#xxc is basically jeremy jones

[gravitywonagain]

Mountain Immortal

(a Fresh Powder in the Pine Trees story)

.

Wei Ying is in the zone. 

It’s after lessons have closed on a Tuesday and he’s sitting at a table in the main lodge, editing his and Nie Huaisang’s latest video footage while waiting for Wen Qing to close up the clinic for the day. “Tangerine” is blasting in his headphones and his beat up laptop hasn’t overheated yet. The clips he’s working on are the fails, the attempts, the outtakes. They’re probably his favorites to go through because the pain has passed, but the lesson lives on, and, most of the time, they’re just really funny. Watching Jiang Cheng eat shit off a rail, while knowing that he’s fine, will never get old. 

So he’s totally in the zone. Which is probably why he doesn’t notice Lan Zhan over his shoulder until he feels a hand shaking him gently.

There’s something like panic in Lan Zhan’s voice when Wei Ying removes his headphones.

“When was this?” he asks.

“Ah? Lan Zhan…?”

“Are you hurt?”

“Am I — Lan Zhan, what’s wrong?”

Lan Zhan points to the screen where the Wei Ying of a little over a week ago just landed hard on his ass after a failed rail slide. 

“Ah, no, it’s fine. Wen Qing said all the bleeding was internal. That’s where the blood is supposed to be!”

Alarm lights in Lan Zhan's eyes, his eyebrows twitch toward his hairline.

“It’s a reference!" Wei Ying says, backpedaling hard and fast. "A bad reference. And a joke! Importantly, it’s a joke. I’m fine. I promise. No bleeding, internally or externally. Just a giant bruise on my ass. And on my pride."

Lan Zhan's expression settles out again, and Wei Ying takes a breath. He scoots his laptop over as Lan Zhan takes a seat, pressing play on the clip so that Lan Zhan can see the Wei Ying on the screen roll on the ground for a minute before hopping back up to his feet and trying the rail slide again.

"Nie Huaisang edits all of the good stuff," Wei Ying says. "I get to play with all the stuff he cuts out."

Lan Zhan hums as he watches Wei Ying fall off the rail a second time, though much less spectacularly than the first. "I didn't know you filmed snowboarding movies."

"Movies?" Wei Ying laughs. "You make me sound like Uncle Xiao. No, no. Just stupid little shit like this. Clips and compilations for YouTube. Huaisang just didn't want to go to film school."

“Uncle Xiao?” Of course he would pick up on that. Wei Ying can see him putting it together. He’s so smart. He can’t not. “Xiao Xingchen?”

Wei Ying really does try not to flaunt his connection to living legend Xiao Xingchen, backcountry snowboarder and filmmaker of many a ski resort employees' dreams. But Lan Zhan is Lan Zhan. His family does own this entire mountain. He won't likely be prone to the same starstruck jealousy as many of Uncle Song's rental techs.

“Uh, yeah. He was a close friend of my mom’s.”

Lan Zhan nods.

“He, uh. He used to film me when I was just learning. And then when I was getting better. He didn’t,” Wei Ying has to clear his throat against the memories before he continues, “he didn’t get into making movies for the money. He’s just always liked filming. Uncle Song fucking hates it. I still don’t know how Uncle Xiao convinced him to be in Distant Snow and Cold Frost.”

“Mr. Song does not seem the type to enjoy being filmed.”

“‘Mr. Song.’ So formal, Lan Zhan!”

“He is my coworker. And a department head.” 

“Sure, but he’s also a fucking knuckle-dragger. Just call him Song Lan. For me.”

Lan Zhan hesitates, and Wei Ying can see the impropriety of it eating away at him. But, after a moment, he acquiesces with a quiet, “Mn.”

“Have you seen any of Xiao Xingchen’s films?”

“I have. We screened Mountain Immortal here after it won an award at Banff.”

“Ah! I can’t watch that one without crying, like a lot.”

“It was a beautiful tribute.”

It was a beautiful tribute. Cangse Sanren, as she’s known in the world of winter sports, and Wei Changze had died in an avalanche in Colorado while Xiao Xingchen had been filming in Alaska. When he heard about it, Uncle Xiao had taken his movie about the history of splitboarding and made it into a memorial to his sister and her husband. Of course, it still flowed really well because he just made it a family thing. Grandma Baoshan was still a main feature as the inventor of the splitboard. She passed her backcountry spirit onto her kids and on down. 

There was so much home-video footage from Xiao Xingchen’s teenage fascination with cameras, so much footage of Wei Ying’s mom. Less of Wei Changze, but there was enough. 

Wei Ying pauses, considering how he wants to take this conversation. He could just pass this off as a passing interest, or shift to talking about outdoor sports in the film industry. But he’s been pushing Lan Zhan out of his comfort zone a lot. Possibly too much. He’s earned this, if he wants it. So Wei Ying takes a deep breath and says, “It’s my family.”

“Your… You’re Cangse Sanren’s son?”

“I am!” He smiles as bright and wide as he used to for her. It almost doesn't hurt to do it for Lan Zhan.

“So when you said ‘uncle,’ you meant…”

“Yeah! Mama was never formally adopted by Grandma Baoshan, but yeah. I meant jiujiu.”

This is the moment, usually, when someone will lavish him with sympathy, condolences or whatever. Wei Ying hates it, but he understands. Death is hard, but more than that it's weird. It lingers, haunting every relationship for the rest of forever.

But Lan Zhan doesn't say all the uncertain placating things that Wei Ying is used to. His face draws in, not in discomfort but in… understanding.

He hums, a small sad noise and then says, “My mom died when I was young, too.”

Wei Ying could almost fall over with relief. Which is. Not the reaction he should have to that. “Do you remember her?” he asks.

“A little. I was six.”

“Oh, I was fourteen.”

“Tell me about her?”

Wei Ying gasps a little, despite himself. “Really?”

“You don’t hav—”

“No, I’d like to. I just." Nobody has ever asked him that before. "Yeah! Okay.” 

Wei Ying takes a deep breath. He doesn’t really know where to start, so he just talks. He tells Lan Zhan stories from his childhood. Stories about snow and laughter and family. 

He talks about her smile and the way she always seemed to have snow in her braid. She used to spray him with powder every time he beat her down the hill. It was funny and very Mama, but it also taught him to go slower, to take his time on the slope. She refused to let anybody else teach him how to ride. She taught him to carve, first on groomers and then in powder. She used to put hand warmers in her boots because her toes were always cold. And she was just constantly losing pairs of goggles. 

He tells Lan Zhan the story of how Cangse Sanren and Wei Changze met. How they shared a chair at Park City and Wei Changze, a skier, had waited for Cangse to strap in. How he had followed her, kept up with her, impressed her. How she’d invited him for a drink at the lodge but, when they figured out that neither of them could afford ski resort alcohol, they’d crawled into the back of Wei Changze’s beat up station wagon and smoked weed in the parking lot. 

He tells him about skiing between his baba’s legs when he was too young to snowboard. About Wei Changze’s impressive will power and consistency, like how he would just quit drinking coffee occasionally when he felt he was too addicted. And his lifelong commitment to skis, despite his wife’s family’s many attempts to convert him. It won him great esteem from one of his mothers-in-law and… something else from the other. 

“Grandma Baoshan always called him an ‘unrepentant skier’ and I was never sure if she meant that as a compliment or an insult.”

He tells him about his first backcountry trip when he was 9. About the absurdly small splitboard Baoshan Sanren had built for him in her garage. And then about Baoshan Sanren’s garage. The things she made, the prototypes she’d scrapped. How Song Lan was, and still is, the only one she allowed to fully access the garage, not even her wife is allowed in there unsupervised. And the way she’d chase Xiao Xingchen away any time he’d tried to point a camera in her general direction. 

He talks about Xiao Xingchen and Song Lan and going on full family outings with all seven of them packing into two cars and driving to the slopes in the early morning dark. How little Wei Ying would just cruise up the skin tracks once they’d been broken in. How he’d built his muscles surrounded by family and fresh powder. How he’d learned early to earn his turns. 

“I’ll take you up a mountain the fun way sometime,” he offers, and then laughs, delighted by Lan Zhan’s eager acceptance. 

He tells stories of Song Lan teaching him how to do all of the practical maintenance on skis and snowboards and splitboards because he basically did all of it for the whole family. Wei Changze would help and Wei Ying would get the skins all tangled and stuck to each other. How difficult it can be to get that adhesive out of hair. Or hair out of the adhesive. 

“There’s actually a picture in Mountain Immortal,” he says, “of me sitting in a pile of probably ten pairs of skins that Baba and Uncle Song had piled on me because I was causing so much trouble.”

He tells Lan Zhan that his favorite memory, the one he always goes back to, is of just the three of them. They’re at a resort, actually. Which one doesn’t matter, Wei Ying wouldn’t be able to recall the name anyway. All he sees is Wei Changze with his ski poles stuck out behind him for his wife and son to hold onto as he skates the three of them over the flats. 

“I was probably eleven at the time? Mama was squatting low, keeping her board flat, but she kept reaching over and poking at my knees trying to make me fall over.”

He’s crying, he realizes. Laughing and crying. He wonders how long that’s been going on as he wipes the tears from his cheeks. 

It’s that motion that finally pulls him back into the present. The lodge is empty, there’s a red and white paper tray half-full of fries between him and Lan Zhan that he doesn’t remember either of them getting up to buy, but he can taste the salt on his tongue so he knows he’s eaten some. His laptop is dead, but its battery was low anyway. Still, it must have been at least an hour since Lan Zhan found him here. 

“Sorry,” Wei Ying says, “that was probably a lot more than you were prepared for.”

Lan Zhan’s eyes are rimmed red and it’s possible he was crying at some point, too. He smiles. It’s small but real in a way few smiles are. It makes Wei Ying’s heart jump into his throat. 

“Thank you for telling me about your family, Wei Ying,” says Lan Zhan with an honesty that matches his smile. 

Wei Ying sniffs and rubs his hands against his snow pants. He shakes his head to shake away the ghosts. "You should really come out to one of our sessions some time," he says, gesturing toward the laptop. "You would look great on film."

Lan Zhan doesn't roll his eyes. Instead he looks pointedly toward the black screen where Wei Ying was just editing videos of him falling on his ass.

Another laugh jolts its way out of Wei Ying's lungs. This one isn't sad at all. And Lan Zhan is smiling again.