horror. The Lan white uniform showed stains, and Lan Wangji had not had the opportunity to bathe yet, but the Jin junior also looked travel-worn. Lan Wangji raised his chin and looked elsewhere.
“Hello!” chimed a stranger cutting across the grass. His hair was pale, but he was young. He had a carefree gait, and some sort of yao beast resembling a rabbit rode on his shoulder. “Fai D. Fluorite. And this is Mokona. It seems we are all stuck together for a while.”
Lan Wangji made a quiet “Mm” in acknowledgement. “I am Lan Wangji of the Gusu Lan.”
The Jin junior made a rude sound–a laugh?--from behind the hands clamped to his face.
“This is Jin Ling, that’s Killua-kun, and that’s Ansem-chan. Killua-kun thinks we will have to wait for one more to arrive before the car will activate.”
“Killua-kun is so clever!” Mokona exclaimed. The beast was very loud. “Killua-kun, Killua-kun, will you throw Mokona also?”
The boy was tossing a ball to himself. The ball could talk–perhaps it was a spirit-catching device.
“You have an injury,” Fai said quietly, still smiling. “Are you going to be all right?”
“Mm,” said Lan Wangji. “I am fine.” He gingerly sat himself down into a meditation pose. His leg was bothering him, and although meditation could only do so much, it was the only tool at his disposal.
Many hours passed. Jin Ling shared food around, but they were not the sort of rations Lan Wangji was accustomed to. He ate anyway, even though the sweetness made him feel a little sick.
Killua was the most upset by the wait. He played with his ball, paced on the grass, and frequently complained.
“What kind of world is Killua-kun from?” Fai asked. Killua stopped his pacing. He turned his glower on Fai.
“What do you mean, what kind of world? You mean what country?” Killua threw his ball at Fai much too fast. The man was going to be hurt.
But Fai only caught the ball in a firm grip. He lobbed it gently back, the ball calling “Weeeee” as it soared through the air.
“I mean just what I said,” Fai said, still smiling. “I get the feeling Jin Ling and Lan Wangji are from the same world, but Killua-kun and Ansem-chan are from different worlds. For example, my world is called Ceres.”
“Destiny Islands,” said an unfamiliar voice. Lan Wangji looked up in time to see ‘Ansem-chan’ lower his black hood. He was a youth with silver hair and a black blindfold over his eyes.
“Whatever. You guys are weird,” said Killua. Lan Wangji was inclined to agree with him.
“It takes a lot of magic to travel from one world to another,” Fai said. “Having so many dimensional travelers in one place is a little exciting.”
“Mokona is excited!” the beast agreed.
Several more hours passed. When the sixth door opened, all five looked up.
It was another boy with white hair. He cocked his head to one side and smiled. Then the lights went out.
4.
Wei Wuxian had thought that he would be able to see the killer if he inhabited Mr. Boddy, but the sudden darkness in the train car obscured his view. When the lights came back on, Mr. Boddy was lying on the floor. Wei Wuxian’s sense of what was going on in the car around him was reduced to that which he could hear.
Ah well! He would just have to listen in for Lan Wangji to supply the answer. Once the group figured out the rules of the game, it would not be long before they solved the puzzle.
They figured out the dice roll quickly, but not the interviews–or so Wei Wuxian thought at first. The dice clattered many times without any of the players saying anything.
“One again!” Fai exclaimed. “That isn’t very likely.”
“Ansem-chan also rolled a one, and so did Killua!” Mokona sing-songed.
The dice dropped again as Jin Ling rolled. Then again for Lan Wangji.
“One-one, one-one,” Mokona sang.
“Can I help you?” came a deadpan voice that Wei Wuxian didn’t recognize at first. It was only after the conversation moved on that he recalled that the ball could also talk.
The dice fell again, and judging by Killua’s snort of annoyance, the last person to enter the train car had rolled well.
“So that’s how it works,” came a pleasant voice. “It’s a game board, and we can only move as far as the dice allow. How fun.”
The die went to Killua again, and judging by the quiet tension in the air, his roll hadn’t been good.
“One-one, one-one!” sang Mokona again.
“Present!” chirped the white ball. Then, tone shifting: “There isn’t enough room in this narrative for two adorable mascots. Mokona has to go.”
Wei Wuxian listened in as the tension in the car slowly ratcheted up.
“That's the third time in a row you’ve rolled a six,” Killua snapped. “Are you cheating?”
“Ah, I generally have pretty good luck…” said the pleasant voice.
“But that doesn’t explain why the rest of us haven't rolled higher than a two!” chirped Jin Ling.
“There is no need to fight,” said Lan Wangji. “The game is played collaboratively.”
“Yes, Han…Yes. Mm-hm.”
“At least use your roll to go somewhere,” said Killua. “You passed two rooms already.”
“Huh? I thought I would explore first. Is that not how you play?”
An excruciating length of time passed while Wei Wuxian attempted to listen for the clues that would solve the puzzle. The boy with the good luck and pleasant voice was named Komaeda. While the others struggled to make any progress across the board with rolls of one or two, Komaeda made inefficient use of his high rolls. His questions to the lacquer men were also inefficient.
“Komaeda should ask Mr. Green at what time he last saw Miss Scarlet,” Fai suggested.
Komaeda did so; at Mr. Green’s testimony that he had not seen Miss Scarlet at all that night, Komaeda clapped his hands once and announced: “I guess it was Miss Scarlet with the candlestick.”
“It can’t have been–” Jin Ling began.
A disembodied voice announced that Komaeda’s guess was incorrect and only five guesses remained.
Fai gently prodded: “Remember, Mrs. White saw Miss Scarlet at 7:45 in the dining room, and the Dining Room is too far from the study for her to have arrived, killed Mr. Boddy, and taken up her position in the Lounge in only 15 minutes.”
“Ah, now I see,” Komaeda sighed.
By this time the others had waited for seven turns and had each finally reached one of the rooms. They each asked their questions, and Wei Wuxian listened in. Attempting to solve the logic puzzle without the benefit of pen and paper was more difficult than he’d anticipated.
He paid special attention to Lan Wangji’s question. The others were focusing on eliminating Colonel Mustard, and had almost done so; they were nearly sure he didn’t have any of the weapons, but still needed to ask about the rope.
Lan Wangji, however, asked a different question.
“At what time did Professor Plum last see Mr. Green?” he said quietly.
Professor Plum gave a familiar reply: he’d had a drink with Mr. Green in the lounge a little before eight. Wei Wuxian could imagine the cute little wrinkle between Lan Wangji’s eyebrows as he considered the problem.
“Wheet-woo,” Fai said. “Can that be possible, when Mr. Green was also recently seen in the kitchen by Colonel Mustard? He can’t have passed through the dining room on the way to the lounge, or Miss Scarlet would have seen him.”
The die passed to Komaeda. Komaeda must have used his roll inefficiently again; Wei Wuxian felt a crackle of tension from one of the other players, a disruption of the steady flow of power. Even the light flickered.
“We’ve been waiting here for hours,” Killua growled. “Just sitting around waiting, until you showed up. The least you could do is play like you mean it.”
“Huh? But that’s not my fault,” Komaeda said. “Let’s see…this time, I guess it was Colonel Mustard with the rope.”
“You’re guessing again?!” Jin Ling exclaimed.
The voice overhead announced that the guess was incorrect, and only four guesses remained. Interesting! Wei Wuxian’s group had incorrectly assumed that because the number of available guesses was equal to the number of players, no one player could guess multiple times.
“Ah, wrong again,” Komaeda said.
“If I roll a ‘one’ again, I’m going to kill you,” Killua said.
“Eh?” Komaeda said. “My luck isn’t something I can control, though…”
“But Komaeda-kun’s luck does affect the luck of others near him–is that right?” Fai asked.
“Ah-ha…yeah, that’s right. Sorry for the inconvenience,” Komaeda laughed.
Wei Wuxian heard the dice drop for Killua’s roll. He then felt a shift in energy more intense than the last. The lights flickered again. Wei Wuxian heard a whistle of air, and the sound of metal striking metal, in turn followed by the white ball’s dispassionate promise to see them all next week.
“Do not take your anger out on the weak,” came Lan Wangji’s voice. Ah, he must be seriously pissed if he was getting involved.
“Thanks for the advice,” Killua said. He paused for a long moment. “I completely agree. A targeted strike is a much better use of my energy.”
Wei Wuxian felt the energy in the room surge again; with the sound of a lightning strike, the compound was abruptly enveloped in darkness.
“Oh, come on,” Killua said icily. “I hardly ever miss.”
Many voices started up at once. A blade was drawn from its sheath.
“Hanguang-jun–”
“It’s just a game, Killua-kun. No need to get too serious, hm?”
“Eh? You were trying to kill me?” Komaeda sounded genuinely surprised. “Ah…Mr. Green is completely melted. I hope no one else wanted to ask him anything...”
That would explain the smoke filling the ‘train car.’ Some of the occupants began to cough. While the compound appeared to be in the open air, Wei Wuxian knew this to be an illusion of the array. If they didn’t get the door opened soon–if Wei Wuxian had to watch the last of the Jiang family line suffocate–
Suddenly, it began to rain. All six of the red doors opened at once, and the light changed from natural sunshine to a dim red glow. An ear-splittingly loud G# repeated in time with a flash of white light from above each red door.
“Mokona is getting wet!” called the meat-bun. “Kya! Kya~!”
“Do you still want to fight?” asked Killua, tone dangerous. “Just so you know, I’m in a bad mood, so I won’t take it easy on you.”
Wei Wuxian heard Lan Wangji’s sword return to its sheath. Then he was blinking under bright sunshine, sitting upright rather than lying prone inside Mr. Boddy. The change of position made him lightheaded and nauseated. His body was breathing–he’d forgotten his body could do that, as well as smell, taste, speak, move.
“Paper,” Wei Wuxian said, choking on his own spit.
Gansey provided his notebook. Wei Wuxian sat in silence, scribbling as fast as his hand could write. As Mr. Boddy, he’d had the opportunity to commit each question-and-response to memory. Almost all the questions Komaeda had asked had failed to narrow the field, but several of the others had had a chance to participate as well, despite their low rolls.
Of course, Lan Wangji’s single question had been the most useful. Wei Wuxian worked through the logic himself, and found he came to the same conclusion as Lan Wangji–Mr. Green had somehow circumvented the dining room on his way from the kitchen to the lounge, yet was seen in the lounge only minutes before the murder. Given a little more time, the group would have realized that Mr. Green had used the secret passageway from the kitchen to the study, where he killed Mr. Boddy by hanging, giving himself enough time to reach the lounge via the hall before Mr. Boddy finally perished at 8 o’clock.
Once Wei Wuxian had finished writing, he explained his conclusion to the rest of the room.
“Of course the killer was Mr. Green,” said Gansey, stroking his hairless chin. “Mr. Green is stuck in the cache. He wasn’t available to take a new role when the game restarted, so the computer still has him marked as the killer. We’re lucky that Wei Laozu has psychic abilities. Shall we go ahead and make our accusation?”
“Alright,” Wei Wuxian said. “Computer–the killer is Mr. Green, with the rope.”
The Computer announced that the guess was incorrect and only four guesses remained. Wei Wuxian sighed through his nose. This was sort of hurting his credibility.
“Well, we do know one way out,” he said lightly. “Killing one of the lacquer men opened the door for the last group.”
“No,” said Al. He wasn’t the only one who looked at Wei Wuxian with a horrified expression.
“Then we’ll have to guess. Unfortunately, we only have four guesses left, and I’m all out of ideas.”
They sat in silence for a while. From the study, they could hear the ambient sounds of the game ‘billiards’ and Mustard and Plum’s complaints.
“Rather high concept, isn’t it, communing with the dead?” grumbled Mustard. “I’d rather have an ordinary fellow for a detective, if it was up to me.”
“I heard he’s looking at Peacock,” said Plum.
“Peacock?” Mustard laughed. “One dead and one missing and he thinks it was Peacock? Not with her nerves.”
Mustard and Plum’s shit-talking was drowned out by a resumption of conversation. Gansey and Al had their noses in Wei Wuxian’s notes, trying to invent probabilities out of thin air. It was no use–the odds of guessing the correct combination were what they were.
Yuki, Kyo, and Jane Eyre had also clustered around to put their two cents in. Only Noah sat out, once again extraneous. As a spirit, the game didn’t seem to know what to do with him. He didn’t have to follow the rules of the array that constricted everyone else’s movement. For whatever reason, the dead were excluded from play. Not only that, but the game couldn’t appear to ‘see’ them at all. If Noah had entered the car without Gansey, Wei Wuxian doubted the array would have triggered the start of the game. Wei Wuxian crinkled his eyebrows in thought.
“Mr. Green isn't the right answer,” Wei Wuxian said abruptly. “Of course.”
“Sorry?” said Al. “What do you mean?”
“The Computer has another rule: the killer must be someone who is alive,” said Wei Wuxian. “Mr. Green is excluded on those grounds. But for some reason, the role still couldn’t be reassigned to another of the lacquer men–why not?”
“The role belongs to nobody and we are trapped, is that what you mean?” said Jane Eyre. She paused. “Or do you mean Mr. Killua?”
Wei Wuxian grinned. “Without seeing the array, I guess that it works like this: there must be a killer, singular. The killer must be alive to take the fall. A new killer must be assigned immediately in the absense of a killer.” Wei Wuxian paced the room, the eyes of the juniors following him back and forth. “Killua meets these constraints, but unlike the lacquer men, Killua can’t be reset by the array when a new group comes to play the game. Therefore, he is still the killer as far as the Computer is concerned.”
“Shall we put it to the test?” asked Gansey. He waited for the consensus of the room, then cleared his throat and announced the group’s guess: “I believe the killer is a young man named Killua, murder weapon, er, lightning?–and the location would be this game board, generally.”
The juniors all held their breath. All six red doors unlocked with a satisfying chime.
Wei Wuxian walked casually toward the exit, keeping the juniors in his peripheral vision as they all filtered through the same door. He sensed Al at his elbow before he saw him.
“Wei Ying,” he said seriously. “We should talk. Your number…”
Both of their eyes flicked down to the steady countdown on Wei Wuxian’s palm. Wei Wuxian shook his sleeves down to cover it again.
“Ah, actually, there’s someone I want to catch up with, so–”
Both of them nearly walked into Gansey on the other side of the door. The others were lingering as well, all looking to one another, waiting for someone else to take action first. When Wei Wuxian walked through the door with Al, all eyes snapped to the two of them.
“Wei Laozu, Al,” Gansey said. “I think I speak for everyone–” he shot the others a hasty glance, “--are you amenable to forming a group?”
In the later years of his life, it was true he’d been accused of forming a secret sect of demonic cultivators, but Wei Wuxian had never so much as taken a single disciple. The Sohma juniors, Miss Jane Eyre, and even Noah all looked at him expectantly. Wei Wuxian didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
Gansey extended his hand in that princely gesture again. Wei Wuxian raised an eyebrow, questioning. Al grabbed Wei Wuxian’s hand and extended it for him, bridging the distance.
“We’d love to!” Al said, as Gansey pumped Wei Wuxian’s hand up and down.