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Chapter Text

Wangji is partway across the trampled mud between the Lan tents and the place where Nie Mingjue holds meetings when a child attaches itself to his leg.

At this point in his life, he shouldn’t recognise that so quickly. He’s barely eighteen, here, already soaked in blood and violence but knowing nothing about the way a pair of tiny arms feels around his thigh. Had this happened the day before, he would likely have stopped and peered down in confusion, frozen into inaction at such a strange occurrence. The day before for his Sunshot self, in any case.

But it isn’t the day before. For him, it’s years before, and he’s familiar enough with his leg being hugged that he thinks he knows what he’ll see before he looks.

He’s right. The small face peering up at him, with round cheeks and dark hair and that exact shape to the eyes, is A-Yuan.

Stooping, Wangji lifts the boy into his arms and settles him on his hip. This isn’t new to him, but should be entirely unthinkable to the Lan Wangji who has only just earned the title of Hanguang-Jun. Or is still earning it. He didn’t pay too much attention until even people he saw everyday were using it and it can be tough to work out exactly when in time it is when waking in the past.

‘A-Yuan,’ he says, keeping his voice low, ‘why are you here?’

He isn’t sure what he’s asking, or who. His son, just turned six and still cared for as much by his brother as by him, should be in his bed back home. The Wen whose parents will die during the war, if they haven’t already, should be far away from this war camp.

Not that he has records or even verbal accounts to go on. All he really knows about A-Yuan’s past is from Wei Ying and from the very few records he managed to access when the Wen remnants were still eking out an existence at the Burial Mounds, and then it wasn’t A-Yuan he was researching. He was looking for evidence that Wei Ying was right, that the Wens were imprisoned unjustly. He was not focused, at that time, on the exact history of one young boy.

A-Yuan just shakes his head and clutches at Wangji’s robes. He looks uncertain, but unharmed. He also looks younger and smaller than Wangji has ever seen him before. Can children even speak at this stage?

‘Sleepy,’ A-Yuan says, yawning around the word as his eyes try to close.

Very well. He can say at least one word.

‘Then sleep,’ he tells his son, or the boy will become his son.

No matter when they are or what’s going on around them, his promise to take care of this child still holds.

‘Second Master Lan, Zewu-Jun sent me to find you,’ a young man in Lan Sect robes says, stopping not far away to bow. ‘Shall I let him know you’re on your way?’

He’s avoided speaking with anyone since he woke in his tent some hours ago. He hasn’t looked too closely at anyone, either, his mind working on the deeper issue of why he’s not lying on his stomach in the Jingshi.

Now, Wangji looks more fully at the young man and blinks. This is Lan Zemin, who trained with Wangji for years, part of the same generation and almost good enough with a sword to be worth fighting. He looks alert and helpful and not at all the way he was when Wangji last saw him. When Wangji last saw him, he was still and covered in filth and his right arm was missing, the gash across his throat revealing the manner of his death.

‘No,’ he manages, after a beat too long. He finds his gaze has dropped to the other man’s throat and jerks his eyes back up. ‘There’s no need. I’m on my way.’

‘Yes, Second Master Lan.’ Lan Zemin hesitates and offers a smile to A-Yuan. ‘Shall I take the child? Do we know who he belongs to?’

He doesn’t ask why the second young master of a great sect is carrying a strange toddler through their camp. Perhaps he has learnt not to think too closely about how such a child may have come here. Children shouldn’t be near war, but Wangji is wise enough now to know such sentiments mean nothing. He recalls seeing young ones around during the Sunshot Campaign. He wonders if he should take punishment for not caring more about that at the time.

He’s been thinking a lot about punishment, what it’s for and when it’s deserved, over the last stretch of his life.

‘No,’ he says, and isn’t sure which part of the question he’s answering. He quiets A-Yuan, who tries to answer, with a soothing circle stroked on the boy’s back. ‘Where…what happens to children whose parents are unknown?’

Lan Zemin’s brow wrinkles. He seems to be watching Wangji’s hand on A-Yuan’s back, but he gives the question some thought, as is proper.

‘I think the healers keep them in one of the medical tents,’ he says. ‘Nobody has told me yet what will be done with them once the war is over.’

Wangji doesn’t mean to, but he tightens his grip on A-Yuan, who lifts one hand and pats at Wangji’s cheek, moving his hand in something like a circle.

‘Second Master Lan, you don’t mean to take a child to a war meeting, do you?’ Lan Zemin asks. He must see something of the hesitation, then.

‘Yes.’ Wangji catches A-Yuan’s circling hand and lets the boy hold onto one of his fingers. A-Yuan likes to hold on. This is something he learnt early on. ‘A-Yuan will stay with me.’

‘I will stay with Father,’ A-Yuan says solemnly.

Which answers one of Wangji’s questions, at least. This is his son, who speaks in sentences and calls him father, his son who is somehow in the past with Wangji, in a war, within his younger body. That must account for the clumsiness his son normally doesn’t have, or maybe it’s an after-effect of whatever brought them here.

He wonders if the sensation of being composed of many layers, one upon the other and none quite cut to the same shape, is a legacy of the same thing. Wangji would very much like to feel solid in himself, but amongst the many lessons of the last few years, he’s learnt that he must keep going no matter the state he’s in. A-Yuan needs him.

Lan Zemin looks between A-Yuan and Wangji. ‘With your father?’ he asks, though it’s unclear which one of them he’s asking.

Wangji has a sudden, searing vision of his uncle’s face as someone tells him that, in the middle of a war and not yet twenty, his nephew has become a father. Uncle couldn’t pull Wangji from the front lines, not without very good reason to give to the other sects, but punishment is sure to be given.

He can’t lie, though. A-Yuan is his son. True enough, it hasn’t happened yet, not to the people around him, but he remembers it and so, too, must A-Yuan. Therefore, it’s real.

Telling the world where A-Yuan is really from would be too great a risk. No-one must know the boy is a Wen. No-one would believe he is Wei Wuxian’s adopted son, claimed by Wangji out of love and out of grief.

If he says A-Yuan is a war orphan he wants to adopt, will he be allowed? He doubts it. It’s too great a risk. But a blood relative? Brother has made no mention of marrying. Disgraced though Wangji will be if he makes them think A-Yuan is his by blood, the elders will allow that having an heir in hand is a practical consideration, and it’s been said before that A-Yuan and he look enough alike to be related.

He doesn’t know how they are here or whether they will return to their own time. He doesn’t know if this is real. Until he knows more, his primary goal must be to protect A-Yuan.

Decision made, he straightens his back, thrown a little by how he can do so without pain, and makes sure to speak clearly.

‘Yes. My son.’

He nods to Lan Zemin and steps past him, but not before he sees the look of utter shock on the man’s face. Lan’s are not allowed to gossip, but Wangji has very little hope this will stay quiet. He now has to get to his brother before someone else reports that Second Master Lan is not the pure and rule-abiding disciple they all thought him to be.

Chapter Text

Xichen looks up from the maps with a smile as his brother steps into the tent. Wangji only just got back from yet another scouting mission late the night before and it’s been weeks since they’ve taken tea together, but at least when they’re both in camp it means getting to say good morning.

His smile falters at the sight of the boy on Wangji’s hip.

‘Wangji?’ he asks.

‘A-Yuan,’ Wangji says. ‘He will be very quiet whilst the adults talk.’

That is directed at the boy, who nods and pulls one of Wangji’s fingers into his mouth. Wangji appears a little confused, a little irritated, and tense in a way that doesn’t fit with his usual wartime readiness. He also makes no move to explain further.

‘I’m going to need more than that,’ Xichen says.

Next to him, Mingjue-ge snorts. ‘Kid’s a bit young to help with strategy. Where’d you find him, Wangji?’

‘I…’ Wangji stops and stares at the boy as though he isn’t actually sure.

Xichen and Mingjue-ge both wait, but no more is forthcoming. They share a look, full of the shared loving frustration over younger brothers, even if normally the exact frustrations differ greatly.

‘He looks tired, Wangji,’ Xichen says at last. ‘Perhaps we should find him somewhere to rest?’

The look his brother gives him then is one of budding defiance. Mingjue-ge must see it, too, because he gestures at a pile of cushions he’s been known to use himself, when planning has gone on too late into the night, and tells Wangji the boy can take a nap there.

Wangji regards the cushions are though they may potentially eat A-Yuan, but with reluctance he crosses to the pile and settles the child, disentangling him from Wangji’s robes and fingers with rather more expertise than Xichen expects. The fond look on Wangji’s face, the protectiveness, are also cause for thought.

For his brother to hold a child is strange. Xichen doesn’t recall seeing Wangji pay attention to such a young person before, let alone allowing one to touch him. And Wangji knows the child’s name, is protective of him. What can possibly have happened on that latest patrol to cause this?

Before he can press his brother for details, Jin Zixuan and Jin Zixun arrive, followed closely by Jiang Wanyin. As they fall to discussing the latest information and tactics, he sees Wangji glancing over at A-Yuan. Twice, he has to call his brother’s focus back to the matter at hand, and once Wangji seems confused about the date.

Confusion is a worrying sign. Head trauma or the sort of reaction to battle and death that leads to the mind itself being harmed are both possible causes. Hopefully, it’s nothing more than exhaustion. Still, his questions for his brother are piling up.

When the meeting winds to a close, Xichen is ready to ask Wangji to stay back. He suggests they all meet again in the afternoon, by which time another scouting party should be back with fresh information, and turns to his brother, but a small voice pipes up first.

‘Father?’

A-Yuan sounds panicked. Every adult turns in the direction of the boy, the Jins and Jiang Cheng seeming surprised to see him at all, though how they managed to miss that their war-council has also been a nursery today, Xichen is unsure.

The boy is sitting up, his hands balled into fists and his eyes blinking rapidly, tears glistening. He looks up at the men staring his way and his lip trembles, but his voice is even louder than before.

‘Father! Father? Father!’

Xichen sees Mingjue-ge start to move, and even Jiang Cheng shifts as though wanting to soothe the boy, but Wangji moves more quickly, stepping out from where Jin Zixuan must block A-Yuan’s view of him and kneeling with his arms out.

A-Yuan brightens and flings himself off the cushions and across the space, hurtling into Wangji’s chest and burying his head under Wangji’s chin. That’s more than enough to raise Xichen’s eyebrows, but the boy pulls back and speaks with a pout right to Wangji’s face.

‘I couldn’t see you,’ he says. ‘I got scared, Father.’

He hears Mingjue-ge choke and sees Jiang Cheng’s expression fall into open surprise. Jin Zixun sneers, though he does that most of the time, in any case, and Jin Zixuan raises his eyebrows and turns slightly pink. Worse, Wangji doesn’t even look at them. He wipes away an already drying tear from A-Yuan’s cheek and pulls the boy into a hug, stroking his hair.

‘I’m sorry, A-Yuan,’ he says, sounding far more troubled than seems called for, troubled enough others may be able to hear the edge of it. ‘Father is sorry.’

Now, Xichen sees the other people in the tent turn to him. He shakes his head. He has no idea what’s going on. Where has Wangji found a child? Why does this child think Wangji is his father?

‘Wangji,’ he says, ‘what is this?’

His brother turns his head enough to meet Xichen’s eyes, though he doesn’t stop holding and stroking A-Yuan. Again, the look on his face is one Xichen can’t place.

‘Brother,’ Wangji says, ‘we need to talk.’

‘He can’t be your son,’ Xichen says, though he’s never known his brother to lie.

Mingjue-ge is with them in Xichen’s tent, sitting to one side of the table as they drink tea. Wangji sits opposite Xichen, A-Yuan, the boy he claims is his, sitting on his lap. A-Yuan has been allowed some water in a teacup and the practised way Wangji deals with that does nothing to settle Xichen’s confusion.

‘Wangji,’ Mingjue-ge says, ‘you’re eighteen. The boy must be… He’s walking and talking. He has to be at least… How old were you when you…?’

He gestures vaguely and Xichen wishes he could misunderstand what his close friend is saying to his baby brother. The thought of Wangji fathering a child now would be a lot, but at, what, fifteen? Wangji didn’t even speak to people at fifteen. Surely, some talking would have been required to produce a child? No, he doesn’t even want to think about it.

He’s going to have to think about it, if Wangji maintains this really is his child.

‘Where is his mother?’ Xichen asks, hearing how faint his words are. He thinks about drinking some of the tea to refresh his voice, but he can’t seem to remember how to lift the cup. ‘He does have a mother, Wangji?’

Wangji’s eyes go blank. It strikes Xichen in the gut, that look. It’s the way Wangji looks when asked to speak about his own mother.

‘Dead,’ Wangji says, at last. He doesn’t provide any other details.

Xichen realises it must be difficult, talking about the boy’s mother with the boy himself sitting right there. A-Yuan seems content to sip at his water and stare at the adults, but earlier he showed a strong enough grasp of language that he must know what is being said. Whoever the boy’s father is, if his mother is dead then it can’t be a topic he needs to be around.

‘A-Yuan must be hungry,’ he says. He smiles at the boy, who looks up at him with a hopeful expression. ‘Would you like some soup, A-Yuan?’

‘Yes, please, Uncle.’

Xichen controls his expression. His eyes only go a little wide. A-Yuan didn’t hesitate, didn’t look to Wangji or ask what Xichen should be called. He looks at Xichen now as though he’s said nothing earth-shattering.

‘Why don’t we get someone to take you for some soup, then?’ Xichen manages to ask, already deciding which disciple to task with caring for the boy. Practical considerations for dealing with the present are far simpler than thinking of who this boy really is to him.

It will have to be a disciple rather than sending A-Yuan to the healers, because the way Wangji is behaving has him worried. He doesn’t want to find out what will happen if he insists on removing A-Yuan entirely.

‘No.’ Wangji glares at him. ‘Have them bring food here. A-Yuan stays with me.’

They compromise, eventually. A disciple goes to fetch food and another one takes A-Yuan outside to play a game with several round stones. They open the tent-flap and leave it tied back so Wangji can see A-Yuan at all times, and Xichen doesn’t send for a healer to check Wangji for any injury or curse.

Once that’s all settled, Xichen speaks more firmly to his brother, who still has defiance smouldering in his eyes. Defiance, and something like sadness. Fear, too.

‘You need to tell me everything.’

‘You don’t believe me,’ Wangji says, his gaze dropping to his own hands in his lap. He sounds resigned and not especially upset, as though not being trusted or believed by his own family is nothing new.

‘It’s not that,’ Xichen says, though it is that, to an extent. ‘I have never known you to lie, but this is out of character for you.’

‘Is it?’ Wangji asks.

Mingjue-ge frowns. ‘Huaisang, I could understand. More, anyway. He’s always reading those books he thinks I don’t know about and he’s far too sentimental. I’m not saying I expect it, but if he turns up one day with a kid and tells me he’s had a love affair in secret, I won’t be shocked, either. But I don’t believe he’d have a kid so young. And I don’t believe you’d bed some woman and get her pregnant, either, Wangji.’

They get no answer to that. Neither of them says they wouldn’t expect Wangji to bed a woman, at all.

‘Please talk to us,’ Xichen urges. ‘You can see how this is difficult to accept, Wangji.’

‘You don’t believe I’d fall in love?’ Wangji asks. Now, he sounds almost numb. ‘You don’t believe, when they were taken from me, I’d raise their child?’

It’s like he’s looking at something Xichen can’t see. It’s not the patch of dried earth outside, where A-Yuan makes a pebble walk across the ground and sit on top of another one. Whatever it is, it’s hollowed Wangji out. He looks remarkably like their father.

‘Okay,’ Xichen says, sharing yet another look with his friend and seeing his own concern and confusion reflected back. ‘Okay, Wangji. A-Yuan is your son. For now, I won’t push for more. For now, Wangji.’

Wangji comes back from wherever he was, trailing a ghost in his eyes. He lowers his head to Xichen and says nothing more until he calls A-Yuan in for his food.

Once his little brother is gone, returned to his own tent with the…his child on his hip, Xichen turns to his Mingjue-ge and stops pretending to be calm.

‘I know,’ Mingjue-ge says. He sounds a little lost. ‘Out of all the current young masters, Wangji is the last one I’d have thought would turn up with a bastard. Don’t look at me like that, Xichen. I don’t mean to insult the kid. It’s a fact, isn’t it? Unless you think your brother married the mother in secret, too?’

If they’d been talking about one of the Jin Sect, Xichen would have agreed that a secret marriage was more shocking than a secret child. But this isn’t one of Jin Guangshan’s relatives. This is Wangji.

‘He hides it well from all but me,’ Xichen says, thinking his way through it as he speaks, ‘but my brother’s a romantic. He feels deeply. I just can’t accept he’d have a casual affair.’

He believed he knew who his brother loved and it’s not a love that could leave him with a son.

The look Mingjue-ge gives him then asks plainly which impossible thing Xichen finds easiest to accept, out of their current options.

‘Xichen,’ Mingjue-ge says, brusque but well-meaning, as is his way, ‘he’s fathered a bastard, had a son with a secret wife who’s now dead, or he’s turned into a liar. A liar who wants you to believe one of the first two options.’

Finally, Xichen remembers his tea. He drinks it to give himself time to think, even though it’s cold. His little brother has always been diligent, honest, obedient. He’s always followed the rules. When Wangji reached his adolescence, Xichen half expected that boundaries would be tested, that such perfect behaviour would crack, but the closest Wangji came was being pulled into Wei Wuxian’s orbit. At least, all that Xichen had known about.

Their uncle only complained that no other youth followed Wangji’s example. Xichen imagines what his uncle will say of this news and feels a little ill.

‘We’re in the middle of a war,’ Xichen says, though he isn’t so naïve as to believe the universe will hear him and care. ‘If Wangji has to become rebellious, why does it have to be now?’

In the end, the only thing Xichen can resolve within himself is to keep this from their uncle until there’s been another chance to talk with Wangji. To talk properly, when Xichen has the energy and time to coax his little brother into explaining himself.

He can only hope that Uncle will ignore any gossip that might make its way back to the Cloud Recesses.

Chapter Text

He takes A-Yuan down to a nearby stream and settles on the bank. The thought of being in his tent, which this morning proved to be smaller and more confining than he’d remembered, fills him with disquiet. Yes, A-Yuan would be away from prying eyes there, but his son shouldn’t be a part of this section of Wangji’s life and taking him to that tent feels too much like an acceptance that he now is.

They will go there later. For now, Wangji needs a little time to steady himself.

‘Why are we here, Father?’ A-Yuan asks, after he’s carefully arranged himself to mimic Wangji’s position.

‘I don’t know, A-Yuan,’ Wangji tells him. ‘Do you know where we are?’

A-Yuan thinks, his forehead creasing, before shaking his head.

‘There are lots of people and tents,’ he says. ‘And Uncle’s friend looks better. I like your clothes.’

Ah, yes. The last time Nie Mingjue visited the Cloud Recesses, he was looking very ill indeed. Xichen told him so, when he came to visit Wangji in his seclusion. Xichen looked very worried that day.

‘I didn’t know you’d seen him,’ he says now.

Despite the love he has for this boy, he doesn’t know everything about his life back home. A-Yuan isn’t allowed to live with him, though Xichen allows him to stay the night as often as he can manage without inciting open anger in the elders. Wangji hasn’t asked if it’s meant as an apology. He’s not dared ask if Xichen thinks one is owed. He didn’t know A-Yuan would have seen one of Xichen’s visitors and he isn’t sure how he feels about it, his son being around someone so close to qi deviation.

‘Uncle let me have tea with them,’ A-Yuan says. He sounds proud and happy, and then loses interest in the topic. ‘Did you carry me here when I was asleep?’

Did he? Wangji has not even a faint idea of how he arrived in the past, let alone how his son has come with him. Transmigration into their past bodies isn’t something he’s heard of, not outside of a story.

‘I don’t know,’ he has to say. Again. ‘What’s the last thing you recall before you woke here?’

Slowly, with digressions and breaks, in which A-Yuan plays at the water’s edge, Wangji learns that his son fell asleep in his usual bed, was aware of nothing unusual, and woke on the ground not far from Wangji’s tent. He went looking for someone he knew and doesn’t know how long he was searching before he saw Wangji.

A-Yuan seems only vaguely aware that he’s in a smaller, less developed body than the one he should have, and once again Wangji wonders if that lack of realisation is something to do with the slightly older mind being housed in the younger form. There’s a great deal of difference between six and two, a lot of growing that’s now been…not undone, exactly, but perhaps something like it.

At least he isn’t too upset. If anything, A-Yuan is more interested in comparing the flowers he’s finding at the water’s edge with the ones that grow back home than he is in any other questions. That will likely change once he wants to know where his friends are or his favourite toys or even a change of clothes.

For his part, Wangji falls silent and focuses on exactly when he is. After the meeting, he has some idea of the current layout of the war and he knows their camp’s location, which he had trouble placing when he first stepped out of his tent. This should be towards the last stretch of the conflict.

Wei Ying should be somewhere in the camp.

That’s a thought Wangji has to hold at a distance, or he will break and run to find the figure in black and red, will take hold of him and break. Whatever people are thinking of him now, it would hardly be helped by seeing him cling to Wei Ying and cry. He thinks he may not do that, but the thick drift of grief and pain these last two years has been so heavy he already feels unbalanced. He can’t risk it. Not yet.

A-Yuan doesn’t remember Wei Ying. At least, the drifting pieces of memory he shares seem disconnected and vague, even for a child, and Wangji is almost certain A-Yuan won’t run at Wei Ying shouting for his Xian-gege. And Wei Ying won’t know A-Yuan. Wangji isn’t sure what that will do to him, seeing two of the people he loves the most, people who he knows love each other, look at each other unknowing.

It was hard enough seeing Xichen, looking at his brother and knowing only one of them remembers the whip falling.

The air grows colder as he lets A-Yuan play and the phantom ache of lash-marks across his back makes him want to shift. He doesn’t. He reminds himself there are no wounds, hard though it is to believe. He isn’t in the body that’s been judged and punished. He’s in the body that throws itself into the thickest part of any battle, praised and depended upon by all who know him. Praise that gained him nothing when it mattered.

This is a chance to see how much of the disapproval since his fall relates to claiming A-Yuan as his son, now that he has no other crimes.

Wei Wuxian narrows his eyes as Jiang Cheng approaches. His brother is proving to be formidable in war, leading their disciples with a firm hand and carving his way through the enemy whenever he gets the chance. That doesn’t mean it’s pleasant to hear him complain about Wei Wuxian avoiding a meeting.

‘Don’t start,’ Wei Wuxian says, holding up the hand that doesn’t hold Chenqing. ‘Nothing would have been added by me attending that meeting and you know it.’

‘That’s not the point,’ Jiang Cheng says, coming to stand next to Wei Wuxian where he watches a group of too-young disciples run through extra drills. ‘Do you know what it looks like, that you don’t bother to show up?’

Wei Wuxian grimaces. ‘As though anything I say interests them. I’m just a weapon to them. And anyway, no matter what I do or don’t do, someone will complain. They always do. Maybe I’m tired of being judged all the time.’

Jiang Cheng snorts, but he doesn’t argue against Wei Wuxian’s basic points.

‘Well, you wouldn’t have been the one getting judged this morning,’ he says.

That seems to be all the ire Jiang Cheng has in him on the matter. It’s unusual for him to wind down so quickly, but Wei Wuxian isn’t going to risk setting him off again by asking questions.

‘You should come this afternoon, though,’ Jiang Cheng says, shoving into Wei Wuxian with his shoulder when he gets no immediate response. ‘I mean it. That patrol from the northern pass will be back and Chifeng-Zun wants to come up with a viable strategy for taking it back.’

With reluctance, Wei Wuxian agrees. The exact layout of that area is likely to lend itself to his methods and, no matter how the comments and criticisms from others incense him, he doesn’t want their people to die if he can prevent it.

‘Fine.’ He tilts his head, sneaking a look at his brother from the corners of his eyes. ‘But only if I get your second bowl of soup at dinner.’

As expected, Jiang Cheng bristles, lifting a hand as though to strike even though Zidian stays inert on his hand.

‘You!’

Laughing, and pretending it’s unforced, Wei Wuxian darts away and away between the nearest tents, leaving his younger brother behind. He’ll do what he must to end this war, but that doesn’t mean he has to let them all see what it’s doing to him.

Caring for a small child in the middle of a war is entirely different from occasionally looking after one whilst in seclusion in his own home. Everywhere he looks, there’s something else that could hurt A-Yuan. His tent doesn’t have a small bed for his son to use and Wangji’s is narrow, the surface harder than A-Yuan is used to. He has no change of clothes for his boy, no toys, no suitable learning materials, assuming there are suitable learning materials for a six-year-old returned to his two-year-old body. Some things, he will be able to requisition from the quartermaster, but others will have to be sent for or gone without.

And even though Wangji knows very well their camp wasn’t attacked during this segment of the campaign, his eyes dart to every sound of potential trouble. Things may not be the same as they were before. The Wens may attack at any time and A-Yuan could all too easily be hurt, be killed, during pitched battle. Nobody else can be counted on to protect A-Yuan if that happens. Whether this is real or not, actually his past or not, is still beyond him. He doesn’t know enough to be sure and he can’t risk his child.

He sends word to his brother that he can’t attend the afternoon meeting and settles his son down for a nap on Wangji’s bed. The blanket isn’t soft enough, but it’s all he has.

Whilst A-Yuan sleeps, Wangji sits cross-legged on the ground and thinks. He can’t keep taking A-Yuan to meetings. He also can’t just leave him. There’s a worry lodged under his ribs that if he lets a disciple care for A-Yuan, his son will not be returned to him. An illogical fear, perhaps, but… Well, he no longer feels the same unthinking trust in his own sect.

There will be greater issues, too, when it comes to patrols, and that’s before he even has to deal with battle. A-Yuan would be safer back at the Cloud Recesses, but that would mean not being with him. He could run, of course, could pack up what little he has here and remove himself and his son from the war entirely. There are places untouched by the fighting.

No. No, that would be another kind of irrationality. He can’t let himself be overwhelmed, just because he has to keep A-Yuan safe. Just because he isn’t surrounded by the same walls every hour of the day. Just because, not so very far away, Wei Ying still lives.

If this is real, he can’t let the same fate befall his love again. He can’t. Even if it means turning on his own people sooner, when it may actually do some good, and accepting the consequences anew.

Wangji rolls his shoulders again, easing the ghost-scars that tighten his skin, and ensures his posture is perfect. He is still Lan Wangji, Hanguang-Jun, the Second Jade of Gusu Lan, and though his feelings on that are less clear than they once were, he still has his sense of duty. It’s not quite the sense his uncle may expect, not anymore, but it’s present.

He will stay and do what needs to be done.

A light knocking at the entrance to his tent pulls his attention back to the moment. Someone hovers just out of his line of sight, keeping back from the opening in what is probably a show of good manners. It just makes Wangji prickle with the need to know if they’re a threat.

‘Who is it?’ he asks, his hand sliding to wrap around Bichen where his sword lies near him on the ground.

‘Hanguang-Jun?’

It’s a woman’s voice. Not one he recognises. Rising silently to his feet, Wangji moves to the entrance, the spark of alertness higher than he will let show.

Outside, a woman in Nie robes bows as soon as she sees him, a slightly clumsy movement given she’s holding a basket and has cloth draped over her arms.

‘Hanguang-Jun, Chifeng-Zun asked me to bring these things to you.’

Strange though it is, such a thing is not an immediate threat to A-Yuan, so Wangji thanks her and reaches for the items. He blinks when she shakes her head, pulling back a little.

‘Apologies, Hanguang-Jun, but I was told to stay and help you.’

‘Help me?’

He doesn’t need help with sitting in a tent. And why would he need a Nie Sect member to assist him, when there are many Lan Sect disciples close by? He has no intention of calling them, but nobody now will know that.

Nevertheless, he allows her into his tent, noting with relief that she moves quietly enough not to disturb A-Yuan. Without speaking, she shows him what she’s brought, setting out bedding, towels, and clothing small enough it should fit his son, though it’s nothing like so fine as a Lan child would normally wear. It looks clean, though. There are sleeping clothes as well as a change of daywear, which at least solves one of his many problems.

The basket contains sundry items that will make childcare easier, including a couple of well-worn toys painted in Nie colours. These are far too expensive to have been found lying around somewhere and when he sets a finger on one and looks at her, the woman dips her head and offers an affectionate smile.

‘Chifeng-Zun said the boy could use these. He happened to have them on him.’

Wangji isn’t sure what to do with that statement, so he chooses to move past it without comment.

‘Thank you for these,’ he says, instead, gesturing at everything she’s brought, ‘but what other help are you supposed to offer?’

Bai Meilin, it transpires, has several younger siblings and the trust of Nie Mingjue. When Wangji stares at her, she explains that she is there to help him care for his boy and he realises only slowly that she means she has been sent to check he knows how. The mix of gratitude, surprise and embarrassment is something he doesn’t let show.

‘I can keep an eye on him for you when your duties keep you busy,’ she says, ‘and I know a few others you can call on.’ She must misinterpret his continued bemusement, because she pauses in organising a selection of bathing products and becomes even more earnest. ‘I promise you, Hanguang-Jun, Chifeng-Zun wouldn’t send anyone to you who may cause harm to your boy. My mother and uncle both helped to care for Young Master Nie when he was younger.’

That Nie Mingjue would think to send people he personally trusts to help Wangji, at least one of whom has family who cared for Nie Huaisang when he was a child, is not quite such a shock as finding himself in the past, but it’s not an easy thing to absorb. He must remember to thank his brother’s sworn brother properly.

‘I apologise if this is a difficult topic, Hanguang-Jun,’ Bai Meilin says, folding her hands neatly in her lap now that everything else she’s brought is folded or sorted, ‘but have you much experience with him?’

Clearly, she has been told who A-Yuan is to Wangji and that A-Yuan’s mother is dead. He appreciates her trying to be indirect about his supposed lover’s death, even if the one he mourns is currently walking around somewhere in the camp. Whatever suspicions anyone may have about Wangji’s lost love, they aren’t going to reach the correct conclusion.

He drops his gaze to the set of small robes she’s brought as he answers, unwilling to see her reaction.

‘I wasn’t present for the first part of his life.’ True enough, though the reality is hardly shameful: he cannot be blamed for not meeting a babe born to people he never met. ‘I have spent several days and nights with him more recently.’

Perhaps this woman will be discreet, keeping anything he tells her close, but even if she shares everything with others, it will only add to the tale that must be growing. Let them weave the details in however they wish, so long as A-Yuan is known to be his, is known to be beyond taking.

‘And am I right he’s only very recently become your sole responsibility?’

‘Yes,’ he answers, truthfully, because the time since finding A-Yuan is not really so very long ago, in the span of things, and also because until this morning A-Yuan was mostly tended to by others.

‘Then, if you will allow it, let me teach you anything you need to know about caring for such a young boy.’

He agrees, knowing he needs to do what is best for his son, and tries to ignore the soft sympathy in her tone.

Wei Wuxian doesn’t mean to stir up trouble, but he is starting to think the Peacock’s sidekick – a cousin, he thinks – is determined to be the most disagreeable person in the camp. This time, however, it doesn’t seem to be aimed entirely at Wei Wuxian.

‘And who will you take with you on this heroic mission?’ the man – he’s a Jin, Wei Wuxian knows that much – asks. There’s really no need for the sneer. ‘It’s not like you can dog Hanguang-Jun’s footsteps, now he’s got other responsibilities. He hasn’t even time to attend this meeting.’

Which is something Wei Wuxian doesn’t understand. He’s the one who skips meetings and slides away from duties others believe he should uphold. Lan Zhan may avoid a banquet where his presence isn’t essential, but he’s never before been absent from one of these meetings unless he’s out of the camp doing something important. Nobody has mentioned why today sees no Lan Zhan in attendance, other than this oblique reference.

‘Wangji has assured me he will have matters sufficiently settled by tomorrow,’ Xichen says, his smile a little strained. He makes it sound as though he’s responding to a perfectly reasonable statement, though that strain and a certain sharpness in his eyes are telling. ‘Should we agree he’s the best choice for this mission, there will be nothing to prevent it.’

‘I’m surprised to see you so calm about this, Zewu-Jun,’ the Jin says.

‘Focus on what we’re here for,’ Nie Mingjue orders. The sharpness in his eyes is far more noticeable.

Wei Wuxian looks questioningly at Jiang Cheng, but all he gets is an uncomfortable look and a frown.

Once the meeting is finally done, Wei Wuxian takes a step towards Zewu-Jun, intending to ask after Lan Zhan, but his brother takes his arm and drags him bodily outside.

‘Don’t bother him about it,’ Jiang Cheng says. ‘It’s got to be weird enough for him.’

‘What has?’ Wei Wuxian asks, but he only gets a meaningless rant about brothers with no sense of how to behave, which makes no sense at all.

Jiang Yanli dismisses it as gossip at first. She’s busy checking a partly healed wound on a girl who is only a year younger than A-Cheng when she hears two other disciples mention Hanguang-Jun. Another healer chides them for gossiping, but adds that she hopes no other young masters will be swayed by his example.

‘What’s he done?’ her own patient asks, leaning sideways to see the gossipers around Jiang Yanli.

‘Hold still,’ Jiang Yanli cautions. ‘We don’t want this to pull.’

She doesn’t intend to listen to the next part of the conversation, almost certain it will be something to do with taking too many risks in battle and absolutely certain it is not right to be listening to rumours. There’s always the slight chance it will be something to do with A-Xian, of course, which does keep her partly aware of what’s being said, but still…

‘A child?’ she asks, spinning around to stare at the woman sharing the information.

The woman, a Nie healer, nods and leans in, her tone conspiratorial though she’s still loud enough to be heard for some distance.

‘A son. Just walked right into the meeting with the sect leaders with the boy in his arms. Nobody had any idea before this morning. Not even Zewu-Jun!’

‘No,’ the Yao healer nearby says, ‘I don’t believe that. Zewu-Jun’s about the only one he speaks to, isn’t he? That’s what my cousin said after she studied at Gusu.’

‘I’m telling you, it was a complete surprise.’ The Nie healer lays down her words as a certainty. ‘The mother’s dead, I heard.’

Finished with her task, Jiang Yanli shakes off her shock and decides to leave them to their speculation about who the mother could have been, how they could have met, whether it was true love or a case of lust. She can’t very well order them to stop talking, but she doesn’t have to shame herself by listening to more of it.

She wonders if A-Xian knows.

‘Well, he isn’t like Sect Leader Jin, anyway,’ someone says. ‘He’s acknowledged the boy. That’s something.’

Jiang Yanli wrenches her attention away from the talk behind her and speeds up her steps, enough to carry her safely out of range. She knows enough about the man who was to be her father-in-law. She feels she knows enough about Second Young Master Lan, as well, to say that he doesn’t deserve any comparison to Jin Guangshan. If only for what he did for A-Xian in that cave with the Xuanwu, Second Young Master Lan has earned himself a spot in her affections.

If there’s any truth in these rumours, he must be so worried and lost, to have a son to keep safe in the middle of all this chaos and death. And his older brother is one of the leaders of their war effort. Zewu-Jun won’t be able to give his younger brother the support and comfort he will need.

And he is dear to her A-Xian, the reserved and elegant Second Jade. A-Xian will not want his friend to struggle with something so monumental alone.

Perhaps she will keep four bowls of soup aside today. This feels like a situation where an older sister is needed.

Chapter Text

Jiang Yanli is surprised to be called into Second Young Master Lan’s tent as soon as she reaches the entrance, but she’s even more surprised once she’s inside.

Second Young Master Lan kneels on the ground, one hand on a small boy’s shoulder and the back of the other pressed to the boy’s forehead. She’s seen this strange friend of A-Xian’s enough to be familiar with his inscrutable expression, but just now his brow is slightly furrowed, and he looks very much like he wants to bite his lip. The boy is sobbing.

Jiang Yanli crosses to the pair and kneels beside them, setting down the basket she carries and meeting Second Young Master Lan’s eyes. They widen, just a bit, and he looks from her to the entrance and back again as though not sure how she’s appeared.

‘Maiden Jiang,’ he says, and seems to run out of words.

Another sob from the boy redirects his attention. The care and worry with which he strokes the boy’s hair pulls at something in Jiang Yanli’s heart. This is a good man, no matter how this boy has come to exist, and people should not be talking about him behind his back.

‘You were expecting someone else, Second Young Master Lan?’ she asks. When he darts a look at her and back to the boy without speaking, she assumes that means yes, but there are more pressing matters. ‘I have some experience with children. May I be of assistance?’

‘He won’t stop crying. I don’t know what’s wrong.’

She’s almost sure there’s an unspoken ‘I don’t know what I’ve done wrong’ in there. She’s never given thought to how this man would cope with fatherhood, but she thinks this would not have been her expectation, this quiet desperation and hovering care.

‘H-h-hurts,’ the boy says, his little lips trembling.

‘Where does it hurt, A-Yuan?’ Second Young Master Lan lifts his hand from the boy’s head and touches lightly on his arm, his chest, his belly, asking again where it hurts.

The boy just shakes his head and repeats the one word.

‘A-Yuan?’ Jiang Yanli asks, leaning in enough to put herself in the boy’s line of sight and offering the smile she keeps for scared and upset little children in need of comfort. ‘I work as a healer. Is it okay if I check on you?’

She doesn’t expect such a small child to take in everything she says, but she’s always believed it’s good to speak to even the very young with respect and kindness.

The little boy looks at her, rubs one fist across his eyes and nods, and she ushers Second Young Master Lan back so she can make sure A-Yuan isn’t actually hurt. As expected, there are no obvious signs of injury or illness, no temperature or swollen belly or bruises or any of the other things she could find.

‘Is it your feelings that hurt, A-Yuan?’ she asks.

A-Cheng was like this sometimes, back when his emotions were too big for his small body and he would scream and cry because it had to come out somehow. If the rumours are true, this boy has lost his mother and has been brought suddenly to a strange place. Strong emotions are hardly surprising.

He nods and Second Young Master Lan closes his eyes, tipping his head back and taking in a breath through barely open lips. A-Yuan is clearly not the only one having trouble processing his feelings. That Lan Wangji is letting any feelings show at all is shocking. She should keep her attention on the child.

A-Yuan folds into the hug she offers with heart-breaking ease, snuffling against the fabric of her dress and scrunching some of the material up in his hands. She makes soothing noises and rubs his back until his tears stop, noting the way Second Young Master Lan watches her as though he needs to study everything for later.

‘I have something in my basket that may help,’ she says to A-Yuan, once he’s calm. ‘Would you like to see? You have to wash your face first, though.’

She’s brought the soup, enough for both of them, and some treats the children around Lotus Pier always love. Loved.

That’s a thought she wraps up and sets carefully aside, because this isn’t the time or the place to grow maudlin over the lives lost when a young life is right here needing her comfort. Two young lives, because Second Young Master Lan is, indeed, still very young. It’s all too easy to forget, or at least to turn away from, because already he’s suffered through loss and danger and violence, just as her own too-young brothers have, and unlike them she’s never seen him break down.

She wonders how others view A-Cheng and A-Xian, whether they have to make the conscious effort to see that such boys can’t possibly be as collected and unaffected as they try to pretend. She wonders if Second Young Master Lan has anyone to hold him and let him cry, if he needs that.

From her time at the Cloud Recesses, she suspects not.

It takes less urging than she expects to get them settled with bowls of soup, something mild and without meat, but with seasoning more in line with Yunmeng than Gusu. She serves herself a small portion, because what they need right now is a sense of being settled and eating alongside them will help with that. They eat in silence, A-Yuan sitting right up against Second Young Master Lan with Jiang Yanli on his other side.

She’s just insisted they each take a little more when someone approaches from outside the tent.

‘Wangji?’

‘Brother.’

That seems to be all that’s needed for Zewu-Jun to enter. It’s a world away from how A-Cheng and A-Xian interact and it gives her no time at all to consider how she looks, sitting so cosily in a tent with an unmarried man and a child, a mouthful of soup partway to her lips. Before she can do more than set down her bowl, Zewu-Jun is bowing to her and insisting she continue with her meal. The usual smile is there, but she thinks he looks a little bemused.

‘Wangji, I didn’t realise you’d have company.’

His brother doesn’t respond, but A-Yuan grins up at the sect leader and lifts his bowl.

‘Father’s friend brought soup,’ he says. ‘Do you want some, Uncle?’

Which is how Jiang Yanli finds herself feeding both of the Twin Jades. If nothing else, it will be something to tell her brothers later, when she will serve them a much more heavily seasoned soup.

Zewu-Jun is as gracious and kind as every other time she’s been in his presence, but from the way he keeps glancing at his brother she is sure her visit has been long enough. She takes her leave as soon as she can do so without being rude, making sure, before she steps out of the tent, to compliment Second Young Master Lan on having such a lovely child and to insist he call on her if he needs assistance.

As she leaves, she wonders if it would be too forward to ask if A-Yuan would like to call her Aunty. If Second Young Master Lan does seek her out, she decides, she will ask.

Finding Maiden Jiang sitting with his brother and the boy is enough to throw Xichen off balance. More off balance. He almost regrets seeking Wangji out now instead of leaving it until tomorrow, but he doesn’t want to find out what other surprises his brother may spring on him if Xichen doesn’t keep a closer eye on him. Throughout the day, it’s been a constant thrum under all of his other thoughts: Wangji had an affair, or a relationship, without him noticing. What else has Xichen not noticed?

Once Maiden Jiang is gone and A-Yuan is occupied with the toys Wangji has acquired from somewhere, Xichen catches his brother’s eyes and waits.

‘Brother,’ Wangji finally says.

He looks tired. He sounds wary. Xichen knows he can’t gather his brother into his arms, because Wangji has not allowed that since they were still truly children, and he can’t tuck Wangji into bed and tell him to sleep. For one thing, that would leave Xichen in charge of a small boy and he is already in charge of a war.

‘You were not at the meeting this afternoon.’

Wangji drops his gaze and swallows. ‘I sent a message.’

So, it was to be one of those conversations.

‘You know that isn’t good enough,’ Xichen says, pressing a little on the sense of propriety instilled in his brother. ‘I understand this is a difficult time-‘

‘Do you?’

Being interrupted is unexpected. The stony look in Wangji’s eyes is more so. He has no idea what he’s done to deserve such a response.

‘No,’ he admits. ‘Not exactly. But Wangji, I cannot change the fact we’re at war. Certain things are expected of you, no matter this change to your life.’

Wangji’s lips twist in a display of emotion he can’t quite translate. His voice has a bitter edge to it when he speaks.

‘I am well aware of what being at war means. I am well aware of what is expected of me.’

Xichen waits in silence as his brother works through whatever has him making that expression. It’s a shame no tea has been offered and a sign of just how far from his usual routine his brother has been thrown that he hasn’t served any. The usually tidy space around them is filled with items for the boy, and Wangji allowed an unmarried, unrelated woman into the tent with him, unchaperoned. His brother is struggling. Xichen is concerned that if he applies too much pressure, too quickly, his brother will break.

‘What have you told Uncle?’

Ah. Of course Wangji would want to know. They are both quite well aware of their uncle’s opinion of improper behaviour and of his disappointment the few times in his life Wangji has failed to behave perfectly.

‘As of yet, nothing,’ Xichen says. At Wangji’s glance up at him, he picks his way through some of what he came here to say. ‘I prefer to be better informed before I send him word. He will have questions, Wangji. I have questions. At some point soon, you will need to answer them.’

Wangji swallows. ‘He will not take A-Yuan away from me.’

That hurts. That his brother would even… It hurts.

‘What has Uncle ever done to make you think he’d take your child from you? That I would allow that, even if he tried?’

Something dark and lost shifts in the depths of Wangji’s eyes. Xichen finds, all of a sudden, that he doesn’t want to know the answer to those questions. One more night, he will allow himself. One more night not knowing what else his brother has hidden, is hiding, from him.

‘Tomorrow, you will be at the morning meeting,’ he tells Wangji, and he’s Zewu-Jun, now, not Xichen. ‘You will not bring A-Yuan. After, you will sit with me and you will explain all this. I need to know what must be dealt with. Do you understand, Wangji?’

He doesn’t stay long after that. A-Yuan comes to hug him goodbye and Xichen pretends not to see the way one of Wangji’s hands twitches, as though he wants to drag his son away from his brother. Tomorrow, he tells himself firmly. Tomorrow is when you will examine this.

He walks back to his own tent with his usual grace, pretending not to notice the clusters of white-robed figures talking quietly to each other as they watch him.

A-Yuan is asleep again. Wangji thinks he should be pleased that his son is so willing to rest at the right time, but A-Yuan has spent a lot of the day napping. What if it’s a sign of something wrong?

He feels jittery himself, anxious and wary and uncertain, but Maiden Jiang already checked A-Yuan and found nothing worrying, so he shouldn’t go and find a healer right now. It’s likely Wangji’s own emotional state, making him read into things that aren’t there. A-Yuan is in a younger body now. He recalls hearing something about very young children needing to sleep more. It doesn’t mean his son is ill.

By tomorrow, Wangji needs to be more settled in himself. He should meditate until his mind is calmer and then seek sleep himself.

That layered, overlapping feeling from this morning has ebbed and flowed throughout the day. As Wangji kneels and watches his son sleep, again, the sensation is strong enough that he isn’t sure, if Xichen returned and insisted on questioning him now, that he’d even be able to tell his brother who he is.

He’s fifteen and living in lonely perfection. He’s eighteen and fighting in a war. He’s twenty and watching the love of his life plunge into death. He’s ageless and pointless and lying beneath his own wounds because he learnt life isn’t as simple as his uncle claimed.

And now he’s eighteen again and he’s a father, and he doesn’t have an explanation that makes any sense. He doesn’t know why he’s here again and he certainly doesn’t know why A-Yuan has appeared with him.

Lying has never been something he does, though he appreciates his limited answers so far have allowed a lie to form. But what can he tell his brother? He has to think of something, because Wangji is very sure he doesn’t want to tell anyone in this camp that his son’s mother was a Wen.

Chapter Text

Wangji wakes to pain. His disobedience is traced in lines across his back and his lungs are river rocks, weighing him down. For a long moment, he presses his forehead into the bed and breathes through his nose.

This is familiar. This is known.

Whatever yesterday was, if it even happened at all, he’s back now in the Jingshi, lying on his stomach because even after so many months he still can’t sleep on his back. Soon, he will force himself to rise and apply the salve he must use twice daily. He will eat the food that is left outside his door and drink a tea given to him specially by the healers. There will be other tasks after that, so that he doesn’t fall into staring at nothing. If he is lucky, A-Yuan will be brought to see him.

Only…

The bed under him feels wrong and there’s fabric over his back. He still can’t stand to have anything over his upper body when he sleeps. Tentatively, Wangji moves, flexing his shoulders and feeling the pull all down his back.

It takes blinking his eyes open, sitting up and looking around and even standing to check on the form in the makeshift bed nearby, but finally he folds himself to the floor and breathes himself calm. He’s still in the tent. He must have turned in his sleep, some memory of the last two years twisting him onto his front. Now he’s properly awake, the pain is back to the phantom levels of the day before and he is so full of relief he could weep.

He’s relieved to find himself still in a war. Soon, he will need to turn and face the reason why, but for now he still feels he’s too many thin slices of the people he’s been, shuffled together with the edges not lined up, and he can’t deal with his reasons just yet.

It’s long past five by the time he has himself under control, but A-Yuan is still sleeping. Again, the frisson of worry webs through his chest, and again he tells himself not to panic. Running through the camp with his son in his arms will help nothing. All the same, he promises himself he will ask Bai Meilin, that he will seek out Jiang Yanli at the healers’ tents after he’s spoken with Brother. It won’t hurt to share his concerns and she did offer.

Childcare and battle have some things in common: it’s important to have others at your back.

Rousing A-Yuan takes time. He mumbles and burrows under the covers and generally isn’t cooperative, though he smiles up at Wangji once his eyes are finally open.

Getting him washed and dressed takes longer than it should do, as well, with A-Yuan trying to do things for himself that his newly two-year-old hands can’t manage.

‘Why won’t it work?’ he asks, as he tries and fails to tie his sash.

He sounds more frustrated than upset, but Wangji is wary after the storm of crying yesterday.

‘Do you remember where we are, A-Yuan?’ he asks, unsure if he aims to prompt his son into knowledge of his transposed self, or if it’s an attempt to distract from A-Yuan’s question.

A-Yuan lets go of his sash as Wangji reaches out and takes over, staring down at his own waist as his body rocks slightly with the movement of the sash being tied.

‘We’re in a tent. There are lots of tents. Are we on a night hunt?’

‘In a way.’

‘Okay.’ That seems to be all the explanation A-Yuan needs for now, which is unlike him. ‘Can we play by the stream again?’

‘I have work to do,’ Wangji tells him. ‘Do you remember Bai Meilin? She will be with you whilst I’m busy.’

A-Yuan frowns at his sash, which is now properly tied, and rubs his nose with the back of one hand.

‘How long will you be busy for?’

There’s just the edge of something in his tone that has Wangji reaching for his son’s face, cupping those cheeks in his own large palms and coaxing A-Yuan to look up at him. He infuses his voice with every bit of reassurance he can manage.

‘I will be back by the evening meal, if not before. Bai Meilin will keep you safe until I get back and I won’t be very far away.’

‘Why can’t I stay with you? I stayed with you yesterday.’

Wangji does his best to explain to A-Yuan, but the difficulty is increased by the way his son wavers between the age he was and the age he now is, and he can’t be certain how successful he’s being. He also struggles with the fact the depth of each question has lessened but the number of questions has increased from what he’s used to.

Bai Meilin appears with a tray of breakfast for A-Yuan as Wangji is explaining that A-Yuan won’t have lessons whilst they’re in the camp.

‘Apologies, Hanguang-Jun,’ she says as she hands A-Yuan his bowl. ‘I wasn’t sure if you would want food bringing.’

Which is how Wangji finds himself at the kitchens in search of his own breakfast. Which is where he finds Lan Zemin collecting a bowl of congee.

Wangji doesn’t glance at Lan Zemin’s throat. He doesn’t do anything but nod politely. Lam Zemin looks worried, anyway.

‘Second Master Lan,’ Lan Zemin says, bowing and waiting to be acknowledged rather than letting Wangji pass by.

‘Lan Zemin.’

‘Second Master Lan,’ Lan Zemin says again, this time with a smile, ‘would you like me to bring your meal to you?’

Wangji stares at him. ‘I am already here.’

‘Yes. Of course.’ Lan Zemin starts to look around before aborting the movement and looking very much like he wants to bow again. His hands are still cupped together around his bowl. ‘It’s just, perhaps, you would be more comfortable eating in private. Or…or with your son, I should say.’

‘I will be perfectly comfortable eating here.’

Despite keeping his voice perfectly level, Wangji sees the man flinch. It’s a small thing, but Lan Zemin is usually more in control of himself, from what Wangji recalls. With that in mind, he allows the sounds around him to filter in, seeking for some reason in the chattering of the gathered people that might explain Lan Zemin’s reaction.

It doesn’t take long before he hears it.

Several people are talking about him. More specifically, they are speculating about all manner of things that do not concern them. From what he hears in those few moments, there are as many theories as gossipers over the identity of A-Yuan’s mother and plenty as to how Wangji met her.

He sees Lan Zemin sag a little as Wangji stands and listens.

‘I swear I didn’t tell anyone,’ the other man says quietly, almost to himself. He looks guilty, anyway.

‘No blame attaches to you,’ Wangji assures him. ‘My son is not a secret.’

They regard each other for another spell, Lan Zemin looking increasingly uneasy and the comments from others becoming more idiotic. Even most cultivators don’t have hearing as good as Wangji’s. Likely, they are under the impression he can’t hear what they say. It’s not an excuse for such behaviour, but it does mean it isn’t callous. It’s not meant to wound him. He has to remind himself of that with some force.

The voices do fall quiet, or quieter, as he sets himself back into motion, collecting a portion of food and deciding this will be the last morning he does so for a while. He nods to Lan Zemin as he leaves, because the man at least tried to show thoughtfulness, and even as he turns away, he sees two Jin cultivators attach themselves to Lan Zemin’s sides. For his part, Lan Zemin shakes his head and tries to leave, but he doesn’t seem to be having much success.

Wangji takes his food down to the stream. The grass is damp this morning, but he finds a mostly dry rock to sit on and focuses on the light dappling the surface of the water. He will need to be calm before the meeting.

Footsteps behind him announce he’s no longer alone just as he’s finishing his food, but before he can rise and bid whoever it is to take his spot, his strength is stolen from him by their voice.

‘Lan Zhan! There you are. I didn’t see you at all yesterday. Were you meditating all day?’

‘Wei Ying.’

That name leaves his lips with such little force it’s a wonder he can hear it himself.

‘Hey, are you okay?’ Wei Ying is right next to him, not touching, because touching is something he stopped doing after he went missing, but crouching close enough it’s almost as good as contact. ‘You’re shaking. Do you need a healer? Are you hurt?’

‘No.’ That won’t be clear enough, and Wei Ying can have no reason to suspect it’s him making Wangji feel so…so insubstantial, so much like he must have become a ghost himself and joined Wei Ying in death. Wei Ying doesn’t remember falling. ‘No, I’m not hurt. Do not concern yourself.’

‘Then why do you look so pale?’

‘Don’t I always look pale?’

Wei Ying lets out a delighted laugh at that. It rings slightly hollow when compared to his laughter before the Wens destroyed so much, but it’s a laugh, all the same.

‘Lan Zhan, ah, a joke so early in the day. Now I know something is wrong.’

Wangji can’t bring himself to turn his head and look. Wei Ying is right next to him, vibrant and alive, even if it’s a more brittle sort of energy than before the Wens, and Wangji wants to see. He wants to trace every line of this man with his eyes, with his hands. With his tongue. He wants to wrap Wei Ying in his arms and just hold him.

But that is why he can’t look. One of the reasons. Wangji has spent the better part of two years grieving the love of his life, but Wei Ying doesn’t share those feelings. Not the love and not the terrible, aching loss of his death that shifted the bedrock of Wangji’s soul.

He can’t look at Wei Ying until he’s sure he won’t do something inappropriate, something unfair to this friend of his. Because Wei Ying is his friend, and he is Wei Ying’s, and he can be that, now, better than he was the first time through the war. He just has to work out how.

‘I’m not joking, now, Lan Zhan. If there’s something wrong, tell me.’

‘We should go,’ Wangji says, instead of letting any of what he wants to say spill out. ‘Brother wants me at the meeting.’

Wei Ying argues that he shouldn’t need to attend, that there’s been enough talk already and he would rather stay by the water and see if he can catch fish, but he says all of this as Wangji rises and returns his bowl to the kitchens, as they both walk in the direction of Nie Mingjue’s war room, and he walks into the meeting by Wangji’s side.

Still, Wangji has managed not to look at him directly. He’s caught the flashes of red and black, the edges of movement, but he hasn’t let himself take in all that Wei Ying is. In the meeting, he will have to pay attention to what’s being said. That will be a good reason to hold himself back from staring.

Nie Mingjue is the only one already present. He looks up at them and nods.

‘Did you get any sleep?’ he asks, frowning at Wangji.

Not as much as he needed, but his level of exhaustion isn’t important unless it impacts on the war effort or on his ability to care for A-Yuan, so he just nods. He can almost feel Wei Ying’s confusion by his side.

Thankfully, the others arrive before any more questions can be asked and Wangji moves to stand in his customary spot, reminding himself he needs to be attentive. He is not to let his mind wander to his son, and he is not to give in and gaze at Wei Ying.

The meeting is brief. It seems decisions were reached the day before that were not passed on to Wangji, but he works them out quickly enough. Wei Ying wants to send himself on a dangerous mission, relying on his unorthodox and harmful methods, which should not be a surprise. Wei Ying doesn’t know where this will lead him, after all. Wangji does.

‘Perhaps use of your cultivation should be limited,’ he says, before he can stop himself. He keeps his eyes on the map.

‘This again?’ Wei Ying asks. He sounds frustrated. Annoyed. A little hurt. ‘Lan Zhan, we’ve had this conversation. I will not sit back and let people die when I can do something about it.’

Something in Wangji snaps.

‘Neither will I,’ he says, biting the words out as his eyes lock onto Wei Ying, and…oh. Oh, he’s even more breath-taking than Wangji remembered.

Wei Ying is too thin, too pale, but not so haggard and drained as during his time as the Yiling Patriarch. Not by a long way. The ravages of resentful energy are less marked in this time, the boiling need to act is stronger, and the bitterness at the treatment of others is not yet etched so deeply it’s turned back on himself.

‘Wangji.’

Brother is displeased. He should care more about that than he does. He’s aware, too, that everyone is staring at him.

‘This plan was already made,’ Nie Mingjue says. ‘Unless you have a better plan, the time to debate this was yesterday afternoon, Wangji.’

As though it was ever Wangji’s habit to debate. Though…look where that got him. Keeping quiet, holding to the rules, trusting that those around him will make decisions he can live with: all that just ended up with Wei Ying dead and A-Yuan the only one of his people still living.

Still, he has no clear arguments formed in this moment. The time he’s spent going over the past have never included what he might have said to alter the course of the war. He will need to correct that, now.

He dips his head and stays silent, but for the rest of the thankfully short meeting he feels Wei Ying’s and Brother’s eyes heavy upon him.

Wei Wuxian seethes. He does it with a smirk on his face and a spring in his step, but he feels Chenqing pressing marks into his hand with how tightly he grips it. Walking next to him, Jiang Cheng seems lost in thought, but that’s not unusual after a meeting.

As they reach the first of their sect’s tents, his brother slows their pace until they’re no longer walking. Wei Wuxian turns to find Jiang Cheng looking at him with that worried frown he wishes he had some sort of talisman against.

‘What now?’ he asks. ‘Have you realised you need help with your fashion sense and you’re finally ready to ask for my help?’

That doesn’t even get him a lip twitch.

‘I thought you and Lan Wangji were back on good terms.’

Wei Wuxian spins away, setting off towards his own tent just to have a direction away from this conversation. He thought so, too, but clearly Lan Zhan still doesn’t trust him.

‘Hey, don’t walk away,’ Jiang Cheng orders, but it’s the sort of order he’s always given, from way back when they were kids, rather than the sort that means it’s really the sect leader talking. ‘What was that back there? Did the two of you have another falling out you didn’t mention?’

‘If we did, I missed it.’

A diversion through a group of disciples puts an end to the questions, as Jiang Cheng is caught up in answering the questions they have for him, and Wei Wuxian leaves him to it. He’ll do what he always does when he’s upset: he’ll find Shijie.

‘This has got to stop, Wangji.’

Brother hasn’t brought Nie Mingjue with him today, for which Wangji is grateful. It’s just the two of them, standing in the clear space in the middle of the sect leader’s tent. He’s beginning to think he should kneel, with the censure in his brother’s voice.

He stands still and stares into the middle distance, face blank. Even Brother will be able to read little from him just now.

‘A plan had already been made. A plan you would have known about had you attended the meeting as you were supposed to. You were very close to snapping at Young Master Wei.’ Brother stops and shakes his head. ‘Wangji, this isn’t like you.’

So many times over the last few years, Wangji has heard those words or variations on them. He isn’t speaking like himself, isn’t thinking like himself, isn’t behaving like himself. Mostly, it condenses into one thing: he isn’t behaving.

‘Tell me, Brother,’ Wangji says, the words clipped. ‘What is like me?’

Brother looks upset, confused, taken aback. Brother normally looked on Wangji with understanding, with pride, with affection and with amusement, but rarely with such disappointment or hurt. Not until the sects banded against Wei Wuxian at Nightless City, and Wangji found too late he should have more clearly chosen a side.

‘I don’t understand,’ Brother says.

At that, Wangji meets his brother’s gaze and sees Brother’s eyes widen.

‘You keep telling me I am not like myself. Perhaps it is that you do not know what I am. So, I ask you, Brother, what is it you believe me to be?’

The conversation ends rather quickly after that, which at least has the benefit of avoiding having to lie about A-Yuan and his mother. Wangji leaves without asking what his punishment will be. Brother makes no attempt to call him back.

Chapter Text

When she sees Wei Wuxian is in a bad mood, Shijie makes him sit and drink tea with her. Wei Wuxian doesn’t want to tell her he’s having one of those days where nausea crawls through his belly and snakes up into his throat, so he sips at the liquid when she frowns at him but mostly manages to let it go cold in the cup. It isn’t tea he’s here for.

‘I just don’t understand him,’ he tells his sister. ‘His face is so pretty but he insists on not smiling, which is a crime all the young maidens should complain about, and then he acts like I’ve broken Gusu Lan’s precious rules. We’re nowhere near the Cloud Recesses! And I haven’t done anything. Why he is like that, Shijie?’

Usually, now that Wei Wuxian is pouting, Shijie would lean in and humour him with a tap to the nose or some other form of light affection. He’s ready for that, he thinks, after venting about Lan Zhan in generalised terms for a good while. But she doesn’t do that. She looks down at her tea and looks thoughtful, even worried.

‘Did Second Young Master Lan seem himself this morning?’ she asks. ‘You say he was cross with you. Is that usual? I had thought the two of you were friends, again.’

‘We are,’ Wei Wuxian says, stung. ‘We’re the best of friends.’ When Lan Zhan isn’t telling him he’s corrupting himself, that he is less and less worthy all the time. ‘He can just be so strange sometimes.’

‘It’s not so surprising he’s acting strangely, is it?’ she asks. ‘He must be under a lot of stress, just now.’

‘I suppose.’

Everyone is under a lot of stress. They’re fighting a war. Until this morning, Lan Zhan has been coping with it better than most people. For all his moaning about the way Lan Zhan treats him, they really have been getting on better the last few weeks, ever since their talk on the roof back at The Unclean Realm.

‘I think…’ Shijie finally puts down her tea and leans over to take his hand, but she still sounds serious when she goes on. ‘A-Xian, I think Second Young Master Lan really needs his friends now. You’re the one he’s closest to. Perhaps…perhaps he worries you’ve lost respect for him.’

That stings. Wei Wuxian is not such a shallow friend to turn his back on someone just because they speak sharply to him.

‘It will take more than that to make me lose respect for Lan Zhan,’ he assures her.

‘Of course,’ she says. ‘My A-Xian is too good a person to think badly of his friend for having a heart.’

Shijie makes a good point, he supposes. For Lan Zhan to keep worrying about Wei Wuxian’s cultivation and its effects on him, it could be a sign his friend cares. It’s still maddening, that Lan Zhan doesn’t trust him, that he thinks he knows so much better than Wei Wuxian does, but he lets himself consider that it stems from the heart instead of purely from Gusu Lan’s rules.

It’s a nice thought, if nothing else.

Xichen lets Wangji go. He lost control of that conversation so quickly, found it becoming mired in a bitterness he didn’t realise his brother carried. Grief, perhaps, over the woman he won’t name.

He has to stop himself again from trying to work out who she could have been. Is it possible she visited for the guest lectures? No sect has contacted him or, as far as he knows, his uncle about a girl who has returned home with child. In an earlier lecture series, one young couple did find themselves betrothed in the wake of being discovered in the same bed, but there’s been no such issue since.

Perhaps the mother kept it secret, or her family did, but he can think of few sects who would be against such a good match as the Second Young Master of Gusu Lan. More than one tentative opening to marriage negotiations has already been made for his brother. Besides, of the young women who attended the last lectures, he hasn’t heard that any of them have died. Maiden Jiang is even in the camp, as is Maiden Lou. He will have to check on the others. Of course, he doesn’t even know when A-Yuan was born to be able to work backwards to when-

No. He isn’t going to think about that. A-Yuan will need his mother’s name in the records, but that cannot be done until they return home, in any case. Before then, he will coax the information from his brother.

At the moment, the greater concern is the impact this is having on Wangji.

Uncle would have Wangji kneeling for his behaviour today, if not more. Xichen is uncertain that is the best course of action. Wangji already seems hostile, distrustful, of the older brother who has been his closest, his only, confidant for most of his life. Walking away in what would, to most people, be mid-conversation is not unknown for Wangji, but it was never before with such ill temper. Not to Xichen.

That his younger brother kept something so important from him for years is still hard to believe. How badly have they failed Wangji, to make him think he must hide his love? Had they, somehow, made Wangji think anyone he gave his heart to would be locked away like their mother? That he had to keep her away from Gusu Lan?

Such wild speculation isn’t helpful.

If Wangji isn’t fit for the mission Young Master Wei wants him on, Xichen needs to know. Plans will need to be adjusted. That sort of practical consideration is, sadly, a necessity. No matter how much he may want to be Wangji’s big brother right now, he is also his sect leader in a time of war.

He will send a healer to speak with Wangji. That is a specific step he can take. For now, he needs to focus on other tasks.

Jiang Cheng drags the two disciples apart and shoves them back so they’re glaring at each other from a safe distance. They’re both from the Jiang Sect, but one is a survivor from the burning of Lotus Pier and the other only joined the sect recently. Up until now, he hasn’t noticed any issues between them.

‘What’re you fighting for?’ he demands. ‘Do you have no sense of how to behave?’

‘He shouldn’t be spreading gossip!’ Wang Bolin says, jabbing a finger in the other man’s direction.

They’re more boys than men, but they know enough how to behave that Jiang Cheng should not have to be dealing with this. This is the third time he’s been stopped in his search for Wei Wuxian since his brother slipped away from him.

‘Gossip? If my disciples have time to stand around gossiping and getting in fights over it, then they have too much time away from training.’

‘Am I not supposed to care about dishonour to our sect?’ the other one, Chen Yingjie, asks, still fixed on Wang Bolin. ‘Should I just ignore such things?’

‘You are the one lacking honour, to repeat such awful things about Maiden Jiang,’ Wang Bolin returns heatedly.

‘Wait.’ Jiang Cheng knows his expression has shifted into something worse at hearing A-Jie dragged into this, but the way both men step back when he looks from one to the other, their fury at each other draining into apprehension, tells him his displeasure is getting through. Good. ‘Who is saying what about my sister?’

From not wanting to shut up, Chen Yingjie now pulls a face at Wang Bolin that screams he doesn’t want to be the one to tell their sect leader. Well, tough. The idiot should have thought of that before shouting about it.

‘You, talk,’ Jiang Cheng orders.

‘Some of the Jin cultivators were gossiping about Hanguang-Jun,’ Chen Yingjie starts, avoiding Jiang Cheng’s eyes. ‘About him not being so honourable as everyone always says. You know, what with him having-‘

‘A son,’ Jiang Cheng finishes for him. ‘What’s that got to do with my sister?’

The way Chen Yingjie swallows tells him he is not going to like this. He’s right.

Jin Zixuan has enough to think about, what with his father still refusing to be truly part of this campaign. It grates, knowing that the Jin, as the largest sect after their enemy, are providing fewer troops and are being less effective in this war than even the Jiang, who are a guttering flame at best these days. If they didn’t have Wei Wuxian and whatever he’s become… Well, that’s a topic he prefers to set aside.

The fact remains the Jiang Sect is not what it once was, and yet only this morning he’s had to read another letter from his mother ordering him to win back Jiang Yanli.

At his side, his cousin apparently notes his frown and misinterprets it, because he starts making comments about the arrogance of both Wei Wuxian and Hanguang-Jun. Not for the first time, Zixuan bemoans the lack of other companions, because Zixun is a sour and confrontational note that does nothing to improve his day.

‘Not that he’s so wonderful as he’s been pretending,’ Zixun says, the sneer audible. ‘Just look at him, walking with his head high like he’s so pure, like he’s better than all of us.’

Despite himself, Zixuan looks in the direction his cousin gestures. Hanguang-Jun walks across the camp in his usual elegant manner, one hand behind his back and not a single thing marring the perfection of his appearance. For the first time, Zixuan feels a jolt of distaste for the Second Jade of Lan.

‘Isn’t it too arrogant, to act as though he’s above us all?’ Zixun goes on. His voice is getting louder. ‘We all know his secret now and still he thinks we’ll treat him as though he doesn’t talk maidens into warming his bed!’

‘Zixun!’

As Zixuan calls his cousin’s name, Lan Wangji stops walking. There’s still no expression on that face and his posture remains upright and enviable, but it’s too much of a coincidence for it not to be connected to Zixun’s words.

A tiny part of Zixuan is glad. That someone in his own generation should behave this way sickens him. It’s shameful, to have such little disregard for decent behaviour. It’s… It’s too much like his father. And nobody has the status to tell his father how despicable it is. There’s some gratification, in seeing Lan Wangji hearing words Zixuan would dearly love to hurl at his own father.

‘So what if he hears me? Shouldn’t he know what decent people think of him?’

‘It is none of our business. And you are making assumptions.’

Because one lover and a child he has claimed is different from so many women their names aren’t known and a string of bastards left behind to fend for themselves. Whatever else, Zixuan has to admit that much.

Zixun snorts.

‘Then why has he already found a replacement for whoever gave him that boy? How is it making assumptions, when Maiden Jiang was already seen entering his tent with no chaperone?’

‘What?’

Zixuan finally looks at his cousin, to see something smug and satisfied mixed in with the general sourness of his face.

‘Last night. More than one person saw her. And to think, our family was nearly bound to a woman of such loose morals.’

‘Do not speak of her that way,’ a low voice says.

Lan Wangji is quick. That’s something Zixuan learns anew as he whips his head around to find the man standing right before them, something heated in his eyes.

‘Hanguang-Jun,’ Zixuan says, finding his voice before his cousin does. He will apologise. For the sake of inter-sect unity and the war effort, he will. ‘Is what my cousin says true?’ Or maybe he won’t. ‘Have you now seduced the woman who was to be my wife?’

‘I have not.’ The words are ground out. ‘You will not speak ill of Maiden Jiang.’

Zixuan grabs Zixun’s arm as his cousin steps forward. The last thing they need is Lan Wangji slaughtering a member of the Jin Sect. Still, he finds an uncomfortable irritation foaming in his chest.

‘I was not speaking ill of her,’ he says firmly. ‘I was asking if my cousin is right to speak ill of you in this matter.’

All he gets from that is a twitch of Lan Wangji’s lips and a slow slide of his eyes across Zixuan and Zixun. Simply being looked at can’t cause harm, but he has to resist moving back.

He’s aware of what he’s just implied. He can’t imagine Lan Wangji forcing anyone into his bed, but two days ago he couldn’t have imagined him having anyone in his bed outside of wedlock, and he certainly can’t picture Jiang Yanli behaving in such a way voluntarily.

After a long, frozen moment, Lan Wangji turns and stalks away without another word. He doesn’t stop or turn back, not even when Zixun resumes his insults, but there is a certain stiffness to his shoulders that isn’t usually there.

Zixuan thinks of writing to his mother that Maiden Jiang’s reputation is in question, and sighs. It’s not just that his mother won’t believe it of Jiang Yanli. It’s also that, on some level, Zixuan himself wants it to be untrue. He wants all of it to be untrue, because he doesn’t like the thought of her being forced or coerced into anything even more than he dislikes the thought of her choosing to act in such a way.

‘Zixun, stop,’ he orders, shaking his cousin’s arm to drive his point home. ‘I don’t want to hear you saying anything else about this, do you understand? It is beneath us.’

‘You’re right, Zixuan,’ Zixun agrees, though it’s highly unlikely he gets what Zixuan really means. ‘And now everyone knows what he’s really like, Hanguang-Jun will learn his place.’

As far as Zixuan is concerned, as long as Jiang Yanli is kept out of it and Zixuan has time to work through his response to all this, Lan Wangji can learn from it whatever he likes.

Wangji doesn’t know what to do with the anger clogging his veins. He carries it past the tents and over the stream with him, drawing Bichen when he finds a clearing in the woods. He should meditate, as he intended to do upon leaving Brother, should centre and calm himself before he goes back to his son, but he’s sick of sitting still.

How many hours did he spend kneeling to placate his uncle, how many months did he spend shut away in one building to placate the Elders? And now, without having done anything at all, he’s being accused of…of…

It’s the longest he’s gone without wielding Bichen and there’s just a moment of adjustment, a sense of not being properly aligned before this clicks smoothly into place and he’s himself again, a version of himself that used to feel like the singular, the only Lan Wangji to exist, back before he found out how thinly he could be sliced, how much it would hurt.

His blade cuts the air in graceful arcs, the rightness of it singing through him. He pivots and lunges and leaps, running through forms he hasn’t been able to practise since he stood in defence of Wei Ying.

Old hurts are playing out again and he is so angry. All those rules and all that training, and not one part of it tells him how to stop baseless rumour from hurting innocents, of how to prevent the pain he sees ahead. Wei Ying is alive. He’s alive and already on the path to his ruin and if Wangji tries the same approach as before, Wei Ying will turn from him. Wei Ying will die. Again.

Bichen is an extension of him as he spins into a series of attacks, balanced and powerful as he’s been trained to be.

And Wangji is an extension of his sect, is an embodiment of all their rules and expectations. If a blade is damaged, it must be beaten back into shape, no matter what the blade feels about it. It’s a truth he accepted. To an extent, it’s one he still accepts. Whatever else he did, he fought against his own people. His uncle, his brother, could hardly ignore that.

Another spin. Another slash. His breathing grows heavier.

But what choice was he left with? The world would not listen, would not see. His own sect either did not see or pretended not to, and he isn’t sure which is worse, as wrong was done and innocents were blamed, and the Lan rules said nothing about choosing obedience over righteousness just because that would be easier for those in power.

A flurry of attacks across the clearing, designed to push an opponent off balance and keep them there, to press home an advantage through unrelenting blows. His vision blurs but he pushes on.

There is always a choice, he knows. No matter how much he longs to excuse his actions, or the actions of his own sect, it isn’t so simple. He chose to draw his blade against those he was expected to stand beside, and he would, will, do it again, if he must. But that isn’t to say there was no other choice. If nothing else, there is always the choice to do nothing.

A spin and lunge bring him halfway back across the clearing, Bichen and its sheath held to either side. His throat tastes of iron and his chest heaves.

And perhaps that is why he can’t look at Brother without bitterness welling up, because Brother chose not to act, chose not to upset their allies even by opening his eyes or speaking out, let alone by stepping in with his own sword. Wei Ying was left to be pushed back and back by attacks Wangji’s own brother chose not to note.

Back now, up into the air and arcing over to land with his sword already moving, to block, to parry, to pierce. His right knee gives out, always the weaker, and he stumbles on the last sweep, lands on the knee with one hand splayed out to support himself. He breathes in gasps, his vision swimming, and he can’t tell if he’s in pain or not.

So many people chose not to act when they should have done and insisted on acting when it meant harm to those who could not defend themselves. They must eradicate evil when it takes the form of refugees, of a starving boy in the dirt, but not when it wraps itself in gold robes and raises a toast at a banquet.

He doesn’t recall being so dizzy or out of breath after running through sword forms in the past. Even with the two years of forced inactivity, he shouldn’t be responding like this. The body he’s in – his present body – has been fighting hard for months.

A side effect of whatever has put him here or his own troubled mind and emotions or… He can’t think of anything else. Shock? Seeing Wei Ying alive and more whole than he’d been by the end was a shock, despite knowing this is before…that it’s before. There’s desperation, too, at not knowing how to keep him safe this time, especially when he has A-Yuan to protect. It could be any of those. It could be all of them.

He could be undergoing a minor qi deviation.

He’s on his hands and knees now, his throat stinging as he draws in air that doesn’t seem to reach his lungs.

This is ridiculous. He is Lan Wangji, the Second Jade of Gusu Lan, known for his composure and control. He doesn’t fall to the ground and break down after a full battle, let alone after a bit of training.

It must be the transposition. And if it’s happening to him, it must be happening to A-Yuan, too. To A-Yuan who is already struggling with being suddenly two again. To A-Yuan who Wangji has left with a woman he barely knows all the way across the camp.

He waits only until his vision and breathing steady enough that he can stand. He has to get back to A-Yuan. Whatever else he fails at, he cannot fail his son.

Xichen is barely through the second piece of work at his desk when Mingjue-ge and a woman in Nie robes arrive, an air of urgency about them.

‘Xichen, is Wangji not with you? I thought he was heading here with you after the meeting.’

‘Our conversation was brief.’

Mingjue-ge raises his eyebrows but doesn’t ask what happened. He indicates the woman standing a pace behind him.

‘Bai Meilin came to look for Wangji and I brought her to you. Xichen, do you know where he is?’

‘I expect he’s returned to his tent,’ Xichen says.

‘Zewu-Jun,’ Bai Meilin says, stepping forward and bowing, her voice tense, ‘Hanguang-Jun had not returned to his tent when I checked just now. I must find him. I was tasked with caring for A-Yuan whilst Hanguang-Jun met with you.’

Xichen is on his feet instantly, fear gripping him.

‘What’s happened to A-Yuan?’

It’s Mingjue-ge who answers, brusque and to the point.

‘He’s gone missing. We think he might be looking for Wangji.’

Chapter Text

‘How could this happen?’ Xichen asks.

It’s not the time. He knows that. In any incident, resolution is the more important; investigation as to cause comes after, so that it may be avoided in the future. Still, he stares at the woman, at Bai Meilin, and waits for any answer that can make sense.

‘I don’t know,’ she says. ‘A servant came to collect the breakfast dishes and when I looked back, he was gone.’

There’s worry and something like shame in her eyes. Xichen should not feel satisfaction at that, but he does.

‘We can deal with that later,’ Mingjue-ge says. ‘A-Yuan can’t have got far, but a war camp isn’t the kind of place we want him running about. I’ve sent some of my people out looking, but more will be better.’

‘I’ll send people, too,’ Xichen says. ‘And I’ll search with them.’

Mingjue-ge’s expression makes it clear he disagrees.

‘Or perhaps it would be best if I wait by Wangji’s tent. If he returns and finds the boy gone, I’ll need to reassure him a search in underway.’

And that way he can stop Wangji from tearing the camp to pieces looking for his son.

Wangji has himself under control by the time he reaches the camp. If his heartbeat is painful and his throat still tastes of rust, nobody will know, and so it doesn’t matter. Neither does the fact the different parts of his body feel disconnected from him and from each other. Pain is only pain, and his body has rarely felt like his since Nightless City.

Walking as he should is a challenge, though not of the same kind as regaining his movement after the whipping. Then, he could only move with aching slowness. Now, he keeps tight hold of himself so he doesn’t run. Despite the frantic thoughts drumming in his head as he knelt in that clearing, there is no reason to think anything is wrong. He is calmer now and he can see this. A-Yuan is with Bai Meilin. He was fine when Wangji left this morning and he is likely fine now. Letting panic dictate his actions will lead only to trouble. He repeats this to himself as though it has become one of the rules on the mountain.

He will return calmly to his tent and collect his son. They will eat the midday meal together, just the two of them. He will have a healer look again at A-Yuan and he will have himself checked, too. That’s the sensible course of action. Hmm. A-Yuan first. It will be best if Wangji tries meditation first, before troubling a healer. There is no need to drain resources.

A-Yuan will be checked as a precaution, even though there is no valid reason to think something is badly wrong.

As his own tent comes into view, he sees his brother standing outside, looking alert and tense. Brother’s expression shifts to something more complicated when he sees Wangji and the sense of unreality he’s been immersed in since the clearing takes on a sickening hue.

‘Wangji,’ Brother greets him, his tone so obviously pitched to soothe and restrain that it achieves the opposite.

Wangji’s hard-won composure boils away.

Brother doesn’t know how often Wangji heard versions of that tone between the Sunshot Campaign ending and the point where time turned back on itself. He doesn’t know that Wangji is well versed in all the ways Brother hopes to heal bruises with his voice alone, even as they are forming. He doesn’t know how easily Wangji can tell something else has gone wrong.

‘Where is A-Yuan?’ he asks, not even stopping to greet his brother or wait for a reply before brushing past and into the tent.

It’s empty.

Brother catches him before he can leave again, a hand gripping each of Wangji’s biceps and an unyielding gaze demanding his attention. There’s little point in struggling; Brother is one of the only people who can match Wangji, who can hope to best him. He tries anyway.

‘Wangji!’ Brother gives by two steps and braces, holding them still. ‘He slipped out. People are looking for him. They will find him and they will bring him back here. Wait. You just have to stay here and wait.’

Wangji has hated many things his brother’s told him. He knows, he does, that this version of Lan Xichen is ignorant of why the advice to stay, to wait, reaches into Wangji’s gut and hauls up panic, hauls up grief, hauls up pain. He knows this. He finds it doesn’t matter.

‘Brother, let me go.’

He gets a tightening of the hands on his arms in response, a shake of the head.

‘And if you are somewhere else in the camp when A-Yuan returns? No, Wangji. Mingjue-ge is searching for him, as are others. Your place is here.’

‘My place is protecting my son,’ he insists, and sees something uneasy in Brother’s eyes. ‘I shouldn’t have left him.’

‘He’ll be safe,’ Brother says. He’s frowning more, now. He looks…concerned. ‘There is no need to panic. A-Yuan will be safe. Nobody here is going to hurt a child.’

A lie. Whether Brother knows it or not, that’s a lie. Four great sects and others besides condemned and murdered the last of A-Yuan’s family. Had A-Yuan been with them, it is more than likely he, too, would have died. A Wen brat. Something to be put down. Something to dispose of. And even if those people would balk at killing one so young, the Jin proved they would imprison and starve, that they would abuse and traumatise A-Yuan.

There are too many Jins in this camp. Jin Zixun is in this camp. How could Wangji fail his son so, to let that man exist, here, where A-Yuan is?

‘Wangji?’

‘No.’ His lungs won’t draw air. Again, they won’t work properly. He thinks he might be clinging to Brother now, as much as Brother is holding him. ‘No, he’s not safe. Jin Zixun… Brother, he…’

‘Breathe. This isn’t like… Just breathe. I’ve got you. I’m here.’

He feels movement and then he’s on the bed, Brother kneeling before him, rubbing his forearms with gentle fingers. Brother seems to be trying to fix Wangji in place with his eyes alone.

‘I give you my word, we will find A-Yuan and bring him to you.’ Brother is all worry, now, hidden beneath reassurance and care. ‘He is safe. Your son is safe. He will be back with you soon. Just breathe. Breathe.’

The press of fingers against his wrist is followed by the familiar spill of Brother’s spiritual energy reaching in. It’s an intrusion, but it’s happened before he can react. Brother’s soft gasp is loud in the tent.

‘Wangji. What has happened to you?’

Ah. So there is something wrong with him, after all.

‘Doesn’t matter,’ he says. He tries to stand, is made to stay where he is. ‘I must-‘

‘You must stay there. I will send for a healer. Do not move, Wangji.’

And he’s on his own inside. Brother has left and Wangji is on his own, ordered to stay, whilst A-Yuan needs him. He should have left the camp as soon as he realised where he was, that A-Yuan was with him. He should have left all of this.

But Wei Ying still needs protecting, too. Wei Ying needs saving.

His vision is dark around the edges and his balance wavers. Perhaps best to centre himself again before he ignores Brother’s instructions and leaves. He will find A-Yuan and he will bring him back, and he will think of some way to save them both.

He will. He has to. He has spent too much time sitting alone, waiting.

The rock where he found Lan Zhan this morning makes an uncomfortable seat. Naturally. When has Lan Zhan ever done what is comfortable? Wei Wuxian sits on it, anyway, and watches the light on the water.

Shijie’s words turn slowly in his thoughts. Lan Zhan was cross with him this morning, he’s almost sure of it. Less sure, now, than he was at the time, but still…

The plan is a good one. Wei Wuxian has skills the others do not. He should use them where he can, to preserve lives on their side and bring them closer to the end of this war. He is sick of war. Lan Zhan must be sick of it, too. After all, his war started even before Wei Wuxian’s, his home attacked and his leg broken, taken by force for Indoctrination where others had at least been able to pretend they had a choice.

If Wei Wuxian explains the plan to Lan Zhan, if he talks it through with him so Lan Zhan knows it isn’t reckless or impulsive, that should help. Right?

Yes. He should visit Lan Zhan and talk.

With that in mind, he stands, brushes off his robes, and sets off along the side of the stream in the direction that will take him to the Lan tents. It’s a pleasant day, after all. He may as well enjoy the near peace of being away from the busiest areas.

Wei Wuxian hears the clatter and thud before he hears the child. By now, he’s close to where the Jin tents become the Lan tents, which is not a place he expects to hear a child crying. He moves swiftly in the direction of the noise, up from the stream and around the side of one of the larger tents and into an area that’s already bare earth, which from the look of it is used for training.

Someone has left a sword out, probably propped against the barrel at the edge of the space or laid across it. Now, it’s on the ground, with a tiny boy sitting near it, legs splayed out in front of him, holding a spot on his head with both hands as tears drip down his face. He has a good set of lungs.

‘Did the sword fall on you?’ Wei Wuxian asks, sweeping down to the boy’s level and reaching for those little hands. ‘Did it hit you? Are you hurt?’

The boy stares at him, his eyes wide. The wailing stops.

‘Well, I can’t see any blood, but you need to move your hands for me to be sure. Come on, just let me see.’

Taking hold of the boy’s hands, he lowers them and carefully checks for a wound. There’s nothing obvious, but he should take the child to Shijie to be sure.

‘It didn’t hit me,’ the boy says.

‘Hmm?’ Wei Wuxian looks again at the sword, which is large enough and heavy enough to have done a good deal of damage if it had landed on the boy’s head. ‘Then why were you holding your head? Were you worried that might fall over, too?’

The boy sticks his lower lip out and it reminds Wei Wuxian of someone, but he can’t think who. Such a cute pout!

‘Hit the barrel.’

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t hear that properly.’

The boy scowls and crosses his arms over his chest, still with his legs out in front of him, which is just too adorable and Wei Wuxian might have to ask Shijie if they can keep him.

‘I tripped and hit my head on the barrel.’

It occurs to Wei Wuxian that the child is speaking very well for someone so small, but he has other matters that are more pressing.

‘And why are you near the barrel? Were you hoping to get in some sword practice? I think we need our soldiers to be taller than their weapons, but I can speak to Sect Leader Jiang and find out if he needs anyone your size.’

Wei Wuxian smiles the way that always gets the youngest shidis to giggle away their hurts and pats the boy on the head on the side he didn’t hit. To his surprise, the boy makes a startled sound and scrabbles backwards, his mouth a little circle of shock. He leaves Wei Wuxian crouched with his hand still out.

The boy lifts a hand and feels at his own forehead as though searching for something.

‘Where is it?’ he asks, plaintively.

He doesn’t seem to be talking to Wei Wuxian anymore, but there’s nobody else around, so he answers anyway. It’s possible the boy’s got a concussion and it’s making him act strangely, and little kids shouldn’t be left to wander off on their own when they’re all confused.

‘Where’s what?’

Up until now, he’s been talking with a young but coherent child, but now the kid’s face creases up and he starts wailing again, no matter how Wei Wuxian tries to calm or comfort him. Before long, the child’s lying on his back, kicking and hitting the ground, his body spasming with strong emotion, and it takes a while before Wei Wuxian makes out what the boy is saying. Sobbing, really.

‘Your ribbon?’ Wei Wuxian asks. ‘For your hair?’

Apparently not, given that the noise increases.

Finally, the tantrum winds down into hiccoughing gasps and Wei Wuxian is able to coax the boy up and into his arms. Everyone else has seemingly decided that Wei Wuxian can deal with this, or they just haven’t heard the boy over the noise from further into the camp, so he’s by himself as he settles the boy on his hip and bounces him a little.

‘How about you tell me what ribbon you’ve lost and where you last saw it, and we’ll go look,’ he offers.

The boy sniffs. ‘Don’t remember.’

He looks shy, now. Maybe a little embarrassed. Instead of meeting Wei Wuxian’s eyes he fiddles with the end of the red ribbon that’s fallen over Wei Wuxian’s shoulder.

‘Never mind, then.’ Things go missing all the time in Wei Wuxian’s world. Some matter, some don’t. ‘We can get you another one.’

That is apparently the wrong thing to say. Red-rimmed eyes glare at him.

‘We can’t get you another one? Why not? I have a spare red one, if you like that.’

‘No!’

At a loss, Wei Wuxian looks around in case someone who knows the kid has finally turned up. There’s still no sign of anyone. Come to think of it, why is such a young boy wandering about by himself?

‘Will anyone be looking for you?’

A shake of the head and a frown. His ribbon gets a tug.

‘Father’s busy.’

‘Okay. Well, why don’t we find someone else? Hey, my name’s Wei Wuxian. You can call me, um, Xian-gege, all right?’

‘Xian-gege?’

‘That’s right. And what’s your name?’

‘Lan Yuan.’

A Lan. Ah, the ribbon issue makes sense, though he’s not certain at what age the Lan get their forehead ribbons. He’s surprised they have one of their children here, as well. Cloud Recesses is rebuilt enough for any children to be back there, as far as he’s aware.

‘Well, I’m pleased to meet you, Lan Yuan, but we should get you back, now, don’t you think?’

Lan Yuan nods, but he doesn’t seem keen. He’s also started sucking on his thumb.

‘Do you know where you’re staying? Is it with your uncle? He’s a Lan, too, right?’

The thumb is removed from the mouth and Lan Yuan points in what Wei Wuxian hopes is the direction of the uncle’s tent. They’re still in the Jin section, just, and he doesn’t need that awful cousin of the Peacock’s turning up and accusing him of kidnapping.

He chatters with his unexpected charge as they walk.

Lan Yuan, he learns, is very cross his father has told him he won’t have lessons here, because he wants to see his friends and practise with the sword, and he was looking forwards to something back home but he can’t remember what it was. He seems less troubled by that than Wei Wuxian thinks makes sense. The boy also can’t remember when he last had his ribbon on and gets upset again at the thought of ‘Uncle’ finding out.

Going to find ‘Father’ isn’t allowed. Apparently, his father has to spend a lot of time on his own and is recovering from some illness or injury, and Lan Yuan isn’t to go and look for Father unless his uncle says he can, so he came out to find Uncle, instead, and he found the sword and thought he’d practise. He also seems to think they’re all here on a night hunt.

He certainly talks more than any other Lan Wei Wuxian has ever met.

They’re not far into the Lan section when a woman in Nie robes calls out and rushes to them, reaching for the boy as soon as she’s close enough. Lan Yuan turns his head into Wei Wuxian’s neck and refuses to be passed across.

‘Eh. It’s okay,’ Wei Wuxian says. ‘I can carry him. We’re just looking for his uncle’s tent.’

The woman shakes her head.

‘No. A-Yuan needs to go back to his father’s tent. We have so many people out looking for you, A-Yuan. I’m so relieved to see you back. Is he okay?’

When he realises this last part is directed at him, Wei Wuxian smiles sunnily at the person from the Nie Sect who apparently lost track of a child from the Lan Sect. He’s sure there’s an explanation of some kind. For now, his arms are getting tired and he wants to get the boy to wherever he needs to be.

‘We had a little run in with a barrel, didn’t we, A-Yuan?’ Wei Wuxian says. ‘He needs someone to check he hasn’t bumped his head too hard and he got a little upset, but he’s been telling me all sorts of interesting things about himself.’

He walks alongside the woman, who introduces herself when Wei Wuxian pauses to draw breath, and he feels A-Yuan settle against him and relax. It’s really quite soothing.

When he sees Zewu-Jun pacing up and down outside a tent ahead of them, he frowns. That’s Lan Zhan’s tent. Well, once he’s delivered A-Yuan to the boy’s father, he can go and find out what has the man pacing about like that.

Except, when they are still three tents away, Zewu-Jun looks up and catches sight of them. Seeing the First Jade of Lan striding towards him with such a look on his face clenches Wei Wuxian’s heart into a tight knot.

‘A-Yuan! There you are.’

The sudden worry turns to confusion as Zewu-Jun now looks as though he wants to take A-Yuan from Wei Wuxian’s arms. The movement is abandoned before A-Yuan can notice, what with his face still hidden against Wei Wuxian’s neck, but it’s unmistakable. Zewu-Jun clearly knows that boy.

The gratitude and relief in his eyes is almost painful.

‘Thank-you, Young Master Wei. Please, we must take him to Wangji at once.’

Wei Wuxian feels very sure he has missed something.

‘We’re taking him to his father,’ he tells Zewu-Jun.

‘Yes.’ The sect leader radiates a need to be moving. ‘To Wangji. He’s very worried about A-Yuan. We need to show him his son is back and safe before he will let the healer do her job.’

Wei Wuxian thinks he can be forgiven if he isn’t sure how to respond.

Chapter Text

Xichen itches to take A-Yuan from Young Master Wei and rush in to Wangji, but the boy is clinging on in a way that suggests trying to pry him off will cause more upset, and Xichen doesn’t think he can cope with that. He does send Bai Meilin away to inform Mingjue-ge the boy has been found. It’s best if Wangji does not see her just now.

Young Master Wei is just standing there, his face scrunched in some expression Xichen hasn’t time to consider.

‘Take A-Yuan inside,’ he orders, more forcefully than he intended to.

With a jolt and a puzzled look, Young Master Wei finally moves.

‘Ah, yes. Of course, Zewu-Jun. Of course. I’ll just take A-Yuan to his…to Lan Zhan. Right.’

To see him so flustered puts Xichen in mind of the way the young man was when he studied at the Cloud Recesses, which only serves to point out how much of that scattering energy has narrowed down to a deadly focus. He wonders how the Jiang siblings cope with their brother being so changed. Another thing he doesn’t have time to think about.

He follows Young Master Wei into the tent to find him standing with A-Yuan still in his arms, staring at the scene by Wangji’s bed. Now, he looks worried. At least it shows he still cares for Wangji, on some level, even if their friendship has become fractious since Young Master Wei reappeared.

Wangji is where Xichen left him: sitting on the bed with Lan Dongmei standing nearby. At least this time he hasn’t returned to find Wangji halfway across the tent, as he did when he brought Lan Dongmei here, but his brother has stubbornly refused to let her examine him.

He expected Wangji to take A-Yuan at once, but instead he sits staring at Young Master Wei. Even Lan Dongmei likely thinks he’s calm, but Xichen sees shock and pain and hope before it all shuts down, leaving a blank mask that even he can’t read.

‘A-Yuan,’ Wangji says, quiet but firm, ‘come here.’

The boy unwinds himself from Young Master Wei’s neck and wriggles until he’s put down. He walks to Wangji with his hands clasped at his waist. His head is lowered. Xichen has seen their youngest disciples walk just this way when they have been summoned to the front of the classroom. Wangji watches him the whole way with that passive expression. All hint of the frantic father has been locked away.

Wangji rarely shuts down this far, and it’s never good.

When A-Yuan reaches the bedside, he bows. That, too, is at least some years more advanced than Xichen expected.

‘Sorry, Father,’ A-Yuan says. ‘I know I wasn’t supposed to leave. I will accept punishment.’

Xichen hears Young Master Wei make a sound of protest, but it’s Wangji, still, who has the greater part of his attention, and Wangji shudders. His eyes slide shut and he visibly has to collect himself before he looks at his son and slides onto the floor, gathering A-Yuan into his arms and hugging him close.

‘We will discuss that later,’ he says into his son’s hair.

Xichen steps towards them.

‘Wangji, he’s back safely. Let Lan Dongmei look at you, now.’

His brother doesn’t respond for a long moment. Just as Xichen thinks he will have to speak again, Wangji pulls back until he’s looking at Xichen, with his hands settled on each of A-Yuan’s shoulders.

‘A-Yuan first.’

Aware that Young Master Wei is still in the tent, Xichen doesn’t want to bring up why he’s so concerned, but he needs Wangji to let the healer check on him. Another delay does nothing to ease the tension across the back of his neck. Still, he nods.

‘Very well. Then you. No more conditions after this, Wangji.’

He pretends not to see the mutinous light in his brother’s eyes and turns to Young Master Wei, who is watching the scene with what seems to be disbelief.

‘Our thanks for bringing A-Yuan to us,’ Xichen says, mustering his years of experience as sect leader to speak with polite sincerity. ‘I must speak with my brother and the healer, now.’

There’s a lingering moment where Young Master Wei visibly resists leaving, but it snaps and he bows, leaving Xichen to turn his attention to his family.

He wasn’t prepared for Wei Ying. Wei Ying, here, in Wangji’s tent, holding the boy who was all Wangji had left of his love for almost two years… Wei Ying stares as though he is having trouble accepting what he sees, and it occurs to Wangji that he should have sought out Wei Ying, should have explained this to him, in some form or other. He should have mentioned A-Yuan when they met by the stream this morning.

His thoughts are darting birds as he looks at the people he loves most in the world, all standing so close together, all seeing Wangji in such a state. Who told Wei Ying about A-Yuan? What does Wei Ying think of Wangji now?

This is not the time. He will not allow himself to fall into such thoughts. Pulling on all the years of restraint and control, Wangji fashions an expressionless mask from his own skin and tells his son to come to him. As Wei Ying sets A-Yuan down, he wants to change his mind, to tell Wei Ying to pick up the child who owes Wei Ying his life, because A-Yuan looks right in Wei Ying’s arms.

He doesn’t, because more than anything else he needs to have his son within touching distance.

When A-Yuan mentions punishment, Wangji’s world narrows down to his child. Punishment? Who has taught A-Yuan this phrase? Consequences, guidance, boundaries are important, but he thought he had been clear with his brother about how such things were to be applied to A-Yuan. To the version of his brother who does not yet exist, which means Wangji cannot ask him to give an account of this phrase falling from this boy’s lips.

And Wei Ying witnesses this, too. No matter that this Wei Ying doesn’t know that A-Yuan is also his child, it sparks shame and discomfort in Wangji that his love may judge his ability as a father and find it wanting. Wei Ying would never ask a child to declare themselves ready for punishment. Wangji can’t look to see what shows on Wei Ying’s face. He cannot look at Wei Ying at all. Maintaining the pretence at calm even as his lungs feel scraped out and raw takes all he can spare.

It’s both a blow and a balm when Wei Ying leaves. Later. Wangji will find him later and…and he will… There has to be a way to speak with Wei Ying and not have it end badly.

For now, he watches as the healer examines A-Yuan and tries to ignore the way Brother is still in the tent.

‘You say he’s been sleeping a lot?’

Wangji answers the healer’s questions, not at all liking that he can’t read what Lan Dongmei is thinking. At last, she tells A-Yuan he has been a good boy and turns to look meaningfully at Wangji.

‘How is he?’ Wangji asks.

‘We will discuss that once I have checked on your health,’ she says. ‘On the bed, if you please, and give me your wrist.’

Wangji almost refuses, but Xichen has clearly impressed upon her that his brother is to be examined even if it means using his son against him. Very well. He will submit and he will hear how A-Yuan is as soon as she is done.

He watches A-Yuan as Lan Dongmei works, takes note of the way A-Yuan has taken himself to kneel quietly on the other side of the tent. He’s trying to decide if the boy is punishing himself for having left without permission when he hears Brother make a noise of concern.

Wangji turns to see Brother looking anxious, but his attention is quickly moved on to Lan Dongmei, who, with a blankly professional face, suggests A-Yuan should be elsewhere.

‘No,’ Wangji says.

‘If Lan Dongmei feels it is best,’ Brother says, ‘we should listen.’

Wangji meets his eyes and they stare at each other. He knows Brother can read him better than anyone else, that he will see how the idea of removing A-Yuan has fear and panic welling up, but Brother has no give in him.

‘I do not trust anyone to watch him,’ Wangji says, resorting to words.

It’s a feeling he will have to manage, at some point. He can hardly fight in what is left of this war with A-Yuan on his hip, and he cannot leave Wei Ying to face the final battle alone. His memory of that conflict includes more than one instance of Bichen driving danger away from Wei Ying. Just now, however, letting A-Yuan leave the tent is unthinkable.

Brother’s expression shows how he feels about that statement.

‘It will only be whilst Healer Dongmei completes your examination, Wangji,’ he says. ‘I can have a disciple take him to my tent and sit with him there. He’ll be in no danger.’

Wangji shakes his head and moves to pull his wrist away from the healer.

‘Or I can watch him myself,’ Brother says.

Brother is determined. And Wangji just wants this over with so he can bring A-Yuan onto the bed with him and curl around his son. The dizziness, the difficultly with his breathing, all of it has left him drained and aching. His temples throb and every sound pierces the bone of his skull. And Brother looked after A-Yuan with care, even when he knew A-Yuan’s history. More than he knows it in this present, in any case. There is no reason to think Brother will let A-Yuan come to harm.

Still, Wangji finds his thoughts stumbling around for another solution, one that will keep A-Yuan in sight.

‘I will fetch Zewu-Jun back as soon as I am done,’ Lan Dongmei promises.

It does not go unnoticed, that she’s shifted into a tone used on patients who are in distress. Perhaps it will be easier if Brother leaves, so at least only one person will be treating him as someone vulnerable.

‘A-Yuan.’ Wangji takes a steadying breath as his son looks across at him. ‘Go with your uncle.’

Brother is clearly unsure how to pick up A-Yuan, and looks relieved when A-Yuan takes hold of his hand instead and walks out beside him with a downcast look on his face. A-Yuan has never liked having to leave Wangji. He also gave up protesting many months ago. Wangji tells himself again that’s for the best.

As soon as they are alone, with the world shut out, Lan Dongmei starts talking, still in that firm and soothing tone. It puts Wangji in mind of someone soothing a fractious horse.

‘I know you don’t like this, but we need to work out what’s happening so we can get you well.’

He cuts in before she can continue. Criticising her tone will not make this go any more quickly, but one thing he will insist on. If he must endure being parted from his son then he will at least be granted reassurance.

‘How is A-Yuan? Tell me.’

‘You’re certainly taking on the concerned part of parenting,’ Lan Dongmei says, and he thinks there’s some approval in that. ‘Very well. I wouldn’t want to be kept waiting to hear about my daughter, even if I did need treating myself. A-Yuan has a slight bruise from hitting his head, but nothing that will cause problems.’

‘Why is he so tired?’

She looks sympathetic.

‘Small children do need a lot of sleep, Hanguang-Jun.’ She pats his hand. ‘And I understand he has just lost his mother. However it happened, trauma and grief can cause disruption to the spiritual energy, even in one so very young that he doesn’t really know what death is, yet.’

Wangji knows all too well that A-Yuan is intimately familiar with what death means, but he keeps quiet and continues to stare at Lan Dongmei through the pulse-points of pain in his head.

‘His spiritual energy is more unsettled than I’d normally expect, even so’ she finally adds, ‘but we should leave him be for now. It will likely settle as he grows more used to his new living situation.’

Wangji feels his brows pinch together a little at that.

‘And if it does not?’

This time, she rests her hand on top of his. A fractious horse would have kicked her by now, he thinks, at being touched when it did not want to be touched.

‘If it will make your mind easier, I can check him every few days.’

‘Every day.’

‘Will you let me continue with my examination if I say yes?’

Wangji inclines his head. He’s aware this is not the first concession he’s pulled from her, but A-Yuan must not be at risk and Brother is not here to see it.

‘Very well, then,’ she agrees. ‘Now, I’m going to take another look at your core, Hanguang-Jun. I want you to circulate energy, just a small amount. Do nothing with it except to move it about your body and back to the core. Can you do that for me?’

He doesn’t tell her how demeaning it is, to be asked that. She’s a healer, after all. She seeks to end hurt, not cause it. He doesn’t tell her how doing as she asks leaves him seasick and woozy, either, or how it increases the spike of pain in his temple, but she picks up on that, it seems.

‘You can stop,’ she says. ‘Making you dizzy, yes? Causing you some discomfort? Okay. I need you to tell me when you first noticed symptoms and what they were. As much as you can recall.’

He describes what happened in the clearing as briefly as he can, hesitating over sharing the feeling of being many-layered and not properly aligned, but including it in the end.

Lan Dongmei still has hold of his hand, sending spiritual energy into him at regular intervals in tiny pulses. It’s a relief when she finally lets go.

‘Your golden core is unsettled. Even just during the course of our conversation, it’s fluctuated in strength and stability.’

Her words seem to float on the surface of his mind. It takes effort to connect them to himself and his tongue feels sluggish when he shapes his own words in response.

‘Qi deviation?’

That is definitely sympathy in her eyes. Her hand moves in his direction again and he shifts away, pulling the hand she only just let go of out of her reach. Now she looks sympathetic and considering.

‘It’s possible. I’ve never seen it manifest quite like this before, but atypical presentations have been known. Your physical symptoms sound very much like a panic attack. I’ve seen minor qi deviations bring those on, though if you will excuse me speaking frankly, the last couple of years have put you through enough that some reaction would not be surprising on its own.’

He nods before she can mention any of the events she has in mind. He has lived it. He’s living this part of it for a second time. She doesn’t even know about the worst of it. Even so, he finds it hard to believe his reaction in the clearing could have occurred without something being wrong with his core. That isn’t how he reacts to stress, no matter how extreme.

‘How bad?’ he asks.

Lan Dongmei’s tone became somewhat brisker and less irritating as they discussed his symptoms, but now the calming one is back in full force.

‘It’s difficult to ascertain a clear picture. The fluctuations range from nothing to a point where I would be suggesting you are returned to Gusu for treatment, but it isn’t spiking into the range where I have concerns for your immediate survival.’

If this is meant to be reassuring, she is missing the mark. Then again, she can hardly deliver such news in a way that avoids stating the truth.

‘For now, I will inform Zewu-Jun that you are to be kept off the field. There are approaches we can take to halt and possibly reverse the damage: meditation to a schedule I will explain; a blend of tea I will provide you with, drunk thrice daily; as little stress or strain as can be managed. I’d also suggest taking advantage of the fact that Zewu-Jun is your brother. Let him play for you. I will need to examine you again each morning and evening, to track any progress or deterioration.’

That… He will be useless to the war effort. He will not be able to protect Wei Ying.

‘For how long?’

She narrows her eyes, regarding him as though he is a puzzle.

‘If we don’t see a suitable improvement within the next five days, I will be telling Zewu-Jun to send you home. Don’t try to argue with me, Hanguang-Jun. You will be no good to our sect or to your family if you undergo a full deviation.’

The accuracy of her assessment does nothing to lessen the blow.

A-Yuan seems unhappy at being made to leave Wangji, though he’s quiet about it. Xichen has him settle on a cushion and retrieves a small box from inside a chest he keeps in his tent. He doesn’t have many sweets left, but he’s willing to give up one or two if it will make his nephew feel better.

His nephew. Not a relationship for which he was prepared, but he can’t say it’s an unpleasant thought. Still difficult to accept, but not unpleasant. He finds he very much does not want to see his small charge unhappy.

‘Would you like one, A-Yuan?’ he asks, kneeling next to the boy and holding out the box.

A-Yuan doesn’t even look at them. He just shakes his head and keeps staring at his own hands in his lap.

What else do children like? Wangji and he were kept busy with learning from a young age, but he can’t recall what either of them enjoyed at such a very young age. Well, A-Yuan can speak.

‘Is there anything you would like to do?’ Xichen asks.

A-Yuan bites his lip and fiddles with the fabric of his robes for a bit before he looks up and meets Xichen’s eyes. Xichen is struck by a surge of love so strong he feels his lips part. In this moment, he thinks he will agree to whatever it is A-Yuan wants. He wonders if this is how Wangji feels every time his son looks at him. If so, it makes sense that his brother has been acting strangely.

‘Anything?’ A-Yuan asks and seems to gather himself. ‘Can I…can you play a song for me?’

Is that all?

‘Of course, A-Yuan. It would be my pleasure.’

A-Yuan looks to gain confidence at that. He straightens his back and his lips curl up just a bit.

‘Will you play one of the silly ones?’

A-Yuan becomes increasingly relaxed and more familiar in his behaviour as Xichen tries out different songs. It takes some time to work out what he means by one of the silly ones, and Xichen is told off for getting it wrong more than once before he finally starts on one of the tunes played in towns and villages across Gusu at the more raucous and lively festivals. It has a cheerful, dancing melody and A-Yuan’s smile widens as he claps his hands along to it.

Once he’s played the song through three times, A-Yuan tugs at Xichen’s sleeve until he lowers his xiao. He’s about to ask what his nephew wants when A-Yuan climbs into his lap and settles himself with his back to Xichen’s stomach and his little legs sticking out in front. It’s Xichen’s first time being a chair and he isn’t sure what he’s meant to do with his hands.

‘My turn,’ A-Yuan announces and reaches for the xiao.

Xichen gives up his hold on his spiritual instrument mostly out of bemusement. Liebing is not a toy.

‘Do you want to learn to play, A-Yuan?’ he asks.

Apparently in response, A-Yuan puts his mouth to Liebing and blows. The noise that comes out is…something. They both wince.

‘Bad,’ A-Yuan says, and flings Liebing across the room.

Xichen is going to have to seek advice on how to mind his nephew, because he already knows he wants to spend a lot more time with this child. He has never understood his father less.

Wei Wuxian doesn’t go far. When Zewu-Jun leaves the tent holding onto A-Yuan’s hand, they both notice Wei Wuxian pacing around not far away. He sees them notice him. He also sees Zewu-Jun close his eyes and sigh.

A-Yuan waves at him. Wei Wuxian waves back.

That leaves the healer with Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan has said nothing to him about needing a healer, but then, Lan Zhan said nothing about his leg being broken even when every step must have been agony, so counting on Lan Zhan to tell him anything is a waste of time. And that was before the strained distance he himself has put between them.

And a son. Lan Zhan has a son. That… How has that happened? No. He doesn’t want to think about… Well, it’s not surprising that someone has seen how beautiful Lan Zhan is, but who could hope to catch and keep Lan Zhan’s regard?

Whoever it is, there’s been no announcement of a wedding. Surely, even Wei Wuxian would have noticed that. The boy isn’t very old, but for him to be born to married parents, any wedding would have to have been…when? Maybe back when they were all at the Cloud Recesses, so he would definitely have heard about it.

With all the teasing he did, he would have latched onto something like this about Lan Zhan, about him falling in love and having a child when the rest of them were still looking at Huaisang’s books and wondering. There certainly had been no child in evidence at the time. Unless A-Yuan was being kept hidden away. A secret lover? Would the Lan Sect hide away a mother and her child so thoroughly that nobody in Wei Wuxian’s classes heard even a whisper about the Second Young Master Lan having an heir already?

When he saw Lan Zhan this morning, looking so pale and sad, was that something to do with A-Yuan? Or…with A-Yuan’s mother?

But none of that matters as much as the fact Lan Zhan needs a healer and his brother is concerned enough about him to behave anxiously in front of a disciple from another sect.

And then there’s the matter of what A-Yuan said on the way from the barrel to the tent. Wei Wuxian knows what Lan Zhan looks like when he’s hiding an injury. He thinks back over the tightness around Lan Zhan’s eyes and lips, of the clipped words and how he often won’t meet Wei Wuxian’s eyes. Yeah, so it’s possible something has been hurting Lan Zhan for a while, but he’s also been fighting. If he’s so injured or ill he has to spend his time in isolation – and does that mean whenever Lan Zhan isn’t at a meeting or on mission, he’s alone in his tent and Wei Wuxian just hasn’t realised? – why is Zewu-Jun keeping his brother here, in the middle of a war, instead of sending him back to the Cloud Recesses where he can be looked after properly?

Is A-Yuan’s mother, Lan Zhan’s maybe-wife, still in Gusu? Nothing about this makes sense.

Well, soon enough they will be away on a mission together and Wei Wuxian will make a point of getting the truth out of Lan Zhan, one way or another. About the reason he needs a healer, he will. Some secrets are more harmful when they are kept.

Two Lan disciples walk past, getting in between Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan’s tent, and it shakes him out of his thoughts.

He’s aware it’s coming up to the time Jiang Cheng will want him around to help with a training session, which means he can’t afford to be standing around here staring at Lan Zhan’s tent from a distance, in any case. With a sigh, Wei Wuxian sets off to find somewhere he can hide from his brother. It’s becoming increasingly difficult to avoid picking up his sword.

Chapter Text

A-Yuan is asleep by the time Xichen enters Wangji’s tent, the boy’s body a small bundle under blankets. Wangji is at his table, still dressed although the time for sleep is close, with a pot of tea ready. He meets Xichen’s eyes and greets him politely. His eyes and his words are hollow.

‘Wangji…’ Xichen begins, but he doesn’t know where to go from there.

‘Lan Dongmei spoke with you,’ Wangji says.

‘Yes.’ Xichen sits opposite his brother. It’s not the first time he’s understood the use of such daily rituals as serving tea, that they create a path when nothing is clear, or when the way is simply difficult, but it’s something he makes use of more often with sect leaders or the elders. Needing this with Wangji is unpleasant. ‘She said you asked about treatment.’

Wangji nods and pours the tea.

‘We will adhere to her advice, of course,’ Xichen says, looking carefully for any flash of refusal. ‘I will assign your duties to others until the healers confirm your golden core is recovered.’

They drink in silence, neither of them raising the possibility that Wangji’s core may not recover. Qi deviation is not a thing to be taken lightly, and Lan Dongmei confessed to Xichen that she has never seen a case like this. Almost, she said, as though more than one core fought to exist in the same space. She reminded him, too, that strong emotions are often at least partly to blame for the condition.

‘He won’t speak to me,’ Xichen told her, hearing her unspoken query. ‘His grief over A-Yuan’s mother is something he keeps in his heart.’

‘It may be more complicated than grief,’ Lan Dongmei said. ‘Guilt, perhaps. Regret. And don’t forget that battle takes its toll, even on one as strong and righteous as our Hanguang-Jun. If he doesn’t find peace within himself, it may be that we can’t find a lasting solution for his golden core.’

Which is why Xichen has set himself to coax words from Wangji. He may not speak tonight, but he will speak.

‘I remember Mother said once,’ Xichen says quietly, as Wangji sips his tea, ‘that there was a peace in listening to me play the xiao, even though at that point every note sounded like something dying. I didn’t know what she meant at the time, but after sitting with A-Yuan, I think I do.’

Wangji lowers his cup partway and blinks.

‘You let A-Yuan play your xiao?’

Xichen smiles, glad in his heart that it’s entirely genuine.

‘He wanted to. He couldn’t make a noise he liked, so he threw Liebing across my tent. Don’t worry, Wangji. He did not get in trouble. I admit, I haven’t often seen a spiritual instrument told off for being ‘bad’, but it was far more entertaining than yet another war meeting.’

His brother nods and sets his cup down.

‘I have to ask,’ Xichen says, seeing that Wangji is not yet ready to speak, ‘A-Yuan seemed to know some of the songs from the local people of Gusu. Had you played them for him?’

At that, Wangji’s lips press together. Ah. He sees this as a trap, to make him give up information he has so far declined to share. Well, he isn’t entirely wrong.

Xichen sighs.

‘Wangji, I know you don’t want to, but there are reasons why you will need to tell me something. For your sake and for your son’s. Please, Wangji. My nephew deserves to have his mother’s name written in our records, does he not?’

He can see he’s pushing his brother too far, too quickly, but the news of Wangji’s condition means Xichen cannot put off writing to Uncle and the elders beyond tomorrow, and he can hardly fail to mention A-Yuan. Still, scaring Wangji so far into himself that he won’t even meet Xichen’s eyes or listen is not going to help.

‘I want him to know he is a part of our family,’ he tries. ‘I want to know him. If he has a favourite song, or a favourite dish, or something that scares him… He seemed to expect me to know what he meant when he asked for one of the ‘silly’ songs, and I didn’t. Wangji, I don’t even know how long you’ve known about your own son, or how long he’s known about you, and-‘

‘Butterflies,’ Wangji says, so abruptly that he stops up Xichen’s words at once. Wangji is looking at the tabletop, or perhaps at something entirely elsewhere, his eyes dark with memory. ‘He likes butterflies. And rabbits.’

Xichen waits, but, although Wangji’s eyes are still dark and gleaming, he doesn’t say any more.

‘Will you tell me? How long you have known you have a son?’

How long have you kept your son a secret, he doesn’t ask.

Wangji’s lips part slowly, like he’s in a daze.

‘Two years.’

According to Lan Dongmei, that could be the entire length of A-Yuan’s life, which rules out some possibilities Xichen has considered.

‘And how long has he known you are his father?’

‘Two years.’

It takes an effort to respond. Two years. Wangji has been keeping this from Xichen, from them all, for the whole time A-Yuan has been alive. He can’t let his shock show, however. He needs to let Wangji know he can still confide in his older brother.

‘Thank you for sharing that with me,’ Xichen says, even as he reels at the thought that Wangji has been a part of a child’s life without any of them realising. ‘And…his mother? Wangji, I need to know for the records, but I also want to know my brother’s life. Was she…?’

Wangji shakes his head, his eyes sliding shut, and he looks utterly lost.

The wetness in Wangji’s eyes brims over, and Xichen sees his brother cry for the first time in years. Shaking his head, Wangji presses his hands into fists against his thighs, and Xichen, who knows how carefully his little brother holds himself back from the world, wants to pull Wangji into his arms.

‘I didn’t mean to fall in love,’ Wangji says, sounding broken. ‘Brother, I didn’t.’

After, he will play for Wangji, even if he has to sit here and do so all night. In this moment, Xichen gives in to an impulse he didn’t mean to follow and rounds the table to take his baby brother into his arms.

The songs Brother plays are soothing. In the aftermath of his tears, Wangji wanted nothing more than to be left alone with A-Yuan, but Brother insisted, and Wangji had no energy left for resistance, so now he lies in his bed with the soft glow of a candle and the softer presence of his brother keeping him company.

Tomorrow, he will start the meditation Lan Dongmei has recommended. He will drink the tea she has promised him. He will not take part in the meetings or the missions of war, because he is no longer allowed. In two days, he will not go to the pass with Wei Ying.

In some ways, it is a comfort, to have this choice taken from him. He won’t have to balance his son’s needs against his own need to protect Wei Ying, because only one is now allowed to him. It’s…familiar.

It’s because the narrowing of his choices, the limitations set on his life, have become his daily experience. It’s familiar because it’s what he’s known, in a slightly altered form, for the past two years. It’s… It’s…

‘Wangji?’

Brother appears by his bed, leaning over him with concern clear on his face. He sets his hand against Wangji’s forehead and his eyes dart to the covers. Wangji realises Brother is thinking of reaching for his wrist, no doubt to check his qi and his core.

‘I’m fine,’ he says, before that can happen.

Brother does not look convinced.

‘Your breathing was disturbed, Wangji. Are you in pain?’

Yes, but not the sort he likely means. Or maybe Brother means exactly what Wangji feels. They have both suffered loss, after all. Wangji looks away. Brother’s eyes on him, the concern in them, the unyielding pressure of wanting Wangji to feel differently: it’s all too familiar.

He hears yet another soft sigh, the shuffling of movement, and the music starts again.

Wangji closes his eyes, but he doesn’t try to sleep. He still doesn’t know why he’s back in this time, but if there is any purpose to it at all, it can’t be to trap him within another set of walls.

Brother played for him after his punishment, too. Wangji was in so much pain it filled him up, leaving no space for thoughts or emotion, and the notes of his brother’s songs crept into the few narrow fissures left. They weren’t welcomed.

At the thought, his back throbs, and he reminds himself he hasn’t been whipped, here. His back is unmarked. He shouldn’t feel the pain of a thing that hasn’t happened.

He lies awake for a long time, listening to his brother play, trying not to panic that he might not be able to protect Wei Ying with his core behaving as it is. Panic will not help.

If he has learnt one thing, though, it’s that putting obedience before necessary action will not help, either.

Xichen plays throughout the night. He knows Wangji is awake for a long while, but eventually sleep does claim him. Lan Dongmei was insistent that Wangji get enough rest, so Xichen keeps playing until the healer arrives, already an hour past the time when any Lan should be up.

At her questioning look, he lets the last note soften into silence and lowers his xiao.

‘He didn’t sleep for some time,’ he says, once he’s beside Lan Dongmei, keeping his voice quiet enough not to disturb his brother or nephew. ‘You’ve brought the tea?’

‘Yes, Sect Leader.’ Lan Dongmei produces a packet from her sleeve and hands it to him. ‘I will need to check on his golden core, but I can return a little later-‘

A noise from the bed cuts her off. Xichen looks over to see Wangji has shifted himself onto his front, something he hasn’t seen his brother do in his sleep since they were young enough to share a room. As Xichen watches, Wangji tenses, breathing in sharp, short bursts through his nose, his forehead pushed into his pillow. He sounds pained.

‘Perhaps we should wake him,’ Xichen says, already moving towards his brother.

Before he reaches Wangji, whose body is a taut string, A-Yuan’s small voice shows that the boy is already awake.

‘Is Father’s back hurting him again?’

‘His back?’ Xichen asks, knowing he sounds confused and unable to do anything about it.

Next to him, Lan Dongmei’s expression shows she doesn’t know what A-Yuan is talking about, either. And surely, if Wangji had some injury, she would have found it? She only examined him the day before.

A-Yuan sits up and rubs his eyes, blinking at Xichen and Lan Dongmei with no particular sign of distress. It seems, to him, talking about Wangji being hurt is normal. Unremarkable.

‘You told me,’ A-Yuan says, a hint of reproach in his voice. ‘You said Father‘s back hurts him and I should be careful not to touch it. Do I need to get up, now?’

Although it’s against the Lan rules, Xichen tells A-Yuan he can stay in bed, to get some more sleep if he can. He doesn’t have it in him to look after a toddler as well as trying to work out what is happening with Wangji. A-Yuan nods, smiles sleepily, and sinks back under his covers.

Hoping he’s doing the right thing, Xichen kneels by Wangji’s bed and rests a palm on his brother’s shoulder. Wangji grits his teeth and hisses but doesn’t wake.

‘He hasn’t said anything about his back being injured,’ Lan Dongmei says.

Xichen nods. He didn’t think she would have failed to mention it. Keeping a careful eye on Wangji, he lifts his hand and takes hold of the covers, peeling them away so Wangji’s back, or the sleeping robe over it, is exposed. There’s no sign of blood, though an injury could mean all kinds of things. Blood is not necessarily a part of it.

The movement must filter through Wangji’s slumber, because he groans, his eyelids slitting open.

‘Wangji?’ Xichen says. ‘Please. Tell me where you hurt.’

Wangji says something, but it’s so quiet Xichen can’t make it out. He leans down, his focus entirely on his brother, urging him to speak again.

‘Right shoulder,’ Wangji says, his voice so faint it’s barely more than a breath through his teeth. ‘Where they cross.’

Xichen opens his mouth to ask, ‘where what cross?’, but a moment later Wangji’s eyes widen.

‘Brother?’ Wangji says, no longer sounding pained. Instead, he sounds confused. Wary.

‘You were in pain,’ Xichen says, hoping he may still learn something of his brother’s suffering, so that he has some chance of helping. ‘A-Yuan said it may be your back?’

There’s a heavy pause, and then Wangji pushes himself upright, almost glaring at Xichen and Lan Dongmei, the covers bunching around his waist.

‘I’m fine,’ he says.

Xichen can get nothing else from him, not even as Lan Dongmei checks Wangji’s core, or as Wangji drinks the tea Xichen prepares for him. She inspects his back, too, pushing his robe up until she can see the expanse of skin. Wangji is clearly uncomfortable, but he endures it.

Though Xichen looks as closely as he can from his place slightly behind Lan Dongmei, he sees nothing crossing on Wangji’s right shoulder. No matter what they ask, Wangji won’t tell them what he meant.

There is no mention of the tears, either, of the night before, of the admission of a love Wangji never meant to feel. It is as though everything has been shut away.

Xichen tries to offer his help with getting A-Yuan ready for the day, but his brother makes it clear, without saying it, that nobody else is required in this.

Lan Dongmei and Xichen depart together, leaving Wangji to wake and dress A-Yuan. It occurs to Xichen that being expected to remain in the tent all day with a child is not conducive to a positive state of mind, and he tries to think of something to say to improve things, but he’s spent hours already on what is, essentially, a domestic matter, and his duties as a leader tug at him.

He will return in the evening, he decides. Wangji slept, eventually, and did not show signs of true discomfort until the songs stopped. If that is all Xichen can do, then he will make sure to do it whenever he can.

For now, he returns to his own tent, preparing himself to write the letter to his uncle that he has been putting off since A-Yuan cried out for his father and Wangji answered.

A-Yuan is content to pluck at the guqin, chattering away to himself as he makes strange, usually discordant sounds, occasionally looking up at Wangji for approval.

No matter how awful the noise, Wangji gives it.

The tea he’s been told to drink is bitter, even for someone who has grown up on the diet of Gusu Lan, but he calmly drinks the entire pot. He doesn’t want to place any barriers in the way of his own healing. After, he will meditate.

No matter how well he follows the healer’s instructions, however, it is unlikely he will be ready to accompany Wei Ying on the mission to the pass. The knowledge rankles.

Last night, in the wake of tears and the realisation that he was once again so limited, he had felt as bitter as the tea tasted, but now he sets himself to find a way forward. He isn’t in the same situation, no matter how much it feels like it. No. Then, Wei Ying was dead, Wangji was already disgraced, and A-Yuan’s safety was important enough to submit to anything his family and his elders asked of him. Now, it is different.

Wei Ying is alive. Wangji has seen him, spoken with him. Wei Ying is not dead, has not yet given up on life entirely as being a thing that can no longer be endured. Wei Ying still exists, and as such can still be kept safe.

Wangji is, to an extent, disgraced, but it is in a different way from before. He hasn’t been decried as a traitor. He hasn’t been lashed. His confinement, such as it is, is for the sake of his own health and not a punishment.

There may be complications, still, once the elders and Uncle know about A-Yuan, and he has already experienced some measure of the way people turn on those who no longer stand beyond reproach. That could be a problem, but there is no sense in dwelling on it unduly. As long as Wangji can protect those he loves, as long as he can do what he knows to be right, let people say what they will.

Of more practical consideration is the fact Wangji will not be sent on the mission. He will not be cleared to leave the camp, not unless his core remains so unstable that he’s sent back to Gusu. That doesn’t mean he has to stay away from the pass. It just means he needs to slip away without alerting anyone.

In the dark, Wangji felt despair. He felt he had to choose between A-Yuan and Wei Ying, or that the choice had already been made for him, but now… Well, now he thinks he shouldn’t, can’t, give up when there is still a chance to protect them both.

The question is, how does he assure A-Yuan’s safety whilst Wangji is out of camp? It needs to be someone who can care for A-Yuan properly if events veer away from the previous path, and Wangji does not make it back.

Xichen will no doubt want to keep his nephew safe. He has already expressed affection and a desire to know A-Yuan. But Xichen is still a key figure in this war. He cannot look after a young boy by himself, and Wangji doesn’t like the idea of A-Yuan being given to servants.

There is one person who Wangji knows will stay away from the fighting. At least, in the battles of the Sunshot Campaign, she will. And she has already said he can call on her. Where, in his first journey through these years, he all too often dismissed any offer of help, Wangji is now inclined to consider such things.

It would be hypocritical, after all, to spend so much time longing for Wei Ying to see the value in accepting help, and then to turn down the same himself.

With luck, the mission won’t drain him too much. He could be back in camp before Xichen even arrives to play for him tomorrow evening. If things do not go well, Jiang Yanli is the best choice to act as temporary guardian for A-Yuan.

Wei Ying trusts her. More than he trusts Wangji. And she raised Wei Ying, as much as anyone did. She is worthy of being entrusted with such a precious charge as A-Yuan.

Yes. Once he has mediated, he will test the limits he has been set. He will take A-Yuan to visit Maiden Jiang. It will be good for A-Yuan to visit a person as warm and kind as Wei Ying’s senior sister.

And if they happen to see Wei Ying…

Wangji breathes through a burst of pressure in his chest. He tells himself it will be good to see Wei Ying. Quite aside from the usual pleasure in such a thing, he still needs to make himself believe that Wei Ying is not yet dead. He needs to believe that Wei Ying can still be saved.

He lived in a world without Wei Ying for almost two years. He does not know if he can do so again.

Chapter Text

Jiang Cheng appears in Wei Wuxian’s tent and drags him bodily into wakefulness. All Wei Wuxian gets for his yell and his glare is a snort and the terse order to be quick about dressing.

He’s often grouchy, but some of this is probably because Wei Wuxian managed to avoid training at all yesterday, not returning from a spot around a Nie campfire until long after all sensible people were asleep. Nobody there had snapped at him. Nobody there had confronted him with revelations he didn’t know how to handle. They just joked, told stories and shared liquor.

With a head that doesn’t ache enough to stop up his thoughts, Wei Wuxian pulls his clothes on and leaves the tent to find his brother waiting outside, his arms crossed over his chest.

‘Come on,’ Jiang Cheng says. ‘You’ve already made me late.’

Ah. So he isn’t to be allowed to slip away from the meeting this morning. Stifling a groan, he falls into step with Jiang Cheng, knowing better than to ask about breakfast. There’s always the risk his brother will give in on that, and Wei Wuxian doesn’t especially want to choke down a few mouthfuls around the nausea clogging his throat.

As they pass a clump of disciples, Jiang Cheng makes an irritated noise.

‘What have they done to annoy you?’ Wei Wuxian asks.

Jiang Cheng rarely shares his problems, but he can be steered into ranting about them, and it’s better to know if there’s an issue in the sect.

‘The idiots don’t know to keep their mouths shut.’

They pass several more tents before Jiang Cheng stops and frowns at Wei Wuxian, taking a step closer. His jaw is tight, but the anger and disgust in his eyes doesn’t seem to be directed at Wei Wuxian.

‘Really, Jiang Cheng, what have they done?’ he asks, quiet and serious.

Jiang Cheng speaks just as quietly, but with heat in his words.

‘You know Lan Wangji better than the rest of us,’ he says. You’d stop him if he tried anything inappropriate with A-Jie.’

It isn’t phrased as a question, but it hits like one.

‘What? What are you saying?’ Wei Wuxian stares at his brother. ‘You can’t think Lan Zhan would… He wouldn’t do anything inappropriate to Shijie! Just what kind of man do you think he is?’

Jiang Cheng’s lip curls. Whatever he is about to say dies in his mouth, something Wei Wuxian recognises despite rarely having seen it around anyone but Uncle Fengmian or Madam Yu. Other words replace them quickly enough.

‘Did you know about the kid? If you knew and didn’t say anything…’

‘You’ll what? Punish me for Lan Zhan having a son? Do you think I had something to do with it?’

Narrowed eyes and a snort answer him.

‘But what does this have to do with Shijie or our disciples?’

He thinks he might only get another grimace or scowl, but Jiang Cheng looks off to the side as though checking for listeners, or perhaps simply wanting to avoid Wei Wuxian’s response to whatever is coming.

‘A-Jie went to see him. Them. Lan Wangji and the boy. Took them soup. People have been talking.’

That takes a moment to process. Wei Wuxian feels his own face creasing up with it.

‘Talking about what? How kind she is?’

It’s with obvious exasperation that his brother explains the rumours he’s heard. Some of them claim Shijie is A-Yuan’s mother, which is so utterly ridiculous that if that were the only piece of gossip, there would be little cause for concern. But there are other whispers, that a woman shameful enough to be chastised in public by the object of her affections, even after their betrothal has been called off, may lack the resolve to resist a man as beautiful as the Second Jade. And, after all, the Second Jade turns out not to be the chaste and untouchable being so many have thought him. Who can say what two such people may get up to without a chaperone?

‘Shijie would never!’

‘I know that!’ Jiang Cheng’s tone is snappish, but worry is clear under it. This sort of thing can cause damage to anyone in their society, but it stands to be more ruinous to a maiden than to the second son of a large and powerful sect. ‘People are still saying it. And worse.’

By the time they’re walking again, Wei Wuxian is almost as angry as Jiang Cheng. He’s troubled, too.

Naturally, he doesn’t believe that his Shijie would suddenly develop an overwhelming passion for any other man, much though Lan Zhan is far better than Jin Zixuan. Neither does he believe that Lan Zhan intends to seduce Shijie now that his lover is gone. The idea that one woman could be replaced by another, as though women are…are akin to a jar of wine, is a shock to Wei Wuxian every time he comes across it. He can’t reconcile such a view with Lan Zhan, either.

Lan Zhan being the subject of such gossip is almost as infuriating as Shijie being targeted.

It’s with distant screaming in his ears and the sensation of his hair lifting from the back of his neck that he turns a corner and sees a white-robed figure walking towards another row of Jiang tents.

Jiang Cheng makes a sound low in his throat and changes course. Wei Wuxian grabs him and pulls him back before he gets to the second step.

‘Jiang Cheng!’

‘What? Look at him! All the talk he’s already caused and he’s heading right for A-Jie’s tent? Does he want to ruin her?’

Now that Jiang Cheng says it, Wei Wuxian realises Lan Zhan is on a line to Shijie’s tent, or could be. He’s also carrying A-Yuan.

‘He isn’t necessarily going to see Shijie.’

He gets no response to that.

‘Okay. Fine. But you need to go to your meeting.’

‘Our meeting.’

‘Which is more important for you than for me. You can fill me in on what I miss. Go be sect leader. I’ll catch up with Lan Zhan and make sure no more rumours start.’

As expected, the dual duties of his family and his wider sect pull at Jiang Cheng, but he nods after a short pause and leaves with a muttered threat at what he’ll do to Lan Zhan and to Wei Wuxian if he hears any new slurs on his sister’s reputation.

Once his brother’s back is turned, Wei Wuxian lets himself sag, pressing a hand above the aching space where his golden core should be, just for long enough to gather his reserves before he adopts a more cheerful expression and runs after his friend. Awkward though this may be, it’s got to be better than the meeting.

Jiang Yanli hears A-Xian’s voice ring out, barely dulled by the walls of her tent.

‘Lan Zhan! Wait for me. I want to say hello to my favourite Lan. Hey, A-Yuan, did you miss me?’

‘Wei Ying.’

She steps outside to greet them. There’s little chance Second Young Master Lan is here to visit anyone but her, not if A-Xian is already with him. And it will be better not to let anyone think she’s waiting inside for him. She, too, has heard the rumours.

‘A-Xian, don’t keep Second Young Master Lan and A-Yuan out in the sun.’

Her brother straightens from where he’s ducked down a little to grin at A-Yuan.

‘Ah, Shijie. But how could I resist such a cute little rabbit? Lan Zhan doesn’t mind. Do you, Lan Zhan?’

Jiang Yanli doesn’t know Second Young Master Lan well enough to interpret the shift in his expression, but she’s certain whatever this visit is about, it’s best to discuss it away from prying eyes. Those eyes will see A-Xian walk in with them and she knows her brothers well enough to suspect A-Xian has arrived for just that purpose.

She doesn’t think he’d heard any rumours by the time she saw him yesterday. Not about her. There’s a bristling energy to him, though, as he chatters at her visitors, that tells her he’s heard something now.

Once inside, A-Xian sits between her and her guests. He keeps glancing at his friend and then at Jiang Yanli: little, furtive glances, as though he’s looking for something. Whatever it is, he doesn’t seem to find it. He keeps looking.

She lets the silence last for the length of one cup of tea before smiling at Second Young Master Lan.

‘I’m glad you’ve felt able to come and see me,’ she tells him. ‘I’ve been wondering how A-Yuan is settling in.’

Second Young Master Lan lowers his gaze, his lashes dark against his skin. She watches A-Xian’s attention fix on his friend. Just as she’s about to offer another comment, Second Young Master Lan looks back up and speaks.

‘I owe you thanks,’ he says, not quite meeting her gaze, ‘for your kindness and for your assistance with A-Yuan.’

Jiang Yanli assures him it was her pleasure. He inclines his head, looks down at his son for a beat, and shifts his gaze to A-Xian.

‘Wei Ying,’ he says, and stops.

‘It’s okay, Lan Zhan,’ A-Xian says, a smile that looks a little sad touching his lips. ‘You don’t need to thank me for bringing A-Yuan home. We can’t have little rabbits getting lost.’

That last part is directed at A-Yuan, along with a scrunch of A-Xian’s nose as he leans in, and a dazzling grin that changes the shape of his eyes. A-Yuan grins back just as widely.

She thinks A-Xian is just as shocked as she is when Second Young Master Lan inhales audibly and closes his eyes completely.

A-Xian’s smile drops from his face, but he stays leaning in. Like this, he’s looking up at his friend, his concern clear.

‘Lan Zhan?’

‘Maiden Jiang,’ Second Young Master Lan says, opening his eyes and ignoring A-Xian, ‘I need your help.’

A-Xian rights himself slowly, his brow furrowed and something dissatisfied in his expression. Jiang Yanli finds she feels somehow…guilty, as though she’s stealing something from her brother. But that is a ridiculous notion and she puts it out of her mind at once.

‘If it is within my power,’ she assures him, ‘please know I will give you whatever help I can.’

Instead of telling her what he needs, Second Young Master Lan glances at A-Xian, who scowls.

‘You need Shijie’s help with something you can’t say in front of me?’ he snaps. A second later, he seems to remember himself. He visibly draws himself back to calm, or as close to it as A-Xian gets since returning to them. ‘That is to say, you can ask me, too. If you need help, you can ask me, Lan Zhan.’

‘Let me help you,’ Second Young Master Lan says, so quietly Jiang Yanli isn’t sure she’s meant to hear.

She does see A-Xian flinch. He turns away from his friend, the twist of his lips bitter, before once again returning his focus to Second Young Master Lan.

‘We already talked about that,’ he says, but his friend is no longer looking at him. A-Xian’s tone becomes frustrated as he goes on. ‘You can’t compare it. The path I walk, it isn’t something you can help me with, okay? I’m not trying to be difficult, Lan Zhan. It’s just the way it is.’

It’s so painfully obvious this is a conversation that should have no third or fourth person present. It’s confusing. Once again, she’s sure there’s something between her brother and this man who, at first, seemed to be his opposite, but she’s spent the last two days adjusting her understanding of that around the existence of A-Yuan, and all that’s implied.

‘A-Xian, please,’ she says, aiming to soothe both of them.

A-Yuan peers up at his father and over at A-Xian with a puzzled face. She hopes A-Xian isn’t upsetting the boy. The feel of his tiny body shaking with sobs is all too fresh in her mind.

‘Wei Ying,’ Second Young Master Lan says.

Once again, she witnesses emotion in him. This time, he seems sad, regretful. He stares at A-Xian for so long that A-Yuan grows restless, and Jiang Yanli decides she truly should not be here.

‘A-Xian, Second Young Master Lan, I would like to take A-Yuan for a walk. One of our cultivators enjoys making wooden animals in his spare time, and I thought A-Yuan may like to see it.’

Not that Old Chen will necessarily be around. As one of the few remaining older cultivators from home, he tends to spend a lot of time training the younger ones, and A-Cheng is insistent that his people train thoroughly. Not that it matters. If Old Chen isn’t available, she will take A-Yuan to see something else. The important thing is that she takes him somewhere.

‘Ah, Shijie,’ A-Xian says, jolted out of his own staring at her words, ‘I don’t think Lan Zhan likes A-Yuan to be out of his sight.’

Of course. She has heard of the search for the boy the day before, though she has only just learnt that A-Xian was the one to find and return him. Such an incident must be very frightening for someone so newly a parent.

She is about to apologise when Second Young Master Lan surprises her again.

‘A-Yuan,’ he says, looking down at his son, who blinks up at him with a hopeful look on his face, ‘would you like to go with Maiden Jiang?’

The smile that blooms on A-Yuan’s face would be enough to soften the hardest of hearts, and Jiang Yanli has never claimed to have a hard heart.

‘If it is acceptable to your father, A-Yuan,’ she says, because she told herself she would, and because it feels right, ‘would you like to call me Aunty Yanli?’

She leaves her tent with a happy little boy holding her hand and two somewhat older boys sitting in loaded silence behind her. She sincerely hopes that, once she brings A-Yuan back, they have found a way to talk to each other. At least a little.

Wei Wuxian taps one fingertip against the cup Shijie set in front of him and reminds himself his friend asking for help is a good thing. It shouldn’t matter that Lan Zhan wants to ask Shijie and not Wei Wuxian himself. Wei Wuxian has no right to be upset about it.

‘Wei Ying.’

He looks up and finds himself once again meeting Lan Zhan’s eyes. He waits for more, but this appears to be one of those times when Lan Zhan says his name and considers that the entire thing. Wei Wuxian pulls a face and slouches against the table, still watching Lan Zhan.

‘Ah, I don’t have a clear enough head to read your mind, Lan Zhan,’ he says, knowing he’s whining and not caring. ‘The Nie know how to drink, you know? Though, I suppose you wouldn’t, or not from experience. Let me tell you, with your tolerance, you should never let a Nie pour you a drink. You will lose the whole week!’

Lan Zhan’s lips press together.

‘Fine. Fine. I won’t talk about drinking. But, truly, if you have something to say, then say it. What is it you want from Shijie?’ He does sigh, then. Lan Zhan makes things so difficult. ‘You do know what people are saying? About Shijie and you?’

That gets a widening of Lan Zhan’s eyes and the parting of his lips that means he’s startled. It mollifies Wei Wuxian. A bit.

‘Jiang Cheng sent me to chaperone because people are already gossiping that…’ He stops at the flash of anger on Lan Zhan’s face. ‘You knew! You knew people were making up such awful things about my Shijie, and you still came to see her? Lan Zhan, what were you thinking?’

Lan Zhan looks down, again. He’s spending a lot of this visit with his eyes lowered.

‘I didn’t think,’ he says. He sounds so ashamed. ‘I didn’t mean to bring her trouble.’

Months of annoying Lan Zhan into storming off means Wei Wuxian recognises the signs, even if this would be a different sort of leaving. Lan Zhan has barely shifted his weight to rise when Wei Wuxian sets his hand over Lan Zhan’s forearm.

‘Don’t,’ he says. ‘Jiang Cheng and I will beat sense into anyone who needs it. You’re here now. You said you need help. And, anyway, I know all those things they are saying are untrue.’

‘Do you?’

Lan Zhan is rarely loud, but that is quiet, even for him.

Wei Wuxian frowns.

‘What do you mean? Of course, I do. You would never do anything to Shijie, and much as I hate the man, she’s still in love with the Peacock, and I don’t believe either of you would, well, hmm.’ Shameless though he is, even Wei Wuxian has trouble saying some things out loud. ‘You… That is, you’re both the sort of people who would need to be in love to, ah…’

‘You believe I was in love,’ Lan Zhan says, softly.

It occurs to Wei Wuxian that, in this entire visit, Lan Zhan has seemed slightly dazed, and he abruptly remembers the healer from the day before, and all the things A-Yuan said about his father not being able to see him. Any discomfort he feels at Shijie being the one Lan Zhan is turning to, any anger at the risk to his shijie’s reputation, is swept away by a burst of worry.

‘Lan Zhan, if something is wrong with you, you’ll tell me, yes?’

‘The mission,’ Lan Zhan says, showing no sign he believes he’s changed the topic. ‘You will go tomorrow?’

‘You were at the same meeting I was,’ Wei Wuxian says, more focused on searching Lan Zhan’s expression and body language for any sign he’s ill or hurt. ‘Why? Do you have something better to do?’

If Lan Zhan is injured in some way, he won’t be able to go on the mission. That will tell Wei Wuxian something. But Lan Zhan shakes his head.

‘No. I will come with you,’ he says. He pauses, blinks, and continues. There’s a faint sense he’s steeling himself, but Lan Zhan can be awkward. That’s nothing new. ‘I want to ask your Shijie if she will mind A-Yuan whilst we are away.’

Quite when Lan Zhan has realised Shijie is the most trustworthy person to ask for such a favour, Wei Wuxian isn’t sure, but he is sure Shijie will help if she can.

‘A-Yuan will be safe with her,’ he says. ‘So, just the two of us, yes?’

‘Yes.’

The queasiness is still just as bad and the urge to lash out is always a wrong thought away, but something in Wei Wuxian eases at the way Lan Zhan says that. He can’t be so very ill if Zewu-Jun will still let him join Wei Wuxian for this. And it is always better to have Lan Zhan beside him, even though Wei Wuxian has spent so much energy on keeping Lan Zhan from learning his secrets.

Lan Zhan has his own secrets, now. Or always has done and has simply been much better at keeping them hidden.

Well, there will be time to talk when it’s just the two of them clearing a path. Fighting together has always been something that comes naturally to the two of them.

‘We should leave as soon as Maiden Jiang brings A-Yuan back,’ Lan Zhan says, as though he isn’t changing a plan decided by more than one sect leader. ‘It would be best to scout the area properly before taking action.’

He isn’t wrong, but they can scout in the morning and still have time for what’s planned.

‘Lan Zhan,’ Wei Wuxian says, a grin pulling at his lips, ‘do you want to sneak away early? What if we get in trouble?’

A spike of something sharp shoots down Wei Wuxian’s spine when Lan Zhan looks at him this time. There’s a look in his friend’s eyes he doesn’t think he’s seen before, something darker and less yielding.

‘What can they do to me?’ Lan Zhan asks.

Later, Wei Wuxian realises such an uncharacteristic response from Lan Zhan should have sent him running to Zewu-Jun, but in that moment, he feels almost gleeful.

‘Okay,’ he says. ‘I already have everything I need on me. As soon as Shijie is back, we’ll go.’

He will ask Shijie to deliver a message to Jiang Cheng so nobody will need to panic and come looking for them. And then he will leave this camp with his best friend at his side, and they will carve through any Wen they see.

Chapter Text

A-Yuan clings to Lan Zhan’s leg and buries his face in white cloth. Muffled sobs fill the tent, punctuated with pleas for his father not to leave him.

Wei Wuxian doesn’t remember the last time he saw his parents. He wonders if he cried when they left or if he waved and smiled and believed they would return.

‘A-Yuan,’ Lan Zhan says, his hand resting on his son’s head, though he has to lean to reach.

The boy pulls back, peering up with red eyes and rubbing at his nose. All he succeeds in doing is smearing the snot around his face. His breath still hitches, but he’s clearly trying to contain himself.

Lan Zhan kneels, producing a handkerchief and wiping A-Yuan’s face clean, his other hand curved gently around his son’s cheek and chin. Wei Wuxian thinks it’s the most tender he’s ever seen his friend look. A pulse of longing has him shifting on his feet and he darts a look at Shijie. She has a look on her face that says she, too, is moved. They are all orphans, now, he remembers. In this tent, only A-Yuan has a parent. Naturally Shijie and he are both moved by how caring a father Lan Zhan is proving to be.

‘I want you to stay with Aunty Jiang,’ Lan Zhan says, somehow making that sound like a formal title. ‘She will take good care of you.’

Tears bubble up again as A-Yuan speaks, making his words wet.

‘But you aren’t supposed to leave. You stay in the house and I leave.’

Wei Wuxian knows he’ll think about that comment later, that he’ll set it beside the other things he’s seen and heard in the last couple of days, because he knows there’s more to all this, even if he’s only seeing glimpses of pieces. For now, he stays silent, uneasy that Shijie and he are witnessing this and touched that they’re being allowed to. Lan Zhan hasn’t asked them to leave.

‘A-Yuan,’ Lan Zhan says, a little more firm.

But A-Yuan is working himself up into crying properly again and he doesn’t show any sign he hears his father’s warning.

‘Why can’t I stay with Uncle? Are you giving me away?’

Lan Zhan looks horrified. This time, his son’s name seems almost punched out of him.

Wei Wuxian feels tears prick at his own eyes and curses himself for being so easily moved to emotion these days. At his side, Shijie makes a soft noise of sympathy. Neither of them interfere.

‘They said you would.’ A-Yuan’s body heaves with the effort of speaking through his tears. His hands curl and release, curl and release, and his skin is flushed. ‘They said you wouldn’t want me. They said I wasn’t really a Lan. Is that why my ribbon is gone? Am I not a Lan anymore?’

Wei Wuxian used to think Lan Zhan was cold and unfeeling. It’s a long time since he’s believed that, but the only other time he’s seen Lan Zhan so open with it was when it was just the two of them, trapped in the dark. Now, he watches his friend fold his son in his arms, holding him so close that A-Yuan all but disappears behind his father’s sleeves.

Lan Zhan murmurs reassurances into his son’s hair, so low and quiet that Wei Wuxian can only make out some of it. He hears ‘my son’ and ‘always’ and ‘belong’.

When A-Yuan is released, he’s calmer. He steps back with his eyes downcast and bows.

‘I’m sorry, Father,’ he says. Like this, he doesn’t just sound calmer; he sounds older. ‘I shouldn’t question you. I will-‘

‘No.’

Lan Zhan’s hands are steady as he catches his son’s arms and urges him out of the bow, but Wei Wuxian feels as though his friend is trembling, nonetheless. It’s in the slight widening of his eyes, in the set of his lips, in all the tiny ways he sees that Lan Zhan is in distress.

‘You will not ask for punishment,’ Lan Zhan says. ‘Later, when I am back, we will discuss who taught you to use that phrase.’

‘Yes, Father,’ A-Yuan says. His face is still streaked and blotchy from crying, but he holds himself now with all the seriousness of a young disciple.

‘As for your ribbon,’ Lan Zhan says, resolute, ‘you will have a new one, but it isn’t what makes you a Lan.’

‘Yes, Father.’ This time, he sounds steadier. Lan Zhan’s words look to have settled something in the boy. ‘I understand. I’ll stay with Aunty Yanli.’

Lan Zhan is quiet when they leave, having hugged A-Yuan again and avoided looking at Wei Wuxian or Shijie directly. Shijie leans in to hug Wei Wuxian and whispers in his ear that she’ll look after A-Yuan as though he is her own nephew in truth.

‘And you look after Second Young Master Lan, A-Xian,’ she says, just before she pulls back and pats his cheek. ‘Both of you look after each other and come back safely.’

‘I promise, Shijie,’ he says, and follows Lan Zhan.

Xichen sets aside the report on field rations and takes a moment to press his fingers to his temples. If he could press the nagging tension from behind his eyes, he would do so, but if there exists such a technique, he has never been told of it.

He’s put off writing the letter to Uncle until every other piece of immediate work is done, but the necessity of it has been looming over him. No matter how much he tries to soften the blow, the fact remains that he will be stripping away Uncle’s view of Wangji and, in the process, his uncle’s belief in his own success as their teacher.

Xichen knows all too well that Uncle retreats to greater discipline when faced with uncertainty, and the memory of Mother shut away from her own children coalesces in his mind before he can stop it. But no. No, Uncle would not confine Wangji in that way. This situation is not the same as their parents’, even though Xichen has to admit it’s aggravating old wounds.

He’s completed the opening greetings of the letter when Jiang Wanyin and his sister arrive. If they greet him, he doesn’t notice, because he’s too busy staring at A-Yuan in Maiden Jiang’s arms.

Too much of his focus today has been spent on carefully avoiding thoughts of his brother. Xichen has long known that he will all but inevitably lose his older brother to qi deviation. He’s known for so long it’s passed into the realm of not feeling real. This, though, with Wangji… The fear set deep in Xichen by the healer’s words is all too real. If they win this war, but lose Wangji, he isn’t sure that will be worth it.

Which is why Wangji should be in his tent, safe with A-Yuan, following the healer’s instructions and recovering. After yesterday, Xichen can’t fathom a reason for Wangji allowing A-Yuan to be away from him. But he is. He is, which means…

‘What has happened to Wangji?’ Xichen asks.

He doesn’t say ‘now’, but he does regret not insisting Wangji stay where Xichen can see him.

‘Zewu-Jun,’ Maiden Jiang answers, ‘our brothers left on a mission. I apologise. I didn’t realise they were leaving without permission.’

‘Those idiots have gone haring off on their own to retake the pass a day early,’ Jiang Wanyin adds, perhaps not realising he has just called Xichen’s brother an idiot. Perhaps. ‘You said earlier that Hanguang-Jun wouldn’t be able to take part in that.’

‘He is not supposed to be doing so,’ Xichen says. He becomes aware he’s still holding the brush, that it’s dripping ink onto the barely begun letter. He sets it down, his fingers not quite feeling to respond as they should. ‘When did they leave?’

Whilst the sect leaders were still meeting, it seems. It is now well after midday. At the speed Wangji can travel, he is likely there already. Of course, he shouldn’t be riding his sword. Please, don’t let him have tried to ride Bichen. Lan Dongmei was insistent it would overtax Wangji’s core. And Young Master Wei hasn’t been seen with his sword since it was taken by Wen Chao. But even on foot, with so much of a head start, they will be well on their way to their destination. The pass isn’t all that long a distance from their camp, not really.

‘How badly is he injured?’

Xichen is sure his shock must show at Jiang Wanyin’s question. None of the Lan healers would share news of Wangji’s condition and Xichen has only even told Mingjue-ge the barest part of it. His sworn brother would not pass on such information.

‘What makes you believe Wangji is injured, Sect Leader Jiang?’

Maiden Jiang answers, stepping forward and dipping her head in respect. She is clearly uncomfortable but determined.

‘Zewu-Jun, Second Young Master Lan came to see me this morning. He asked me to care for A-Yuan whilst A-Xian and he are out of camp. I must apologise again: I truly didn’t realise you were unaware or that Second Young Master Lan was no longer to take part.’

Finally remembering himself, Xichen rises and rounds his desk to stand before her. This lovely young woman, who has always been unfailingly kind and polite whenever he has seen her, must not be made to feel he blames her. Wangji is stubborn. Young Master Wei is seemingly incapable of working within boundaries. Xichen is unsure if anyone could prevent the two of them from something they decided to do.

‘It is I who must apologise,’ he says, though he feels at a slight distance from his own words. ‘Thank you for bringing me this information, and for looking after my nephew.’

‘A-Jie,’ Jiang Wanyin says, some meaning in his tone that Xichen can’t interpret.

Maiden Jiang glances at her brother and back to Xichen, straightening her shoulders. A-Yuan is mostly asleep, Xichen realises, with a thumb in his mouth, though he mumbles as Maiden Jiang adjusts her posture.

‘Zewu-Jun,’ she says, ‘A-Yuan has been talking to me. I don’t want to intrude on Lan sect matters, but some of what he’s said is… I feel you should hear it.’

Maiden Jiang, Xichen recalls, works with the healers. If A-Yuan has said enough to make her and, by extension, her brother suspect Wangji’s situation, he needs to assess what they know. Wangji himself has removed any possibility of keeping his son from becoming the subject of gossip, but Xichen would very much prefer the entire camp does not hear Hanguang-Jun is ill.

‘If he’s not fit to be on this mission, someone needs to go after him, don’t they?’ Jiang Wanyin says. ‘If it’s bad enough that…’ He stops and shakes his head, pressing a fist over his belly just for a moment.

Xichen swallows. There’s too much here to suggest they know Wangji’s golden core is the issue. It’s not so strange, really, for Jiang Wanyin to have trouble saying it: the thought of something being wrong with a golden core is the stuff of nightmares for cultivators. And Xichen vaguely recalls hearing that the previous Sect Leader Jiang and Madam Yu had their cores destroyed before being killed. A sensitive topic for the young sect leader, then, even beyond the usual fear.

‘I would prefer Wangji was not in a position to rely on his spiritual energy,’ he says, ‘but there are several routes they could have taken and we may risk them and the mission is we chase after them now.’

Maiden Jiang speaks, and Jiang Wanyin’s attention is on her at once. She has a pull over her brothers that speaks of a close bond. Again, Xichen feels a warmth towards her.

‘Is there somewhere A-Yuan can nap?’

Once A-Yuan is cuddled up on a mat with a blanket on the other side of Xichen’s desk, he steels himself for yet another difficult conversation and invites to Jiangs to sit with him. At least it gives him reason to put off finishing the letter to Uncle for a while longer, though he worries it will also give him more he needs to write.

The plan, such as it is, is simple enough. They will climb the narrow paths up above the pass, until they reach the ridge running directly above the southern side. They will travel along the narrow ridge until they can see the main section of the pass, taking notes where necessary so they can report back on troop numbers and movements. If conditions are favourable, they will use whatever methods they can to thin those numbers.

The report from two days ago suggests the pass is being held by a camp in the wider section, towards the middle, with patrols monitoring the rest and guards stationed at either end. The Wens have made the pass itself into a fortress, but Wei Wuxian’s cultivation method may be able to turn it into a killing ground.

Lan Zhan doesn’t seem to remember this.

In a patch of forest two thirds of the way to their goal, Wei Wuxian stands next a twisted tree and glares at Lan Zhan. He knows his grip on Chenqing is too tight, can feel the wood as a hard line digging into his palm, his fingers aching with how much pressure he’s exerting. He needs that anchor point, though, because he can’t lash out at Lan Zhan. He can’t. He feels the coiling rage of resentful energy too close to the surface of his skin, and his grieving friend is not the one who should suffer it.

‘Why are we having this conversation again?’ he demands. ‘Why did you come with me if you’re just going to try and stop me from being useful?’

‘Be useful another way.’

Wei Wuxian clenches his jaw. He will not shout a response to that. Nobody can know this is his only way. But he must say something, or the two of them will stand here doing nothing except repeating an argument they’ve already had. He doesn’t have the energy for that.

‘Lan Zhan, be reasonable.’ He tries very hard to level his tone, to sound calm when he is anything but. ‘Even had I brought my sword, even had I the skill you’ve now gained, would the two of us alone be able to kill enough of the enemy to be worth it? We could sacrifice our lives and still make no difference!’

Lan Zhan flinches as though struck. His right hand lifts partway towards Wei Wuxian, stops, forms slowly into a fist. Falls. He’s not looking at Wei Wuxian anymore, though it’s hard to say what he is looking at. A patch somewhere beneath the earth between them, given the direction of his gaze. His words are only barely loud enough to be heard.

‘I don’t want you to die.’

‘Lan Zhan?’

He gets no further response.

This isn’t…normal. Lan Zhan not replying, Lan Zhan standing in silence, Lan Zhan ignoring Wei Wuxian: these are all normal. But this? This distant, haunted look in the man’s eyes? Such an honest admission of what he doesn’t want?

Realisation rises in Wei Wuxian and his anger is swallowed by it.

‘Lan Zhan,’ he says, soft now, taking two steps closer to the other man. ‘Lan Zhan, you aren’t going to lose anyone today, okay?’

Because it has to be that, doesn’t it? They have both lost so many people. Wei Wuxian knows what it’s like to lose parents and to see martial brothers and sisters cut down. He knows grief. But Lan Zhan has just lost the person he loves. The desperation Zewu-Jun alluded to the day before, when A-Yuan went missing, makes sense: with the death of his love so fresh in his heart, naturally Lan Zhan’s thoughts would turn to losing others.

‘I’m not worried about you dying today,’ Lan Zhan says, still not seeming entirely present.

‘You won’t lose me tomorrow, either,’ Wei Wuxian says. ‘I don’t even need to be close to them to defeat them, and, besides, I have the great Hanguang-Jun to protect me, don’t I? Who can hurt me when he’s by my side?’

Lan Zhan draws in a breath that sounds painful and his hand comes up again, grabbing at Wei Wuxian’s wrist. It brings them close together, close enough the frantic light in Lan Zhan’s eyes is all too clear.

Wei Wuxian starts to think he shouldn’t have let Lan Zhan come with him. Jiang Cheng, so soon after his parents’ deaths, was in such a poor frame of mind that he lost his core. Shijie fell ill. Lan Zhan is in no fit state to be here.

‘You should go back,’ he tells Lan Zhan. He pushes on as Lan Zhan’s grip tightens enough to hurt. ‘We should both go back. We should never have left without telling our brothers.’

‘And will you stay at camp?’ Lan Zhan demands. ‘Will you stay away from the fighting?’

‘You know I can’t.’

Resolve settles in Lan Zhan’s eyes, though it doesn’t replace the unsettling emotion already there. It simply joins it.

‘Then I will stay by your side.’

Wei Wuxian wants to insist on returning, for Lan Zhan’s sake, but he’s experienced the stubbornness of the Second Jade before. If Lan Zhan doesn’t want to go, Wei Wuxian would have to use trickery and force to make him, and that would mean using the very methods that make Lan Zhan so upset. Wei Wuxian doesn’t want to be the cause of Lan Zhan’s sadness, or of his anger. Not anymore.

‘Fine,’ he says. ‘You don’t want me using resentful energy and I don’t want you out here at all. I guess we’ll both have to be unhappy about this.’

And he’s hurt Lan Zhan again, a hurt that ripples through his whole face and settles in his eyes, but it gets the man to let go of Wei Wuxian’s wrist and that means they can continue with the mission. The sooner they get this done, the sooner Wei Wuxian can deliver Lan Zhan to Zewu-Jun and demand the sect leaders takes better care of his brother.

‘Come on,’ he says, turning and setting off past Lan Zhan in the direction of the ridge. ‘We have Wens to kill.’

Chapter Text

Jiang Cheng keeps a careful watch on Zewu-Jun as A-Jie gives the details she feels are relevant: that A-Yuan was upset the first time she met him; that he was even more upset when Lan Wangji prepared to leave camp; that she understands small children make sense of the world around them in ways that may seem illogical to an adult.

Zewu-Jun frowns in that elegant Lan way he has when A-Jie talks about the child crying.

Jiang Cheng is relieved he didn’t have to witness it himself. Just the thought of the emotionless Second Jade of Lan with a sobbing kid hanging off him is enough to make the world seem off balance. And why is it always Lan Wangji? The man brings trouble to Jiang Cheng’s family. It would be best if they could keep distance between Lan Wangji and anyone Jiang Cheng is related to.

Jiang Cheng is here to support A-Jie. And, well, to make sure there can be no rumours that his sister is now being seduced by both Jades. If he could afford to warn Zewu-Jun to keep himself and his brother away from A-Jie and Wei Wuxian, he would do so. Not that Wei Wuxian would listen.

‘He said he had a forehead ribbon?’ Zewu-Jun asks.

The information is clearly significant to him, but Jiang Cheng doesn’t see why it should lead to such a look of surprise. So the ever-proper Lan Wangji must have given his son a ribbon. Any disciple of Yunmeng Jiang would make sure their kid got a clarity bell. Not that any disciple of Yunmeng Jiang would keep a child secret from their own family. Not even Wei Wuxian would do that.

‘I don’t mean to gossip,’ A-Jie says, clearly noticing that Zewu-Jun didn’t know A-Yuan ever had a ribbon. ‘I only want to be clear that A-Yuan was distressed, because I don’t believe he was lying in anything he said to me.’

‘But you wonder if his emotional state has distorted what he recalls?’ Zewu-Jun asks.

A-Jie inclines her head.

‘He seemed sure in what he was saying. It wasn’t a story he was making up for entertainment. At least, I don’t believe it was.’

‘Please,’ Zewu-Jun says, ‘if you could tell me what A-Yuan said.’

It must be difficult, to sit and be so refined and polite as someone hints at your newly acquired nephew spilling secrets about your precious brother, especially when that precious brother turns out to be untrustworthy. Jiang Cheng doesn’t manage that level of grace when he’s at a formal banquet, let alone in the middle of a war with all of this going on.

‘Of course,’ A-Jie says, dipping her head again. She glances at Jiang Cheng and seems to take comfort from him being right there. Resettling herself slightly, she begins. ‘A-Yuan said more than once that he’s happy he’s able to see his father more.’

Zewu-Jun’s lips twitch into one of his smiles.

‘At least that is something,’ he says.

‘Yes,’ A-Jie agrees, ‘but he said it was because Second Young Master Lan was too badly hurt to see him all the time.’

Zewu-Jun’s smile is gone.

‘Hurt in what way?’

A-Jie looks regretful.

‘I’m afraid I’m not sure. A-Yuan mentioned his father’s back. He also spoke about not being allowed to hug Hanguang-Jun too hard in case it made him bleed again. And…he mentioned more than once that he’s pleased to see his father is allowed to speak with people again.’

‘Wangji has never been forbidden from speaking with people.’

Jiang Cheng can’t help but think it would explain a lot, if Lan Wangji had been under such orders.

‘I don’t know what to make of it,’ A-Jie says, ‘and, truly, it is not my place to make anything of it.’

This time, Zewu-Jun’s smile carries more genuine warmth.

‘Nevertheless, I thank you for informing me, Maiden Jiang. Sect Leader Jiang. Should this be more than a child’s nightmare mingling with his memories, it is best I am able to look into it.’

He looks more troubled than childish nightmares should account for, but Jiang Cheng doesn't challenge him on that. They've more than done their duty, reporting A-Jie's concerns to the boy's uncle. Lan Wangji should not be causing concern for the Jiang Sect. After all, he's nothing to do with them.

Wangji is fine. A-Yuan is safe with someone he can trust, Wei Ying is right there ahead of him on the narrow track, and he doesn’t have a back that’s torn open and dripping blood. He feels as though he does, but he doesn’t.

It will pass. The past two mornings, he’s woken feeling the wounds from his punishment and both mornings that sensation has vanished. It will do so this time, as well. Wangji just has to endure it and wait.

It must be related to being back here in this time. If it doesn’t settle, and soon, he’s going to have to tell at least Lan Dongmei, because if this is a result of being cast backwards through the years, he needs to know if it will get worse. He needs to know for A-Yuan.

This mission first. Keeping Wei Ying alive, first.

‘Lan Zhan.’

Up ahead, Wei Ying has stopped, is holding Chenqing out and has his head tilted. Wangji doesn’t need to see his face to know he’ll have his eyes closed, a focused, seeking expression clear for anyone who cares to look. Wei Ying senses something.

The atmosphere has been increasingly oppressive as they’ve moved towards the mountains the pass runs through, to the point that the air feess heavy and Wangji is sure rain is not far away. Wei Ying, however, would not stop to point out something to ordinary as a storm.

‘What is it?’ Wangji asks, stopping far enough away that he’ll be able to draw Bichen if he needs to.

‘Resentful energy. A mass of it.’ Wei Ying’s head turns slowly until his profile is visible, his still closed eyes facing the same way he’s pointing Chenqing, off to the right of the path. ‘That way.’

Wangji forces down the jolt of panic in his chest. At least, he manages to halt it before it spills out of his throat. A mass of resentful energy? He has no memory of that happening the last time they cleared this pass.

‘How far?’ he asks.

Wei Ying opens his eyes and spins to face Wangji, the smile on his lips carrying no warmth.

‘We can reach it in an hour. Maybe less.’ He tips his head to one side, looking at Wangji through his lashes as he twirls his dizi. ‘What do you say, Lan Zhan? Should we go pick up such a useful resource on our way?’

The last time they did this, Wei Ying called up the corpses and resentful energy halfway through the fight. They were only two of a larger group and Wangji had hoped Wei Ying would resist the ghost path, given the comparatively small size of the enemy force. But then…puppets. There were puppets, which Wei Ying didn’t know were in the pass until they were already fighting.

‘Puppets?’ he asks, now.

Perhaps Wei Ying didn’t notice them last time because the puppets were being kept away from the pass, on the other side of the ridge. The last time, the approach was made along a different path, after flying by sword partway up the ridge. They would have missed this area.

‘Possibly. How nice of them,’ Wei Ying says, his grin one of dark glee now, ‘if they have provided me with weapons. So hospitable. And here we are with no gift for them.’

‘Wei Ying.’

Wangji’s throat closes around the name, making it emerge low and wet into the space between them.

‘Lan Zhan,’ Wei Ying replies, his own words challenging and dry, his expression matching. ‘Don’t be like this. You said you wanted to come on this mission. You said you wanted me to be safe.’

‘I do.’

‘Then let me make use of what the world gives me.’ Wei Ying flicks his wrist, making a lazy arc with Chenqing in the direction he wants to go. ‘Whether I make use of them or not, if there are puppets there, we need to deal with them.’

‘And if it’s not puppets?’ Wangji asks, knowing he’s naïve to allow even a splinter of hope at the idea of Wei Ying not using puppets.

Wei Ying shrugs.

‘Then we’ll use whatever is there.’

Wangji offers no other protest. He can’t talk Wei Ying out of this, not with arguments that have already been used, and he won’t risk Wei Ying telling him to leave. At the very least, there are fewer people with them this time. There are fewer people to see Wei Ying use his unorthodox methods, fewer people who will then spread talk of how dangerous Wei Ying is. Wei Ying must not only be kept alive through this war: he must be kept from becoming the enemy after it.

With his back stinging, Wangji follows Wei Ying from the path.

Xichen calls Lan Dongmei once the Jiang’s are gone. There was an awkward moment when Jiang Yanli calmly and politely refused to leave A-Yuan with him as her brother stood tense beside her. Maiden Jiang is a genuine and caring person, she has training from the healers, and Xichen dearly wanted to avoid Wangji’s reaction should A-Yuan not be where he expects him to be. In the end, Xichen opted for gracious agreement that A-Yuan should stay with Wangji’s chosen minder, though the urge to keep his nephew with him made him consider choosing differently.

Now, he gathers his thoughts as he waits for the healer, closing his eyes and stilling himself into a mild meditation. He cannot afford to make decisions rashly. His Uncle instilled this in him when he was barely old enough to understand the concepts. Rash and impulsive behaviour, choices based on emotion, are poison to the Lan.

He wonders whether Wangji fought against his emotions when he realised he was falling in love. Xichen has only seen Wangji develop a bond with someone outside of his immediate family once, and Wangji was certainly resistant to that. Pointlessly so, it seemed to Xichen, as he watched Wangji lose the battle before he even acknowledged it existed.

Lan Dongmei arrives as Xichen is trying to move his thoughts from the topic. He hasn’t managed to collect himself at all. Rising to his feet, he invites her in.

‘You wished to see me,’ Lan Dongmei prompts, once she has greeted him. Her gaze is considering.

‘Yes,’ Xichen turns just enough that he isn’t facing her. He isn’t sure he wants to see her reactions as he speaks. ‘First, I must ask you: how dangerous is it for Wangji to take up his sword against the enemy in his condition?’

‘Sect Leader, if I did not make it clear enough before, I must apologise.’ She does not sound apologetic. She sounds firm. ‘Hanguang-Jun must not use his spiritual energy for anything other than the prescribed meditation until I clear him.’

‘I am afraid I must ask again: how dangerous is it if he does so?’

Her voice is tight, now, though he doesn’t know her well enough to tell whether it’s anger, frustration or something else.

‘It could kill him,’ she says, flatly.

A glimpse out of the corner of his eye shows the healer is drawn up as though ready for an argument. When he doesn’t reply, she goes on in a slightly less clipped and slightly more entreating tone.

‘If you are considering sending Hanguang-Jun into battle, I beseech you to choose otherwise. I am aware he is one of our strongest fighters, but that is when he is well. As things stand, complete qi deviation is possible. Some level of qi deviation is all but assured. Should he avoid that, his underlying condition seems to be affecting his emotional and mental state, meaning he is more susceptible to all manner of reactions than he normally would be.’

It is perhaps a form of penance to make himself listen to this, though he has yet to determine the sin he has committed to deserve such.

‘I ordered Wangji to follow your instructions,’ he tells her, looking now at the far wall of his tent. ‘We had planned on him taking part in a mission tomorrow, but I removed him from it.’

‘That’s good,’ Lan Dongmei says. She sounds a little more personally invested that is usual for a Lan healer with someone they don’t actively know. ‘You’ve made the right decision, Sect Leader.’

‘Unfortunately,’ Xichen says, ‘Wangji did not agree. Several hours ago, he left camp to undertake the mission, accompanied only by Young Master Wei. I have elected not to send anyone after him, due to the increased risk of being discovered by Wen forces.’ He pauses. Jiang Wanyin did not agree, but he did acquiesce, with some persuasion. Xichen would not normally explain himself like this, but his logic and his emotions are not in agreement on this and he needs to know. ‘Do you believe I have made the right decision on this, Healer Dongmei?’

‘I do not claim to be an expert on the tactics of war, Sect Leader.’

‘Please,’ Xichen says, turning to face her now and seeing how stiffly she holds herself, ‘speak freely. If I stand by my decision and send nobody after Wangji, am I condemning him?’

‘No,’ she says. ‘Not…not necessarily. I really can’t stress enough how little certainty we have in these cases. We aim to minimise risk, to increase the chances of recovery, but with such an atypical presentation, definite answers are impossible.’

Disappointment wells up in Xichen’s chest. Ah, so he hoped she would provide him with a clear enough response to assure him one way or the other what he should do. Of course. No matter how long he spends reflecting on himself, Xichen still has flaws to work on. Dwelling on that now will be of no use.

‘There’s more. Wangji left A-Yuan with Maiden Jiang. The comment the boy made about Wangji’s back is not an isolated incident.’

Lan Dongmei listens closely as Xichen passes on what Maiden Jiang told him, her brow furrowed.

‘There were no signs of injuries on his back,’ she says.

Xichen nods. He knows this. He was there when she checked. But he also recognises her response as a need to reassure herself her own memories are intact. He doesn’t let himself pause before he shares his own thoughts.

‘My brother has not been himself, these last few days,’ he makes himself say. ‘I still don’t know the exact circumstances of A-Yuan’s arrival here, but this change in him… I have been assuming it’s related to his son.’

‘To losing the boy’s mother,’ Lan Dongmei adds for him. ‘A result of grief.’

Xichen nods again.

‘Yes. And the destabilisation of his golden core as a consequence of that. But now I can’t help but wonder if we are mistaken as to which is the catalyst and which is the consequence.’

He sees confusion and hurries to clarify.

‘I don’t mean to imply Wangji somehow caused the death.’ Please, don’t let that be part of this. More than one Nie has attacked a loved one during qi deviation. It isn’t impossible. It is almost unthinkable. Xichen shoves that aside, and no longer thinks of it. ‘I mean perhaps Wangji has been hiding changes in his emotional and mental state from us all. From what A-Yuan has shared, I find myself thinking Wangji may have been undergoing issues with his golden core for some time.’

‘You think A-Yuan is unknowingly relating symptoms he doesn’t understand?’ She looks thoughtful. There’s less tension, now, as she mulls it over, her lips pursed. ‘It could be.’

She sighs and shakes her head.

‘Without knowing more, it doesn’t help much. However, I’ll make sure we’re ready to treat Hanguang-Jun as soon as he returns to camp. If I find any suggestion this condition has been ongoing for some time, it may change the treatment.’

‘Will it alter your prognosis?’

‘In all honesty, Sect Leader, my prognosis as it stands is tentative at best, and I have already told both your brother and you that we can’t say what the outcome will be. I can only outline the most likely possibilities. But, yes, if Hanguang-Jun has been suffering from symptoms for, say, a couple of years, it is more likely this is something serious.’

All Xichen can do is ask that she be ready to tend to Wangji as soon as he returns. Once she is gone, Xichen tells himself he can’t put it off any longer. He returns to his desk and writes the letter to his uncle.

They aren’t puppets. Not yet.

In a trampled clearing, still damp from the last time it rained and growing wet again from the drizzle that’s started up, people lie still. A whole village worth. They’re in lines, more or less, but from the way they’re sprawled on the ground Wei Wuxian thinks these people were made to stand or kneel in those lines and left to fall as they would. It looks to be a cut to the throat that has killed each one. Two of them are children.

He could hear the screaming rising in volume and pitch as they approached, until it reached the piercing, raging storm through which he can barely hear Lan Zhan. Not that they needed a lot of planning to clear the area. There were only three guards.

Partway across the clearing, Lan Zhan flicks the blood from Bichen and meets Wei Wuxian’s eyes. He’s sad. Angry, too. Resolute.

‘We will find them peace,’ Wei Wuxian promises his friend, though he knows the method he’s about to use will make Lan Zhan feel worse.

The voices of those so cruelly cut down are loud, pleading, demanding, lost. So many reactions, but all bar three of them seething with resentment. He won’t pull the children into this; they are resting already, as is the old man with callouses on his hands whose body is cut with several sword wounds. Likely, he was once enough of a fighter to put up some defence of the others. Wei Wuxian is almost sure the man died first, staying true to his values. Such things tend to lead to a more restful spirit, even though his actions didn’t save his people. At least the man was spared from seeing that.

Lan Zhan’s expression is shut down, in a way that makes it clear his normal look is really not one of emptiness or of displeasure. He makes no attempt to talk Wei Wuxian out of this, but the desire to do so seeps out of him.

Wei Wuxian looks away and lifts Chenqing.

‘Are you sure about this?’ A-Jie asks from where she sits with A-Yuan, who is mostly asleep in her lap.

Jiang Cheng grimaces and double checks he has everything he needs.

‘I don’t care what Zewu-Jun says. I just spent three months looking for that idiot brother of ours and I’m not doing the same again. Why?’ He stops and turns to look at her fully. ‘Do you think I’m doing the wrong thing? Should I just leave him out there?’

A-Jie looks sad. He hates it when she looks sad, even though he’s seen it so often in these last months he should be used to it by now.

‘No. No, I don’t want him away from us. But Zewu-Jun didn’t say his brother is injured.’

A snort sums up how he feels, but he adds to it anyway.

‘He didn’t deny it, though, did he? He said ‘if’ it’s the result of a nightmare. And didn’t he seem cagey to you? You’ve got evidence right there that the Lans like to hide things they don’t want to face.’

He points to A-Yuan, feeling a pang of guilt and ignoring it. The kid isn’t awake enough to hear him.

‘A-Cheng,’ A-Jie chides, stroking a gentle hand over A-Yuan’s hair.

The little boy makes a sleepy noise and snuggles closer. Jiang Cheng has to admit it, even if he won’t say it out loud: Lan Wangji has produced a cute kid. It would be even better if the cute kid wasn’t somehow the Jiang Sect’s problem, even if only for a while.

‘All right, all right. I just meant they aren’t the most open people, are they? So. Just in case Zewu-Jun is hiding it from us and Lan Wangji is injured, meaning he won’t be any use to Wei Wuxian, I’m going after them. Just me. I’ve got flares and I know how to move quietly. Please, A-Jie, don’t worry.’

A-Jie sighs.

‘Instead of one brother being gone, I will have two out there facing danger. How can I not worry, A-Cheng?’

He allows his resolve to sway. But no. He failed to keep Wei Wuxian safe once and the irritant ended up missing. He came back…odd. Jiang Cheng isn’t leaving his brother out there again.

‘I promise I’ll be back tomorrow,’ he tells A-Jie. ‘If I find them and they haven’t attacked yet, I’ll drag them back here and we can send people out properly after.’

He doesn’t say what he’ll do if he arrives to find them fighting, because he doesn’t have to. He doesn’t have to ask if A-Jie understands because he knows she does.

The Wens don’t see it coming. Wei Ying’s corpses, pulled up from the mud and loosed on those who killed them, destroy half the camp as the sun sets. Any defence only really takes place once the sky is dark.

By now, the rain drives into everything, sticking Wangji’s robes to his body and his hair to his neck. The rain deadens sounds and alters them, so the screams of dying people and of those already dead become tangled together and made distant.

Wangji guards Wei Ying’s back, sweeping and spinning around him to keep any attackers at bay. He feels the dizziness set in almost at once, knows his breathing is ragged not long after, but he keeps going. He can collapse when this is done.

He catches sight of Wei Ying’s eyes once, sees the red in them, and takes care not to look again. The cold smirk, the stalking movements, the hair lifted by a wind quite separate from the storm, are all details Wangji tries to ignore. Wei Ying won’t turn from this, so all Wangji can do is keep him alive through it.

When the last Wen falls, he finds himself on one knee, mud thick on his robes and Bichen’s point in the ground, holding him up.

‘Lan Zhan? Are you hurt? Lan Zhan!’

Wei Ying’s voice is far away and then it’s so close it makes him flinch. Wei Ying, shouting through the rain as Wens lie dead. Wangji shudders.

Hands are on him. Wei Ying’s hand, he reminds himself. They’re patting him down, pulling him about, and when Wangji drags his gaze up from the mud, he finds Wei Ying looking pale and worried before him.

‘Lan Zhan. Tell me what’s wrong. I don’t see a wound.’

‘Not injured,’ he says. Then, as he feels a heaving in his belly, in his chest, something acidic and hot and wrong, he reconsiders. ‘Core. Golden core.’

Wei Ying recoils.

‘I don’t… Wait. You mean your golden core?’

What else could he mean? Wangji wants to ask, but the sensation in his body is turning from burning to a stabbing, growing until it matches the feel of the lashes on his back, and Wangji has to focus just to breathe. He stares at Wei Ying, who is soaked through, who looks desperate, and for a dizzying moment he doesn’t know when he is.

‘Don’t go,’ he gasps out, pitching forward and grabbing at Wei Ying’s arms, Bichen dropping full length into the mud. ‘Don’t leave, Wei Ying.’

‘Hey!’ Wei Ying takes hold of Wangji in turn, holding him by the shoulders. ‘Hey, I’m right here. But we have to go, Lan Zhan. We can’t just stay here. The Wens-‘

‘They’ll kill you for it!’

He can’t force any more words around the pain and Wei Ying is blurring into the darkness. But this isn’t right. Wei Ying should be on horseback, should have living people behind him. Wangji should be standing in his way.

Wei Ying’s hold on him shifts.

‘Don’t worry, Lan Zhan. I’ve got you. I’ll get you to a healer.’

Yes. Good. Wei Ying is taking Wangji with him. Brother will be mad, but he can’t let Wei Ying disappear without him again.

It’s the last thought he has for some time.

Chapter Text

The night passes in bursts of too-bright clarity and smeared confusion.

Resentful energy seethes in Wei Wuxian’s flesh, the rain hissing where it hits his skin, and he knows the power he feels will drain away, taking him with it, once this is done. But that doesn’t matter. It’s a distant fact, something known but dismissed: irrelevant. Through him and around him, that power takes hold of his enemies and twists them out of existence, and it keeps doing it, over and over and over again, until there is nothing left to kill.

But there is Lan Zhan kneeling in the mud, barely keeping himself from collapsing entirely by using Bichen to hold himself up. Lan Zhan, who speaks of a golden core, who begs Wei Wuxian not to leave him. Lan Zhan, who is more panicked than Wei Wuxian has ever seen him, and who is, then, unconscious in Wei Wuxian’s arms.

He’s heavy. Wei Wuxian knew Lan Zhan was strong. He did. Lan Zhan has a dancer’s grace even in the midst of pitched battle, and that sort of thing can’t be maintained without bodily strength. A lot of it. Still, Lan Zhan is otherworldly, as though he is formed from mist and magic, rather than from meat and bones. Somehow, Wei Wuxian didn’t expect him to be so heavy in his arms.

Mud clogs the pass. Mud and blood, no doubt, but he doesn’t dwell on that. He focuses on gaining distance, each step part of a process he can’t afford to think about ending, because that is so far away that the realisation alone may send him to his own knees. He has to make it back to camp. He has to. Lan Zhan is so still it looks like he’s dead, and Wei Wuxian cannot let that become reality.

Another flash of focus and he’s set Lan Zhan on the ground, beneath a tree for the barely existent shelter it provides, with his back against the trunk. Wei Wuxian has his hand in front of Lan Zhan’s mouth, two fingers under Lan Zhan’s nose, trying to feel breath. With his other hand, he grips Lan Zhan’s wrist, trying to convince himself that just because he can’t feel a pulse that doesn’t mean there isn’t one there. Wei Wuxian is cold, after all. His hands are stiff with it, his skin near to numb. Not ideal conditions for finding a pulse.

With the rain battering around him, he can’t tell if Lan Zhan is breathing.

After that is a timeless span of burning lungs and burning muscles and chilled, wet skin, of adjusting and adjusting his grip in an effort to stop the trembling in his arms, because he can’t lose his hold on Lan Zhan. He can’t. He won’t.

Wei Wuxian’s name is bellowed through the storm. He has no idea how long it’s been since the tree. All he knows in this moment is that his brother is there. His furious, bitter, glorious brother is right there, with his sword and his stubbornness and his strength, and Wei Wuxian screams at him to take Lan Zhan. Take him. Get him back to camp.

Jiang Cheng won’t leave Wei Wuxian at first, until he’s checked for himself and his eyes have widened into shock and he’s snarling about Lan Zhan being a useless bastard, how he can’t die and leave that son of his alone in the world. And he’s pulling Lan Zhan out of Wei Wuxian’s arms, is on Sandu and is rising into the air, shouting orders at Wei Wuxian to make it back to the fucking camp or know what it means to be beaten black and blue.

Wei Wuxian watches them go, his hand pressed to his sternum. It’s a solid thing, the blockage in his body. Maybe it’s exhaustion or fear or anger at Lan Zhan for…for… He doesn’t know. For something.

When he can move, he stumbles on, and it’s all a blur from then until his chin hits the ground and muck fills his mouth and boots appear, and the grumbling of his brother’s voice tells him he doesn’t have to get himself any closer to the camp. His brother will take him there, now. And he sleeps.

Lan Dongmei is used to being woken in the middle of the night. She’s been a healer for many years and, though this is her first war, night hunts are a type of battle in and of themselves. Cultivators can survive injuries that kill a non-cultivator instantly, but they also face things that can do a lot of damage.

Those crowded days after the Wen attack on the Cloud Recesses were closer to the immediate aftermath of a skirmish, where exhaustion sets in long before the work is done, turning frenetic activity into drudgery.

Knowing this, and knowing she was likely to be called upon to treat Hanguang-Jun within hours, she made sure to seek sleep early and intended to rise only when the rules dictated she must. Yet here she is, robes hastily pulled on, moving swiftly through the camp towards her patient. Rain has arrived since she fell asleep, sweeping in from the north-west, and she carefully dissolves the hope that the Wen forces are already drenched. Such a petty thought is a flaw.

As she approaches, she sees a man in dark robes stride from the tent and recognises Sect Leader Jiang. He walks with purpose, bad temper evident in his movements. Whatever the cause, it’s only relevant if it impacts on her patient, and she has no way of knowing that from out here. She picks up her pace.

Inside Hanguang-Jun’s tent, her patient is on the bed, unmoving. His robes are soaked with blood and water and mud, up to his knees showing no white at all, and he’s unnaturally still, even for a Lan. Sect Leader Lan kneels on the other side of his brother’s bed, holding one of his hands. Nobody else is in the tent.

‘What happened?’ she asks.

‘Sect Leader Jiang brought him back,’ Sect Leader Lan says. ‘He was already unconscious. They couldn’t find his pulse or tell if he was breathing.’

‘But you can,’ she says, because this man has more training as a healer than many who haven’t followed the path properly, and he would be in a worst state than this if his brother were already gone.

‘Both very faint. I daren’t give him spiritual energy, but his core… It’s worse.’

Lan Dongmei doesn’t let herself berate Hanguang-Jun, not even in her head. Done is done. She needs to deal with what happens now.

She only has to press her fingers to his wrist for a moment to know his core is far worse. It still spikes and fluctuates, but at its centre it feels as though it’s trying to break apart. Were she the sort of woman who swore, she would be doing so now. As she is not, she steadies herself, mentally preparing for a sustained period of effort.

Before she begins, she meets her sect leader’s eyes.

‘I will do what I can,’ she says, ‘but he’s pushed himself too far. I need other healers here. And you need to leave.’

He protests. Of course he does. But she is insistent. With his brother in such a precarious state, she can’t have Lan Xichen seeing them fight to bring Lan Wangji back from the brink. He may distract them. And he doesn’t need to see this. Hanguang-Jun is still and quiet now, but once she delves into his golden core and tries to keep it from fracturing, it is far more likely her patient will be in be visible pain.

Once she is alone, in the time before her fellow healers arrive to assist her, Lan Dongmei lets herself take in how very young he is, this lord who brings light into the darkness. Far too young for such a burden of expectation to be on his shoulders, she thinks. Both of their Jades are too young.

She always does her utmost to save her patients, to heal them, but this one… It is for more than just himself that this one must be saved. If the Second Jade dies, she isn’t sure their First Jade will survive it. And if he falls, the Gusu Lan as a whole will be at risk.

Mingjue didn’t see Xichen for a long while after the Cloud Recesses fell. He didn’t see Xichen in the first weeks of his grief at such a loss and by the time they were reunited, Wangji was already back from the clutches of the Qishan Wen. He is not sure how Xichen fared whilst in hiding, but it’s…unpleasant to think he may have been upset with nobody there to offer the comfort of friendship.

When Xichen arrives at Mingjue’s tent during the early hours of the morning, too early even for a Lan to be awake, Mingjue almost sends for a healer.

‘No,’ Xichen says, though he looks pale enough that blood loss is a reasonable assumption. ‘I’m unhurt.’

As he explains what has happened now with Wangji, Mingjue thinks that ‘unhurt’ is not an accurate description. Xichen is all too clearly hurting, even if it’s not the sort that needs bandages. Were this any of his other friends, Mingjue would say it needs alcohol, but Xichen only drinks when it makes political sense to do so and never lets himself feel the effects.

‘I don’t know what to make of it all,’ Xichen admits, sounding wretched.

Mingjue makes a noise to show he’s listening, but nobody understands Wangji as well as Xichen does.

They sit without speaking for some time, Xichen staring at his own hands in his lap and Mingjue drinking little of the cup of liquor he’s poured. Rain drums against the tent and means their lack of conversation isn’t so obvious, and he thinks they could sit like this for hours, in an extended moment of inaction where neither of them can force things to be right.

‘What will I do if he dies?’ Xichen asks at last.

Mingjue feels the question as a full body strike.

‘He isn’t dead, Xichen,’ he says, more brusque than he’d like but unable to soften it. ‘Don’t tempt death to claim him.’

Xichen turns to him with eyes that already look at a future where his brother is gone, and Mingjue refuses to think how it would be if Huaisang were no longer living. His throat tightens. It doesn’t help with his tone.

‘You’ve both risked your lives for years,’ he says. ‘This is part of being cultivators.’

Not that it makes it easier. Not really.

Xichen closes his eyes and breathes out through his nose, sagging a little, before looking back at Mingjue and inclining his head.

‘You’re right, of course. But I can’t lose him, Mingjue-ge. Not like this. And today has shown I can’t keep him safe here, either. Wangji has ever been stubborn, but I had thought he understood why he must stay away from combat for the time being.’

Mingjue doesn’t snort, but it’s a close thing. Keeping Wangji away from danger is as likely as getting Huaisang to face it. Sometimes, Mingjue thinks Xichen and he got the wrong brothers. At least, until he reminds himself the Lan Sect’s elegance should never be mistaken for delicacy. Lan Qiren would have less patience with Huaisang’s refusal to use a blade than Mingjue does.

‘You’re thinking of sending him to your uncle,’ he says. ‘Wangji won’t like that.’

‘He almost killed himself tonight, Mingjue-ge,’ Xichen says.

‘There must be a reason.’ With Wangji, there is always a reason, even if that reason is mostly a strict interpretation of a Gusu Lan rule. ‘Wangji is sensible. Always has been. There’ll be a reason.’

Xichen shakes his head.

‘Two days ago, he had to be talked into letting his son out of his sight. Yesterday, he left A-Yuan with Maiden Jiang, who I didn’t even realise he knew well, and ignored my orders and our plans to leave camp with Young Master Wei. What reason can there possibly be in this?’

‘You could send him back to The Unclean Realm,’ Mingjue suggests, because he has no advice on how to get Wangji to talk and he doesn’t know what is going through that boy’s head right now. ‘It’s closer. Plenty of healers are still there.’

And Qinghe Nie healers are experienced in matters of qi deviation. Xichen knows this. It’s one of the things they talk around, the death sentence Mingjue brings closer for himself every time he wields his sabre.

‘I wrote to Uncle today,’ Xichen says.

Ah. Well, he would have had to. And with Lan Qiren knowing about this situation, the choice of what to do with Wangji may well be taken out of Xichen’s hands. Gusu Lan’s complicated internal politics is something that has frustrated Mingjue for years and it’s only going to get worse now there’s an heir nobody knew about.

Xichen seems to have exhausted his ability to speak. The world knows Wangji as the one with few words, but Xichen doesn’t spill words into the air as so many people do. The Jades are grown from the same root, after all, and speak more with music and with silence than with anything else.

Mingjue can’t play for Xichen. He has nothing to say that will fix the problems his friend faces. Instead, he sits and waits with him as other people determine Wangji’s fate.

Lan Dongmei is waiting for Xichen in Wangji’s tent, seated at the low table with a bowl of something warm. Xichen sees the steam rising up into the air and is sure he wouldn’t be able to force food down his throat if he tried.

‘Sect Leader,’ Lan Dongmei greets him.

Xichen has already looked away from her, his attention drawn to Wangji, who is still and silent and once again sleeping on his stomach.

‘We have stabilised his core. For now.’

She doesn’t tell him anything else until he agrees to sit with her. When she pushes a second bowl over to him, he shakes his head, but she only pushes it closer.

‘You are no good to us if you faint from hunger,’ she says, as though Xichen isn’t able to practise inedia. ‘At least take a little. If Sect Leader is willing to waive the rules for once, I will update you on your brother’s condition as we eat.’

Uncle would chastise him for how quickly he agrees to that. Lan Dongmei doesn’t say more until he picks up his spoon and takes a mouthful of the congee.

‘His golden core is under a great deal of stress. I told you before it’s almost as though there are two cores, co-existing. After the time I’ve just spent holding his core together, I’ve realised that isn’t quite right.’

She pauses and gives Xichen a look with which he’s familiar. It’s the one Uncle uses when he wants to be sure a student is following his point.

‘You did not say they co-existed,’ he says. ‘You said they fought for the same space.’

‘Yes. Well. Perhaps a better description is of one core trying to exist in more than one state. Or, maybe, different versions of the same core overlapping.’

‘And is this overlapping the cause of Wangji’s condition?’

Lan Dongmei shifts her shoulders in an approximation of a shrug.

‘In all honesty, Sect Leader, I can’t say. I suspect so, but Hanguang-Jun is clearly suffering a great deal of emotional and mental distress. We spoke about the order of things. The instability in the core leading to a lack of stability in his responses.’

Xichen sets down his spoon and folds his hands in his lap. The few mouthfuls he’s swallowed will have to be enough.

‘You disagree with that assessment? You think his emotions are causing this, after all?’

Her expression tells him she isn’t willing to commit to that, either.

‘It may be that, whichever occurred first, a feedback loop is now established. The root cause has become the flower of its own consequence. It will be difficult to untangle.’

He latches on to that.

‘Difficult is not impossible. My brother can be cured?’

She sounds regretful as she says, ‘I can give no guarantees. At this stage, I believe his best chance is to be sent back home, where he can be cared for by healers who are able to dedicate their attention to him.’

Xichen wants to protest. The thought of Wangji being so far away from him, where Xichen won’t be able to see for himself that his brother is alive, makes him want to be selfish, to hold Wangji here. But he already reached the same conclusion himself, and Uncle is all but certain to insist Wangji return to the Cloud Recesses.

He opens his mouth to concede when Wangji, for the second morning in a row, shows signs of distress. Those same sharp breaths are far too loud for Wangji, but they aren’t as loud as the choked sob that breaks from his throat as his eyes open and he tries to push himself up.

‘Wangji! Stop. Let us help you.’

Xichen is by Wangji’s side at once, taking hold of his brother’s nearest arm. He’s unsure if he intends to help Wangji sit up or if he means to urge him to lie back down, but Wangji twists, grabbing hold of Xichen’s arms and grimacing is obvious pain.

‘Be careful,’ Xichen says. ‘Let Lan Dongmei look at you. Is…is it your back again?’

Wangji shakes his head, heaving out another sob. His fingers dig into Xichen’s biceps with enough force to bruise.

‘Wei Ying. Brother.’

Lan Dongmei meets Xichen’s eyes over Wangji’s head, her hands busy with a vial of something. She looks as confused as Xichen feels.

‘What about Young Master Wei?’ he asks.

‘I have to find him.’ Wangji is crying openly, now. He doesn’t seem aware of it. ‘Brother, I have to find him.’

At least this is something Xichen can make better. It’s a relief. Jiang Wanyin brought Young Master Wei back to camp some time ago. Wangji must have been aware enough to know they didn’t all come back together and thinks his friend is still out there alone.

‘Wangji, there’s no need to worry. Sect Leader Jiang-‘

His brother cuts him off with a noise Xichen can’t name. It’s anguish, he thinks, but rage, too.

‘No!’ Wangji says. ‘Jiang Wanyin can’t have him. It’s his fault. It’s his fault Wei Ying is dead.’

There is no solid ground in Xichen’s life anymore. Just as he thinks he knows what is wrong in his world, it changes again. He rushes to reassure his brother that Wei Wuxian is alive. He’s alive and, as far as Xichen knows, sleeping in his own tent. He hasn’t even needed a healer.

But Wangji won’t be soothed. He cries, mostly silently but with the agonising sobs wrenching themselves free at intervals, as he loses his grip on Xichen and collapses back onto the bed. The way he holds himself speaks of pain, but when Xichen asks again if his back hurts him, Wangji refuses to respond.

‘I will bring him to you,’ Xichen says, at last. ‘Wangji. If I bring Young Master Wei to you, will you tell us where you hurt? Wangji? I promise you, Wei Wux… Wei Ying is alive.’

In the end, Lan Dongmei has Xichen hold Wangji up enough that she can tip the contents of the vial down his throat, though he tries to fight them. When Wangji slumps into unconsciousness, the exhaustion abruptly catches up with Xichen and he wants to lie down on the floor and abandon any attempt to make sense of this.

‘We should make sure he is as stable as possible before he is moved,’ Lan Dongmei says quietly. ‘Once it is safe to do so, I will use needles to keep him sleeping until he is home. If you are going to bring Young Master Wei here so Hanguang-Jun can see his friend is alive, it should be done in the next few hours.’

Xichen nods and pushes himself to his feet, where he sways only a little. He looks down at his brother as his own eyes try to close.

‘Get some rest, Sect Leader,’ Lan Dongmei says. ‘Send someone else for Young Master Wei.’

Xichen offers his thanks and leaves the tent, but he allows himself no more than one longing thought of his own bed. He sets off in the direction of the Jiang tents, not wanting to trust this message to anyone else. If he can do nothing else, he will give his brother the peace of mind of knowing he hasn’t lost his dearest friend.

Chapter Text

Jiang Cheng approaches Zewu-Jun as soon as he spots him. It’s quite the sight, the tall, gliding form of the Lan sect leader, looking dazed and urgent and in need of a long sleep. And in entirely the wrong part of the camp.

‘Zewu-Jun,’ Jiang Cheng greets him, noting how the man stops a bit too close, as though he only just realises someone has stepped in front of him. ‘What brings you to our tents?’

They stare at each other for a beat too long, Zewu-Jun blinking more than once before he finally dips into a greeting of his own.

‘Sect Leader Jiang. I came to ask that Young Master Wei visits Wangji.’

‘Why?’ He realises the abruptness of his question when Zewu-Jun’s eyebrows lift, and rushes to give a more appropriate response. Even if it is weird for the Lan sect’s leader to be asking this. ‘That is, Zewu-Jun, apologies, but Wei Wuxian is still sleeping. He didn’t get back to camp until it was almost dawn.’

When Jiang Cheng went back and found his brother slumped on the ground, still a good hour or more away by foot, and hauled him back on Sandu. If Wei Wuxian would just use his sword, Jiang Cheng wouldn’t have spent half the night carrying two supposedly intelligent and talented cultivators through the rain. Lan Wangji is heavy.

‘It was a tiring night,’ Zewu-Jun says, his attempt at his usual smile just making him look ill. ‘I must thank you again for bringing Wangji back to me.’

As they fall into yet another round of the kind of niceties that always make Jiang Cheng feel awkward and uncultured, he remembers his first glimpse of Lan Wangji in Wei Wuxian’s arms, the pair of them drenched and bloody, even if most of it wasn’t theirs. At first, the Second Jade looked dead and Jiang Cheng’s first thought was relief it wasn’t Wei Wuxian in Lan Wangji’s arms. Standing in front of the man’s brother, he feels a pang of guilt at that.

‘How is Hanguang-Jun?’ he asks.

If it would count as gossip, Zewu-Jun will decline to answer, but Jiang Cheng thinks he’s owed some kind of clue as to whether the man is at least still alive.

From the twitch of his features, Zewu-Jun would rather not talk about it, but he doesn’t refuse.

‘Wangji is also resting.’ The pause is almost long enough to seem that topic is done with, but Zewu-Jun gets out a few more words through his strained smile. ‘My brother will soon be returning to The Cloud Recesses.’

Still alive but dangerously close to not being, then. Nothing less would mean Hanguang-Jun being sent away from this war. Jiang Cheng keeps his own expression as calm as he can, even as that one sentence declares their forces weakened. Not to mention how Wei Wuxian will react.

‘How soon will that be?’ If Wei Wuxian doesn’t get to see Lan Wangji is alive with his own eyes, he’ll be unbearable. ‘I’m sure once Wei Wuxian is recovered, he’ll want to bid an appropriate farewell. Hanguang-Jun and he have fought closely on the battlefield.’

‘As soon as he is able to travel.’

Hanguang-Jun travelled on foot with a broken leg after being trapped in a cave with a monster for days. Jiang Cheng decides not to press for any more details. Instead, he asks when A-Yuan should be returned to his family.

‘I’m sure he will be excited to see his new home. He’s with my sister now.’

Sitting in Wei Wuxian’s tent, now he thinks about it. It isn’t ideal, after telling Zewu-Jun that Wei Wuxian is sleeping, but it’s about time the kid was taken care of by the people who were actually responsible for him. A-Jie has her own duties and her own family.

With some reluctance, Jiang Cheng invites Zewu-Jun to walk with him to Wei Wuxian’s tent. There will be no need to bring the man inside, after all, and at least this way he can see how his idiot brother is doing. It won’t be awful to say goodbye to the kid, either. Probably good for inter-sect relations, to show an interest in the sect leader’s nephew.

Jiang Yanli smiles at A-Yuan as the boy tells her about the night hunt his new wooden toy is on. It’s a rabbit, and Old Chen is already carving another one, because A-Yuan was worried the first rabbit would be lonely without a friend.

The night hunt is very dangerous, but the rabbit has been trained by Hanguang-Jun and is prepared for anything.

‘Hanguang-Jun is very brave,’ A-Yuan tells her, ‘but he can’t go on the night hunt. Rabbit will go instead.’ He shuffles forward and makes the rabbit hop up the leg of the low table next to them. ‘Rabbit can get the ghost in the village so Hanguang-Jun can stay inside. It’s a sad ghost. Rabbit needs to make it feel happy so it can go outside and play.’

She finds herself frowning and takes care to smooth out her brow. This, too, is something she has seen before. Her own toys used to have calm, steady lives where nobody argued or became upset, but her little brother’s playing revealed a world of sharp edges and fear. A-Cheng has always had trouble saying what he feels, and Jiang Yanli, young as she was, already knew to listen to what the toys needed.

‘Is your father often sad?’ she asks.

She will not push this, but the boy has just lost his mother and Hanguang-Jun, as virtuous and worthy as he is, has never shown himself to be skilled with emotions.

A-Yuan nods, though most of his attention is on the rabbit.

‘Hmm. Yes.’

A-Yuan’s previous words about Hanguang-Jun float through her mind, the fragments about a man who had to stay in his rooms when his son left, a man who carried injuries A-Yuan was never allowed to see and who couldn’t look after his son himself.

‘And do you wish he could go outside and play with you?’ she asks, though she still doesn’t understand how Hanguang-Jun can have been living this life A-Yuan mentions.

A-Yuan sets the rabbit in the middle of the table and sits back, rubbing at his nose. He looks a little like he’s just realised he might have done something wrong.

‘Not supposed to talk about Father being sad,’ he says carefully, not quite looking at Jiang Yanli. His gaze flickers over to A-Xian, who is still in a deep sleep. ‘Is Xian-gege sad?’

She would like to say no, but her worries for A-Xian haven’t lessened much since he returned from wherever he was all those months. He smiles and laughs and plays at being childish, but she isn’t stupid. She sees the shadows behind it.

‘He’s tired,’ she tells the boy. ‘He walked a long way yesterday and now he needs to rest.’

‘Hmm.’ A-Yuan watches A-Xian for a while longer before turning back to his rabbit. His attention doesn’t look to be fully on the little hops. ‘Uncle says being sad can make you tired. Being hurt can make you tired, as well. Lots of things make you tired. You aren’t tired, are you, Auntie Yanli?’

She is.

‘I’m fine, A-Yuan. You were telling me about the sad ghost. Why is it sad?’

A little more nudging may be helpful. Only a little, and then she will back away for now. The few times she pushed A-Cheng too far, he hurled his toys at the walls and screamed. Once, Mother had heard. Since then, Jiang Yanli has made certain to keep an eye on when to stop.

A-Yuan pulls a face and tilts his head, watching his own hand take the rabbit over to one corner of the table.

‘Don’t know,’ he says.

He isn’t ready to speak about it, yet, then. Or he doesn’t know. He is very young, after all, and even if he did spend time with Second Young Master Lan even before his mother passed, no child of A-Yuan’s age can really understand their parents.

‘Well,’ Jiang Yanli says, injecting as much gentle warmth as she can, in the way that always soothes A-Xian, ‘then we should keep night hunting and see what Rabbit finds. Would Rabbit like my help, A-Yuan?’

That earns her a grin. He really is such a sweet child, this tiny Lan, with so much emotion in him. She thinks again of the stoic Second Jade and wonders what A-Yuan will become in his father’s sect.

Wangji wakes to a world that wavers around him. It only takes a little while to realise he’s been drugged. The sour taste of it on his tongue and the memory of Brother’s fingers holding his jaw tell him he was dosed despite his wishes. Well, it’s hardly the first time.

In the early days of his punishment, he could barely move, but his fevered mind took him from his bed more than once. He knows whenever they dosed him like this it was with the intent to help him. He knows this. He resents it anyway.

More memories swim up from the depths and his hands clench into fists. It isn’t clear, but the fragments he recalls are of time warping. Wei Ying has not taken the Wen Remnants from Qiongqi Path and Wei Ying is not yet dead, but last night Wangji thought both were true. Worse, he knows he spoke words to Wei Ying and to Xichen in those moments, words that he won’t easily be able to explain away.

Lying is beyond Wangji, in any case. He can avoid speaking or can speak only part truths, at times, though even that feels like something fetid sits in his lungs, but to lie outright? No. It isn’t fear of breaking the clan rules that stops him, though he has spent time of late trying to prise himself apart from those rules and has found it an overwhelming process: it just that lying isn’t a thing that works in his mind.

But worse than lying is letting Wei Ying or A-Yuan be hurt. Is Wei Ying safe now? How much of what Wangji remembers from the pass is from last night and how much is from after the Sunshot Campaign is over, and Jin Zixun has innocent people trapped in that camp? Is Wei Ying even back in this camp?

‘Wei Ying,’ he says, moving his hands closer to him so he can push himself up. He needs to go and find Wei Ying.

‘Stay where you are, Hanguang-Jun,’ a voice says. It’s a voice he doesn’t know. ‘Steady. Stay still.’

Cool hands settle on his shoulder and left forearm and refuse to be shaken off. Just the effort makes him clench his jaw.

‘Are you in pain, again?’ the voice asks. ‘Can you tell me where?’

He can tell the man talking at him how irritating it is to be spoken to in such a patronising way.

‘Don’t touch me,’ he says, annoyed at himself when his voice is so rough it sounds almost as though he’s growling.

The hands don’t move.

‘Apologies, Hanguang-Jun. But Healer Dongmei said you are not to move. I’m not to let go until I know you’ll stay where you are. It’s this or the needle.’

Dongmei, he remembers. This insistence he stays still is ridiculous, though.

‘I haven’t been whipped yet,’ he says. ‘Let go of me.’

This time, his frustration and his fear bring him up from the bed in one move, though he stumbles somewhat as he makes it to his feet. The young healer looks up at him from the ground with wide eyes.

‘Whipped?’

Wangji glares at him. Why is this man he doesn’t know talking about that? No. Wait. Wangji does know this healer. At least, he’s seen him before, scurrying about looking out of his depth after battles. Not the most skilled of the Lan healers, but still too young, too newly embarked upon his training, to be blamed. Wangji saw him last in one of the skirmishes leading up to the final battle of Sunshot, where a healer had no right to be. He never did learn how that had come about.

‘You died before Nightless City,’ he tells the man. He should honour the dead, but this one is still breathing, so it doesn’t count. ‘Get out.’

The healer scrambles backwards on his hands, turning and flinging himself upright when he’s more than a sword-length from Wangji. He’s gone quickly enough not to need telling again.

No doubt he will go and tell someone that Wangji is not staying where they have put him, but there are more important things to consider. A-Yuan is with Maiden Jiang. If Wei Ying is back in the camp, he will be in the same section. Wei Ying used a lot of resentful energy clearing the pass. He will need Wangji to play for him.

Decision made, Wangji dresses as quickly as he can and checks he has his guqin. There isn’t time to do a proper job of donning his layers and his headpieces, but he is decent enough to be seen and out of his tent before anyone comes running to force him back onto the bed.

Wangji won’t lie around whilst Wei Ying and A-Yuan need him. He is done with lying around. If Lan Dongmei and Xichen insist on it, they will have to bind him there.

A-Yuan doesn’t want to leave Maiden Jiang. Standing just outside Young Master Wei’s tent, he clings to her, wrapping his arms around her left leg and burying his face in her skirts, and refuses to even look at Xichen.

‘We’ve been helping Rabbit on an important night hunt,’ Maiden Jiang says, one hand resting on A-Yuan’s head. ‘A sad ghost.’

She looks a little sad herself as she says it, but Xichen doesn’t know which of the many troubles in her recent life are causing it. There must be people in the world who haven’t suffered loss and heartbreak in the last few years, but Xichen can’t bring many to mind.

‘Rabbit?’ he asks.

In response, A-Yuan thrusts one of his hands in the air, turning his head enough that his face now presses against Maiden Jiang’s skirts and one of the boy’s eyes is visible. In his hand, he holds a wooden rabbit.

‘Did Young Master Rabbit have success on his night hunt?’ Xichen asks, feeling his smile grow more genuine, and more so still when A-Yuan nods.

It takes some time to draw A-Yuan away from Maiden Jiang, but eventually he is happy to settle in Xichen’s arms and walk his rabbit toy across his uncle’s chest. Xichen is going to miss this boy.

He doesn’t get chance to feel the pang of that before Maiden Jiang and Jiang Wanyin shift their attention to something over Xichen’s shoulder, something A-Yuan notices a moment later.

‘Father!’

With his heart in his throat, Xichen turns to find Wangji approaching, dressed in only just enough to be considered decent and with his hair tied only by a ribbon. He looks determined. He also looks feverish. His skin is an unhealthy pallor and his eyes are the wrong kind of bright.

‘Wangji, what are you doing?’ Xichen asks, as soon as his brother is close enough.

In reply, Wangji closes the last bit of distance between them and lifts A-Yuan from Xichen’s arms, holding the boy close with his right hand wrapped around the back of A-Yuan’s head. Xichen’s instinct is to take A-Yuan back at once, but he doesn’t yet know what mental state Wangji is in and he can’t risk sparking the sort of desperate rage he saw in Wangji not long ago. Not in public and not with Wangji holding A-Yuan.

‘Where is Wei Ying?’ Wangji asks. It’s more of a demand.

‘He’s sleeping,’ Xichen says, aiming for reassuring, for calming, but not sure he entirely manages it. ‘Sect Leader Jiang will-‘

As before, Wangji reacts to the name, his eyes narrowing and his jaw tight.

‘Jiang Wanyin should not be near Wei Ying.’

‘Wangji!’

Xichen steps forward, careful to get in between his brother and the other sect leader, as though cutting off their line of sight will stop Wangji from glaring or make Jiang Wanyin forget the glare and the words both.

He only vaguely notices that Maiden Jiang has stepped up beside him until she reaches out a hand and rests two fingers lightly on Wangji’s arm. Wangji lets her.

‘May I hold A-Yuan, Second Young Master Lan?’ she asks. ‘Or else your brother could hold him again and I will take you in to see A-Xian.’

‘I must play for him,’ Wangji says, making no move to pass A-Yuan to either of them. His attention is now on Maiden Jiang and most of the fury is gone, though his eyes remain glassy. ‘We cannot let him be alone.’

They cannot let Wangji move around, but Xichen remembers holding his brother still so Lan Dongmei could pour a sedative down his throat, and there are many reasons he needs to keep Wangji calm. It’s unlikely Wangji will consent to leave before he sees Wei Ying.

‘Young Master Wei is asleep,’ he says, and holds up a hand when Wangji opens his mouth to speak. ‘Perhaps we can beg leave for you to play with him whilst he sleeps. For a little while.’

Wangji hesitates, his reluctance and desperation visible to Xichen’s eyes, before he appears to reach a decision and nods.

‘Please, come with me, Second Young Master Lan,’ Maiden Jiang says.

Xichen, busy with his own brother, doesn’t know if a silent conversation has happened between the Jiangs, but Jiang Wanyin only steps back and looks away as Wangji follows Maiden Jiang into the tent. He continues to look away, down at the trammelled dirt around them, once the tent is closed up again and it’s just the two sect leaders standing outside. And now Xichen must ensure no fracture has developed between the Jiang Sect and his own.

‘I apologise, Sect Leader Jiang,’ Xichen says. ‘Wangji-‘

‘Don’t.’ Jiang Wanyin scowls at the ground for a moment longer before looking up at Xichen. ‘I don’t need an apology, Zewu-Jun. I need to know what’s going on with Hanguang-Jun.’

Wangji sees Wei Ying lying in the bed and has to stop and close his eyes. Next to him, he senses Maiden Jiang waiting and knows he isn’t being fair to her. She is being unfailingly kind. It must be confusing beyond belief, to see a man known for his restraint and coldness be so openly moved by the sight of her brother sleeping.

‘Maiden Jiang,’ he says, blinking his eyes open and looking down at her.

She’s already looking up at him, one hand slightly out as though she wants to offer him the reassurance of touch again. He thinks he might break if she does. He doesn’t know why he allowed it outside.

‘May I play for him?’ he asks.

She nods but lifts her hand to stop him when he shifts his weight to step forward.

‘Hanguang-Jun,’ she says, ‘my brother…what is he to you?’

And what can he say to that? His friend? His soulmate? The one he knows best in the world, who knows him best, even if there is still so much Wangji doesn’t understand about why Wei Ying destroys himself as he does and Wei Ying doesn’t seem to understand that Wangji would sooner be destroyed himself than watch Wei Ying suffer? His heart?

‘He is Wei Ying,’ he says.

She searches his eyes. It is very rare, for anyone to look into his eyes like this. Perhaps, he thinks, it is because he knows how much Wei Ying loves her that Wangji can stand it, though it makes him want to duck his head and hide. He resists and lets her look.

‘The rumours,’ she says, darting a look at A-Yuan and back to Wangji’s eyes. ‘I try not to listen, Second Young Master Lan, but I confess I’ve heard them. They say you lost someone you loved dearly. That you lost the love of your life.’

He is sure they say many things. Despite himself, he has heard some pieces of these rumours and not all paint a love story for him. Still, this he can answer honestly.

‘I did.’

He sees her take those words in, sees the way her lips part as though the loss has hurt her. She doesn’t look any less confused, but she offers a low bow and steps back. When she offers to take A-Yuan, and he declines, she tells him she will be outside and slips away gracefully. Yes, Wangji can see why she holds such a special place in Wei Ying’s heart. For her sake, too, he must keep Wei Ying alive this time.

A-Yuan is content enough to be settled down on the bed next to Wei Ying, his wooden rabbit tucked against his chest. Wangji lets himself drink in the sight of the two of them, tucked up together and safe, if only for now.

They are still at war, Wei Ying is still insistent on using resentful energy, and the worst battle of all is ahead of them. Not only that, but whatever has brought Wangji back to this time has left him with an unstable core and he knows Xichen is worried about him. That will be a problem, because Wangji cannot allow himself to be kept away from Nightless City or from everything that will come after.

As Wangji sits down to play, he vows he will not be the one left behind this time.

Chapter Text

Xichen hears his name called from one side as Maiden Jiang reappears from the tent on the other. Either would serve as a way to break Jiang Wanyin’s fixed stare, and in truth Xichen is glad of that. He has no wish to discuss Wangji’s condition with this man. He would, however, wish for some other distraction, even so.

‘Maiden Jiang,’ he finds himself saying, the words born of worry rather than thought, ‘I’m not sure it’s wise to leave Wangji and A-Yuan just now.’

‘Why is that, Zewu-Jun?’ Jiang Wanyin asks.

‘Sect Leader Lan!’

Xichen turns at this second call of his name to find a Lan disciple who has forgotten the proper way to approach, one who shouts more than once across public spaces and, at the look of barely concealed panic on the young man’s face, decides to assign punishment later. For one thing, there are few pleasant reasons a healer would be running to the sect leader.

The young healer starts speaking as soon as he’s in front of them, sketching a bow as the words spill out without apparent care for their audience.

‘Lan Dongmei sent me to find you, Sect Leader,’ he says. ‘Second Master Lan has left his tent.’

Lan Dongmei assured Xichen that Wangji would not be left alone. Either that didn’t happen or Wangji left despite it. At least it means the healers are already aware their patient is not where he should be. Given how agitated Wangji became earlier, he can only hope nobody has been harmed. A problem for later, when everyone is back where they need to be.

‘Wangji is here, in Young Master Wei’s tent,’ Xichen says, as calmly as he can. ‘Please return and ask Lan Dongmei to join us.’ He pauses, regretting what he is about to say, and makes himself keep talking. ‘Tell her she may need to bring another vial.’

If the young healer is confused, he doesn’t let that show. Instead, he dips into a proper bow, murmurs greetings to Jiang Wanyin and Maiden Jiang, and leaves at a more sedate pace than he arrived. Xichen watches him go, trying to still the guilt in his gut. This is for Wangji’s own good.

‘Zewu-Jun,’ Maiden Jiang says, pulling his attention back to her. She looks worried and asks her question quietly. ‘Second Young Master Lan isn’t well, is he?’

Now he has both Jiang siblings looking at him, looking for answers. He doesn’t know when Wangji’s health became their concern, but the last few days have been complicated. Perhaps he missed it. Perhaps it was earlier, even, and Wangji made more than one friend when the disciples from other sects attended the lectures.

He wonders if he knows his brother at all.

‘Would you allow me to sit with Wangji whilst he plays?’ he asks, because however much they may care, whether it is concern or curiosity or both, Xichen does not want to give them any other pieces of this puzzle.

The siblings share a look, one he can’t read, and Jiang Wanyin looks awkward as he replies.

‘Zewu-Jun, if Hanguang-Jun isn’t safe to be left, wouldn’t it be better to take the boy somewhere else?’

Xichen blinks. What has he made Jiang Wanyin think?

‘Forgive my brother,’ Maiden Jiang says, looking earnest. ‘It’s not that we think Second Young Master Lan would harm his son. But children…children pick up on things, even when we think they won’t. And something is wrong, isn’t it? What A-Yuan has been saying to me isn’t just the imaginings of a child.’

‘Has A-Yuan said something else?’ Xichen asks, wanting to be moving inside to Wangji but needing to know.

‘His father is often sad,’ Maiden Jiang says. ‘His father is often tired, too tried to leave his rooms. Sometimes too tired to leave his bed. His father’s back is hurt. His father cannot night hunt.’

These are, for the most part, a repeat of what she said the day before. If she hopes to hear something to explain the comments, she will have to be disappointed: Xichen is as lost as ever. Maybe more so. He stifles a frustrated sigh and smiles in its place.

‘It is surely natural for Wangji to be sad,’ he says.

Maiden Jiang looks sorrowful.

‘Second Young Master Lan tells me he has lost the love of his life,’ she says, in a way that suggests she means it as agreement. ‘But the rest?’

‘You aren’t sending him back to Gusu because he’s sad,’ Jiang Wanyin says. ‘He wasn’t unconscious last night because he’s sad.’

But Xichen can’t think of anything to say in reply. Wangji has told Maiden Jiang he’s lost the one he loves? That is… That is quite a display of trust from his brother. Trust or no, the fact remains the Jiangs are not part of the Lan Sect and they already know more about Wangji’s current issues than they should do.

‘A-Cheng,’ Maiden Jiang says, soft censure in the name, possibly taking Xichen’s silence as a sign of displeasure.

‘Lan Wangji has involved you in this, A-Jie,’ Jiang Wanyin insists, though an edge of embarrassed uncertainty shows. ‘And Wei Wuxian…’

He frowns, shaking his head, and however he was thinking of ending that sentence, he doesn’t try again. Jiang Wanyin’s confusion suggests he, at least, does not consider himself a friend of Wangji and the man is unmistakably protective of his sister: surely, he would know if there were some sort of friendship there.

But Jiang Wanyin is right in one thing: Wangji himself has brought them into this, at least enough it is natural they have questions, and Xichen will have to give some explanation to the other sect leaders for sending one of their best fighters home.

‘Please understand this is a matter of great delicacy,’ he says. ‘It is not my habit to share private details of members of my clan.’

Let them take note of the choice of words. Being more explicit will only show how annoyed he is that these outsiders are prying into his family’s lives.

‘Zewu-June,’ Jiang Wanyin says, intense in the brittle way Xichen has learnt the young man so often is, ‘I swear to you neither my sister nor I will speak of this to a soul. We aren’t interested in spreading gossip. I’d prefer anyone found gossiping learns not to do so again. But this has been made our concern. My sister has already been dragged into the rumours-‘

‘A-Cheng!’ This time, Maiden Jiang is not as soft in her reprimand. ‘My reputation will survive. There is no truth to the rumours where I am concerned, and Zewu-Jun should not be asked to worry about such things when those he holds dear need help.’

Xichen is a sect leader. He very much does have to care about reputation and rumour, especially if it may harm relations between sects. But now is not the time to ask what rumours, exactly, include Maiden Jiang. He will deal with it later, once Wangji is back in his bed or on the way to Gusu. For that to happen, Xichen needs to keep Wangji calm and in that tent until Lan Dongmei arrives to sedate him, and to get into the tent without causing an incident, he needs Jiang Wanyin to let him pass.

‘A report will be made to the war council,’ Xichen says, the strain of holding himself with the appropriate dignity sending twinges of discomfort up his back. He doesn’t want to be Zewu-Jun now. He doesn’t want to be Sect Leader Lan. He just wants to be Xichen. ‘Wangji is unwell, Maiden Jiang. He will return home with A-Yuan, where they can both be cared for properly.’

He pauses, looking from one to the other. Both still look expectant. Both still look worried, though he is sure the causes are different. Jiang Wanyin still blocks Xichen’s path into the tent. More, then, is required.

‘Wangji’s golden core is unstable,’ he says, and wonders if that will ever get any easier to say.

More words worry at his lips, but Jiang Wanyin has paled and shared another look with Maiden Jiang, whose face shows sorrow and sympathy. She lifts a hand and places it on her brother’s cheek and Jiang Wanyin leans into it, just for a heartbeat’s span, before drawing a ragged breath and nodding.

‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ he says. ‘Please, go in. We won’t detain you any longer.’

But as Maiden Jiang steps aside and Xichen steps forward, more than ready to put this conversation behind him, Jiang Wanyin remains in place for long enough to ask one more question, his voice lower than before and his mouth very close to Xichen’s ear. Perhaps he is attempting to prevent his sister from hearing.

‘Your brother risked qi deviation to go on that mission, didn’t he?’

Xichen meets Jiang Wanyin’s eyes and can’t bring himself to say anything. He doesn’t want to be asked why Wangji would do such a thing, because he doesn’t know. He isn’t sure if Wangji knows, if he’s currently capable of making choices based on anything real. Going on that mission was close to an act of suicide for someone whose core is as damaged as Wangji’s, and Xichen would rather learn his brother has temporarily lost all rational thought than find out Wangji knew that, and chose it.

Wei Wuxian is comfortable, his body heavy and still, suffused with the trailing ends of sleep. More than that, he feels calm. Calmer than he has done in a long while, in any case, and the realisation is enough to snap him into waking awareness.

He’s lying down. His head is on a pillow and his body is covered by something soft and warm. Bed, then. Someone has stripped him down to an inner robe and put him to bed. It’s much better than where he remembers losing his fight to stay awake.

Next to him, there’s a bundle of warmth and sleepy breaths and a little further away…

‘Lan Zhan?’

He opens his eyes and props himself up on an elbow, already knowing what he’ll see: Lan Zhan sitting with perfect posture, playing his guqin. He’s right about part of that.

His friend sits properly for anyone who isn’t a Lan, but his bearing is stiffer and more awkward than usual, and Wei Wuxian’s mind flashes back to Lan Zhan barely keeping himself out of the mud as he collapsed. An injury? Maybe something as simple as a pulled muscle from hitting the ground, though that should have been washed away by spiritual energy by the time Lan Zhan got back to camp.

It’s obvious Lan Zhan has heard him. His eyes dart to Wei Wuxian and away, but he continues playing smoothly. He seems uneasy.

‘Young Master Wei, it is good to see you awake. Please, let Wangji finish playing.’

Zewu-Jun? Yes, sitting not far from Lan Zhan, dressed in his usual garb in contrast to what Wei Wuxian now realises is very much not Lan Zhan’s habitual dress. Now he takes it in, Lan Zhan looks almost indecent, with his hair barely tied with a ribbon and far fewer layers than he normally wears. It’s hard to imagine him walking through the camp in this state, but there is no reason Wei Wuxian can think of for Lan Zhan to have been brought to his tent whilst unconscious, so he must have done so.

‘Zewu-Jun,’ Wei Wuxian says, ignoring the implied instruction to stay still and easing his way to a sitting position. If they are here to talk at him about his cultivation, he doesn’t want to hear it, and he knows how to make a Lan uncomfortable. ‘I don’t know whether to be honoured or worried I’m in trouble. Did I break a Lan rule last night? I swear I did nothing to besmirch Lan Zhan’s honour, though I’m sure many pretty ladies would be jealous if they knew I’d had my arms around him.’

As he waits for either of the Jades to respond, Wei Wuxian checks on that warmth at his side, and finds A-Yuan curled up on the bed, cuddling a wooden rabbit. Unsure what to make of any of this and hoping to avoid any talk of his use of resentful energy, he resorts to teasing.

‘Hey, Lan Zhan. Have you given me your son?’

For the first time in Wei Wuxian’s experience, Lan Zhan fumbles a note and stops playing. Wei Wuxian looks up quickly, risking meeting Lan Zhan’s gaze, but Lan Zhan isn’t looking at him. He’s staring at a point in the middle distance and distress is clear enough on his face that anyone could read it and…tears. Those are tears. No sound goes along with them, but Lan Zhan is close to crying.

‘No.’ Wei Wuxian scrambles out of his bed, mindful not to jolt A-Yuan, and falls to his knees in front of Lan Zhan’s guqin. ‘No tears. Lan Zhan, you know I can’t take people crying.’

A glance at Zewu-Jun shows a tension that isn’t quite right. Lan Zhan’s brother looks worried and tired, but not overly surprised. It occurs to Wei Wuxian that he didn’t get any details of Lan Zhan’s injury from him whilst they were out of camp and fear opens a cavern beneath his heart. Something is very wrong, something Wei Wuxian can’t guess at.

‘Zewu-Jun?’ he asks.

Lan Zhan speaks instead, though the hollowed-out words are delivered with that unfocused expression and Wei Wuxian isn’t sure who they’re aimed at.

‘I kept him safe,’ Lan Zhan whispers. ‘I found him and I kept him safe. But you should have him back.’

Zewu-Jun moves closer as Lan Zhan continues to stare at nothing, kneeling near enough to wrap an arm around his brother’s shoulders, ducking to catch his eyes. Or to make the attempt.

‘Wangji?’ Zewu-Jun asks, so gently and with such soft concern that Wei Wuxian feels he should leave at once. ‘Who are you talking to?’

Lan Zhan meets Wei Wuxian’s eyes with a burning focus, ignoring his brother. ‘I couldn’t save you before. Let me save you now. You can take A-Yuan, if…’

With confusion filling his lungs and blocking up his air, Wei Wuxian watches Lan Zhan trail off as Zewu-Jun uses his free hand to take hold of Lan Zhan’s face and turn his head. As an attempt to break Lan Zhan’s gaze on Wei Wuxian, it fails: he looks out of the corners of his eyes, as though he’s trying to make Wei Wuxian understand what he means without any more words.

‘Wangji, little brother,’ Zewu-Jun almost begs, ‘where are you now? What do you think is happening? Please, come back to me.’

And whatever Wei Wuxian may have guessed at, this is not it. Zewu-Jun’s questions make it seem as though Lan Zhan is going elsewhere in his mind, that what he sees around him isn’t real. That’s just not possible. Lan Zhan has one of the clearest minds of anyone Wei Wuxian knows. Has ever known.

Except…

‘In the pass,’ Wei Wuxian says, his voice hoarse and barely audible even to himself. ‘In the pass, you said there was something wrong with your golden core. You were upset. Afraid. What is wrong with your core, Lan Zhan? What is it doing to you?’

Lan Zhan frowns, tries to move his head back so he’s facing Wei Wuxian, but his brother’s fingers curling around his cheek, around his chin, stop him.

‘Please, Young Master Wei, we need to keep Wangji calm. Let us not discuss that now.’

Wei Wuxian glares at Zewu-Jun.

‘Lan Zhan was already hurt,’ he says. ‘Before the mission. You had a healer there to look at him. Did you already know about his core? You let him go to clear the pass with me when he’s sick?’

He sees anger flare in Zewu-Jun’s usually tranquil eyes, though the man’s hands on his brother stay gentle.

‘I did not let Wangji go. He was told not to. This morning, he was told not even to leave his bed, let alone his tent. Both times, he disobeyed the healers and me and came to you.’

Whatever Zewu-Jun means to imply by that, he doesn’t get the chance to make it clearer. Shijie lets herself into the tent and stops, looking flustered, at the sight before her. Shijie should never have cause to look like that.

‘Shijie,’ Wei Wuxian greets her, breaking away from the tension to rise and hug his sister, even as sullen fury prickles along his skin.

His sister doesn’t need to be involved in this. He doesn’t need barbed comments from a man who lets his own brother fight with a damaged core. At least Shijie feels right in his arms.

‘A-Xian, you’re awake.’ Shijie pulls away only to stroke a hand down the side of his head and tuck a piece of hair behind his ear. ‘We’ll eat together in a little while. You must be hungry.’

He isn’t, but he nods and smiles as she will expect him to.

‘Zewu-Jun, Second Young Master Lan,’ Shijie says, moving slightly to the side so she can see them. ‘Lan Dongmei is here.’

‘I didn’t realise we were having a cultivation conference in my tent,’ Wei Wuxian says lightly, taking care to grin.

A crash behind him has him spinning round to see Lan Zhan and Zewu-Jun kneeling facing each other, both of Lan Zhan’s wrists held unmoving in his brother’s hands, the tension in the lines of their bodies making it clear Lan Zhan is trying to pull away. His guqin lies the wrong way up on the ground.

‘She is here to help, Wangji,’ Zewu-Jun says, and again it sounds closer to something else, something pleading, than is right coming from the First Jade.

‘He said there would be needles,’ Lan Zhan says, voice tight and flat. He’s back to looking emotionless, except for his eyes. ‘Do not shut me away, Brother.’

Some of what’s in his eyes might be fear.

Zewu-Jun’s fingers tighten further around his brother’s wrists. Otherwise, he doesn’t react. Or… No, he has reacted, Wei Wuxian realises, but it’s almost entirely in his eyes. It’s only visible when Wei Wuxian moves back to them, unsure if he should interfere but hating to see Lan Zhan so obviously wanting to escape his own brother.

Wei Wuxian doesn’t have the knowledge he needs to read Zewu-Jun’s eyes in this moment, not even as well as he can see what’s in Lan Zhan’s, but it’s far from good.

‘’No-one is going to shut you away, Lan Zhan,’ he says. ‘Right, Zewu-Jun?’

But nobody answers.

‘What?’ Wei Wuxian demands. ‘Have I missed something? Is Gusu Lan suddenly in the habit of locking its own people up?’

Behind him, Shijie makes a noise that sounds like he’s said something cruel, and Zewu-Jun closes his eyes.

‘Maiden Jiang, please ask Healer Dongmei to join us,’ Zewu-Jun says.

He almost makes it sound like any other order he has given over the time Wei Wuxian has known him, quiet and assured, but there’s that strain in it. There’s strain, too, in Lan Zhan’s response, as he twists his hands in a futile attempt to win free of his older brother, his lips now pressed closed.

Wei Wuxian, who has seen too many lives fall apart around him, who has been unable to stop his own from crumbling into a cold and painful act, feels a spike of anger that they are doing this here, right in front of him. He doesn’t need to see this. He doesn’t need to see Lan Zhan broken.

But Shijie is just outside, and A-Yuan is still sleeping on the bed, and thank any god that cares to listen for the boy not waking to this. Wei Wuxian stifles the urge to shout at them all to get out, to take this somewhere else, so Wei Wuxian doesn’t have to think about how there is nothing he can do. Not if it’s Lan Zhan’s golden core. Wei Wuxian doesn’t have a second one to give up.

As he wrestles himself back from an outburst, he feels Shijie’s hands on his arm and looks around to meet her loving face, and it eases his own tension enough to unclench his jaw.

A woman he doesn’t know moves past them to the Lans. No. He does know her, or at least he’s seen her before. It’s the healer from the other day, the one Lan Zhan refused to let examine him until A-Yuan was returned.

‘What are you going to do to him?’ Wei Wuxian asks.

He doesn’t need Shijie’s fingers pressing into his sleeve to tell him his tone is too sharp, too abrupt, but he finds he doesn’t care. Lan Zhan should not look like this, like he’s scared on some level beyond anything Wei Wuxian has seen in his friend before. Like he’s trapped.

‘I am only here to help,’ Lan Dongmei says, as she eases herself down to kneel next to Lan Zhan. She perhaps speaks to Wei Wuxian, perhaps to Lan Zhan. ‘Hanguang-Jun, you really do need to follow my advice. If not for your own sake, then for your son’s.’

She hasn’t so much as raised her hand yet, but Lan Zhan leans away, just a little, finally breaking away from staring at his brother and looking instead at the floor on the side where Lan Dongmei does not kneel. Zewu-Jun still has hold of his wrists.

‘Sect Leader,’ Lan Dongmei says, ‘we need to minimise stress. If you would.’

Finally, Zewu-Jun relaxes his grip, though he does so slowly, every shift of a joint showing his reluctance. All that happens once it’s done is that Lan Zhan drops his hands to his own thighs.

‘Will you come back to your tent, Hanguang-Jun?’ Lan Dongmei asks.

She’s speaking to Lan Zhan as though he’s a sick child and Wei Wuxian wants to make her stop. Again, Shijie holds him back with gentle pressure. When he looks at her, she shakes her head, a miniscule movement, her mouth and brows pinched.

‘Wangji,’ Zewu-Jun says, ‘Young Master Wei is awake. You have played healing songs for him. He will be well-‘

‘No.’

The healer fixes Wei Wuxian with a look. She also removes something from her sleeve, something small enough it can’t be seen clearly, and he thinks of Lan Zhan mentioning needles.

‘Lan Zhan,’ he says, jolting forward and once again dropping from his feet. His left knee bumps against the guqin and he winces, but carries on. ‘Lan Zhan, look at me. I’m fine. Okay? Look at me!’

Lan Zhan does. They’re closer together than Wei Wuxian realised, and this close he sees how glassy Lan Zhan’s eyes are, how beads of sweat stand on his brow. Fever. He doesn’t know enough about qi deviation to be sure, but he thinks this must not be a good sign.

‘You played for me and it helped. It really did. But now you need to look after yourself, okay?’

‘You will need me to play again after Nightless City,’ Lan Zhan says.

‘Fine,’ Wei Wuxian says, looking away long enough to glance at the healer and at Zewu-Jun. ‘That’ll be fine, right? But now your Lan healer wants you to go sleep.’

Lan Zhan frowns. He looks down, slowly, his gaze trailing from Wei Wuxian’s eyes to his lips to his chest. Just as Wei Wuxian is about to ask what he’s looking at, if he’s spilt something on himself somehow, Lan Zhan reaches out and takes hold of Wei Wuxian’s wrist. His lips part and he looks on the verge of saying something, but whatever it is doesn’t emerge. Lan Zhan appears frozen in some moment the rest of them can’t see.

‘I will look out for Young Master Wei for you, Wangji,’ Zewu-Jun says, as though that’s a sensible thing to promise when he’s got a whole sect to keep an eye on, a sect Wei Wuxian isn’t even part of. ‘You can see him again once you’re healed. I promise you, I will do my best to keep him from harm, as will Jiang Wanyin.’

Wei Wuxian hisses as Lan Zhan’s hand clenches enough to bruise.

‘Lan Zhan!’

‘Wangji, you don’t want to hurt Young Master Wei.’

Lan Zhan listens to neither of them. He’s looking at his own hand on Wei Wuxian’s wrist with wide eyes and he doesn’t seem to be breathing.

It’s already going to bruise, he knows, and Wei Wuxian needs Lan Zhan to release him before it does more damage. Without a golden core, his body can’t withstand it. Over Lan Zhan’s shoulder, he sees the healer move and this time the glint of needles is clear. This isn’t good. Lan Zhan will be upset if those needles are used. They’re supposed to be keeping him calm.

‘Lan Zhan,’ he tries, doing his best to hide the pain in his voice, ‘Lan Zhan, let go.’

What he gets for that is jarring pain in his wrist as Lan Zhan yanks him bodily over the fallen guqin, finally letting go only to wrap his arms around Wei Wuxian tightly enough his ribs hurt. It lasts only a moment before a flash of movement is followed by Lan Zhan going limp, his weight falling against Wei Wuxian.

As he draws in a shaky breath, Wei Wuxian brings up his functioning arm to keep Lan Zhan from slipping sideways, and he ends up cradling Lan Zhan’s head in the crook of his neck. In the stillness that follows, he glares at the healer, at Zewu-Jun, at Jiang Cheng, who’s arrived without Wei Wuxian realising it and who now stands partway across the tent with Zidian still sparking.

‘What,’ he asks, ‘was that?’

The healer eases Lan Zhan away from him, laying him out of the ground with expert hands. She spares him one look before leaning down to check the needles she’s placed in her patient’s neck.

‘Wangji is unwell,’ Zewu-Jun says, as though anyone can have missed that now.

‘And that makes him break people’s arms and pull them over instruments?’

Wei Wuxian knows he’s on edge. He knows it’s an overreaction, that Lan Zhan is not himself and that nobody else is so afflicted. He still jerks backwards when the healer leans over at his words and tries to take hold of his damaged wrist. He bumps into something and realises it’s Shijie just in time not to do anything truly stupid, but all the same his heart is beating to run, run, run, to get away from people grabbing him. From them hurting him.

‘A-Xian, let one of us look at your wrist,’ Shijie insists.

‘In a minute,’ he says, meaning it to be reassuring. ‘Why is Lan Zhan so worried about me being safe? Last night, I brought him back! As far as I could, anyway. Is this to do with his core?’

‘Hasn’t he said anything weird to you?’ Jiang Cheng asks, Zidian finally quiet despite the open irritation on his face. ‘Hasn’t A-Yuan?’

Uneasily, Wei Wuxian remembers A-Yuan chattering away the first time they met.

‘What kind of weird thing?’ he asks.

‘Sect Leader,’ Lan Dongmei says, ‘we should get Hanguang-Jun back to his bed. He will sleep now until I remove these needles.’

Jiang Cheng grumbles something and grimaces.

‘What was that?’ Wei Wuxian asks.

‘I said,’ his brother grates out, ‘you should leave them in until he’s back in Gusu. Don’t look at me like that, Wei Wuxian. He just attacked you! If he’s this far gone, being carted back home is the best thing for him.’

‘This far gone?’

The desire to snap right back at Wei Wuxian is hard to miss, but Jiang Cheng looks at Zewu-Jun and huffs, his jaw prominent as he holds himself back. Right. Intersect diplomacy. Whatever Jiang Cheng wants to say, it’ll be even more insulting about the Lan Sect leader’s brother than the previous comments.

Quietly, Zewu-Jun rises to his feet and turns to face Jiang Cheng. The worried older brother has been packed away again, tidied up behind silk robes and practised posture and that ribbon, leaving the sect leader of a powerful ally facing Jiang Cheng. No smile is present.

Wei Wuxian has just experienced one Lan lashing out, if that’s what it was, and though Shijie is now prodding carefully at his wrist, Wei Wuxian has no desire to see it happen a second time.

‘Zewu-Jun,’ he says, with no idea what he hopes to achieve other than pulling the man’s attention from Jiang Cheng.

What he gets is a sweeping gaze as Zewu-Jun looks at each of them in turn, a gaze that makes even Wei Wuxian feel the chill of something like fear. The Lan healer, Dongmei, is the last to be pinned by it.

‘At this point,’ she says, looking back at her sect leader only briefly, ‘his mental state could be affecting the other symptoms, or it could be a symptom of his core becoming ever less stable.’

There must have been a message in Zewu-Jun’s gaze that she can speak more freely about Lan Zhan’s condition, because she isn’t reprimanded for it.

‘But can it be the result of his core?’ Shijie asks. Her hesitation in speaking up isn’t obvious, but she doesn’t like speaking up in this way unless she must and she has always been the best of them at working out when it is appropriate to speak, and when she should stay silent. ‘What A-Yuan has been saying sounds as though it comes from personal experience.’

‘There are no wounds on his back,’ Lan Dongmei says, and presses on before Wei Wuxian can react to that. Her tone grows grim. ‘Hanguang-Jun told one of my healers he shouldn’t be kept in bed because he hasn’t been whipped ‘yet’. He also said the healer would die before Nightless City.’ She sighs and shakes her head. ‘No. My mistake. Hanguang-Jun said the healer had died before Nightless City. Past tense.’

‘Does he think he can see the future?’ Jiang Cheng wonders. He’s almost sneering, which is hardly diplomatic of him, even though it no doubt covers Jiang Cheng’s own discomfort. ‘Is that why he said I shouldn’t be around my own brother? He’s convinced he’s had some vision where…where I don’t defend Wei Wuxian well enough?’

‘A-Cheng,’ Shijie says, in the tone that says she will be listened to, however gently she must repeat herself, ‘again, not everything can be down to Second Young Master Lan’s mind, however troubled his golden core imbalance may be making him. A-Yuan has said too many things that sound like first-hand knowledge. Things that don’t make sense with what we know.’

‘Well, it can’t really be he can see the future, A-Jie,’ Jiang Cheng says, before swinging back to Zewu-Jun and visibly struggling to keep himself from saying anything incendiary. ‘Unless the Lan Sect has abilities we don’t know about?’

It’s a given the Lan Sect has many such things. All major sects do. Zewu-Jun doesn’t pick him up on it.

‘You would do well to hope my brother does not have foreknowledge of the future, Sect Leader Jiang,’ Zewu-Jun states, his serenity iced over into crackling frost.

‘Because that means there’s a reason I can’t be trusted around my brother?’

And that is hurt. Jiang Cheng is hurt and afraid at what Lan Zhan has said to him, about him. There may even be pity in Zewu-Jun’s eyes as he responds, though it’s hard to be sure. He speaks at a measured pace, no warmth left in him.

‘Because last night, Wangji believed Young Master Wei to be dead,’ he says.

Wei Wuxian feels Shijie’s gasp as a physical thing, feels her fingers shake against the skin of his throbbing wrist, and shivers.

Chapter Text

No doubt there will be more rumours, now that Wangji is to be carried on a stretcher through the camp, though Xichen has chosen to wait behind with A-Yuan. Perhaps fewer people will realise who the patient is that way.

Lan Dongmei, of course, will go with Wangji and the Jiang disciples who have been tasked with bearing the stretcher. Before they leave, she inclines her head to Xichen and suggests collating all of the strange comments.

‘In the absence of certainty, we must pursue all lines of enquiry,’ she points out. ‘Treating the wrong problem is unlikely to lead to Hanguang-Jun’s recovery.’

She’s right, but that doesn’t mean Xichen wants to hear it. He wants the cause to be something that means Wangji has a straightforward, easily treatable condition, which is offered by none of their options. He certainly doesn’t want to entertain fanciful notions best left in the hands of storytellers. Reality is enough to contend with. Besides, if Wangji really had come back from some point in the future, why would he choose to be here, in the middle of a war? Xichen does not want to think about how bad the future would have to be, for this to be the destination.

‘Who will you need to speak with?’ Young Master Wei asks, as soon as Lan Dongmei and Wangji are gone.

He’s sitting on his bed, now, his injured wrist resting on his lap. It will be healed soon. Maiden Jiang declared it to be a mild sprain with some bruising, something spiritual energy will clear away within a few hours at most. Even so, Gusu Lan owes reparation to Yunmeng Jiang, even if Jiang Wanyin has not yet brought that up.

Xichen is still trying to uncover his smile. He feels ill-prepared without it for dealing with these people who have seen his brother in such distress, but he modulates his tone as well as he is able. Uncle and the elders will be disappointed in him if all those years of training fail him now.

‘If you will allow me a little more of your time, I will need to speak with each of you,’ he tells them.

‘Yes,’ Young Master Wei says, sounding impatient, ‘obviously you need to hear from Shijie, Jiang Cheng and me, but who else? We can send for them. Right, Jiang Cheng?’

As Jiang Wanyin frowns at his brother, Xichen shakes his head.

‘No need. My sect will take care of this.’

Young Master Wei raises his eyebrows. ‘And have Shijie walk all the way over to your tent when you could speak with her here? Be more considerate, Zewu-Jun.’

He ends up leaving Young Master Wei’s tent with a set of notes in Jiang Wanyin’s hand and the promise A-Yuan will be brought to him once the boy wakes up, and he spends the walk back trying to avoid both the muddy puddles left by the night of rain and the fear in Wangji’s eyes at the thought of being shut away.

Exhaustion sits heavy in his bones, made no easier by the need to maintain his posture and his gait. A Lan, especially one of his status, does not stumble. A Lan does not allow the petty needs of the flesh to take precedence over duty. Even if said Lan feels an aching wish to crawl into an enclosed, dark space and sleep until the world makes sense again.

He arrives at his tent to find a letter from his uncle waiting on his desk and a disciple waiting to tell him he’s needed in the war-room.

Wei Wuxian watches A-Yuan sleep. How the kid didn’t wake up, he doesn’t know, but at least the poor boy didn’t have to see his father like that.

Lan Zhan was almost lifeless in Wei Wuxian’s arms. For the second time in less than a day, he was frighteningly, unnaturally lifeless as Wei Wuxian held him.

‘A-Xian?’ Shijie sounds worried. ‘I know this is upsetting for you, but Second Young Master Lan is being well looked after.’

Jiang Cheng has left to shout at disciples or something, so he doesn’t try quite so hard to brush off her comments. He does muster a gentle smile, though his skin feels tight around it.

‘I know, Shijie. I know. Of course the Lan Sect will want their Second Jade to be given the best care. I bet if they let a scratch remain on his pretty skin Lan Qiren will break into tears.’

A-Yuan makes a noise and shifts in his sleep, and Wei Wuxian sees Shijie’s hand appear and stroke that little forehead, calming him back into quiet. He would stroke A-Yuan’s hair himself, but he’s trying not to show how his wrist hasn’t improved at all. Later, when he has time to himself, he will bind it tightly so he can still use it, but for now he keeps it still.

‘I just don’t understand any of this,’ he admits.

‘I’m not sure I’ve truly understood anything since we lost our home,’ Shijie replies, in the soft, barely carrying voice of confession.

They don’t speak anymore after that, but as they sit by A-Yuan until he wakes, as Shijie then leaves to find Jiang Cheng and bring him back so they can all eat together, as Wei Wuxian gets the little boy settled at the table and promises him they will play with Rabbit after food, he thinks about it.

He thinks about all the old certainties that have fallen away, of all the boundaries that have been crossed and of the many ways in which people still reject what they believe to be impossible. He thinks of the things Lan Zhan and A-Yuan have said to them, things that won’t fit together into a clear picture. At least, they won’t when everyone is so insistent on what some of that picture must be.

‘A-Yuan,’ he asks, smiling at the boy as warmly as he can, ‘is it okay if I ask you and Rabbit some questions?’

A-Yuan nods and puts Rabbit on the table, its carved rabbit face towards Wei Wuxian.

‘I’m good at questions,’ A-Yuan says. ‘Teacher Shen says I’m the second best in my class.’

‘Ah, is that so?’ Wei Wuxian doesn’t ask what a two-year-old is doing in class, or where this class is, or was. Not yet. ‘Well, I’m very pleased to hear it! It is very important to be good at answering questions. Nearly as important as asking them. Is Rabbit the best in his class?’

A-Yuan’s nose scrunches up when he giggles. Wei Wuxian wants to steal it.

‘Xian-gege is silly! Rabbits don’t go to class.’

‘No?’ Wei Wuxian tilts his head to one side and makes a show of being confused. ‘Then where do rabbits go when little A-Yuan’s are in class?’

‘The meadow.’ This is said as though the answer is something universal, as though everyone in the world will know of this particular meadow. ‘But A-Yuans can visit sometimes.’

Wei Wuxian leans in and taps that cute nose with his finger, crinkling his own eyes into one of his biggest smiles. This is a game, he thinks. Let A-Yuan think it is just a silly adult playing a silly game. There is no need to upset the boy.

‘And where is this meadow of bunnies, where A-Yuans can visit sometimes? Can Xian-geges also visit?’

‘It’s a secret,’ A-Yuan whisper-shouts, grinning. ‘Only Uncle and Father know.’

Nodding, Wei Wuxian does his best impression of someone receiving sage wisdom.

‘Ah, I see, I see. A very important secret, then. How fortunate am I that a keeper of this secret is sitting by my side, or I would never even know about the bunnies.’

He lets the matter rest for a spell, instead asking how Rabbit is liking living in a tent rather than in a meadow and other such niceties. When their meandering conversation winds around again to the fact the meadow is secret, he grows a little bolder in pushing for details.

‘Knowing such an important secret is a big responsibility,’ he says. ‘A young man must be very trustworthy to be told such a secret as that. I was not told a secret so important until I was eight.’

‘Eight is so old!’ A-Yuan makes it sound as though eight is almost death by old age, but goes on before Wei Wuxian can protest. ‘Uncle took me to see the rabbits when I was four.’

Wei Wuxian gasps and makes much of how responsible A-Yuan must be, especially when compared to a little Xian-gege, until the boy is back to giggling.

‘But you must be even more responsible now!’ Wei Wuxian says. ‘A-Yuan is such a big boy. Nearly as tall as me! How old are you?’

And A-Yuan smiles up at him from his tiny body and confirms the nagging suspicion buzzing in Wei Wuxian’s mind.

‘Six,’ he says, proud and happy. ‘I’m nearly grown up!’

Xichen takes Uncle’s letter with him, tucked into his sleeve. He should be organised and focused, of course, but he can’t bring himself to read it before he goes to meet with the other leaders and he can’t bring himself to leave it completely until after. So he carries it with him, whatever reaction his elders have to Wangji’s sudden child and to his sudden sickness.

Mingjue-ge nods in greeting as soon as Xichen steps inside, opening his mouth only to shut it again and frown.

‘Is there a new problem?’ Xichen asks.

‘Have you slept yet?’ Mingjue-ge demands.

‘You did not send someone to collect me and bring me here so you could ask that,’ Xichen points out, crossing to the table and looking down at the map. ‘Young Master Wei tells me the pass is now cleared.’

Not that anyone seemed pleased to be discussing it as part of the same conversation where they were sharing details about Wangji and his son, but everyone present knew the war’s success relies as much on reports being made as it does on actual fighting. In some ways, it was almost pleasant to think of the enemy rather than his brother’s deterioration.

Mingjue-ge grunts and glances at the map.

‘Good. At least there’s that. The others will be here soon. Once this is done, go get some sleep before you pass out.’

Warm exasperation bubbles in Xichen’s chest at that. Mingjue-ge’s gruff care is precious to him, but surely the man knows Xichen can’t just take himself off for a nap whenever he feels like it. Though, his eyes do feel grainy and sore, his temples throb, and his whole body feels as though it’s being dragged downwards. Maybe a short nap or a brief meditation would be beneficial.

Jiang Wanyin is the next to arrive, the tension he carries with him everywhere a little more apparent than usual. He makes no reference to the events in Young Master Wei’s tent, but the pointed way he doesn’t look at Xichen is telling.

‘A-Yuan has woken up,’ Jiang Wanyin informs the maps. ‘Shijie is going to feed him before she brings him to you.’

‘My thanks, Sect Leader Jiang,’ Xichen says.

Jiang Wanyin looks flustered at the accompanying bow, some of the tension fading from him. Did he think Xichen would be displeased? The young sect leader is hard to read, for all his emotions are drawn in large strokes across his whole form. Xichen is starting to think they are all of them wearing masks.

Sensing Mingjue-ge looking from one to the other, Xichen explains.

‘Wangji woke and took himself to Young Master Wei’s tent. Maiden Jiang was, is, looking after A-Yuan there. We thought it best to let A-Yuan return later.’

His dear friend will know there is much lurking between the brief sentences, but he will also know Xichen wishes to speak of it later, in private, when Mingjue-ge will be free to offer his advice from a perspective that is not about this war.

Jin Zixuan arrives without his cousin, for once. A small bright point in an otherwise bewildering and painful day.

‘Sect Leader Jiang,’ Jin Zixuan starts, his posture stiff and his words halting, ‘I trust Maiden Jiang is well.’

Jiang Wanyin’s brow creases, smooths out, creases again. Xichen doesn’t blame him. It’s hardly an expected enquiry after the incident with the soup, an incident disruptive enough to camp harmony that Xichen knew about it even before Wangji expressed his displeasure at Jin Zixuan’s manners with terse, condemning words. In would be more in keeping for Jin Zixuan to ignore Maiden Jiang’s existence.

‘My sister is well, Young Master Jin,’ Jiang Wanyin manages, though he looks as though he can’t quite believe this is happening.

Compared to everything else that’s occurred in the last few days, it’s banal and inconsequential, and Xichen abruptly finds himself wanting to laugh. It is just…just so…so petty. Not the heartbreak and embarrassment Maiden Jiang will have felt, but the way these two young men coat their interactions in brittle formality, the way they are so very much aware of status and reputation and sect honour that they become parodies of what they mean to be.

‘Zewu-Jun, something amuses you?’

His moment of mirth flattens into nothing, leaving him feeling dizzy and slightly sick. Shaking himself back into the present, Xichen realises everyone is staring at him, Jin Zixuan clearly expecting some kind of response. Mingjue-ge looks concerned.

‘Ah. No. My apologies.’

He can’t think of a reasonable explanation for whatever expression or sound he may have made. Necessity has kept him functioning through the morning, but now Mingjue-ge has made him notice it, the exhaustion is hard to ignore: his whole mind feels stuffed full and empty at the same time.

‘Let’s get on with it,’ Mingjue-ge says, his gaze lingering on Xichen.

‘Of course,’ Xichen says, glad to shift the focus. ‘Has there been new information?’

There has. A force of Wens previously heading elsewhere have changed direction and are approaching their camp from the south. They are expected before the next dawn, at their current pace.

‘We’re already blocked to the east and to the west,’ Jiang Wanyin says. ‘They mean to force us to the pass?’

It’s likely. To be caught between a larger force to the south and the strategically placed force in the pass would have been a massacre. Even with the pass cleared, getting everyone through to safety may take too long.

‘Can we make use of the pass?’ Jin Zixuan asks, and they fall to a discussion of potential plans, beginning with the quickly reached agreement that camp must be struck at once.

With orders sent out to begin that process, Xichen does his best to remain clear-headed and productive through the haze in his mind and keeps his face angled away from the spot where his brother should be standing at his side.

The letter from Uncle feels like a heavy weight in his sleeve, but he can only focus on one battle at a time.

Lan Dongmei receives the orders with as much calm as she can manage. The other senior healers will have to cover some of her duties, for which she feels regret, but it can’t be helped. Sect Leader Lan has been clear as to her priorities.

‘Be careful how you lift him,’ she reminds her assistants.

She’s fussing, she knows, but if the needles are dislodged and Hanguang-Jun wakes to find the camp in turmoil, she dreads to think how he may react. As it is, she wanted to wait longer before switching to the needles, but once circumstances forced her hand it would be more harmful to change course again. At least his core hasn’t grown worse.

The healers tasked with transferring Hanguang-Jun from his bed to the carriage don’t protest, even though this is at least the third time she’s cautioned them and they are all experienced in moving patients.

She’s about to wave them into action when a disturbance just outside the tent halts her. Though she suspects they’ll be ordered to take the carriage to the Cloud Recesses rather than onwards with their forces, she can’t be sure. Hanguang-Jun may be in a motionless carriage for some time before clear orders arrive for her, meaning there’s no sense in risking moving him in a rush.

‘I’ll see what that is,’ she tells her assistants.

Outside the tent, she’s greeted by the sight of Wei Wuxian holding an excited looking A-Yuan, who waves a wooden toy at her.

‘Master Wei,’ she says, adjusting her stance so she’s blocking the way inside, ‘Sect Leader Lan did say A-Yuan was to be taken directly to him.’

The boy really shouldn’t see his father just now. Once Hanguang-Jun is settled in the carriage and she has everything arranged, A-Yuan will be told that his father is sleeping. She will make sure the boy gets to see his father for himself, so he won’t be too distressed.

‘But Healer, er, Dongmei?’ He pauses briefly, sees her nod, and rushes on. ‘Healer Dongmei, you said it yourself. We must pursue all lines of enquiry! And you really should listen to what A-Yuan has to tell you.’

Folding her arms over her chest, Lan Dongmei wavers between glaring at this strange friend of Hanguang-Jun’s and being kind to the son of her patient. Kindness wins.

‘Very well. What is it you have to say, A-Yuan?’

Wei Wuxian bounces up and down a little, looking at A-Yuan as though anticipating a delightful treat. A-Yuan seems happy enough to be bounced along with him.

‘Go on, now, A-Yuan. Tell the nice healer, eh?’

A-Yuan nods and speaks up rather more than is necessary for the distance between them.

‘I’m six years old.’

That’s it? She has a seriously ill man to keep stable amidst a war camp that’s about to move out and she needs to hear how old a child is?

Wei Wuxian is looking at her expectantly.

She stares back, mildly irritated that this mercurial person has chosen her to experience this upswing in his mood. How their Hanguang-Jun holds such regard for the youth that the mere thought of his death was enough to necessitate a sedative, she has no idea. Despite his young age, their second young master has always been reserved and serious, so to see him so taken with-

Wait.

‘Six? As in, you were born six years ago?’

Wei Wuxian nods and bounces again on his toes. A-Yuan grins.

‘Now you tell me, Healer Dongmei,’ Wei Wuxian says, ‘do you really think Lan Zhan managed to create a child when he was still a child himself?’

They’re barely more than children now, she thinks but doesn’t say, these youths dashing their lives against the rocks of Wen Rouhan’s ambition. Still, she takes his point. She wants to ask if he’s sure. Children can get confused, especially after traumatic periods in their lives. She’s rarely met a child, though, who isn’t highly invested in their own age.

‘Before you come up with some reason for that,’ Wei Wuxian goes on, ‘A-Yuan and I spoke about other things, too. Things such as the bunnies Hanguang-Jun keeps in the meadow, and Zewu-Jun’s favourite meal, and his classes with Teacher Shen.’

Sect Leader Lan and Hanguang-Jun have both spent time with A-Yuan since he arrived at the camp. Perhaps they have simply tried to tell him details about his new home. But the only Shen she knows at the Cloud Recesses is a junior disciple who is working towards being a teacher for the younger disciples. She can’t think why either of the Jades would have mentioned him.

‘You can’t seriously be suggesting…’

She can’t even say it. It’s ludicrous. If Lan Qiren were to hear this, he would be infuriated at such fanciful and wasteful thinking. But Wei Wuxian grins at her, looking slightly manic, and nods.

‘Time-travel,’ he says.

And, well, she has some time before they absolutely have to transfer Hanguang-Jun. By the looks of the activity around them, it will be a good hour before they’re underway, whichever direction Sect Leader Lan sends them in.

‘Why have you brought this to me?’ she asks.

Wei Wuxian pulls a face and pouts.

‘Ah, well. You see, it’s not so much you I wanted to speak to,’ he says. ‘Not that you aren’t an esteemed and venerable healer, of course! And I’m sure the effects of time-travel on a golden core do need taking into account, but-‘

‘Master Wei,’ Lan Dongmei says, breaking the rule against interrupting because it has always seemed like one to take under advisement rather than to trapped by, ‘if you do not want to speak to me, why are you here? It can’t be to speak to Hanguang-Jun, because as you know I have determined he needs to stay asleep.’

He at least has the decency to look abashed.

‘Um, yes, I know. But, well…’ The smile he summons to his face is captivating. 'Venerable' as she is, she can admit that much. ‘I was hoping you could wake him up. I really think Lan Zhan and I need to talk.’

Chapter Text

‘I won’t wake him without Zewu-Jun’s approval,’ Lan Dongmei says, and Wei Wuxian isn’t far enough lost to his giddy need for answers to force her.

That doesn’t mean he’s happy to be walking into the tent where Zewu-Jun is meeting with the other leaders, A-Yuan still in his arms and his injured wrist aching.

‘Wei Wuxian,’ Jiang Cheng greets him, looking up from the map they’re all focused on.

He doesn’t say any more, but the way he frowns, the exact twist of his lips, shows he’s worried and frustrated and overwhelmed. Tension fills the room. Aside from Jiang Cheng, Jin Zixuan looks ill at ease, Nie Mingjue shoots a look at Zewu-Jun that speaks of concern, and Zewu-Jun himself is still not back to his usual, smiling self. At least he doesn’t radiate cold the way he did so recently, and it’s not the worst room Wei Wuxian has walked into, but it’s not pleasant. He pretends not to notice.

‘Ah, still planning?’ Wei Wuxian asks, slowing as he approaches the table.

‘Yes, we…’ Zewu-Jun blinks at him. He keeps his eyes closed for longer than seems usual, and a slight frown appears when he opens them again. ‘Young Master Wei, why have you brought my nephew to this meeting?

The bustle throughout camp finally connects in Wei Wuxian’s mind with what’s shown on the table.

‘We’re facing an attack from the south,’ he says. ‘I assume we’re going to make use of the pass?’

‘I draw the line at discussing battle plans in front of the kid.’ Nie Mingjue looks angry, but he so often does. ‘Who should be looking after him right now?’

Spotting a chance, Wei Wuxian steps closer to Zewu-Jun.

‘That would be his uncle,’ he says, and holds A-Yuan out with a grin that he hopes hides his wince at the pain in his wrist.

When Zewu-Jun takes the boy, looking dazed, Wei Wuxian lets his pained arm fall to his side. He can make it through a conversation without moving it too much.

‘Zewu-Jun, I need to speak with you about something else,’ he says, glancing at Jin Zixuan and feeling it turn into a glare. At least the other one isn’t there.

‘About Wangji,’ Zewu-Jun says, making no move to step away from the table. ‘I’ve informed everyone here that my brother is in no condition to take further part in the war. When we move towards the pass, Wangji will depart with an escort towards Gusu.’

Nie Mingjue sets his hand down on the table in something close to a slam.

‘It’ll be dangerous, a carriage trying to sneak past without any scouts seeing them. I still say we need a distraction. Pull at least some of their forces west.’

As Jin Zixuan pipes up with a comment on that, Wei Wuxian struggles to accept what he’s heard. They’re going to put Lan Zhan in a carriage and send him out, with Wen forces on the way and his golden core so unstable? Zewu-Jun must be desperate to get Lan Zhan to the collected expertise of the Cloud Recesses.

‘What about A-Yuan?’ he demands as soon as there’s a gap in the discussion.

‘A-Yuan will go with his father, of course,’ Zewu-Jun says.

‘You can’t do that,’ Wei Wuxian protests. ‘You can’t think the chances are high of them getting through. Not high enough to risk it when Lan Zhan won’t be able to defend himself. You intend to have him unconscious, yes? Helpless? Who can you even be sending with him? Your healer Dongmei? Is she to stab them all with her needles?’

He sees Jiang Cheng grimace and look down, and feels a spike of guilt for causing his brother to lose face. But he can’t let their sect’s reputation be more important than Lan Zhan’s life. Than A-Yuan’s life. Some things need to be said, even if they upset important people.

Zewu-Jun lifts his head, still not back to the iciness immediately following Lan Zhan’s breakdown, but closer to it than Wei Wuxian would have thought the man capable, back when they first met.

‘I assure you my brother’s life is at risk if he remains. I would not make this choice lightly, Young Master Wei.’

Wei Wuxian feels his anger rising and the screams that are ever at the back of his mind rise with it. Not too loud, not yet, but enough that he can no longer dismiss then entirely. He clenches his hand against his urge to reach out and make Zewu-Jun listen, to make him keep Lan Zhan safe.

It seems the others have moved on as he brings himself back under enough control to listen, because they’re talking now about how best to defend their flank once they’re through the pass. Something about a rock fall. Again, Wei Wuxian interrupts as soon as there’s a pause, his anger still present enough to put a snap in his words.

‘Zewu-Jun, I must speak with you about your brother’s golden core. In private.’ He forces his fingers out of a fist and his lips into something approaching a smile. ‘If you would be so kind.’

Finally, he is outside with Zewu-Jun, A-Yuan looking sleepy again in his uncle’s arms. Wei Wuxian checks there’s nobody too close before he launches into his thinking, his earlier enthusiasm dampened by having to combat his own rage in the tent, a rage that is banked rather than extinguished. Still, he lays it out as clearly as he can, answers Zewu-Jun’s questions and makes his request to speak with Lan Zhan.

‘Healer Dongmei was clear about not waking him.’

‘She was also clear we should explore every option,’ Wei Wuxian reminds him. ‘I know how strange this sounds, trust me, but if there is even a chance I’m right, just think what it could mean.’

When the other man just stares at him, Wei Wuxian goes on.

‘We have no idea the effects that time travel could have on a golden core. We have no idea what it could do to a person at all. Treating this as a qi imbalance if that’s not what it is could be fatal, could it not? Don’t we owe it to Lan Zhan to know what we’re dealing with?’

Zewu-Jun’s lips thin.

‘I don’t mean to imply you are being negligent in your care for your brother, Zewu-Jun. I don’t. But that doesn’t mean you’ve chosen the right course for him, either. Not if it really is something to do with him being out of time. And, okay, maybe he hasn’t travelled through time. Perhaps it is more some kind of vision or…or mental contamination or something, but the only one who can tell us for sure is Lan Zhan.’

The lips are not pressed so tightly together, but the frown has grown. Is this how everyone argues in the Cloud Recesses?

‘I promise, if you let me speak with him, I will be as calm and as brief as I can be and, if Lan Dongmei really believes the needles must go back in, she can do that as soon as I am done. Besides,’ he adds, seeing some sign of give in Zewu-Jun, ‘won’t he be less upset if he’s told he’s being sent home, rather than waking up there with no warning?’

‘I am needed here,’ Zewu-Jun says.

‘Then write me a note.’

When Wei Wuxian, once again with A-Yuan in his arms, presents the note to Lan Dongmei, the healer gives him a hard look and shakes her head.

‘Whatever power it is you have over our Jades, you had best be sure to use it wisely,’ she grumbles, but she lets him into the tent and waits until A-Yuan is settled in his own makeshift bed before she gestures Wei Wuxian over and carefully removes the needles from Lan Zhan’s neck.

‘He will take a little while to come round,’ she tells him.

The minutes seem long. When Lan Zhan’s eyes finally open, he’s still for a few breaths before he jolts upright, chest heaving as though he’s just reached the end of a battle. Very little else leaves Lan Zhan struggling for breath.

‘Lan Zhan,’ Wei Wuxian says, leaning forward so he’s in his friend’s line of sight. ‘Hey, it’s me. Don’t grab my wrist this time, okay?’

‘Wei Ying?’

This time, Lan Zhan doesn’t grab hold of him. He looks more as though he doesn’t believe what he’s seeing, his lips slightly parted and his gaze close to wondering. His skin is pale and fine shivers tremble through him, visible only because Wei Wuxian is paying attention.

‘Yes, Lan Zhan. It’s me.’

He stays still, letting Lan Zhan look at him. He’s promised Zewu-Jun he’ll be as quick as he can with this, but there’s no sense in trying to get answers until Lan Zhan is able to give them.

‘I let go,’ Lan Zhan says, voice hoarse and quiet.

‘Yes,’ Wei Wuxian agrees, although in truth it was less letting go and more being made to. ‘And it’s okay. It only hurt a little.’

Lan Zhan doesn’t look wondering any more. He looks devastated.

‘Honestly, it’s just a sprain,’ Wei Wuxian says, holding up his injured wrist and again using a grin to cover a wince. ‘See?’

All three of them stare at Wei Wuxian’s wrist, until Lan Zhan’s eyes fall closed and he swallows. When he opens his eyes again, he looks around slowly. With a quiet sigh, he lowers his eyes to stare at his own right hand where it rests on the bedcovers, his expression smoothed out until he’s nearly tucked away any sign of feelings.

‘What did I do?’ he asks.

‘What do you remember?’ Lan Dongmei asks. ‘It’s best if we know that first and then we’ll fill in any necessary details.’

Necessary, Wei Wuxian thinks, does not have to mean all. He wonders if the healer’s opinion of what’s necessary lines up with his own.

Lan Zhan, it turns out, remembers only pieces. That is, he recalls waking but not what he said to the healer. He recalls being in Wei Wuxian’s tent but not how he got there. He recalls playing his guqin but not anything that happened once he stopped.

‘I hurt you,’ he says to Wei Wuxian. ‘How?’

‘You got hold of my wrist,’ Wei Wuxian tells him. ‘You were upset. But it’s okay. Really. You’re not well, Lan Zhan. I know you didn’t mean it. Though I would prefer you didn’t do it again, so just keep your hands to yourself, okay? You, er, you did say some things, though, that I want to ask you about.’

‘It you find the questions distressing at any point, Hanguang-Jun, I will need you to tell me,’ Lan Dongmei says firmly, though she’s staring at Wei Wuxian. ‘I can’t approve of any further stress to your system.’

‘I will only speak with Wei Ying,’ Lan Zhan says, still looking at his own hand. He looks vulnerable. He should never look vulnerable. ‘Alone.’

That takes further negotiation, but Wei Wuxian ends up with Lan Zhan and the sleeping form of A-Yuan, having promised faithfully to fetch Lan Dongmei from outside if she’s needed.

‘Your questions,’ Lan Zhan says, once he’s got what he wanted. He doesn’t look up, still.

‘Right.’ Wei Wuxian takes a breath.

Once he asks these things, Lan Zhan will know what ideas are spinning round Wei Wuxian’s mind. If he’s wrong, Lan Zhan will wonder what is wrong with Wei Wuxian’s brain, and it’s not like qi deviation can be to blame: you have to have a golden core for that. He finds, after everything, even with Lan Zhan lecturing and scolding him and Wei Wuxian claiming that means nothing, he doesn’t want to lose what he has left of Lan Zhan’s good opinion.

‘So,’ he tries.

How best to phrase the questions? Should he start with A-Yuan’s age? With what Lan Zhan said to the healer? With his own death? He has to say something or the pair of them will sit here in silence until the Wen descend upon them.

‘You’ve seen the future,’ he says. ‘Or…lived it?’

Lan Zhan goes still.

‘You’ve said things,’ Wei Wuxian goes on, because this is not the kind of conversation where retreating will work, even if it were in his nature. ‘Things that only make sense if our future has already happened for you. And A-Yuan tells me he’s six. I’m not an expert, but he doesn’t look six.’

‘He’s two,’ Lan Zhan says, hardly moving his lips.

‘Was he two last week?’

There’s a long, loaded pause until Lan Zhan’s head moves slowly, lifting until he’s making direct eye contact.

‘Last week for you?’ he asks. ‘Or last week for A-Yuan and me?’

When it becomes clear he isn’t going to elaborate, Wei Wuxian does so for him. The jolt of the implied confirmation has his heart beating more quickly.

‘Here’s what I’m thinking,’ he says. ‘You say A-Yuan is two, but he says he’s six, which means that until these last few days, he was, what, four years into the future? That isn’t all that long, but less than four years ago I hadn’t met you yet and the Wens hadn’t burnt either of our homes down, so we know a lot can happen in four years.’

Lan Zhan blinks.

‘And sometime in the next four years, the healer you talked to earlier dies on the way to Nightless City, you’re whipped badly enough you can’t leave your bed or let A-Yuan hug you, Jiang Cheng does something that makes you detest him, and I die. Have I got all that right?’

The eyes staring back at him widen. The only other sign Lan Zhan has heard him is a sharp breath through barely parted lips. He waits as Lan Zhan gathers himself to reply, determined to get a better response this time. It takes long enough that Wei Wuxian is feeling the need to fidget, but Lan Zhan does, at last, speak.

‘Not in that order.’

‘What?’

‘Those things happened,’ Lan Zhan says slowly, ‘but not in that order. You died before I was punished.’

Which brings up all sorts of horrible thoughts. Is there a link, between him dying and Lan Zhan being…being punished? The idea of Lan Zhan being whipped becomes real in Wei Wuxian’s mind, the open wounds and agony he’s seen in this war more than enough fodder to bring such a scene to life, and he wants to move on to a different topic. Only, what could possibly mean Wei Wuxian’s death would result in Lan Zhan being whipped? All he can think is that the screaming in his mind must become too much, that Lan Zhan will prove to be right about how the ghost path corrupts.

If Lan Zhan strikes down the head disciple of a great Sect, that will mean punishment. If others don’t believe Lan Zhan about the corruption, but Gusu Lan refuses to sanction the execution of their second master, it could end up with Lan Zhan bedridden. It could. He suddenly doesn’t want to hear if he’s right in that conclusion.

‘The healer says your golden core is unstable,’ Wei Wuxian says, because even that is better than the thought of Lan Zhan being forced to kill him. ‘Was it unstable in four years’ time?’

‘Not that I’m aware of.’

Wei Wuxian leans forward, into Lan Zhan’s space, as the buzz of his mind moves to the puzzle before him rather than being stuck on the bad stuff.

‘Which means that whatever brought you back here, that could be responsible, right? Or maybe just living the same time again has an impact. Wait. You don’t have any wounds on your back, so have you travelled back, or did you just see the future? How does it work?’

‘I don’t know.’ Lan Zhan hasn’t looked away, even though Wei Wuxian is almost close enough now their noses could touch. ‘I believe this body is from the current time, but my mind is not.’

‘And A-Yuan?’

Lan Zhan frowns.

‘He seems confused. Sometimes he behaves as he was in the Cloud Recesses when he was six. At others, he is more as I imagine he was at his body’s present age. Sometimes it appears to be a mixture of those. I don’t know if the same is happening to me.’

‘Hmm.’ Wei Wuxian leans back, thoughts flying through different pieces of theory he’s read. ‘It could be more a really immersive dream of the future, then, rather than you literally coming back from another time. But it could also be your consciousness really lived it all and was sent back. How about your cultivation level? Is that how you remember it being for this time?’

‘It’s hard to be sure,’ Lan Zhan says, after his eyes take on the unfocused look of a cultivator assessing their own spiritual power. ‘Lan Dongmei has described my golden core as fluctuating.’

One of the many things Wei Wuxian misses about his golden core, when he lets himself dwell on it at all, is the steady warmth of it. The idea of it not being steady is awful. Again, he pushes away thoughts that will only distract him.

‘And do you recall if your golden core was fluctuating at all during the first time you lived through these months?’

‘It was not.’

At last, something about which Lan Zhan is certain. It’s a relief. Lan Zhan being uncertain feels like a wrong note in the world.

‘Wei Ying. I have to fight in this war.’

It’s Wei Wuxian’s turn to blink. He doesn’t know what else his face is doing, but Lan Zhan’s mouth turns downward at one side, hardly enough to notice except they are still so very close together.

‘What good will that do if you destroy yourself with it?’ Wei Wuxian asks. He isn’t sure how aware Lan Zhan is of the plans to send him home. He doesn’t want to be the one to tell him. He doesn’t want it to happen without Lan Zhan even being told. ‘It’s not worth that, Lan Zhan.’

‘But it’s worth destroying yourself, Wei Ying?’

This sounds different from the other times they’ve had this argument. There’s a weight to it. It sounds a lot like experience. He sees it in his friend’s eyes, too, the echo of a grief Wei Wuxian doesn’t understand. He has to swallow the dryness in his throat before he can ask.

‘Is that what happens to me, Lan Zhan? Do I die fighting in this war?’ It’s not such a surprise, he thinks. In many ways, he’s already outlived his own death. ‘Do I at least die helping to win it?’

Lan Zhan turns his head away, looking as close to a grimace as a Lan can likely get. He sounds bitter.

‘Whatever I tell you, you’ll believe your own life is worth less, that whatever you give up is acceptable, as long as you save someone else from a scar. You won’t see that doing so hurts those who love you. You won’t see that-’

He cuts himself off, his hands clenching into fists where they still rest on the covers.

‘It’s not that I believe my life is worth less,’ Wei Wuxian tries to explain, but memories of a dark cave and the stench of blood and seared flesh try to clog his throat. Is this why Lan Zhan was so cross about Mianmian? Because he thought Wei Wuxian didn’t value his own life enough? Wei Wuxian was in no danger of dying from that! ‘It’s just… If I see a way to save someone and don’t take it, what does that say about me? You understand that, Lan Zhan. You must. After all, you step in between other people and danger all the time.’

‘Not all the time.’

There’s a thread of guilt in that. The thrill of discovery lifted him out of his exhausted, simmering self, but now that drains away and he’s just tired again. He wants those he cares about safe. He doesn’t want to be at odds with them. Can’t he just have that?

‘Why do you need to fight this war, Lan Zhan? Why? You’re a mighty warrior, but you can’t fight at your best, can’t fight at all, really. Not with your core the way it is. You will risk death more surely than when we fought the Xuanwu and for what? What did you do in this war the first time that has to be done again?’

Lan Zhan doesn’t answer him. Not at first.

Just as Wei Wuxian sighs and shifts his weight to stand, Lan Zhan breaks his silence.

‘You didn’t die in the war,’ he says. ‘I protected you from the enemy many times. You may die without me there. You may not. I was trying to protect you when you died, so maybe my presence doesn’t matter.’

Wei Wuxian frowns.

‘Protect me from what? If the war is over… Wait, do we lose? Do the Wens hunt us down? But no. No, you live at Cloud Recesses, don’t you? You and A-Yuan. Unless…do the Wens take over your home? Do the Wens have you whipped?’

‘No.’ It seems more of a struggle for him to speak, now, but he pushes on as stubbornly as Lan Zhan does everything he’s set his mind to. ‘We won the war. You won the war.’

‘Me?’

Lan Zhan meets his eyes again. This time, the gaze is burning.

‘You used the Stygian Tiger Seal.’

And Wei Wuxian realises he didn’t truly believe in his own theory or in what Lan Zhan told him, not until this moment. Hearing that name is like being kicked in the stomach, is like having his abdomen cut open and his core pulled out all over again. There is no way Lan Zhan can know that name. Wei Wuxian has told nobody of the seal or what he’s decided to call it. Nobody.

This is real. Lan Zhan really does know things that haven’t happened yet, which means…which means all of it is real. Because Lan Zhan doesn’t lie, and if what he’s saying is true, then Wei Wuxian dies in less than four years. He dies and Lan Zhan is brutalised.

‘Then what? What happened then, Lan Zhan? How do I die? Why are you punished?’

Yet again, there are tears in Lan Zhan’s eyes, though they don’t fall. His voice is low and insistent, as though he means to force his words into Wei Wuxian, as though this is the only thing that matters in the world.

‘When others learnt of your seal, of your power, they feared it and wanted it. They painted you as the enemy and destroyed everything you tried to protect. And I tried to protect you. I fought my own people to protect you. My Uncle and the elders sentenced me. But that isn’t important.’

Wei Wuxian barks out something that sounds a little like a laugh.

‘Not important? They have you whipped and it’s not important? How badly did they injure you? How many lashes, Lan Zhan? How many? Tell me that.’

‘No.’ The stubborn light in his eyes has grown. ‘What’s important is that you don’t let them see the seal. Do not let them know what you can do. Give them no reason to fear you or to desire your power, Wei Ying. Please.’

‘Ah? But, Lan Zhan, you said I win the war. How can I not use the seal, now I know it works, that it ends this?’

‘There are other ways to end this.’

‘Like what?’ He glares at his friend, holding himself back from raising his voice only because he doesn’t want to wake A-Yuan. ‘Give me one way, one that will definitely work, and I will promise to try it without the seal.’

‘I will think of something.’

Wei Wuxian feels bitterness himself, then. Bitterness and grief and that same exhaustion. Because he has foreknowledge of the future and it does nothing but show him the path to his own end. And worse, it shows him that he drags his closest friend into destruction with him. Pushing himself to his feet, he paces most of the way to the door before spinning back around and trying not to see how small and easily hurt Lan Zhan looks in that bed.

‘No,’ he says. ‘No, you won’t, Lan Zhan. You won’t even be here. They’re sending you back to Gusu. This isn’t your war anymore. You’re a father now. Go look after your son.’

And he turns on his heel and leaves the tent before Lan Zhan can respond.

Chapter Text

Xichen stares at the letter in his hands. He wants to go to Wangji. He needs to know whether Young Master Wei’s bizarre theory is in any way correct, though he can’t bring himself to believe in time travel, and he needs to know what that may mean for Wangji’s care.

‘From your uncle?’ Mingjue-ge asks.

Xichen nods. He should know what it contains before he tries speaking with Wangji, assuming his brother is awake. It’s possible Lan Dongmei has had to send him back to sleep already.

‘Take care of it. I’ll see you out there.’

Mingjue-ge waits only until Xichen meets his eyes before he inclines his head and leaves the tent, meaning Xichen has nothing else to distract him. The others are already out in the camp, checking their own people are prepared, issuing orders. Xichen has plenty of orders and checks and preparations to which he must attend. There isn’t the luxury of time to waste.

He is so tired he feels a fine tremble in his fingers.

He opens his uncle’s letter and finds disappointment, anger, worry and fear. As expected, his Uncle is distressed at Wangji’s state of health and displeased at his behaviour. The elders are discussing how the matter should be dealt with, how Wangji will be dealt with once he recovers.

Reading the letter through again and a third time allows the exact phrasing of Uncle’s words, the spaces between what he says, to coalesce clearly enough that Xichen is almost certain: there is disagreement between the elders. Or between Uncle and the elders.

It sends a chill through Xichen. Uncle is strict and can be harsh, at times, but others are harsher. And some of the elders have never forgiven Wangji for his devotion to their mother.

With a sigh, he sets out to see his brother.

Xichen is almost at Wangji’s tent when Young Master Wei stalks out, strands of his hair lifting away from him as though in a breeze. There is no breeze. The already tense atmosphere of a war camp about to move out gains an extra layer of pressure.

Young Master Wei notices Lan Dongmei first, stopping in front of her some paces from the tent and only looking at Xichen when the healer turns and bows to her sect leader. She is perhaps a little pointed about it. Xichen reaches them and acknowledges Lan Dongmei’s greeting.

Young Master Wei curves his lips as he follows her lead.

‘Zewu-Jun.’

The bow that accompanies the greeting is sharp, somehow. Jagged.

‘Young Master Wei,’ Xichen greets. ‘Have you spoken with Wangji?’

The sense of snapping danger, barely leashed, increases, and Xichen deliberately fails to respond to it. He waits as Young Master Wei’s expression shifts and settles, never quite reaching pleasant, despite the smile. It’s the eyes, he thinks. There’s something in them that speaks of a predator, the kind to deny its prey a quick death. It wasn’t there earlier.

‘Lan Zhan has travelled back from four years into the future,’ Young Master Wei says. ‘So has A-Yuan. He doesn’t recall his golden core being unstable before this happened. He says we win the war, so that’s good.’

Nothing about Young Master Wei’s tone makes it sound good. There’s a lightness to his voice, but it’s light in the same way ice can be thin: ready to crack and kill.

He also sounds convinced of what he’s saying. It isn’t a surprise, considering the way he presented it to Xichen earlier, but if he expected anything from letting Young Master Wei speak with Wangji, it was that this whole idea would be put to rest. Suppressed, if not eliminated. They truly don’t have time for flights of fancy.

‘You understand why I find this difficult to accept,’ Xichen says, glancing at Lan Dongmei to see her frowning. ‘What you are suggesting could well be explained by delusion, a delusion it could be harmful to indulge.’

‘A delusion shared by Lan Zhan and A-Yuan?’

‘Wangji has spent a lot of time alone with his son these last few days.’

Young Master Wei’s disdain for that idea couldn’t be much clearer.

‘You think Lan Zhan has spent his every waking moment feeding A-Yuan delusions, making A-Yuan believe them to be his own memories? Zewu-Jun, I thought you knew your own brother better than that.’

The words sting. He wants to think they sting more than they are meant to.

Air cool enough to prickle brushes against Xichen’s cheeks as he seeks balance. The temperature has dropped significantly since the storm. It helps to ground him. It helps to stop his gritty eyes from closing. This situation is too large, too important, to allow himself to be thrown off balance by the words of one unhappy young man. Young Master Wei has suffered, but Wangji is Xichen’s priority.

‘Did you know?’ Xichen is moved to ask, pulled to the question he’s wanted to ask since A-Yuan first called Wangji ‘Father’. ‘About A-Yuan? About the woman Wangji loved? Did he tell you?’

When he didn’t tell Xichen. But there are things Xichen has told Mingjue-ge that have never been shared with Wangji, or not in quite the same light. In those weeks after Wen Xu brought destruction to the Cloud Recesses, Xichen spoke to Meng Yao of things he has never even told Mingjue-ge. If Wangji confided in anyone, Young Master Wei is the natural choice.

His questions are met with a flash of strong emotion, rippling across Young Master Wei’s face too quickly to interpret, before that normally expressive face goes still. Shut down.

‘Lan Zhan doesn’t have to tell me his secrets,’ Young Master Wei says. ‘It’s not like I have any claim to them.’

‘Yet he’s told you he’s lived four years beyond this time.’

Young Master Wei huffs something masquerading as laughter.

‘Only because I worked it out already. We should have found a way to shut the Yin Iron away inside Lan Zhan. Then it would have been safe! Ah, but the Wens would never have got their hands on it, then.’

He’s still laughing, as though Wen Rouhan having so many of the fragments is amusing, but there’s desperation in it and his eyes are darkly gleaming. Wangji has been so worried about this friend of his, about the resentful energy warping him. It’s painful to see, but Young Master Wei is Jiang Wanyin’s responsibility. Xichen just needs to deal with this conversation.

‘Very well, then. Let us say he has experienced four more years than the rest of us. What about the wounds on his back?’ Xichen asks. ‘Has Wangji told you how they happen?’

Wangji told the young healer he was, would be, whipped. Xichen feels nauseous at the idea of his little brother’s back being ripped open, and he realises he may believe what he’s being told. A little, at least. Enough to seek answers even to such horrible things, enough to be worried. But it will be fine. It will. If, in defiance of all known existence, this is real, Wangji can tell them how to stop it from happening. He can tell them how to save him.

‘You will have to ask him for details yourself, Zewu-Jun,’ Young Master Wei says, the twisted mirth fallen away, leaving only cold displeasure in his face. ‘He would tell me very little. You are his brother and his sect leader. Perhaps he will tell you more.’

He turns away, apparently intending to leave. Xichen should let him. Jiang Wanyin will need to tell his brother, his head disciple, what is required on him in these next hours. They all need to be moving. Only, there must be more. Wangji’s connection with Young Master Wei is significant. He must have said more.

‘Wait!’ Xichen calls, putting out a hand but not quite touching Young Master Wei, who stops a few steps further on. ‘What else did Wangji tell you? Young Master Wei? What else did my brother say?’

‘I can only give you this advice, Zewu-Jun,’ Young Master Wei says over his shoulder, his voice oddly distant. ‘Keep Lan Zhan away from this war and away from me. Talk to your brother. Get him help.’ Young Master Wei turns his head away so only his back can be seen, the red ribbon spilling down his hair lying in place, now, his hair no longer drifting. He sounds tired. Resigned. ‘I have other responsibilities.’

He strides away as though he’s planning to take on every single Wen by himself, leaving Xichen to hope he is making the wrong connections. Xichen may be wrong about the exact nature of the love Wangji holds for the other young man, but he is still sure it is love. If Wangji believes Young Master Wei to be the cause of his phantom injuries, it must be breaking Wangji’s heart.

But it’s clear that, if Wangji has told his friend any such thing, it won’t be shared so easily.

‘Does this mean anything?’ Xichen asks Lan Dongmei, once they are alone. ‘If it really is some kind of time travel, will it change what Wangji needs?’

She shakes her head.

‘Whatever the cause, his core is unstable. Discovering the root only helps if we can also counter it, and I am afraid we have no records on the impact of time travel on the core. To the best of my knowledge, it has never even been considered possible. Until then, managing the symptoms is all we can meaningfully do. My advice remains as it was. If you will excuse me, I should check on Hanguang-Jun.’

Xichen lets her go. He will follow in a moment. Young Master Wei’s words, from now and from earlier, echo round his head, and Xichen lets himself have a little time to brace himself. If Wangji is able to hold a conversation, Xichen is going to explain to his little brother what must happen now.

In the end, what Young Master Wei has told him doesn’t change a thing.

Wangji doesn’t try to follow Wei Ying at first. He isn’t sure his legs would support him if he tried.

He’s watched Wei Ying die once, has knelt under the whip, has endured almost two years of seclusion, and now he’s got the chance to change the most important part of that and he’s failing. Wei Ying still won’t listen.

Wangji feels grief and frustration writhe in his chest and he struggles to contain them. He can’t do this again. If not for A-Yuan, he isn’t sure he would have survived Wei Ying’s death the first time.

But Wei Ying is still alive now. If Wangji gives up, if he lets Wei Ying walk away, he may as well plunge Bichen through Wei Ying’s back. And he doesn’t know how long he’s let despair keep him still. Wei Ying could already be at the other end of the camp.

With a gasp, he shakes his body out of its stupor and sits up, his hand gripping the edges of the bed as he prepares himself to stand. He’s noticeably weaker than the last time he left his tent. That should worry him more, he thinks, but he only finds it frustrating. He needs to stand and walk out of here and find Wei Ying, and he needs to find the right words to save him.

He pushes up from the bed as Lan Dongmei walks in, her expression turning stern as she crosses quickly to him and catches hold of his arms. She is a Lan, but she shouldn’t be able to stop him from moving. She manages anyway.

‘Hanguang-Jun, lie back down,’ she says, and he’s weak enough he can’t push past her.

She gets him as far as sitting again and checks his qi, her spiritual energy feeling wrong and uncomfortable in his body. More so than it did before. She looks worried when he tells her that. She doesn’t tell him why. Or maybe she does and he can’t focus on the words.

He’s almost sure he tells her he needs to leave, but she doesn’t let him, and the dizziness in his head is growing worse again, the edges of his vision fading to black and red.

Brother arrives soon after, pulling Wangji’s dazed attention away from the healer. The tension and discomfort in his brother is so clear it is as good as screaming, and Wangji feels a tremor of guilt that he is causing any part of it. But it can’t be helped.

Someone has to save Wei Ying and Wangji has four years of memories that prove it can’t be left to anyone else. Nobody else will see Wei Ying needs protecting, not except for his shijie, and she can hardly be allowed on a battlefield. Not again. Once this healer stops prodding at him, once they all leave him alone, he will go after Wei Ying.

‘Wangji,’ Brother says, gliding to a stop in front of him and kneeling, his expression schooled to something no doubt meant to be calming, reassuring, ‘how are you feeling?’

‘I would prefer people stopped asking me that.’ Wangji gives Brother time to frown at his words before moving on to what’s more important. Brother looks to be wavering, but that is likely Wangji’s perception, because Brother can’t really be moving like that. ‘Are you sending me away? Are you sending me away from Wei Ying?’

Brother looks worried, now. Wangji has had enough of people being worried about him, around him, without being willing to really listen to what he needs. He knows he’s not well. That much is undeniable, now, as is the fact it’s getting worse. He knows he will need to adapt. That doesn’t mean he needs to be coddled and controlled.

Brother’s sorrowful determination says otherwise.

‘We need to do what is best, Wangji. I know you want to play your part, but right now that means letting us care for you. No. Wangji, listen. I have to continue to help Mingjue-ge lead this campaign, and I can’t do that if I am constantly worrying about you. Besides, I heard back from Uncle, and he agrees you cannot stay here.’

Wangji knows he is glaring. He can’t quite keep his focus on Brother, who still seems to be moving in some way Wangji can’t fathom, but his displeasure must be noticeable. Good. He wants Brother to see it.

‘So you will send me away to Uncle, to the elders, so that they can set me back on the right path? It won’t work, Brother. They’ve already tried.’

The dizziness is starting to make him feel nauseous again, off-balance in more than one way. Even when Uncle ordered the beating to start, Wangji’s mind was his own. Even as blood seeped between his teeth, his thoughts were clear. The pain eventually stole some of that from him, but not to this extent. Not in this way. Even what he does recall from going to Wei Ying’s tent is hazy, as though someone smudged the memories so the lines have bled into each other. It isn’t as bad now, he thinks, but he’s aware he isn’t clear-headed. Like this, words build up at the base of his tongue, wanting to be heard. He manages to keep most of them back. It makes him want to be sick.

‘You really believe you have lived four years beyond this point already?’ Brother asks.

He’s holding Wangji’s elbows, his palms curved under them, offering support. The warmth of the touch is shocking when they so rarely make contact. The thread of pity in his voice is infuriating.

‘I have,’ Wangji states. ‘As has A-Yuan. Brother, sending me away is a tactical mistake. I have knowledge you can use.’

‘Yet you have not offered it before this,’ Brother says. ‘I am not criticising you, Wangji. But this is a fact. Besides, Young Master Wei tells me you know we win the war. Does anything really need changing?’

If Brother means that as a means of soothing Wangji, of making him see his input is no longer needed, he has misjudged. Panic wells up again and he reaches out, grabbing Brother’s upper arms, intent on being heard even as Brother’s eyes widen.

‘I must be there to protect Wei Ying, Brother,’ he says. ‘He must not face Wen Rouhan.’

‘Wangji, you went with Young Master Wei to clear the pass and he had to carry you back. Please, be reasonable.’ Brother’s fingers curl around Wangji’s elbows, holding him. ‘You are in no fit state to defend anyone. There is no shame in this, but it is I who must defend you, and I will not allow you to harm yourself.’

‘I am not harming myself,’ Wangji insists, but he can see Brother disagrees.

‘Little Brother, I have never been so worried for you as I have been these last few days,’ Brother says, and the sadness is so heavy it stops up any reply Wangji could make. ‘You have a child you never mentioned before. You still won’t tell me who his mother was. Your golden core is unstable and you aren’t in your right mind, Wangji. Please, understand that I must do what is necessary. I won’t see you suffer when I can help.’

‘That isn’t true.’

Brother inhales sharply, not concealing his hurt at that statement, but Wangji is too frustrated to stop. He can’t keep all of these words to himself and he hates it, but he lets them spill.

‘You let them whip me. You let them shut me away. You brought A-Yuan to visit, but I wasn’t allowed to raise him myself.’ He sees Brother flinch and isn’t sure if he carries on despite or because of it. ‘You said nothing when they turned on him. You stood with them and swore to end him.’

Some of the blurriness in his eyes must be tears, now. The hot pressure of them in his throat, behind his eyes, is something horribly familiar to the Wangji who spent so long lying in his bed, knowing the only man he’ll ever love was dead. He cried, too, for the pain and for the loss of who he thought he would be, for the way his Brother looked at him and the way his uncle no longer would, but the greater part of his grief was always for Wei Ying. Even if it means hurting Brother, he has to try and make him see.

He grips Brother’s robes as he goes on, needing to hold on to something.

‘Nobody else would stand by him, Brother. Nobody. It can’t happen again. Please. It can’t. I won’t survive it.’

Brother’s eyes are wide, now. He looks ready to cry, himself, but still has more control over his reactions than Wangji does. Of course, he does. Brother’s core is healthy. Brother has not seen his heart betrayed and then been sent back to watch it happen again.

‘Turned on who, Wangji? On Young Master Wei? Why would that happen? What are you afraid he will do?’

No. No, no, he’s making it worse. If Brother won’t believe Wangji has lived this already, then the only explanation is that Wangji’s mind it making it up, that his fears are seeping into delusions. That there is reason for Wangji to suspect Wei Ying is a threat.

‘I’m not making this up,’ he says, hating that the words come out thick and wet and desperate.

Brother rushes to soothe him.

‘I know you aren’t. I know you believe this is real.’

‘It is real. You just don’t want to believe it. You don’t want to believe you would let Uncle and the elders order me whipped so many times. You don’t want to believe you would agree to shutting me away for three years. Do I need to describe it, Brother? Do I need to tell you how it felt, to kneel as they punished me? As Uncle told me how I disappointed him?’

‘Wangji, stop!’

Brother’s hands clench around Wangji’s elbows, and he sees Brother glance to the side. At the healer. Of course. They will stop him from speaking. All those years of telling him he should speak more, and now they don’t like what they hear.

‘I will not! What will make you believe me? Must I describe how it felt, to never be free of pain? It took weeks for the wounds to even close, Brother. I refused to condemn a man when those in power told me to, and I was beaten until I couldn’t stand.’

‘Wangji, please. You’re only upsetting yourself.’

Brother is pleading now. He won’t let Wangji go on for much longer before his healer is called upon to silence him. Wangji has to think of something that will make a difference, because hearing about Wangji’s suffering isn’t having the desired effect. He thought it might. An error in judgement.

‘I need you to believe me. Brother, please. What can I tell you that will make you believe me?’

‘I don’t know, Wangji.’ He sounds truly sorry. ‘But I can’t let you stay, whether I believe you or not. You won’t keep yourself out of battle, will you? Not if you think you need to protect your Young Master Wei.’

Wangji takes a shuddering breath and drops his eyes to his lap. He wants to deny it. He knows he can’t.

‘But Wangji, whatever is making you say these things, I will make you a promise.’

His fingers are starting to ache where he has hold of Brother’s shoulders and he’s only just got his tears under control. If he moves, he thinks, he will cry again, so he waits for Brother’s promise with his body locked in stillness.

One of Brother’s hand detaches from Wangji’s elbow and lifts to his face, brushing back a strand of hair and cupping his cheek. He sounds so sincere when he speaks.

‘If you promise to go where I send you, if you promise to listen to the healers and do as they say, I will promise to protect Young Master Wei. I will watch his back in battle. I will keep your Wei Ying safe for you. Will you agree to that, Little Brother?’

Brother’s thumb strokes along Wangji’s cheek. There are no needles.

Wangji tries to think. Brother is formidable in combat. He is, perhaps, the only one other than Wangji whose skill is enough to be worthy of Wei Ying. Besides, even if he does get Brother to believe him about everything, there is little chance Wangji will make it through a battle himself. No chance, really.

‘You can’t let him face Wen Rouhan,’ he says. His voice is hoarse and comes out as little more than a hushed plea. ‘Promise that, too.’

He has no idea how Wei Ying can be stopped, and Brother won’t know to prevent others from seeing the Stygian Tyger Seal, but telling Brother about Wei Ying’s most dangerous weapon isn’t a risk he can take.

He feels Brother’s hesitation at this almost impossible promise, but it only lasts a moment.

‘I promise I will try.’

‘Then,’ Wangji says, wishing it didn’t feel quite so much like surrender, ‘I promise I will go.’

Another stroke of Brother’s thumb makes Wangji close his eyes.

‘Thank-you, Wangji,’ Brother says, heartfelt, so relieved it hurts to hear. ‘I wish I could give you more time, but you will need to leave as soon as possible. Lan Dongmei has a carriage waiting. Do you need the needles? I would prefer you were calm enough to remain awake, but if sleeping is easier on you-‘

‘No.’ He forces himself to relax his hold on Brother’s robes. He is unutterably tired. ‘No, I don’t need the needles, Brother.’

Even when Wangji was shut away so he could learn to repent, Brother tried to comfort and guide him. It wasn’t Brother’s fault he mistook the path Wangji walked. Brother’s failings have never included a lack of care for Wangji. Wangji will try not to blame him for his lack of belief.

‘Good. I am glad, Wangji.’

He sounds glad. He sounds exhausted, too. This must all be putting so much strain on Brother, who has so many responsibilities already. Wangji bows his head further and lets his hands slide back to his lap.

All he can hope to achieve here is the right to remain conscious. When faced with an inevitable loss, the wise choice is to pick the less harmful manner of losing. Brother has promised to keep Wei Ying safe, which will have to do for now. There is time, yet, before Wei Ying will use the full extent of his powers at Nightless City.

He lets Brother guide him out to the carriage and lies down on the bedding, lets Lan Dongmei settle a still sleeping A-Yuan beside him before climbing in herself. He even drinks the tea she presses on him, knowing he’s forgotten to drink that as he should.

He isn’t surprised to find a sedative has been added. It’s not enough to make him sleep, but it is enough to relax his limbs and ease him towards rest.

‘Sleep if you can, Hanguang-Jun,’ Lan Dongmei tells him. ‘We’ll be travelling for some time.’

Wangji closes his eyes. Around him, the bustle of an army moving out fades slowly into the sounds of a forest path, the people sent to guard the carriage quiet enough that even he has trouble hearing them. He needs to think of a plan, but the buzzing in his head and the swaying of the carriage are too much to resist in his state, and he sleeps.

Jiang Cheng doesn’t like it, but Wei Wuxian is convinced it makes sense for him to create the distraction to the west.

‘It’s too risky,’ Jiang Cheng insists. ‘You’d be asking the Wens to come after you whilst the rest of us cut off the pass.’

Wei Wuxian stands shoulder to shoulder with his brother as they watch their people form into lines to move out. The Nie Sect is already marching. The Jiang Sect will be next.

‘Then whoever goes will be at such risk,’ he points out. ‘Why is it acceptable to risk someone else but not me?’

‘Don’t be an idiot, Wei Wuxian,’ Jiang Cheng says. ‘You’re my head disciple. You have responsibilities. You can’t just go off taunting Wen-dogs whilst the rest of us try to get our people to safety. What, am I supposed to protect A-Jie by myself?’

It hurts. It always hurts, to hear him say these things, but it doesn’t change the fact Wei Wuxian is better suited to the task. He can cause a disturbance when he isn’t trying. Naturally, he’ll be able to draw the enemy away from Lan Zhan and his son.

‘Come on, Jiang Cheng. You know I can pull more of them after me than anyone else could manage. And the more I kill to the west, the fewer you’ll need to kill in the pass.’

He gets a glare.

‘If you’d been at the meetings where we worked all this out, maybe you could have done that. But you were running around after Lan Wangji, and now it’s too late.’ He holds up a hand when he sees Wei Wuxian is about to protest. ‘Yes, it is. The cultivators on that mission already set out. You need to keep the western ridge clear of Wens so they have a route through to us when they’re done. That’s how you help. Now focus on what you’re meant to be doing.’

What he’s meant to be doing is killing Wens. What he’s meant to be doing is ending this war. Lan Zhan already confirmed that.

What he’s meant to be doing is keeping anyone else from being destroyed along with him, which means getting Lan Zhan safely away to Gusu, where his family can keep him from throwing himself in front of the swords that will eventually point at Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian spares a long, considering look to the narrow track that would lead him west, before sighing and turning to walk with Jiang Cheng at the head of the Jiang Sect. He can kill Wens just as well in the pass, he supposes, and the route to Wen Rouhan is through that pass. He will just have to trust others to keep Lan Zhan and A-Yuan safe.

Please, let them be safe.

Chapter Text

It gets easier the longer the fighting goes on. In some ways, it does.

From his position up on the ridge, Wei Wuxian has a clear view of the central part of the pass, where the Wen had their camp. Its remains must seem like shelter to those who mill below, like safety. They are wrong.

Purple and white burst from cover, spin through the red robes and leave spreading colour on the ground. There is no green down there. No gold. Just those who saw already, back in Yiling and other places where Jiang Cheng and Lan Zhan sought him, what happens to Wei Wuxian’s enemies.

It’s a small force, but it’s enough.

With the ends of the pass blocked with rockfalls, one completely, one enough to slow the enemy to a trickle, they have these Wens trapped. These ones are almost done for and, when they are all dead, the living will retreat back into cover and Wei Wuxian will recruit the corpses.

They’ve been at this for long enough that not many Wens are making it through anymore.

A scream and the clash of metal pulls Wei Wuxian’s attention back to the trees behind him, where a flash of white and blue takes care of another shadow creeping up on him. Zewu-Jun turns in a graceful billow of sleeves, checking on Wei Wuxian with a determination that makes little sense, before spinning and running through yet another dark-robed Wen. He’s the only one who hasn’t seen Wei Wuxian work this way before today. If it bothers him, he doesn’t show it.

Wei Wuxian turns back to see the final Wen impaled on Jiang Cheng’s sword, and feels one side of his mouth lift in a smirk. Shortly after, the dead rise, too, and move to greet their fellow Wens at the narrow opening left through the rockfall.

He has no idea how long they’ve been at this, but that isn’t his concern. For reasons beyond him, he has Lan Zhan’s brother at his back. All Wei Wuxian has to focus on is playing Chenqing. If he lets his conscious mind drift just enough, he can even pretend his defender is Lan Zhan himself.

It is equal parts comfort and hurt.

Jiang Cheng pulls his sword from another body, the wet resistance making him grimace. Sandu will need cleaning especially well after this.

‘Sect Leader! Three more!’

Heeding his disciple’s words, Jiang Cheng spins into the air, descending on the clump of Wens before they have time to work out where he’s gone. He kicks the closest two in the face as he heads back to the ground, knocking them back onto the blades of other Jiang cultivators, and adds more gore to Sandu’s blade to dispatch the last one.

And then the stretch of valley around him is clear of the enemy.

There’s a span of empty time in which the newer disciples around him heave air into their bodies, their limbs visibly trembling. Jiang Cheng is too well conditioned for that. If he’d shown himself to be tired out from a few waves of fighting, his mother would have had him squatting for hours with buckets of water hanging from a pole across his shoulders. But these people he has with him now have shown their mettle in other ways: each one of them followed him on his hunt for Wei Wuxian; each one of them saw the remains of what his brother can now do, and still they choose to wear the colours of Yunmeng Jiang. Each one of them is committed.

The Lans standing amongst them also saw the aftermath of Wei Wuxian’s new cultivation. Some of them look wary as they eye the corpses, but not one of them speaks a word of judgement. Jiang Cheng has been assured that they will not share what they witness in this pass. Zewu-Jun himself has sworn it.

Quite why Wei Wuxian, who never seemed to care for his own reputation or anyone else’s, is so suddenly gripped by a need to keep his talents quiet is beyond him. It’s not like word hasn’t already spread. Though the full extent of what Jiang Cheng has seen is not, perhaps, well known.

Whatever the reason, Wei Wuxian became agitated on the march here until Jiang Cheng agreed to this change in the plan, and to everyone’s apparent surprise, Zewu-Jun backed him up. Even stranger, Zewu-Jun has insisted on guarding Wei Wuxian’s back, despite Sect Leader Nie and Jin Zixuan questioning the wisdom of having two sect leaders involved in the fighting.

This isn’t leading the charge in a crucial battle. This is a case of giving the bulk of their people time to move away from the pass. It is about holding off the Wens so the others can escape, though their own escape is far more likely with Wei Wuxian plying his disturbing craft than it would have been without. Jiang Cheng is starting to think they may leave this pass with minimal losses.

Every one cuts, of course. Every one is another reason the Wens must burn. He’s avoiding looking too closely at the purple robed bodies on the ground. After the fight is done, he will learn who he needs to mourn now.

But this is necessary. They must at least make it harder for the enemy to reach the rest of their people.

So here they are, the people who are allowed to see what Wei Wuxian can do, killing the Wens who drip slowly through the rockfall barrier and waiting after each skirmish for the dead to change sides.

Jiang Cheng never thought he’d fight in a war, but if he had thought about it, during those years where he’d yearned to be fully grown, it wouldn’t have been anything like this.

Xichen all but drags Young Master Wei, Wei Wuxian, away from the edge of the ridge. It’s clear that much more will leave the boy too weak to move by himself, for all that he cuts an imposing figure as he overlooks the killing ground, and Xichen has made a promise.

‘Wei Wuxian! We must go. You’ve done all you can, here.’

In response, Wei Wuxian snarls, trying to pull his arm free of Xichen’s hold.

‘Not yet,’ he insists. He sounds nothing like that bright boy from the lectures. ‘There are still more coming.’

‘And the last fall will be triggered as soon as we are through,’ Xichen says, not sure Wei Wuxian remembers more of the plan than this butchery. ‘We’re the last ones. We have to go now.’

The array holding up the last of the rocks is a bastardised thing, cobbled together from several existing arrays with extra parts pulled from thin air, and Xichen was not the only one to show signs of frustration that Wei Wuxian didn’t see fit to come up with this before they reached the pass. So much time spent assigning people to roles that might be the death of them, only for this irritating, brilliant boy to produce a solution in minutes.

If he attended meetings the way he was meant to, they could have moved more quickly.

Still, there is no use in dwelling on what is gone. Just now, Xichen has set himself the task of keeping his promise to Wangji. His brother may eventually forgive him if he lets this part of Wangji’s heart die. He may. Xichen will not forgive himself.

Finally, with a shout that verges on screaming, Wei Wuxian lowers his dizi and lets Xichen lead him away, the puppets below still powered by the last notes. Xichen doesn’t know enough to guess how long that will last, but long enough, he hopes. He has the strength to fly both of them over the edge of the cliff-face at the end of this ridge, but it will be easier if they are not closely followed by any Wens.

At least the dark smoke of resentful energy is fading, no longer clinging to Wei Wuxian so thickly. It may dissipate entirely before they reach the others.

The cliff-edge is in sight when Wei Wuxian stumbles and goes to one knee, harsh breaths loud in the sudden silence of the woods. The boy has the hand holding his dizi pressed over his chest and the expression on his face is both distant and pained.

Xichen drags him back to his feet and onward, scooping him into his arms when Wei Wuxian falls again a few paces later.

It’s undignified and more intimate than he ever thought to be with Wei Wuxian, but Wangji has already lost his wife and his ability to fight. Xichen won’t let him lose his best friend, too.

Wei Wuxian staggers away from Zewu-Jun’s arms as soon as they land, right into the waiting concern of his sister, who is meant to be still in her carriage being transported further away from the enemy.

‘Shijie, what are-?’

He’s cut off by Shijie taking hold of his arm and brushing his hair back with her other hand.

‘A-Xian, you were so tired already. Zewu-Jun suggested you should ride with me when you finished your task.’

Stunned into something approaching silence, Wei Wuxian finds himself in the carriage with his sister, Zewu-Jun taking the horse waiting to one side as Jin Zixuan rides at the other. It’s…odd. The Peacock should not be so close to his shijie when he’s been so abominably rude to her, so disrespectful and hurtful, and with the engagement no longer existing, yet he keeps his horse close and looks prepared to fight back anyone who tries to attack. Zewu-Jun is little different.

‘What is this about?’ he asks Shijie, ‘Why is Zewu-Jun suddenly so insistent on keeping such a close eye on me?’

She just shakes her head, pats his cheek, and tells him to rest.

As his head is pounding with the cries of the dead and he already feels unconsciousness pressing in around his skull, he lets her persuade him down until he has his head in her lap, her fingers soothing their way through his hair.

‘This is wrong,’ he mumbles, but his eyes are already closed. ‘Shijie, I should be making sure no Wens come after us.’

‘Shh, A-Xian. You’ve done your part. You don’t have to do everything yourself,’ she says. ‘You stay here and be my bodyguard, okay? I feel much safer with my Xianxian protecting me.’

Wei Wuxian feels his face scrunch up, but he lacks the energy to tell her how ridiculous that is. He can hardly defend her when he’s asleep. Even Lan Zhan needs to be awake to fight.

Zewu-Jun is truly a skilful fighter, with the elegance and economy of the Lan style so much a part of him it seems he must have been born into the world already knowing how to wield his sword. He is powerful, too, and focused. But Wei Wuxian still felt the lack of Lan Zhan nearby and he is still sure Lan Zhan fights with even more power and beauty than his older brother does. And Lan Zhan has always fought as though he knows how Wei Wuxian will move, where he will need defending. Having someone else in that role only highlights how very well his zhiji and he fit together.

He hopes sending Lan Zhan away was the right choice. There have been so few right choices, so many which have seemed inevitable but still awful.

Lan Zhan must be far enough from where they camped by now to be safe from Wen scouts. Carriages don’t travel quickly, but surely nobody will be looking for one small contingent of cultivators heading in that direction. No, Lan Zhan will be in his own carriage, with that Lan healer fussing over him and with little A-Yuan cuddled up to his father’s side, with Lan Zhan’s arm curled around him as they head for safety.

‘So sweet,’ he murmurs. ‘Who knew you could be so sweet, Lan Zhan?’

‘A-Xian?’

But Wei Wuxian is watching the father and son in his mind, his own body grown so heavy and lax that he can’t summon the wherewithal to reply. He doesn’t exactly fall asleep, but he does drift. It’s peaceful, in an aching, tearful sort of way, to think of Lan Zhan with his boy.

Every step the horses take means he’s further from Lan Zhan. But it also means Lan Zhan is one step further from the Wens, one step further from Wei Wuxian and the harm he will bring, as is that sweet child of his. A child should be able to hug his father as tightly as he wants.

Whoever the mother was, she must have been wonderful to be worthy of Lan Zhan’s affections: clever and skilled and beautiful. More than one disciple has speculated, now that Wei Wuxian knows to listen, about who could have caught the Second Jade’s eye, and they have mused about beauty, yes, but also about elegance and obedience and gentleness, about polished manners and demure looks and all manner of nonsense. Those people don’t know what Lan Zhan is like. He has fire in him, he’s brilliant, and any romantic partner of his must have had the same.

Others have nudged each other as they imagine a confident seductress, or a blushing maiden who attracted Lan Zhan with her face and with her body and who did not engage his heart at all. They are wrong, too. They must be. Lan Zhan feels deeply and doesn’t act unless he is truly moved to it. He wouldn’t be like that.

And to have raised such a child as A-Yuan! She must also have been caring and good. A-Yuan is so young yet, but already it’s easy to picture him as a young man, so precious and cute. So upstanding, too, just like his father.

Wei Wuxian is saddened by many things, and he adds one more to his list. He regrets not having had the chance to meet Lan Zhan’s special person. He would have been a brother to her, so she knew she would always be protected, and they would have cared about Lan Zhan together.

There would have been more children, too, he thinks, and this time Wei Wuxian would know them from the start. He would hold them as they cried and would learn to soothe them. Perhaps Lan Zhan and he would play duets to help the children sleep or to calm them when they were upset. Even A-Yuan has tantrums, so such occasions would occur.

Did Lan Zhan ever have tantrums when he was A-Yuan’s age? He must have, right? Even Lan Zhan can’t have been born with the grace and restraint he has now. Or, the grace and restraint he has when he’s not got an unstable golden core.

Gusu Lan had better find a way to heal their Second Jade. If Wei Wuxian survives destroying Wen Rouhan, he will be angry if he finds Lan Zhan has not been cared for properly. Lan Zhan has a child. He may no longer get to have the lovely picture Wei Wuxian has been building in his head, but he should have a chance to raise his son in peace.

It would be nice to have children of his own, Wei Wuxian thinks, but letting anyone so close to him now, with the scar showing where Wen Qing gutted him of his own core, is unthinkable. Besides, what child would feel safe, being raised by a man who channelled the screams of the dead into the death of others? No. No, he won’t have children himself. But he will ensure Shijie and, assuming he ever finds someone to meet his requirements, Jiang Cheng can give Wei Wuxian nephews and nieces to spoil. And he would like to be an uncle to A-Yuan, too. That would be nice.

It would have been nice, if Wei Wuxian didn’t know, now, that he must stay away from Lan Zhan.

With Shijie’s fingers still in his hair, Wei Wuxian lets himself half-dream of laughter and teasing and play. Revenge isn’t the only reason he will tear the life from Sect Leader Wen. Wei Wuxian will cut away the rot so that his loved ones can live. He will be the reason the Wen Sect falls.

After all, Lan Zhan has told him so, and with Wei Wuxian safely away from him, Lan Zhan will be able to build that life without punishment.

The carriage makes steady progress. Inside, hidden by material opaque enough to show only outlines, Maiden Jiang and Wei Wuxian are probably talking. It rankles, to be guarding Wei Wuxian after his poor manners and violent nature caused such trouble at the Cloud Recesses, but as the highest-ranking woman in the field, Maiden Jiang should be protected by someone of consequence.

His cousin, naturally, had opinions on this when Zixuan volunteered himself for the duty, but Zixun’s opinions have become ever more tiresome and grating of late. Zixuan is not of a mind to heed them.

Besides, now Zewu-Jun has also elected to guard this carriage, and if the First Jade of Lan sees it as a role suitable for himself, how can Zixuan be lowering himself by doing the same?

When Sect Leader Jiang pulls up alongside him, Zixuan inclines his head in greeting.

‘I can escort my sister,’ Sect Leader Jiang says, not looking at Zixuan and with the usual bite in his words. ‘No need to trouble the young master of Lanling Jin.’

Zixuan doesn’t sigh. Mianmian has been suggesting for years that sighing and rolling his eyes isn’t the most dignified of looks, and it occurs to him he should set a good example for Sect Leader Jiang, who doesn’t ever seem to have been told the same.

‘I assure you, it’s no trouble.’

They ride in silence for long enough he thinks the matter is settled, before Sect Leader Jiang huffs and starts up again.

‘I’m surprised you can stand to sully your reputation,’ he mutters, maybe not meaning to be heard.

Ah. Of course, the Jiang Sect will have heard the same disgusting rumours that Zixun has insisted on bringing up more than once, despite Zixuan’s warnings.

‘Sect Leader Jiang,’ he begins carefully, trying to ignore the edge of discomfort it brings, ‘I hope you know I treat any rumours with the disdain they deserve.’

Which is true. Where it pertains to Maiden Jiang, it is. He still isn’t sure how to feel about Hanguang-Jun, but the Lan Sect hasn’t managed to hide the fact their Second Jade is ailing. Even if Zixuan had not been told by Zewu-Jun himself that his brother would have to be sent away for healing, the rumours would have told Zixuan enough.

It doesn’t seem fair, that a man who has acknowledged and taken in his son must also suffer severe illness, when Zixuan’s father carries on in the best of health.

He pushes down the guilt at such an unfilial thought. He is already going against his father’s wishes simply by being here, by supporting their allies. His mother approves and that is enough. It will have to be, because his father rarely approves of anything except women and wine.

‘Good,’ says Sect Leader Jiang.

For a jolting moment, Zixuan isn’t sure what the man is commenting on. The rumours. That fact Zixuan doesn’t believe them.

‘Ah, yes. I am glad you think so.’

It isn’t an apology, not from either side, and it isn’t forgiveness, but neither is it a fist in the face. Not that Sect Leader Jiang ever tried to hit him.

In any case, the two continue to ride side by side, and Zixuan finds himself unusually hopeful. It must be because they’re making progress towards the end of this war. That will be it.

An end to this fighting and to the conflicts between sects will be a relief. There will be time, then, to think of far more pleasant things. He glances at the shapes inside the carriage, and feels his face grow warm.

Yes. They will see this last part of the campaign completed, and then it will be time to get on with living. He thinks he may start by trying a bowl of soup.

Chapter Text

Lan Dongmei expected to get further before he asked. Her own fault. It has long been known their Second Jade is an intelligent and perceptive young man, even if that doesn’t seem to extend to social interactions, and she has been letting him stay awake for as long as she dare risk it. Even so, she takes longer over packing away her medicines as he waits for her response, keeping her focus on the tiny jars and bottles and pouches and wondering how someone could have developed such a stare in under twenty years.

But there is only so much time she can buy herself. Sighing, she sits back and looks at Hanguang-Jun in the late evening light. He’s sitting up, because asking him to lie down after spending all day doing so in the carriage will only lead to a stubborn refusal. If he is allowed to sit up, he will accept one of them playing for him. There has been no argument over drinking his tea and he meditates to her schedule, but it is undeniable his condition continues to worsen. Frankly, she isn’t sure how he’s able to snatch these minutes of clarity, but they happen several times each day.

At least he’s allowing Bai Meilin to watch A-Yuan, though only if the boy stays within Hanguang-Jun’s sight. Two other Lans are allowed the same privilege, but the remainder he appears to distrust. He has yet to say why.

‘No,’ she says at last, when it becomes clear he will not let the matter drop, ‘we are not heading to Gusu.’

His silence becomes more pointed.

‘Sect Leader felt we would find more relevant expertise in the Unclean Realm.’

He frowns. It’s faint, but during this illness he’s become more expressive, more noticeably emotional, than is normal for him. Lan Dongmei would not usually hope for a patient to shut down all sign of having feelings, but in this case it would be a return to his natural self.

‘We are not heading to Gusu,’ he says, and looks away from her, the frown easing out and his eyes sliding shut.

She thinks he’s relieved, but it’s hard to be sure. Not long afterwards, he opens his eyes and they have regained the edge of drifting that all too often precedes another dip into delusion. Or to reliving memories of things that are yet to happen, depending on whether her sect leader or Wei Wuxian is correct. It’s been happening more frequently, whichever it is.

‘Drink one more cup,’ she tells him, knowing by now how much he needs to benefit from the soporific effects. It is better when he sleeps through the night. ‘We will be in the Unclean Realm in a few days.’

He’s stopped responding again, but he does take the cup when she presses it into his hand. Lan Dongmei allows herself a moment of gratitude to the heavens and her ancestors that he’s taken this news well. She would hate to arrive at another sect with her patient restrained, and Zewu-Jun was clear that his brother should only be fully sedated if absolutely necessary.

It will be shocking enough for the people there to see the change in him as it is.

Just a few more days, she promises herself, and then she will have access to the expertise of a sect that has been dealing with qi deviation for generations. It’s never saved one of their sect leaders from suffering that fate in the end, but that is no reason to lose hope. If nothing else, she will have the support of peers. Facing things together is always easier.

Huaisang looks at the messenger and wonders if his brain has finally overheated. Too much reading of his books, his brother said, would lead to that. Huaisang laughed at the time.

‘Would you repeat that?’ he asks.

Next to him, the men chosen to guard him today are frowning. They are clearly not sure they’ve heard correctly, either. One of his cousins, seated to the side of the hall, looks up from reading a book of poetry with a crinkled brow. Before them, the messenger, a woman in Lan robes, is making Huaisang feel slovenly just by existing in the same space as her. She nods.

‘Healer Dongmei asks that suitable rooms be prepared for Hanguang-Jun and his son,’ she says. She doesn’t repeat the part about who else is expected. After a brief hesitation, she does add, ‘Hanguang-Jun is unwell and Healer Dongmei also requests the expertise of your best Nie healers.’

‘Yes,’ Huaisang says, sharing a look with each of his guards and his cousin in turn, ‘that’s what I thought you said.’

Once the matter of rooms is in the capable hands of others and the healers have been alerted, Huaisang drifts out to the courtyard to await his unexpected guests. It’s early yet, the day’s heat only a suggestion and the light is spring-water clear. In truth, Huaisang would not be awake if not for the arrival of the messenger.

Nie Rushi stands beside him, her braids particularly artful today, and Huaisang taps his cousin on the arm. He’s almost sure her hair was less elaborate earlier.

‘Have you redone your hair in preparation for Second Young Master Lan’s visit, A-Shi?’

Rushi narrows her eyes at him, a faint twitch of her lips saying she isn’t too annoyed at him.

‘Despite what the elders may think, A-Sang, I am not so desperate for a husband that I must hunt those weakened by illness.’

Behind them, their attendants and guards share amused comments and Huaisang lets them. He would prefer Lan Wangji not arrive into a tense atmosphere, especially as there is, apparently, a child with him. He is glad his cousin hasn’t commented on that, because the thought of the stoic second master of Gusu Lan having offspring is…well, it’s a lot.

‘They aren’t expected for some hours,’ Rushi says, after a while. ‘Do you intend to have us stand out here the whole time?’

Huaisang shrugs. Da-ge has taken most of their various cousins with him and he’s aware those who are left have been told to keep an eye on him. Rushi is, at least, pleasant company and she rarely asks about his training. He appreciates the way she chooses to read poetry near where he happens to be, letting both of them pretend it’s coincidence. He does feel some guilt over making her stand here.

‘You don’t all have to wait with me,’ he tries, but that gets the expected response.

Honestly, do they think this is a ruse, that a carriage will roll up and Wens will emerge from it? Though that does move his thoughts on to other things.

‘How many prisoners-of-war do we have now? It occurs to me I haven’t seen where they’re been kept,’ he asks idly.

This time, one of his guards speaks up.

‘Sect Leader said you shouldn’t go near the prisoners, Second Master. Nothing much happens, in any case. I can bring you reports from the people dealing with them, if you like.’

Reports. Huaisang pulls a face. If he wanted homework, he would go back to Gusu and beg them to take him in for training yet again. He wants a walk and to see what is happening for himself. If he must be up and about at this hour, he should take advantage of it.

‘Surely, there can be no concern that the prisoners are a threat to me?’ he asks.

‘Less of a threat if you stay away from them, Cousin,’ Rushi comments drily, to the audible agreement of the others. ‘Why do you want to visit them, anyway? You can’t think they’ll make a good subject for a painting.’

Honestly, Huaisang has given them barely any thought until now, but he has spent weeks being coddled, every person in the Unclean Realm apparently intent on ensuring Da-ge comes back to a perfectly preserved little brother, and he is bored. Even Jiang Yanli is away at war. Everyone who attended lectures is away in this war, except for him. Not that he wants to be fighting in battles, not at all. It’s just…

‘All I’ve seen for ages is the inside of these walls. My paintings will all be of stones before long. So tiresome.’

They still won’t agree to escort him to the prison camp set up a little way outside the fortress.

Huaisang sits himself down on the steps and declares that in that case, they really will all stay here until their guests arrive and someone had best go and find him something to drink before he dehydrates and dies. A fruit drink turns up soon after that, accompanied by snacks.

‘Eat, A-Sang,’ Rushi tells him, not looking up from the book she is once again reading. She sits against a pillar, her back supported by it and her skirts a pool around her. A picture of relaxed refinement, proving further the Nie are not ill-mannered butchers. ‘You should be refreshed for when our esteemed guest is here.’

He feels jittery long before the carriage finally appears, but he can’t think of anything he wants to do so he makes one of the guards sit and play a game with him, the both of them growing sluggish in the growing heat. Drowsiness is setting in when the clatter of hooves and the noise of wheels on stone draws Huaisang back to why he’s sitting out here in the first place.

The people walking beside the carriage look sombre. That’s the first thing Huaisang notices. It makes sense, with their mission here being to deliver one of the most important people in one of the most important sects for healing, but the messenger didn’t say how severe the illness is. If even the Lans on escort duty are noticeably distressed, Lan Wangji must be in bad shape.

Not that such a warrior would let himself be sent away from the front for anything minor. Huaisang remembers the man standing on a broken leg, refusing to show any discomfort to Wen Chao. That leg couldn’t have healed by the time he worked with Wei-xiong to bring down the Xuanwu.

His curiosity is overtaken by concern.

One of the women in the escort wears Nie robes and Huaisang only needs a glance to see it’s one of his old caretakers, Bai Meilin. She will talk to him, even if the Lans try to be secretive. She smiles when he catches her eye and offers a bow along with the others, though she steps away quickly to speak with a servant. He will catch up with her later.

‘Healer Dongmei,’ Huaisang says, once the introductions are over and there is still no sign of Lan Wangji or a child, ‘I understand you have brought my old friend for healing. Please. I am anxious to know how we can help.’

Lan Dongmei is the sort of person who looks as though someone carved an image of a Lan out of driftwood. She’s more weathered than the Lans he has spent time with, wearing her middle-age with quiet confidence, and she regards Huaisang now with grave consideration. She doesn’t seem overly happy to be here.

‘With respect, Second Master Nie, I would prefer to discuss any specifics with your senior healers. For the rest, housing and feeding us is sufficient. Gusu Lan is thankful for your hospitality during this time.’

It’s likely she wants the carriage to deposit Lan Wangji as close to the rooms prepared for him as possible, but before she can make any move to do so the door opens and Huaisang’s attention snaps to the figure emerging into the light.

Lan Wangji looks awful.

Huaisang remembers this man leaving the Unclean Realm on horseback not so long ago, riding tall and composed next to Wei Wuxian, looking every bit the noble on his way to war. He glowed, a bright spot of strength, where Wei Wuxian played down his own power by twirling his dizi and slouching. Now, Lan Wangji looks unfocused, even dazed, and his skin is pale in a way that is nothing to do with moonlight and beauty and everything to do with sickness. His robes are glaring against him, overpowering and mocking at once, and though the carriage must have been to let him rest on the way here, he looks drained.

He is also holding a small boy in his arms. The boy wears dark robes, for some reason, and lacks a headband, but this must be Lan Wangji’s child. He’s cute. He’s also older than Huaisang expected. The image in his head for these last few hours has been of a baby.

Lan Dongmei takes a step towards him and Huaisang is struck by a sense of visceral wrongness. She’s looking at Lan Wangji like he might bolt or collapse or worse. For his part, Lan Wangji’s shoulders tense when he sees her move and one hand clenches as though he’s trying to take a firmer grip on his sword. But his sword is not in evidence.

Well, Huaisang is well practised in distracting people who are far too close to lashing out, and he would prefer that Lan Wangji is safely away from more public spaces before there can be any sort of scene.

‘Wangji-xiong,’ he calls out, lifting his fan as though anyone here could miss the second master of the sect.’ Ah, Wangji-xiong, it’s so good to see you. But you’ve travelled all the way back here! You must be tired. All of you must be tired. Yes?’

He takes the looks he gets as affirmation and waves his closed fan at a servant as he trips over to Lan Wangji and his son. Lan Dongmei steps back and lets him take over, though she watches him closely.

‘You must all rest at once! I insist. Tea and juice and snacks, of course. See there are plenty in each room.’ Another servant vanishes. ‘And Second Young Master Lan must come with me. I have so many questions and Da-ge hardly tells me anything. It’s cruel! Don’t you think it’s cruel, Wangji-xiong?’

Lan Wangji frowns as Huaisang tucks his arm into his guest’s, the one that looks less likely to mean the boy is sent tumbling from his father’s arms, and tugs lightly to get things moving. It’s a little worrying, how Lan Wangji sways. He’s always had such a solid presence, but now he feels as though he’s barely managing to stay upright. Huaisang isn’t sure whether it’s a good or a bad sign that he’s allowed to take hold of Lan Wangji this way, but it does make things easier.

‘Come, come. I have the perfect place for us to sit and catch up,’ Huaisang goes on, shooting a look at Rushi, who smiles and moves over to the healer’s side. He sees her murmur something in Lan Dongmei’s ear and is pleased to see the healer nod. ‘There’s a pond, too! Does your son like water? I bet he does. It’s just the right sort of pond for a little boy to splash about in and there are such pretty birds there.’

He prattles on, bringing Lan Wangji and the boy along with him across the courtyard, into the hallways and back out into a more shaded courtyard that contains the promised pond. The rooms prepared for Lan Wangji open onto this area and it’s close to the healer’s quarters. By the time they reach it, a selection of refreshments sit on a table by a particularly fine stand of bamboo.

Whatever illness the Second Jade is suffering from, the tranquillity and peace of this space will help. At the very least, it can’t make it worse.

Huaisang only lets go of Lan Wangji when they are next to the table, which he decides is troubling. He can’t imagine being allowed to get away with that for even a heartbeat any other time they’ve met. Even Wei Wuxian had to grab hold of Lan Wangji’s wrist to tow him places.

‘Sit. I meant it. Oh, and may I meet your son?’

Lan Wangji looks round at the seat he’s being offered and seems to contemplate it for some time before he folds himself onto it, the boy still in his arms. And then he just…stops. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t look at anyone, doesn’t appear to really be seeing much of anything, if the blank look in his eyes is any indication.

Huaisang is relieved to see Lan Dongmei and Rushi have followed them into the courtyard garden. He flatters himself he sees approval or gratitude in the healer’s eyes. She doesn’t yell, anyway, which is always nice.

‘Hanguang-Jun,’ Lan Dongmei says, moving to kneel beside him, ‘I will have your tea brought here for you, if you wish. It would be good to let A-Yuan down now. He’ll be watched carefully, I promise, and he won’t leave your sight.’

Ah. Lan Wangji is an overprotective father, then? Huaisang would have guessed strict, but not especially prone to worry. He can admit he isn’t always right.

‘I would love to play with A-Yuan,’ he offers, smiling brightly at the boy, who watches him from his father’s arms with a wary expression. There is a spark of curiosity there, too. ‘We can play in the water or watch birds or…do you like to paint? I have paints in pretty colours. Would you like that, A-Yuan?’

A-Yuan blinks and twists so he is looking up at Lan Wangji’s face.

‘Father?’ he asks. ‘Can I go and play?’

‘If you wish,’ Lan Wangji says after a pause, though it takes him a moment longer to set the boy on the ground.

He still has the same deep voice, but it’s strained and weak. It’s disturbing, is what it is. Is this what war does to people? Even to people as disciplined and strong as Lan Wangji? Is this what will happen to Da-ge, if the fighting goes on and on?

A little while later, as Huaisang and A-Yuan splash in the pond, another Lan arrives with a pot of tea for Lan Wangji. Lan Dongmei sits across from him, pouring the tea, pushing it across, checking he drinks it. More than once, she rises to press her fingers against his wrist, frowning at what she senses.

A-Yuan grows bored of the water and lets Huaisang tell him about the birds they can see. The boy is delightful, so cheerful and enthusiastic, but now is not the time to wonder how Lan Wangji of all people has produced a son like this. After all, Da-ge and Huaisang have the same father.

He’s just about to suggest the paints again when three of the Nie Sect’s senior healers join Lan Dongmei, talking quietly far enough from anyone else that it’s possible even Lan Wangji can’t overhear them. All three look more and more serious as the Lan healer talks and Huaisang catches two of them glancing at him with concern. Very strange.

Finally, long before even the Lan bedtime, Lan Dongmei persuades Lan Wangji up and says she will take him to his room, the three Nie healers showing every sign of following.

‘Perhaps you can let A-Yuan stay here, Hanguang-Jun?’ Lan Dongmei asks, the fingers of one hand resting lightly on his shoulder, though she doesn’t sound hopeful. ‘He’s taken quite a shine to Second Master Nie.’

That gets a reaction.

Lan Wangji’s eyes widen and he pulls away from Lan Dongmei, striding over to Huaisang with some of his old sense of purpose, scooping up A-Yuan and swinging around to take his son with him without addressing a word to his host.

Huaisang hasn’t time to be shocked by such uncharacteristic rudeness before Lan Wangji is glaring at the Nie healers, one of whom takes a step back.

‘The Nie are little safer than the Jin,’ he declares, and sweeps past everyone to enter the room.

Huaisang waits until the others have taken their leave and followed their patient before he turns to Rushi and raises his eyebrows.

‘What in the heavens was that about?’ he asks, but his cousin shakes her head.

‘I think even our most desperate elders would agree I should not set my sights on a marriage there,’ she says. ‘I fear the Second Jade is quite changed from when he was last here. It’s strange, to have happened in so short a span of time, but war can destroy people in all manner of ways.’

Strange, indeed. Huaisang is no healer and has no interest in becoming one, but his curiosity is more than piqued now. He is going to find out what is wrong with Lan Wangji. If nothing else, it will give him something to do.

‘Quite so,’ he agrees. ‘Ah, well. Playing with little A-Yuan has made me tired, A-Shi. Take pity on your poor cousin and forgive me for abandoning you, but I fear I must retire for a rest.’

If Rushi notices he sends a servant to fetch Bai Meilin, she doesn’t bring it up.

In his more lucid moments, Wangji thinks about what it means, that Brother has sent him to the Nie rather than home, to Uncle. He doesn’t dare hope it means Brother believes him, after all. It does, perhaps, mean Brother has concluded Wangji’s distress is real, whatever the cause.

He thinks he’s glad not to be going to Gusu.

The room given to him by Nie Huaisang is cool and dim and the tea Lan Dongmei insists he take has him drifting near sleep. The bed is comfortable, if more lavish than he is used to. A-Yuan sits with Lan Furong, who Wangji remembers being kind when tasked with delivering meals to him in seclusion, and who is now reading the boy a story. A-Yuan points at some of the words and Furong likely thinks A-Yuan is recalling the story from previous tellings.

When Wangji’s head stops feeling so wrong, he will have to decide what to do about A-Yuan’s education. At least he seems to be shifting between mental ages less, though he no longer remembers everything he knew before they returned to this time.

Lan Dongmei has been checking, has been asking A-Yuan questions each day and checking him over. A-Yuan has been sleeping a little less, as well, which is reassuring but difficult, as Wangji is made to sleep so much.

More than once, he has lost his place and thought himself back in the Jingshi. It’s having to lie down so much of the time, he is sure. It’s too similar and it sparks the pain in his back. He hates it. It was particularly bad in the carriage, when he grew concerned as to why his bed was moving.

The humiliation of this state is bad enough, but worse is how it leaves him useless. Even with his son, he can only really watch others care for him.

He hopes Wei Ying is well. He should have made Brother promise to write to him with updates, but he didn’t think until it was too late. He isn’t sure how possible letters will be from now on, but he should at least have asked.

‘Rest if you can, Hanguang-Jun,’ Lan Dongmei says, and he realises she’s been talking to him.

‘What did they say?’ he asks, because there were Nie healers here, he is almost sure of it, but he doesn’t see them now. Not that he’s moving his head from where it rests on a pillow, but there’s no sense of anyone behind him, either. ‘Do they know how to heal me?’

‘They have several thoughts on the matter,’ Lan Dongmei says. ‘I have been given leave to make use of their medical library. We will find a way to stabilise your golden core.’

Wangji would be frustrated, but he’s too detached from himself to feel much of anything. He is aware of the irony, that others are more able to read his emotions when he feels them less. He doesn’t tell her he needs to be healed quickly, so he can be at Nightless City. He’s told her before, and it only upsets her. He is very tired of people being upset with him.

No matter. If they come up with nothing in the next few days, Wangji will gather himself and look in the library himself. There will be something, at the very least, with which he can fortifying himself long enough to make it to the battle. He just…needs a little more sleep first. That’s all.

In the meantime, he will have to trust Brother to keep his promise.

Chapter Text

Wen Qing holds Granny Wen’s too-thin wrist long after she’s finished checking her pulse. On her other side, Uncle Four sits with his shoulder pressed to Wen Qing’s, looking in a different direction because they would be told to split up if the guards thought they were planning something.

‘One of them said some high-up young master was sent back from the front,’ Uncle Four says.

‘Why would they send one of them back?’ Wen Qing wonders. ‘They’ll need all of them against Sect Leader’s puppets. One young master is worth any ten ordinary soldiers. More.’

Uncle Four makes a sound of agreement.

Some of them are worth a lot more, naturally, as Wen Qing is well suited to know. Of everyone held captive here, she’s the one who walked amongst the younger masters until so recently. But she is working on adapting to her new circumstances. Thinking of Jiang Cheng, of Lan Wangji, of Zewu-Jun and others is not something she should do. As far as the guards here know, she has never so much as set eyes on such esteemed people.

She has certainly never had her hands in the guts of two of them.

‘Maybe the fighting is done with and we just haven’t been told,’ Granny Wen offers. She at least isn’t sounding quite so distressed today as she has been, but she’s no stranger to having to scab over yet another wound in her heart. ‘Perhaps they’ll let us go soon.’

Wen Qing has nothing she can say to that. Nothing that will help, at any rate. She knows what Wen Rouhan has done, can imagine well what he is doing. She saw the state Wen Chao and Wen Zhuliu put Jiang Cheng in. She will never forget the sound of Wei Wuxian’s screams as she saved one brother at the expense of the other. She still hasn’t decided if that act makes her more or less worthy of suffering the same fate as any other Wen cultivator.

She still has strands of stubborn hope in her heart, hope that the non-cultivators will be spared, but they’re increasingly frayed.

‘It’s not as though it affects us,’ she says firmly. ‘Them sending one spoilt boy back here means nothing to us. Did the guards say anything about speaking with someone higher up?’

As expected, Uncle Four shakes his head.

For days now, they have made this request each morning and again with each change of guards, each person passing the response to Wen Qing through a chain of others. None of them want her true rank known. They have been laughed at, ignored, lectured. At least they have only been threatened with punishment once.

Sighing, Wen Qing leans a little more against Uncle Four’s shoulder and refuses to look over at the hill to the west. If she doesn’t look at the high mound of earth behind which Wen graves have been dug, she can pretend they aren’t there. She can pretend that none of them have died in this place, some of them spirited away in the night before any can see.

She wishes she could shake the belief that one of those graves must be very small indeed.

Lying in this bed in jagged pieces, only just returned to himself from another span of lost time, Wangji is mostly aware that he would like not to be panting. Soft, wet gasps of breath escape to strike the material beneath his mouth, his own breathing a grating noise he wants to banish. There are people in the room with him. There always are, now. They can hear this, see this. It’s humiliating.

He would like, also, not to be gripping the sheets or to be lying sprawled on his belly or to have tears in the corners of his eyes. He would like many things, he thinks, but none more than to be at peace within himself.

He used to think that meant learning and following the rules. Wangji has lived by rules his whole life. He’s been shaped by rules, by adherence to them and punishment because of them, and it made sense, at least, when the pain came as a response to breaking a rule. It’s only been since meeting Wei Ying that he’s come to understand obeying the rules has the scope to be just as harmful. Perhaps more. He hasn’t resolved the mess this realisation makes of his mind, isn’t sure if it’s something he can reconcile.

Besides, there is no peace for him unless A-Yuan and Wei Ying are safe. That has to be the greater concern.

‘A-Yuan,’ he manages through a sore throat. He can’t remember why his throat is hurting. He can’t open his eyes, either, to look for his son. The pain in his temples is too intense, too likely to turn to nausea if he tries.

A light touch on his left hand makes him flinch, pulling the hand closer to him.

‘It’s just me, Wangji,’ Lan Dongmei soothes.

She’s taken to calling him that, these last few days. They all have. He thinks, at one point, he failed to recognise his own title, but maybe it’s as much because they believe he will find it reassuring to hear his name, that it will make him feel more comfortable to have these people around him, if it suggests a greater closeness. They are wrong. He lacks the wherewithal to tell them.

‘A-Yuan?’

That comes out a little louder, a little more clearly.

She touches his hand again and turns it, setting fingers against his wrist.

‘A-Yuan is playing outside,’ she says, and takes hold of his hand properly when he shifts. ‘You were distressed, and we couldn’t get through to you. It was better for him not to see it.’

Distressed. She only ever admits to that when he’s been especially bad. He doesn’t ask what it was this time, but the squeezing sensation in his chest must have some echo in his qi or in his pulse, because she goes on regardless.

‘A-Yuan is unharmed. Lan Xia took him out before he saw or heard much. I believe they’re playing at floating things on the pond.’

So there was something to be seen. Wangji has decided that, on balance, he prefers the times he gets lost inside his own head over the times when he believes the world around him has shifted. That way, A-Yuan only sees his father being quiet and still. The soreness in his throat suggests shouting or screaming. There are few times in his life when Wangji has truly shouted and none of them are times he wishes to relive. He doesn’t recall ever screaming.

He imagines that, now, he may scream to find himself back in certain memories.

‘Bring him back.’

Her hesitation is obvious, even without being able to see her. She must know he can hear her sigh. Sighs and careful silences are yet more things that have become too familiar.

‘I understand you don’t like him out of your sight,’ Lan Dongmei says, as though she can have any idea, ‘but I promise you he’s perfectly safe and Lan Xia will bring him back in an hour for his meal. Do you think you can let him stay out playing until then? There are some things we should take this chance to discuss.’

Whether the chance is that A-Yuan is out of the room or that Wangji is lucid enough to respond isn’t stated. It’s likely both. He makes a noise of assent and moves to gather himself to sit up.

Lan Dongmei helps him as much as he’ll allow, until he’s sitting propped up against pillows, his eyes still mostly closed despite finding the daylight is shut out. He cradles the tea she hands him against his belly, moving slowly when he lifts it to his lips so that he won’t shake too badly. The warm liquid does something to shave away the edges of soreness.

‘I’m getting worse,’ he says once he feels he can speak without much rasping, to save her the trouble of finding the right phrasing. ‘The Nie have no cure.’

She pays him the courtesy of not trying to offer false comfort.

‘Not a cure, no. Not that we have found so far. There are further palliative measures we can try to ease your symptoms and to give us more time.’

More time. Time is useless to him if all he can do is exist in it and, as things stand, he’s barely able to do that. He waits as she refills his cup and returns it to him, the care she takes to fold his fingers around the porcelain something he allows. He has learnt she occasionally needs time to gather her thoughts, especially when the news is not good.

‘Tell me,’ he says.

She does.

Huaisang gives up on his latest painting and flops onto his bed, staring at nothing as he thinks up inventive ways to let his frustration be known.

It’s been days now and he’s been told nothing about Lan Wangji. Not officially. He hasn’t been allowed to go and visit the Wens, which he only cares about because he was told no, and he hasn’t heard from Da-ge.

He doesn’t know what he’ll do if Da-ge fails to make it back home, but it won’t be pretty.

With a huff, he rolls back to his feet and crosses to his desk, settling with more force than is wise and catching a pile of scrolls as they try to escape. Typical. Even the scrolls are being difficult now.

None of his many cousins are available, which is ridiculous, the duties he does have are all completed and none of his hobbies can blot out his concern for his da-ge. Or, if he’s honest with himself, his friends. Lan Wangji isn’t exactly a friend, but it still grates that one of his peers is here, in Huaisang’s home, and he’s not being told anything.

‘What could make Lan Wangji’s golden core become unstable, anyway,’ he mutters to himself. ‘He’s practically a stone. There’s nobody more resistant to instability of any kind. Even the fun kind.’

Wei-xiong will be so upset if Lan Wangji dies. Huaisang has seen and heard too much of their interactions to believe otherwise, no matter that they were arguing when Wei-xiong reappeared.

‘His heart will be quite broken,’ he tells the painting of a bird he completed the day before. ‘Wei-xiong likes to talk a lot, to boast about flirting with pretty girls, but he’s a romantic, I think. And he’s already lost enough.’

Ah, but letting himself grow maudlin won’t help. With a grimace, Huaisang picks up the first report on his desk and frowns down at it. He expected a report on their stock of grain, but that’s not what this is. Oh. Right. He was offered reports on the Wens they’re holding.

He’s partway through the third report when he finds something that makes his eyebrows rise.

‘Well, I can’t say I expected that,’ he murmurs, and gets up to find a trustworthy guard.

Later, as A-Yuan naps, curled up against his side, and Wangji tries to ignore the Nie healer sitting across the room, he does his best to form his thoughts into something useful.

First and foremost, A-Yuan’s future must be secured. Brother has already accepted him, but until his name is recorded in the Lan family records it will not be irreversible. For that…for that he will need to send a letter to Uncle. He will need to fill in details he isn’t sure he can.

If the war ends as quickly as it did before, and he has to push aside his terror at what that will mean for Wei Ying, then Brother may have time to reach the Unclean Realm before it’s too late. Lan Dongmei can’t guarantee that Wangji will be coherent enough to make his wishes known by that stage, however. Another letter, then. Brother never wanted to hurt Wangji or to stand against those Wangji loves. Wangji knows this, though the knowledge twists in his heart. With A-Yuan officially his nephew, Brother will find ways to raise him according to Wangji’s instructions.

Wangji can write two letters. He will make himself.

But from here, in this state, there is little he can do for Wei Ying. Would Wei Ying read a letter, if Wangji wrote one to him? So far, all he’s achieved in this second chance of his is to push Wei Ying further away.

Detailing everything that will come to pass would only help if Wangji could think who to give such a document to. It would need to be someone who trusts Wangji, someone who cares about the wellbeing of Wei Ying and of people who bear the enemy’s name, because Wei Ying will not let himself be saved if the Wens are not saved, too. It would need to be someone capable of persuasion, if not of outright manipulation, and Wangji can think of nobody suitable for that task, let alone somebody he can reach from here. Which means he can think of no avenue to avoid harm coming to the Wens.

Even if Wangji could save Wen Ning, even if he could stop Wen Qing from having to seek help, Wei Ying would only reach his breaking point over such abuse at another time. He would not be Wei Ying if he could be kept from it.

Wen Ning. Wen Qing. Wei Ying’s family, for all that time he lived in the Burial Mounds. Them and the others saved from Qiongqi Path. Nothing Wangji attempts will bear fruit unless there is no longer need for those people to be saved.

Where are they now?

Wangji has been in his own past for days and he hasn’t thought about them until today, those refugees who lost their lives to hatred and apathy. To compromise. To harmony between the sects. He should have begun searching for them as soon as he realised when he was.

He has made so many mistakes and he is running out of time to correct them.

This evening, he is to share his decision about treatment with Lan Dongmei.

Of the three options she has offered, the first can be dismissed out of hand. He will not be put into a coma, not when things spiral so quickly from the end of the war. If no cure or long-term treatment has been found for his core between Qinghe Nie and Gusu Lan, he holds no hope one will appear anytime soon. He could wake to find Wei Ying is gone again, or at least that he is past the point where Wangji has any real hope of saving him.

Assuming he wakes at all. That sits amongst the many things Lan Dongmei cannot guarantee.

The second, to continue as they are, will give him little time and hardly any of that in a fit state to take action. The strain on his system is beginning to cause lasting damage, even aside from the state of his core. He feels the lash marks across his back more often than he’s aware they aren’t there. It takes a toll.

But the third is to take a concoction that will keep him awake but sedated almost to the point of being one of Wen Rouhan’s puppets. It’s the one the healers want him to take: it’s the one that has the greatest chance of giving him time. He thinks it may also be one that leaves him almost as helpless, as useless, as being unconscious.

None of these options are acceptable. He needs another way. If he cannot act himself, he will have to find someone to do so on his behalf. He wishes he could think of more than one name.

Lan Dongmei allows herself a moment of relief when he says he will try the sedative tea. It’s clear he doesn’t want to. It’s equally clear he’s losing this fight, and she will push as sensitively as she can for anything that might help him keep battling longer.

That includes remaining quiet and calm. They’ve only been in the Unclean Realm for a few days, and she never met Second Young Master Nie when he studied at the Cloud Recesses, but she is certain that neither quiet nor calm are to be found in his presence.

‘I would feel more comfortable with trying this new treatment for at least three days before you try having any visitors,’ she tells Hanguang-Jun, this boy with a child of his own who has been given into her care. ‘We aren’t sure how your core will react, yet.’

‘I will feel calmer once I’ve seen him,’ he says, the rasp from earlier mostly gone from his voice.

He is losing himself more often and this morning was not a quiet episode. Hearing their stoic second young master make such sounds of pain and grief shook them all, she is sure. She is thankful for silencing talismans: the sounds didn’t make it into the courtyard.

She doesn’t know if it’s worse when he calls for his friend not to leave, not to fight, not to jump, or when he begs for his uncle to make it stop. She’s certain he means the whip. She has to meditate twice every day to clear her mind, because she shouldn’t want a patient to be suffering from delusions. She’s honest enough to know she can’t stomach the thought Wei Wuxian is right.

The mulish look in Hanguang-Jun’s, in Wangji’s, eyes is one with which she is becoming more familiar.

‘I will not take the new tea until I have seen him.’

She isn’t going to let him delay this treatment, not when he’s finally agreed to it. A counteroffer, then.

‘If you take the tea tonight and tomorrow morning, I will ask Second Master Nie to visit you in the afternoon.’

‘A quarter-dose,’ he insists.

‘A half-dose,’ she states. ‘That is my final word on the matter. And you are not to get agitated. I’ll throw him out, young master or not, if I see it’s having a negative effect on you.’

The only response she gets to that is a slow nod of his head, but he takes his new tea when she makes it for him and she watches him grow lax and hazy, taking the cup from his hand as his fingers lose their hold. She lets herself watch him until he falls asleep.

Their Second Jade should not be like this. This is not what any of them want for him, but, for now, it’s the best she can do.

Perhaps his old classmate really will lift his spirits and bring him some measure of peace. It’s better to hope than to admit defeat, so Lan Dongmei makes herself hope. It’s one of her rules.

Chapter Text

Huaisang arrives to visit Lan Wangji without guards and with a new toy for A-Yuan, a bird made from colourful cloth. He also brings some of the tea Da-ge keeps for Xichen-ge. It may be soothing, to have something that tastes of home.

He finds Lan Wangji sitting in a chair by the bamboo again, as A-Yuan plays a game with a wooden rabbit on the edge of the pond. Another Lan kneels next to the boy, smiling and talking with him, and Huaisang understands why when he’s close enough to see the hazy look in Lan Wangji’s eyes.

It’s one thing to be told the healers are trying a new treatment, and its likely effects, but it’s another thing entirely to see it. It’s by no means clear that Lan Wangji even really sees his own son. For at least the fifth time since he was asked to visit, Huaisang wonders what he’s expected to do here, and he hesitates just shy of the table.

Nie Lian bustles out from Lan Wangji’s room and pauses, fixing Huaisang with a stern look before gesturing him over to his guest. The woman has patched Huaisang up often enough over the years that he gives a reassuring smile as he goes. See, the smile says, there will be no upsetting the patient! He gets a frown in return.

She’s not one of the healers who will spill any of Lan Wangji’s secrets, no matter how careful he is in asking, but he’s still pleased she’s been assigned to this. For a Nie, she is remarkably comforting. It must be some other bloodline that brings that out in her because it isn’t the Nie side, Huaisang is sure.

Lan Wangji shows no real sign he realises Huaisang is there, not even when greeted directly, and another look at Nie Lian shows he shouldn’t expect more. She gestures for him to sit and disappears out of the courtyard with a last pointed look. Huaisang takes the seat on the other side of the table from Lan Wangji and watches A-Yuan play. It won’t be long before someone offers tea, he expects, and in the meantime, he is content enough to sit and wait.

A-Yuan smiles and waves his rabbit toy, but is distracted by the Lan sitting with him and doesn’t come over. His little face falls as the woman leans in and speaks, and he glances at his father and at Huaisang as though he’s thinking of running over anyway, but the Lan says something that makes him giggle and before long he’s back to playing.

Huaisang waits in the quiet of the courtyard for long enough his thoughts drift back to his other plans. He isn’t sure he’s right, but the description of the prisoner is enough that he’s willing to have her brought to him. It’s useful that requests have been made to speak with someone: a story is always easier to sell if someone else has set it up. If it really is Wen Qing, he won’t be shocked to find she’s the one who really wants the meeting, anyway, for all a range of Wens have asked.

He’s pulled back to the present by a low voice that’s weaker and more strained than he recalls it.

‘They don’t trust me with him.’

Huaisang jumps. He didn’t expect Lan Wangji to start talking. Carefully, he turns to look at his guest, to find himself the focus of a gaze that is still hazy but does at least see him now.

‘I’m sure they’re just thinking of your health,’ Huaisang offers timidly, because he has been warned not to upset Lan Wangji and he isn’t sure how to avoid it. Lan Wangji often seemed displeased with him in the past. ‘Children take a lot of energy, I understand. They want you to get your rest.’

‘They think I’m dying,’ Lan Wangji says.

He doesn’t seem to have any feelings about it one way or the other, which is…well. It’s not a relief, of course, because even though Huaisang never managed to befriend the Second Jade the way Wei-xiong did, he still has respect for the man. Besides, nobody ought to sound so detached from their own death. But with Lan Wangji, a lack of noticeable emotion is less concerning than the way he was when he arrived. In some ways, it is. It could also be the medication.

‘Are they right?’ Huaisang asks.

Lan Wangji stares at Huaisang for a moment longer before lowering his eyes. He is almost as elegant and beautiful as before, even with the sickly pallor and the signs that no matter how much he sleeps, he’s never rested.

‘Qinghe Nie holds Wens nearby,’ he says, as though that’s any sort of an answer. ‘I want to see them.’

Whatever Huaisang thought he would hear during this visit, it was not this. He leans in a little and opens his fan, shielding the shapes of his mouth from the Lan watching A-Yuan. His own people already insist Huaisang can’t go to the camp himself. No need to upset the Lans, as well.

‘Is this why you asked me to come see you?’

It was a surprise, to be sure, to find Lan Dongmei at his door after breakfast, telling him that Hanguang-Jun dearly wished for his old friend’s company. Given that Huaisang still can’t imagine Lan Wangji ever lying outright, he isn’t sure how such a request was phrased, but she seemed most anxious to bring such a meeting about. In all his thoughts about why Lan Wangji really wanted Huaisang to visit, the Wens were no part of it.

‘It’s important,’ Lan Wangji says.

This man is truly most difficult to talk to. Without Wei-xiong here, the glaring gaps between Huaisang and Lan Wangji are ever more apparent. They may both be Second Young Masters of great sects, but that doesn’t mean they understand each other.

‘The closest I can get to the prisoners is to read reports,’ Huaisang tells him, fluttering his fan. No point in agitating the man by telling anything more just yet. ‘I don’t know what you expect me to do, Wangji-xiong, really. Should you even be out of bed? How could you go out to view prisoners?’

Lan Wangji’s gaze flickers over to his son before dropping back to his own hands.

‘They don’t trust me with him,’ he repeats. ‘I don’t trust them with him.’

‘So you should be in bed, but you refuse to stay there.’ Such a stubborn Lan. Huaisang takes this chance to examine him more closely, but the sweep of lashes over pale cheeks and the set of his lips are still hard to read. ‘Do they really think you’re dying?’

A nod, barely there.

‘Do you think you’re dying?’

Again, Lan Wangji looks over at his son, this time turning his head and leaving Huaisang with a view of his profile. Getting the man to sit for him would be inappropriate, Huaisang knows, but that nose is truly unfair. He gets why Wei-xiong stares at Lan Wangji so much.

‘A-Yuan has already lost too many people,’ Wangji finally says, as though that’s any kind of an answer. ‘I need him not to lose them all again.’

‘Wangji-xiong,’ Huaisang tries, because even for him this conversation is hard to work out, ‘do you ever answer a question directly? These cryptic responses are no help at all.’

That gets him something like a grimace, small and quickly suppressed, but it’s something. Lan Wangji takes a slow, trembling breath, then another, before he closes his eyes.

‘What do you know of my situation?’ he asks.

Ordinarily, Huaisang would be averse to revealing everything he knew. Da-ge can need careful handling at times, which can include pretending not to know some things, but Lan Wangji already seems so…so fragile. So brittle. Da-ge can certainly not be described as either of those things. Perhaps a different approach is needed.

‘Officially, only that you are ill. Unofficially, that something is wrong with your golden core.’ He pauses to observe any impact so far. Stillness, but no obvious sign he’s causing further harm. He moves on to what he was told this morning, before he was given permission to be in Wangji’s presence, despite the fact he was invited. He lays each word down and tests his footing before laying the next. ‘That you can become agitated. That you often don’t know where you are or who is speaking to you. That I am not to upset you.’

An increase of tension around the edges of his mouth is the only reaction Lan Wangji gives to that. There’s another stretch of silence before the slow conversation continues.

‘And about my son?’

It’s barely more than a whisper.

‘Just that you brought him to the camp, that his mother is dead.’ Huaisang pauses, now, alert to any sign of a reaction, because no matter how she died or who she was, it can’t be something Lan Wangji will want reminding of. ‘That you won’t tell anyone who she was. That…that nobody knew about her or about A-Yuan until then. Not even your brother.’

‘Brother doesn’t understand. He doesn’t believe me, ‘Lan Wangi says, this time immediately, a curl of frustration showing.

‘About what, Wangji-xiong?’ Huaisang asks carefully.

Huaisang has heard nothing to suggest the paternity is in question, despite how shocking it is, and the matter of the golden core is one no healer would make up. And the Twin Jades have always shown faith in one another, taking each other at their word, even when said word has been unspoken.

The healer didn’t mention paranoia, but the Lan Wangji sitting in front of Huaisang has already shown a lack of trust in the people around him and a lack of trust in his own brother’s belief. Huaisang waits to see if he will be told why that is.

But Lan Wangji is apparently back to skittering away from questions to entirely different conversations.

‘Do you believe an entire people can be to blame for the actions of those in power? If Brother and I caused harm to your sect, would you expect all of Gusu to pay for it? Would you expect my son to die?’

‘What a question!’ Huaisang leans back, moving his fan a little more quickly to cover his confusion. ‘Really, Wangji-xiong, you know I’m not much for such things. And, in any case, such weighty ethical questions should wait until at least one jar of wine has been drunk, I think.’

This time, the grimace on Lan Wangji’s face looks like disgust.

‘Too many people are willing to disregard what is right and to indulge instead in liquor and politics. They drink and they boast and they lie. They don’t care who it kills.’

Anger seeps into his voice as he speaks. Actual anger. It sends a chill through Huaisang. This has to count as letting Lan Wangji become agitated, and Huaisang looks around to see the Lan by the pond saying something to A-Yuan as she stands and looks across at them.

Huaisang fixes his attention back on Lan Wangji, noting the glassy look in his eyes and the flush to his skin.

‘Wangji-xiong, perhaps if you tell me what is upsetting you. Specifically. Are you worried about someone in particular? Is it your son? Do you think someone will try to hurt A-Yuan?’

He doesn’t hide entirely behind his fan when Lan Wangji looks at him again, but some part of him wants to. If Lan Wangji had his sword in hand, Huaisang would be backing away. Perhaps this was the wrong tack to take.

‘I never heard you condemn him, but nor did I hear you speak up in his defence,’ Lan Wangji says slowly, voice rising, eyes narrowing. ‘Did it trouble you at all, that your own brother agreed to such slaughter?’

He’s loud enough, now, that the last sentence rings through the courtyard. Huaisang isn’t sure whether he should try to calm this not-quite-friend or if that will make it worse, and he casts a look at the other Lan to find her only a few steps away.

‘Hanguang-Jun,’ the Lan says, in a tone that would have had Da-ge screaming at her for treating him like an invalid, ‘Wangji, please, remember what Healer Dongmei-‘

‘I do not need reminding!’

Long years of being surrounded by Nies mean Huaisang only jumps a little at the snap of rage in that sentence. He hears the sound of something cracking and realises Lan Wangji is gripping the edge of the table. The other Lan visibly steels herself, one hand hovering partway to Lan Wangji’s shoulder.

‘Everyone needs reminding of things sometimes,’ Huaisang says lightly, refusing to let his tension show in his posture. ‘For instance, I do not recall failing to speak up in defence of anyone. Perhaps Wangji-xiong would be so kind as to elaborate?’

He ignores the darting look of warning from the unknown Lan and keeps a deliberately calm eye on Lan Wangji, who looks braced to lash out physically if anyone tries to pat him back into place.

‘Wei Ying.’

‘What about Wei-xiong?’

These random changes in topic are frustrating and fascinating. There must be some connection between the different points Lan Wangji lands upon, even if they aren’t visible to anyone else.

Lan Wangji darts a look over at his son again, who is kneeling by the pond with the wooden rabbit clutched to his chest, his eyes large and sad.

‘I must find his family,’ Lan Wangji says, less angry but just as intense. ‘His other family. I need to speak to the Wens. I must find Wen Ning. I must-‘

But before Lan Wangji can say more, Lan Dongmei appears at something close to a run, and she is clearly practised at bundling her patient back into his bed. She soothes and settles and insists and Huaisang thinks he sees the moment Lan Wangji gives in. Gives up. It hurts more than he would have thought, to see that.

In the aftermath, Huaisang meets the other Lan’s eyes and opens his own eyes wide in worry.

‘Is he like this often?’ he asks. ‘He was always so controlled. So…so collected. I can’t imagine how hard this must be.’

‘I can’t discuss Second Mast Lan’s condition with you, Second Master Nie,’ the Lan says. She hesitates, looking uncomfortable, but whatever she is thinking of saying doesn’t make it past her lips.

She refuses to meet his eye as she fetches A-Yuan, who is sniffling a little but lets himself be comforted too easily for this to be a shock to him. It’s heart-breaking, to think the little boy is used to this kind of scene.

Huaisang watches the Lan woman vanish into Lan Wangji’s room with A-Yuan on her hip and sighs. Well. That could have gone better. From the way everyone is behaving, it seems Lan Wangji is right. His healers really do think he isn’t getting better. They will want to keep him on a stronger dose, to avoid further outbursts, and Huaisang can’t imagine that will leave Lan Wangji is much of a state to hold a conversation.

For a moment, thoughts of his own father’s worsening state and eventual end pass through his mind, and he shudders. No. Lan Wangji was never his friend, exactly, but he has respect for the Second Jade. Besides, Wei-xiong will be most upset if Lan Wangji dies, and a small boy should not be left an orphan. Really, something will have to be done.

At least, if things go well over the rest of this afternoon, he may have some good news for Lan Wangji soon. If it is Wen Qing they have hiding away amongst the prisoners, she is more likely than anyone to know where Huaisang can find her brother.

In the meantime, Huaisang has plenty to think about. Nobody knows the identity of A-Yuan’s mother, but who else could Lan Wangji have been talking about, when he claimed the Wens as ‘his’ other family? And no wonder that is a secret the Second Jade has kept. Huaisang pictures telling almost anyone that Lan Wangji’s wife was a Wen and shudders.

‘Don’t worry, Wangji-xiong,’ he says to the empty courtyard. ‘I know how to keep a secret.’

Perhaps the mother isn’t actually dead, or it isn’t confirmed, and Lan Wangji even hopes to find her amongst the prisoners. That would be something worthy of a great tale, Huaisang thinks. Whatever the truth, it does give Huaisang something to do. He will find the little Lan’s other family and he will do so without letting any of their allies know the little master is part Wen.

Huaisang snaps his fan closed and leaves the courtyard, his mind buzzing and boredom banished.

Chapter Text

Qiren looks out over the snow-capped peaks and reminds himself of all the rules that mean he won’t raise his voice to the man who stands beside him.

‘This is hardly the time for you to be away, Qiren,’ Lan Qiang says, as though he has not expressed this several times since breakfast alone.

‘He is my nephew,’ Qiren states. The letter from Lan Dongmei sits on his desk, but he could recite every word of it if asked. ‘Lan Dongmei has asked for certain texts. I will take those texts.’

He knows Lan Qiang and many of the others oppose this, that they think it an act of sentimentality in a time where the sect needs the opposite to survive, but this is Wangji. Qiren raised the boy, raised both of his nephews, and he has had to make a kind of peace with sending them to war, but he will not sit by whilst Wangji is on his deathbed.

He will not allow Wangji to be on his deathbed. That irresponsible boy has a child of his own to raise, now, and Qiren will not watch Xichen be forced to raise his brother’s son. Bad enough that Wangji has not been saved from a doomed love. Worrying enough that Qiren realised none of this was taking place. There is still time to make up for that, to bring Wangji back onto the right path, but only if he lives.

‘We are still rebuilding,’ Lan Qiang points out, as if this is somehow news.

‘And we will continue building for some time,’ Qiren counters. ‘I will not be gone forever.’

Lan Qiang huffs a breath that in a student would be called an inappropriate display of emotion. In an elder, it is generally seen as a sign that the other person should reconsider their approach. Lan Qiang is but a few weeks older than Qiren, so he compromises by allowing the other man to state his opinion one more time.

‘We all grieve to hear of Hanguang-Jun’s condition, Qiren. He is precious to our sect, despite our disappointment in his recently discovered conduct, and naturally the texts will be sent. We all hope for his recovery and rehabilitation, but you are not a healer and another can undertake this task just as well.’

They have had this discussion. Qiren has swayed enough of the others that he can leave, but not enough that he can do so without attempts being made to dissuade him. It is tiresome. He had allowed himself to hope, just a few short years ago, that his family was past creating such trials for him. He was wrong. He is tired of being wrong about his kin. He is tired.

None of this can be allowed to disrupt his duty.

‘I accept that you believe someone else should go,’ Qiren says. ‘I ask you to accept that I am going to my nephew and his son anyway.’

In the end, he departs on his sword with three disciples in formation behind him and Qiang’s voice still ringing in his ears, but the important thing is he does depart. He will be in Qinghe soon. Clearly, it is past time for Wangji to be under the supervision of his uncle.

If by sheer force of will, Wangji can be made to heal, then Qiren will provide that will. Wangji will heal, he will be brought home, and there will be an end to any straying from the correct ways. With this next generation, the Lans will get it right.

Wen Qing walks with her head up and her spine straight. She managed to lessen her presence, she thinks, as they left the camp and approached the imposing home of the Nie Clan, but stepping into the hallways evokes an instinctive response. She is Wen Qing, niece of Wen Rouhan and ranking member of his court, not the insignificant, helpless woman she has been in the camps.

Or, she was. She was a ranking member, until she listened to A-Ning and to her own sense of compassion and landed herself in a cell. Until she made A-Ning a target for their uncle. No matter which side has Wen Qing under their power, she walks in enemy territory. She refuses to be cowed.

At first, she tries to staunch the posture, fear for others needling at her. She’s been keeping Granny as safe as she can, has been holding together even those who don’t know who she really is, and quite aside from what the Nie may do to her if they realise her identity, it will leave the others leaderless. They need her.

They haven’t learnt the lessons she has, about power and poison.

But the guards flanking her don’t react. They just continue to walk at the same pace and with the same air, and she stops monitoring her body in favour of observing her surroundings.

She can see why Wen Xu failed to make it far when he attacked.

Having expected to be led to see some minor official, she’s surprised to find herself in a grander and larger chamber than makes sense, one with evidence of taste in the objects and artwork arranged in the space. The guards stand on either side of her in silence.

Just as she’s about to ask if this is all she’s been brought here for, a young man in rich green and grey robes arrives in a burst of movement, a fan arcing through the air as he apologises and excuses his own lateness. Nie Huaisang.

She was definitely not expecting Second Young Master Nie.

He settles behind the desk and looks up at her as though he’s worried he’s missed something. A moment later his expression shifts, and he’s so obviously flustered that Wen Qing half expects the guards to reassure the boy.

‘Oh! Oh, of course. How rude of me!’

Nie Huaisang stands and bows, greeting her by her title, and looks at her expectantly until she offers a response. She does so with stilted grace, the phantom touch of Nie blades against her nape, but the guards don’t react. Nie Huaisang beams as he invites her to sit down and tells the guards to wait outside.

‘She isn’t going to hurt me!’ he protests when the guards don’t move. ‘And I promise to scream very loudly if she does! Go. Go! We’re only going to have a conversation.’

The guards depart with looks of affectionate amusement on their faces, but Wen Qing is sure they are only just outside the door. She’s distracted from that thought by the slide of porcelain across wood. Huaisang smiles when she meets his eyes.

‘I hear this blend is rich and fragrant,’ he says, as though she asked about the tea. ‘I’ve been meaning to try it and it only just arrived today. You will have to let me know what you think. I’ve heard the blends in Qishan can be quite heavy to those not familiar with them, but those I have had the opportunity to try have had floral notes to my palate, which may be something this blend has in common.’

He prattles on, as though Wen Qing has been invited here for this very purpose, pausing only to sip at his tea and sigh in pleasure. Every now and then, he glances at the cup in front of her, a faint frown creasing his brow but smoothing out again quickly, apparently not wanting her to notice. So. He’s nervous. She can’t think what he has to be nervous about.

His smile when she finally drinks from her own cup is so full of joy that she almost chokes.

‘Well?’ he asks. ‘How is it? As good as you had at the Nightless City?’

Wen Qing’s fingers do not tighten around the cup, because she is a surgeon and has too much control.

‘Almost,’ she allows, and lets him refill her tea. ‘I am surprised to be brought before you, Second Master Nie.’

He nods and puts down the teapot only to pick up his fan, though he does nothing but open it and let it splay its pattern over his chest.

‘You expected to be seen by an official of some kind, I expect.’

‘I didn’t expect to be seen at all.’

‘And yet you continued to request an audience,’ Nie Huaisang points out, with rather more incisiveness than her past interactions with him would predict. Not that there were many. ‘You don’t believe on giving up on something just because you believe you will fail?’

‘I believe some things are too important for that to be part of the equation.’ She keeps her tone cool, clear. She doesn’t let her hands shake. The surface of the tea remains still. ‘Why have you had me delivered to you?’

‘Ah, well. They brought me reports. I read them. Imagine my surprise when I recognised a description but not the name attached to it. It made me quite curious and a little worried. We are friends, after all, are we not, Maiden Wen?’

She has to put the cup down. She can’t look at him as she asks.

‘Are we?’

‘I would like to think so.’

There is silence, then, until she has taken several breaths, until she has picked the cup back up and drained it, until she is regarding him steadily with her hands folded in her lap.

‘We are on different sides in a war, Second Master Nie,’ she reminds him. ‘We don’t fight the same enemy now.’

If they ever had. At Dafan Mountain, with her own family turned to puppets and used as weapons, Wen Qing had stood with Nie Huaisang and Jiang Wanyin inside that golden net, but they had not fought. They had waited, safe and contained, until Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji made fighting unnecessary. So. They did not fight and she had a different goal from his, one that didn’t put her own life first. Nie Huaisang wanted to be saved from harm. Wen Qing wanted her people saved.

But Nie Huaisang shrugs, trailing one finger along the lacquer of the tabletop in curving designs that leave no mark.

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ he muses. ‘Neither one of us wanted this war, I don’t think. Neither one of us did anything to start it.’

Which isn’t true. Wen Qing regrets it, in as much as she can regret anything that keeps A-Ning safe, but she was Wen Rouhan’s doctor. She spied for him, reported back to him. She doesn’t know how far that changed anything. She pushes that aside and speaks for those who should not be blamed.

‘Many of the people in the camp out there have had nothing to do with this war. They have done nothing to assist Wen Rouhan. If anything, they have suffered under his rule. Yet they are still in the camp.’

‘Is that why you asked to speak with someone?’ Nie Huaisang asks, looking more than a little out of his depth. ‘Because you hoped to speak up in their defence? You think I can, what, free them?’

If Wen Qing was ever so naïve as to think there’s a point in that, it was very long ago, and she can’t imagine Nie Huaisang managing to save anyone.

‘No,’ she says, and feels like she’s surrendered. ‘Second Master Nie, are you aware people have died in the camp? That some of them have been removed without the rest of us knowing?’

He blinks and moves his fan up to hide his lower face. If that is the best he can do to conceal his reactions, he would die quickly at Wen Rouhan’s court. Or at the court of the Jins. It is a good thing for this pampered boy that his older brother is so protective. It’s clear he had no idea there’d been deaths.

‘Do you remember the people Wen Chao turned into puppets, Second Master Nie?’ she asks him, pushing harder. ‘The ones he would have let be killed by Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji.’

‘Your family,’ he offers quietly, still hiding.

‘My family,’ she agrees. ‘My innocent, non-cultivating family.’

He disappears entirely behind the fan for long moments, before lowering it, closing it, setting it aside. She waits as he prepares and pours more tea, flicking a look at her every now and then before ducking his head again.

‘And some of the people who are missing, they’re from your family?’ he asks at last.

‘I was hoping to see any reports and to visit the burial site,’ she says.

No need to give him details unless she must. She doesn’t expect to be allowed the reports. At best, she may be told anything pertinent from them, but she has been learning new lessons in managing her expectations.

‘Burial site?’ Nie Huaisang sounds genuinely confused.

‘It’s war,’ Wen Qing reminds him, not curtailing the sharpness completely this time. ‘We are the enemy. On the way to the camp, one of the guards whipped me as I tried to shield an old woman. Did you truly think we were being treated well?’

Nie Huaisang has frozen with one hand hovering above his fan, his eyes large and dark and wary as he stares back at her. As she watches, the fingers of that hand curl up, as though he’s trying to protect what he can from her glare. Slowly, he adjusts his posture, pulling the hand into his lap, and he sits in silence: a child who’s been chastised.

‘I just want to know what’s happened,’ she says, scouring the sharpness as it tries to leave her lips. She can’t be that here. She has no power here. ‘I’m not asking for anything more from you, Second Master Nie.’

‘You should not be in the camp,’ he says. He sounds genuinely upset.

‘Many of them should not be in the camp. That doesn’t change anything.’ Seeing him open his mouth, she presses on. ‘If you mean my rank should grant me a room in your home whilst good people, innocent people, remain in the dirt, then I must respectfully decline.’

He shrinks into himself even more.

‘I’ll look into it,’ he says, muted and small. ‘I promise. It… I’ll look into it.’

Now she feels she’s scolded him. Worse, she feels she’s scolded him and he’s accepted it. He’s as bad as A-Ning. Wherever he is, she hopes dearly that her brother has someone looking out for him.

‘Actually, I had hoped it was you, Maiden Wen,’ Nie Huaisang says to his hands. ‘I… I don’t know if you’ve heard, but Second Master Lan, Lan Wangji, has been sent back from the front. He’s… He’s very ill, to tell you the truth, and, well, I went to visit him earlier and he looks awful, and-‘

‘You want me to examine him?’ Wen Qing asks, cutting the boy off before he can ramble on. ‘Do you not have your own healers?’

‘All they can do is keep him as calm and comfortable as can be managed,’ Nie Huaisang says. ‘It’s a problem with his core, but not one our healers know how to fix. Unless something changes, he won’t be with us for much longer.’

For such an important figure in their world to die would be a blow for morale, no doubt. It won’t help matters between sects if a young master of Gusu Lan dies whilst under the care, however indirect, of a young master of Qinghe Nie. And then there are any personal connections to consider. Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen are known to be close, and it’s possible, she supposes, that Nie Huaisang and Lan Wangji have grown closer since she spent any time with them. All of which means this is important to the young man in front of her.

The desperation of others is a kind of power, used correctly.

It goes against her principles to take advantage of a life when she’s asked to save it. It should do. She finds she can no longer care as much as she once did. She is desperate, too.

‘Payment.’ Wen Qing almost blurts the word, her pulse quickening. She’s stood before Wen Rouhan with his puppets around her and maintained a façade. She draws on that now. ‘I will expect payment.’

‘I’ve already said I’ll look into the missing people, Maiden Wen,’ Nie Huaisang says. ‘And you’ve said you don’t want a room.’

‘There are many things that would make life in the camp better,’ she says.

In truth, she will examine Lan Wangji anyway, because she is a healer and a prisoner and she can only push her luck so far, but she owes it to Granny and the others to try and make use of any leverage she can. Even better bedding for Granny would help, or more food for the most vulnerable.

‘I am sure we can sort something out,’ Huaisang says, after a while.

Wen Qing tells herself it counts as a win and sets aside thoughts of who she used to be

Chapter Text

The last time she saw Second Young Master Lan, he was standing tall and calm on a path on Dafan Mountain, looking about as likely to bend or break as the mountain itself. Now, he’s feverish and barely conscious, stretched out in the bed in only an underrobe with the sheets twisted about his legs and his hands fists at his sides.

The healer who escorts Wen Qing and Nie Huaisang into the room immediately moves to untangle the sheets, clucking in disapproval and talking as she works.

‘Ah, Wangji, this is no good for you, is it? Who should be keeping an eye on you just now? I’ll be sure and let Healer Dongmei know they’ve left you on your own. What if you needed someone, hmm? It can’t be comfortable with the bedding all messed up, but we’ll have it sorted in just a moment. There, all straight. Isn’t that better?’

Wen Qing has never spoken to a patient like that in her life. She would never have imagined anyone speaking to Lan Wangji in such a manner, either. It’s fundamentally wrong in the same way it would be wrong to throw A-Ning into a battle, or for A-Yuan to have been locked in a prison camp. His lack of reaction is troubling.

‘What do you have him on?’ she asks. ‘This isn’t just the fever.’

As the other woman straightens and looks from Wen Qing to Nie Huaisang, Lan Wangji’s restlessness becomes more noticeable. He’s unsettled, the small, restless movements already tugging at the bedding again, and he’s mumbling something, far too quietly for the words to be understood.

‘This is Wen Qing,’ Nie Huaisang says, apparently in response to the other healer. ‘I’m sure you’ve heard of her.’

With the second master of the sect vouching for her, Wen Qing gets her answer about the medication they’re feeding Lan Wangji.

‘I would only give that to a patient who is terminal,’ Wen Qing says flatly, ‘and I would only do that if they could not go under the needle.’

‘He refused the needle,’ the healer says, though to her credit she looks troubled. ‘Healer Dongmei explained the various risks and benefits of each option, but he wants to be as aware as possible.’

Wen Qing directs a pointed look at the young man on the bed.

‘This isn’t just the tea,’ the other healer says. ‘He had a bit of an…incident earlier. It’s not uncommon for him to have a spike of fever or to sleep after. That’s one reason he needs the tea. Once he’s had a few more days on it, he should be able to maintain a more constant state and hopefully he won’t put such a strain on his system.’

She could push for more on a number of points, but this Healer Dongmei is clearly in charge of Lan Wangji’s treatment and alienating the woman in front of her is unlikely to help. Wen Qing will need to speak with the woman who is making the decisions.

‘The long-term treatment plan? Is there one? Or is there nothing in all of the Lan or the Nie teachings that can do more but have him die quietly?’

The Nie healer’s sputtering protest about compassion is enough to have Wen Qing forgetting the situation she’s in. Without thinking, she orders the woman out of the room and tells her she’ll be taking over treatment. Babying Lan Wangji is not going to save him. Wen Qing cannot abide anyone in the room who has any other aim but to save him.

There’s been precious little she could do of late, save for gripping on with her fingertips to the last remnants of family around her, but this? This she will do.

It’s only once the other healer has gone and Nie Huaisang is regarding her with careful eyes that Wen Qing realises what she’s done. Well. If anyone intends to punish her for it, at least she should make use of the time until then.

‘You can stay and chaperone,’ she tells him. She remembers the Lan Sect being touchy about showing skin, even more so than other sects, and she may have to strip Lan Wangji to examine him properly. It will depend on what she finds. Besides, it will provide some measure of safety against being accused of hurting the Second Jade of Lan.

Nie Huaisang swallows and nods.

She starts by taking Lan Wangji’s nearest hand and holding her fingers to his wrist, reaching out in a way only a cultivation-trained healer can do. They will have done this already, of course, those other healers, but few are as skilled in it as Wen Qing. This is simply a fact. What she finds makes her bite her lip.

She expected it to be bad, but this is enough to deserve a full study. The man’s qi is a mess. His golden core is… She will need to spend some time working out what’s going on there, but she can see why the healers have been having such difficulty. It will destabilise and kill him if nothing is done, is well on the way already, but it’s unlike any qi deviation she’s treated before.

And then there are the invisible wounds.

She has Nie Huaisang help her undress Lan Wangji enough to see his chest, and then turn the man so she can inspect his back.

Wen Qing has never been overly interested in men. In truth, any time she spent thinking of marriage was taken up by hoping she could avoid it, though it would be Wen Rouhan’s choice that mattered, not hers. Even so, she is not incapable of acknowledging a well-made man when she sees one. Beauty, however, is not relevant in this context. Others can mourn the loss of such a pretty face and well-built body if it comes to it. Wen Qing has other concerns.

Physically, he’s almost unmarked. Flawless is rarely a word she can use about anyone’s skin, but in this case it’s true.

The problem is that his spiritual energy is reacting as though he’s severely wounded.

Being Wen Rouhan’s physician also meant being called upon to treat many other people, some of whom had suffered unspeakable torment. Set against some of the things she saw there, the way Lan Wangji’s spiritual energy fluctuates and pools around the lash marks on his back, the burned lines on his chest, is hardly worth worrying about. At least, it would be if the wounds themselves existed.

For a body to respond to wounds without carrying them would normally be down to a curse, though Wen Qing has come across people who still suffer from old hurts long after they have healed physically. One man’s spiritual energy still tried to respond to a series of vicious stab wounds years after they were gone.

Surely, she would have heard if Lan Wangji had been beaten so brutally? They feel like lashes from a discipline whip, which could, she supposes, be a punishment Gusu Lan would want to keep quiet: the shame of their Second Jade earning such a thing would be awful. But the wounds from a punishment whip shouldn’t be gone. Not ever. That was part of the point of using the discipline whip, so that the one punished could never forget. And if his body had been branded, which is what the mark on his chest feels like, it would still be visible. With him on his back again, she traces along the edge of the brand with the hand not holding his wrist, trying to get a feel for its shape, for some clue as to its origins.

She feels his golden core spasm and shifts her focus, taking hold of his other wrist and flooding his pathways so his energy is cradled in her own, stilling and soothing the core into a semblance of calm. It’s not something every healer can do, but Wen Qing has spent a lot of time around a man who refuses to heed any advice about the dangers of the yin iron. This is not the first time she’s wrestled a golden core into submission. It never stops taking a toll.

Panting, she stares down at him with her hands pressed to his wrists, to find him looking back at her.

In the eyes of this young master who is so often called cold, she sees confusion, surprise and…and relief. Not the sort of relief that comes with the cessation of pain, but the sort that says he’s relieved to see her, specifically. It’s relief bound up with recognition.

‘Wen Qing,’ he says, and he tenses under her hands, tries to shift.

‘Stay still,’ she orders. ‘I can’t risk losing contact just now. Do you know the state your golden core is in? I’m holding it together, Second Master Lan.’

He frowns as though she’s spouting irrelevant trivialities, but he does stop trying to move. He says nothing about the intimacy of their position, with her leaning over him, her arms to either side of his body.

‘How are you here?’ he asks.

He speaks in the careful way of someone who may be sick at any moment, or whose throat throbs with soreness. Now is not the time to question him properly.

‘I was in the prison camp outside the walls,’ she says. Sometimes, answering their questions can keep a patient steady during treatment. He doesn’t ask what prison camp or which walls, so at least he knows where he is. That, or he just deems it pointless detail. ‘Second Master Nie asked me to look at you, and a good thing he did. Unless you’re planning on lying in bed and waiting for death?’

His only reaction to idea of his own death is to blink, once, slowly.

‘Wen Ning?’

The pain of her brother’s absence is a constant thing but hearing his name on Lan Wangji’s lips jabs at the bruise, turning it from dull throb to a bright sharpness, and she hisses through her teeth, having to force her fingers not to tighten their hold on him.

‘Why do you want to know about my brother?’

Lan Wangji’s frown is a slow drift across his brow before resolving into determination. Wen Qing feels the way his golden core reacts, battle-ready even though he’s still lying down.

‘Wei Ying will suffer if Wen Ning dies again. We have to keep them both alive.’

‘Dies again? Lan Wangji, what are you talking about?’

But Lan Wangji is already losing focus, his core unable to maintain its state, and whatever it is he means by talking of A-Ning dying, she isn’t going to gain clarity when he’s in this state.

Nie Huaisang speaks up from the spot he’s claimed some way from the bed, raising his fan as though he needs to be given leave to speak.

‘That’s the other reason I hoped it was you, Maiden Wen. He was asking after your brother this morning.’

‘Why?’

‘Um,’ Nie Huaisang says, and glances at Lan Wangji, who seems to have run out of words, his eyes more closed than open and his lips barely parted. ‘He…he was very insistent that he needed to find him. I didn’t know he’s worried about him, um, about his life. That is-’

‘They’ve barely met.’ Lan Wangji helped to save Wen Ning at Biling Lake, it is true, but Wen Qing doubts the Lan focused on who he was saving, and she can’t ask him now because he’s clearly on the verge of lapsing back into unconsciousness. ‘Why would he care?’

Nie Huaisang disappears behind his fan again and Wen Qing has the distinct impression he’s eyeing up an escape.

‘Ah, you will have to ask him, Maiden Wen. I really would only be guessing, and we know how Wangji-xiong hates gossip, so maybe you can ask him later, yes, when he’s awake properly?’

She opens her mouth to let him know what she thinks about that when a woman wrapped in Lan robes and worn-in authority steps into the room, effectively cutting off anything else. The expression on her face is questioning, with just a hint of displeasure held in check.

‘Lan Dongmei,’ Nie Huaisang says, stepping back despite the lack of any threat from the Lan healer and the fact they are in the Nie stronghold. ‘I found someone who can help! Isn’t that good?’

Lan Dongmei does not look as though she thinks it is good, but she does allow Wen Qing to introduce herself and nods with professional respect once that’s done. There is a definite thawing now she knows who she’s been brought and some of the tension in Wen Qing’s back eases.

‘You’ve examined him, I take it?’ Lan Dongmei asks, her gaze lingering on where Wen Qing still holds Lan Wangji’s wrists. ‘You’ll be wanting the case history. I can’t say I relish having this sprung on me, but I’m not above taking any help we can get. Wangji means a great deal to our sect and I promised Sect Leader Lan that I would take care of his brother. Let me bring in someone to sit with Wangji and we’ll take tea and get you caught up.’

‘Does he need someone to sit with?’ she asks, and this time she’s seeking information on the state of her patient rather than passing judgement.

Lan Dongmei sighs.

‘We’ve found it’s best. Come, Healer Wen. My rooms here are just down the hallway.’

It’s something Wen Qing hasn’t had time to miss, this easy acceptance of her role as a healer, uncaring for sect affiliation or politics, though it throws her off balance at the sheer lack of conflict. It must be that, she thinks, that slows her reaction when she walks with Lan Dongmei out of the room and into the sunlit courtyard.

Another Lan stands with a boy in her arms, a boy dressed in rich robes. Wen Qing stops and stares, knowing something about this matters and unable to form any thoughts. It isn’t until Nie Huaisang steps up beside her and speaks that she’s jolted into realisation.

‘So cute, isn’t he? We were all most surprised to find out Wangji-xiong has a son, but little Lan Yuan is such a lovely boy that everyone loves him.’

It has to be shock or something like it. There is no other explanation for why it takes her long seconds and hearing part of his name in Nie Huaisang’s mouth before Wen Qing recognises her own cousin’s child. The very child Granny Wen is mourning back in the camp, the one they have all been mourning. The one she has asked Nie Huaisang to find, even if he doesn’t know who he’s looking for.

‘A-Yuan,’ she breathes, past thinking of anything but that he’s there, in front of her. Alive. Cared for. How?

‘You know him, Maiden Wen?’ Nie Huaisang asks, going on too quickly for her to piece together a response. ‘Ah, but you need to speak of medical things now, don’t you? I know! After you’ve learnt all about Wangji-xiong’s health and the herbs he’s taken and everything, why don’t you come back here and visit with A-Yuan? He likes meeting new people.’

Wen Qing knows, on some level, that she should protest. That’s her relative, vanished from the prison camp and now claimed as a Lan. She has every right to be angry, to demand A-Yuan is handed to her. But…

But it’s better here for him than it is to be imprisoned. It’s better, at this very moment, not to be thought of as a Wen. And Nie Huaisang is offering her the chance to come back. Sometimes there is a kind of power in choosing not to act.

‘Very well,’ she says, still feeling dazed as A-Yuan looks at her and grins but doesn’t call out. There’s no sign he knows who she is. There’s a lot to work through, here. ‘Let’s do that.’

She may be wrong, but the noise Nie Huaisang makes at that sounds satisfied.

‘That’s good, Maiden Wen. That’s good. I’m so pleased. Ah, ah, no. You go on ahead. How about I keep an eye on Wangji-xiong until one of your healers can be here, okay?’

The fanciful young man ushers Wen Qing and Lan Dongmei out of the courtyard and disappears back into Lan Wangji’s room, leaving the two healers standing in a hallway. Lan Dongmei raises an eyebrow and shakes her head.

‘We have nobody like that back home,’ she says. There is no way to tell if she considers that a good thing or a bad. ‘Well, shall we? I confess, a fresh mind on this will be a relief, so long as it’s someone of your calibre.’

It’s easier to fall into the familiar waters of healing, far easier than dwelling on how Wen Yuan has been spirited away by Lan Wangji of all people, spirited away and claimed, and Wen Qing lets herself focus on it. She needs Lan Wangji to live, now, for her own reasons. The Second Jade will explain why he is claiming one of her relatives as his own child, and he will give her a good reason not to make him sorry for it.

Huaisang settles beside the bed and fans himself gently. His temporary charge looks to be completely asleep again, which is probably for the best.

‘Ah, Wangji-xiong,’ Huaisang says, ‘but you do hold a lot of secrets, it seems. However could Wen Ning die again, when he has never died at all? Really, you must promise to tell me everything or I shall die of confusion.’

He has to admit, though, that he hasn’t felt bored in hours, and he feels no need to hide away and paint his fans.

Wen Qing recognised A-Yuan, he is sure of it. There is some connection between Hanguang-Jun and the Wens, and it would be remiss of Huaisang not to explore that. The Wens are, after all, the enemy, as Wen Qing has reminded him herself. This is the case even if Huaisang remembers Wen Qing calling her family away before they could hurt him back on that mountain, even if he recalls Wen Ning as a shy and unobtrusive presence. It’s true even if one of them is also a tiny Lan.

A tiny Lan who is playing out in the courtyard, when Huaisang is sure the boy would love to sit inside with a new friend and listen to stories. Huaisang has always liked stories and can definitely remember many to share with A-Yuan.

Yes. The one minding A-Yuan deserves a break. A-Yuan will be safe and happy with Huaisang until someone else is sent along, and even such a young child may have some information to share about his own life.

Huaisang is all but useless in the war effort, but he can do his bit to reunite a boy with his wider family, even if the father is so bad at making connections that it’s a wonder A-Yuan exists at all. And he dearly wants to hear that story, for all it may take trickery and persuasion beyond anything he’s tried before to get the man concerned to share it. Decision made, Huaisang stands and heads for the door, his steps lighter than they have been in weeks.

Chapter Text

The Unclean Realm is far from Qiren’s favourite place. It lacks elegance, lacks balance. It is a place built on the assumption of violence. It is, however, built very well, and in a time of war he is appreciative that at least his severely ill nephew is safe behind its walls.

He would feel better had Xichen sent Wangji home, but he admits the increased distance would have been taxing for someone in such a poor state of health. Even so, Xichen will be explaining his thinking once there is chance.

From above, the Unclean Realm looks like nothing soft has ever touched it. It grows little better as Qiren and his disciples descend, though the odd glimpse of rich green silk speaks of the wealth inside the walls. Even when they land in the outer courtyard and are met by a member of the Nie household, it feels disquietingly as though they’ve come to visit a fortress in truth.

‘Our thanks,’ he tells Nie Rushi, once greetings are over with, ‘but I would deliver the texts to Healer Dongmei and see my nephew before I rest.’

His grandnephew, too, perhaps, though that may be best done later. Qiren never felt entirely comfortable around his nephews when they were infants, but he became practised enough at it that he thinks he won’t scare the boy. It will still be easier when he isn’t feeling such strain from the journey.

‘Of course,’ Nie Rushi says. ‘I believe Second Master Lan is currently sleeping.’

Qiren nods. Point taken. He will not expect to speak with Wangji, then. He still finds he needs to see the boy, to be sure he has not yet followed his parents into death, leaving Qiren with an orphan to guard.

There is no need for the disciples to see Wangji is such a state, so Qiren sends them instead to deliver the requested texts to Dongmei. The woman is a good healer, an honest and dedicated member of Gusu Lan, but he mourns the loss anew of some of their most senior healers when the Wen came to Gusu.

Dwelling on it will change nothing. They do not have those healers. They have Dongmei and the healers of the Nie Sect. And now those healers have books from the forbidden section of the library. There is nothing else Qiren can bring about to increase Wangji’s chances.

‘This way,’ Nie Rushi says and leads him through quiet hallways.

She has posture and elegance enough to be mistaken for one of the Lan Sect, if only she wore the robes, and it’s sufficiently familiar that Qiren feels more centred by the time they pass through a small courtyard and into the room where Wangji lies.

He’s greeted by the sight of Nie Huaisang sitting on the floor next to the bed, a small boy happily nestled up against him as they both stare up at Qiren and Nie Rushi. Wangji lies on the bed behind them, pale and small and unmoving. The Nie boy looks startled and guilty, of course, as he almost always does when faced with Qiren.

‘Cousin, I didn’t realise you were visiting Second Master Lan,’ Nie Rushi says, stepping closer and reaching down a hand to help Nie Huaisang up.

Qiren knows disapproval is likely on his face at that. Can Nie Huaisang not even stand up by himself? But now is not the time for dwelling on the failings of Second Young Master Nie, numerous though they are.

‘Wangji-xiong…Um. I mean, Second Master Lan is sleeping, so I was keeping A-Yuan here company,’ Nie Huaisang says once he’s standing and has greeted Qiren, as the small boy looks up at them all from the floor. ‘Come here, A-Yuan.’

Nie Huaisang leans down and picks the boy up, settling him awkwardly on his hip, and smiles at Qiren. It’s a tremulous sort of smile, but still far too bright for a sickroom.

A bitter moment of resentment hits Qiren. As he looks at the child in Huaisang’s arms, he thinks how much more sense the world would make if this foolish young man were the father of a secret child. Not Wangji. Not Qiren’s perfect, shining disciple. He throttles the feeling.

‘A-Yuan, this is Lan Qiren,’ Nie Huaisang says.

He may be about to say more, but A-Yuan holds out his arms and tips himself forwards so far that Nie Huaisang almost drops him. Qiren finds himself stepping forward and catching the boy, and a moment later he has Wangji’s son burrowing into his arms.

‘Granduncle,’ A-Yuan says, the word slightly muffled from where he has his face pressed against Qiren’s neck. ‘Are you here to make Father better?’

‘I…’

Qiren meets Nie Rushi and Nie Huaisang’s eyes in turn, but they both look as taken aback as he feels. At least the boy isn’t scared of him. Clearing his throat, he tries again.

‘I’ve brought books to help the healers, A-Yuan.’ Tentatively, Qiren lifts the hand on A-Yuan’s back and places it on the back of the boy’s head. None of this is the child’s fault, any more than Wangji and Xichen can be blamed for their own parents’ mistakes. ‘I’m also here to meet you.’

Not that he’s ever introduced himself to someone who is already in his arms. He even met Xichen and Wangji whilst they were being held by others, though he did try holding them not long after.

The thought has him looking more closely at Wangji as he is now. He was always a quiet baby. He grew into a quiet boy and then into a quiet and reserved young man. This, though? Even for Wangji, this is too quiet, too still. It’s wrong.

‘I will sit with my nephew,’ he announces.

His hosts seem unsure about leaving him and he’s asked if they should find someone to mind A-Yuan, but Qiren dismisses them both. He has looked after young children, he reminds them, and he is sure someone will be in earshot should they be needed. A place like this will have servants everywhere, even if they can’t be seen.

Once the room contains only the three generations of the Lan Clan, Qiren lowers himself to sit on the edge of Wangji’s bed and watches his nephew’s chest rise and fall. It’s less formal than he would normally let himself be, but he suspected seeing Wangji like this would shake him, and he was right. And nobody will know if he sits closer, if he watches carefully. His grandnephew, who somehow knew who he was without being told, is still snuggled up to him, his small body growing limp as he snuffles into sleep.

He hasn’t been able to get a good look at A-Yuan, yet, and at this very moment, with Wangji’s condition so precarious, Qiren will take the comfort of this new family member close against him. Still, he wonders whether anything of the boy’s mother will be visible in his looks. Qiren is well-versed, after years of hosting the lectures and attending conferences, in the familial traits of many clans.

Hopefully, Wangji will be around to explain everything. If he is not, Qiren will have to work out what he can. He refuses to let the bitterness well up again, but he should not have to try and piece together the identity of his nephew’s love. Mixed in with his disappointment and his anger at Wangji’s behaviour, there is also a wistful regret.

If Wangji had to fall in love so young, if he had to produce a child, a wedding would have been nice. Qiren would have wanted them to wait, he knows that about himself, and most of the other elders would have felt the same way, but if the pair had approached him, had confessed to their lack of restraint and to the fact a child was on the way, a wedding would have been arranged. Preferably quickly enough they could let the world think it an early birth.

Qiren could have found some peace in that, he thinks. Some joy. Certainly, to see Wangji with a wife, who would stand by his side and support him, would have eased some of the worry over the boy’s loneliness. And it would have meant they could take their time finding the best match for Xichen, with an heir already to hand.

That is a bright side he can still contemplate, Qiren supposes, though the child will need to be legitimised, which means Wangji will have to confirm a marriage took place.

‘And to think, I was worried about the effect Wei Wuxian would have on you,’ Qiren mutters.

There is a lesson in this somewhere, but he’s having trouble working out what it is.

Wen Qing finds a servant waiting for her when she steps out of Lan Dongmei’s rooms.

‘If you will come this way, Maiden Wen,’ the servant says, and Wen Qing, who a few hours ago was in a prison camp, finds herself escorted to a room that opens onto a courtyard filled with birds.

A figure stands in the doorway, looking out at the birds with his face tipped up and his fan tapping lightly at his chin, and the servant leaves without speaking to him.

‘Second Master Nie,’ Wen Qing greets, and waits, her hands folded neatly at her waist.

The anxiety over her brother has only grown with the bizarre details Lan Dongmei has shared and she still has the puzzle of A-Yuan’s presence to unravel, as well as Gusu Lan’s second master to treat and the welfare of her family in the prison camp to think of. She doesn’t have time to indulge this boy. Whatever he wants with her now, he must make himself clear.

With a sigh, Nie Huaisang turns away from the darting, swooping birds and bows in a polite greeting. Neither of them mentions the delay.

‘You have spoken with Healer Dongmei,’ he says. ‘I trust you now know all about our Wangji-xiong’s case.’

Wen Qing stares at him.

‘I understand you had me brought here to consult,’ she says firmly, ‘but that doesn’t mean I will tell you everything Lan Dongmei just told me.’

Nie Huaisang makes a dismissive gesture with his fan and grimaces, as though he finds the very idea distasteful. It would mean more if he didn’t immediately invite her to sit and take tea with him.

‘You need an opinion on another blend?’ she asks, though she takes the place he indicates. She is still a prisoner, after all. ‘I know more about medicinal teas. If you want someone from Qishan Wen to discuss the intricacies of tea with you, you will have to seek out someone else. I believe one of Wen Rouhan’s aunts is fond of such things.’

‘No, no,’ Nie Huaisang says lightly. ‘This is one I have drunk many times before. I would value your thoughts on it, of course, as a lady of taste and good judgement, but it isn’t why I’ve asked you here.’

She refrains from pointing out she wasn’t really asked, even if the servant had phrased it almost like a question. Control what you can. She can control her own reactions. She sits and waits with near perfect calm, her gaze steady on her host.

‘I spoke with A-Yuan,’ Nie Huaisang says, after a pause. ‘Some of the things he told me are…confusing, I have to say. And now he is with Lan Qiren and I don’t know that I will have the chance to see what else the boy knows.’

Wen Qing froze at the mention of A-Yuan and tenses further to hear he’s with Lan Qiren.

‘What sort of thing did he say?’ she asks.

‘What did Lan Dongmei tell you?’

Today has been one strange thing after another, one revelation piled upon the next, and Wen Qing would expect to reach a point where she simply cannot take more, except she has seen all too well that the human body, and the human mind, can suffer through a lot more. She refuses to break.

He looks away first, but it doesn’t feel as though she’s won.

‘I think,’ he says to his cup, ‘that something very strange may have happened to A-Yuan and to his father, something strange enough many would believe it nothing but a tale.’

And, well, Lan Dongmei did say Wei Wuxian was the one to piece it together back in the camp. Wei Wuxian, who vanished without a golden core and came back to destroy Wen Chao, who saw her notes on a procedure and persuaded her to carry it out, who tricked his own brother into believing he had met an immortal. That is not to say everything Wei Wuxian believes is the truth. Not at all. It’s just… Wen Qing knows, better than most, she thinks, just how careful Wei Wuxian is with the people he loves, how far he will go to defend them, and she saw how the boy looked at Lan Wangji. Wei Wuxian wouldn’t fling ridiculous theories around for the sake of it, not when Lan Wangji was so ill.

Besides, Nie Huaisang, the weak and pampered boy, would not be holding A-Yuan’s words out as payment unless he knew, somehow, that Wen Qing has a connection to the child. There is more risk here than she realised.

‘I won’t tell you everything,’ she says. The lines she will cross may be blurred or shifted, but she will hold onto those she can.

Nie Huaisang smiles at her and nods.

‘But you will tell me something. Tell me, then, has Wangji-xiong spoken about other things that have not happened yet? Other than your brother dying.’

She wants to dig A-Yuan’s words from him, but he’s watching her with expectation and she finds she wants to tell him. She wants to share this with someone who may believe it, because if it is true, as Wei Wuxian thinks and Lan Xichen apparently does not, then Lan Wangji knows her brother dies.

‘Yes,’ she tells Nie Huaisang. ‘Lan Xichen made a list. Healer Dongmei gave me a copy.’ She takes a steadying breath, reminds herself she is in control of herself, and pushes on. ‘Wei Wuxian believes Lan Wangji has already lived the next four years, and that he and A-Yuan are living them for a second time.’

Now it’s her turn to look at him, waiting for a response. He pulls a face, almost pouting, and his eyes narrow. There is little sign of surprise.

‘I see. A lot can happen in four years, especially in a time of war.’ His eyes are bright as he sits up straighter and nods at her. ‘And here they are treating Wangji-xiong as though he’s delirious. He must be so frustrated! I think, Maiden Wen, we should take a look at this list and you should think about ways this temporal displacement could be part of what is making him ill.’

‘You believe it?’ she has to ask, even as she reaches into her sleeve for the list. ‘Just like that?’

Nie Huaisang shrugs.

‘There are many strange things in this world. And A-Yuan told me a very lovely story about his uncle taking him into Caiyi for his sixth birthday. He could describe parts of the town to me I remember visiting myself. How do you explain that, if he hasn’t lived for years in the Cloud Recesses the way he thinks he has?’

Six. Wen Qing can do nothing but sit and let those words drift around her mind. She has so many questions, but few of them will be answered unless she finds a way to save Lan Wangji. At the very least, she has to speak with him when he’s lucid. For that, she cannot afford to offend this odd young man.

‘Okay, then,’ she says. ‘And whilst I am saving Lan Wangji from the effects of moving backwards through time, what will you be doing, Second Master Nie?’

Yet again, he waves his fan dismissively, but this time he does so with a grin.

‘Something like this, it must make us friends,’ he declares. ‘Please, call me Nie-xiong.’

Wen Qing lifts an eyebrow.

‘I will call you Huaisang,’ she says. ‘You may call me Wen Qing. I don’t want to hear Qing-Jie pass your lips. Do you understand?’

He nods so quickly she isn’t sure if he’s humouring her, but as they read through the list Lan Xichen put together and Huaisang starts sending servants to fetch books from the Nie library, she sees signs of a far sharper mind than he ever displayed at the Cloud Recesses.

Perhaps this boy would not be swallowed whole by the courts at Qishan or Lanling. The thought is comforting and disquieting in equal measure.

Chapter Text

Qiren is relieved when Dongmei arrives. A-Yuan weighs so little, but the longer Qiren holds him, the more aware he becomes of what it will mean if Wangji doesn’t survive this. It’s enough to make the child seem heavier than the mountain on which he will live.

Dongmei is less relieved.

‘I had hoped to speak with you before you saw Wangji,’ she says. ‘Please, let us take this chance now.’

Qiren is reluctant to set A-Yuan down next to Wangji, but Dongmei assures him the Nie healer she has brought with her will watch over them both as they sleep.

‘We will be just outside,’ Dongmei says, and refuses to say more until they are seated in the courtyard.

‘It must be a shock, to see him like this,’ she begins.

Qiren makes a noise of agreement. Any part of this would be a shock. Any single strand of the mess Wangji is in would have cracked Qiren’s faith in his own role as Wangji’s teacher. He still can’t understand how he missed this, any of this.

‘In your letter, you said his condition is worsening. How bad is it?’

Dongmei’s expression is composed of the careful sympathy he’s seen too often since Wen Xu attacked the Cloud Recesses.

‘It’s bad. There are certain aspects of his condition that you need to understand before you speak with him. They may be hard for you to hear.’

She goes on when he gestures for her to do so.

This is not the first time he’s been given news he’d rather not hear, and Dongmei is better at it than many. She is clear and concise, sparing him sentimentality and euphemism without being overly harsh, and Qiren is aware that evaluating her manner is an attempt to distance himself from what she’s saying. It doesn’t stop him. He is used to being the teacher. He is used to setting limits and overseeing learning and ensuring lines are not crossed. He is not used to hearing that his younger nephew doesn’t always know where or when he is, that Wangji’s mind is as unstable as his core. That Wangji is convinced he has already lived the next years of his life and that such years have included severe punishment.

‘How could this be?’ he asks, when Dongmei has finished. ‘How could Wangji have become so ill without any of us noticing? Is there really nothing to be done beyond sedating him?’

Dongmei sighs.

‘Just today, Second Master Nie has brought a renowned doctor to examine Wangji. Wen Qing. We have nothing new yet, but if there is to be another option… Well, I have more hope of it now than I did when I awoke this morning.’

Qiren remembers Wen Qing. A composed young woman, from what he saw during the lectures, though she rarely attended the classes themselves. She arrived with Wen Chao, that first day.

‘Is that wise?’ he asks. ‘She is a Wen.’

‘She is a doctor,’ Dongmei corrects him. ‘From speaking with her, her only focus is the care of the patient, whoever they may be.’

That first day, during the greeting ceremony, Wen Chao insulted and threatened them all. He left a guard injured. Wen Qing apologised, but not for that. Qiren doesn’t want to assume all with the name Wen are his enemy, but it takes effort to set aside the image of red-robed figures burning his home, killing his disciples. Breaking Wangji’s leg and dragging him away, though Qiren heard rather than saw that.

And now he’s being told a Wen is the only hope to heal his nephew. But Dongmei wouldn’t allow anyone close to Wangji if she felt they were a threat. No Lan healer would.

‘Very well,’ he says, knowing his words are brusque. He moves on. ‘How do I prevent him from becoming upset when I speak with him?’

And why has Wangji’s mind spun such awful delusions? Qiren has been strict with the boy. He’s had to be. Wangji has always been too much like his parents in ways that are dangerous for him: stubborn, too firmly attached, easily consumed by his own emotions.

Qiren thought he trained such things out of the boy, or at least that he trained in enough self-discipline that Wangji would not be ruined by them. Cleary, he was wrong. There is a child sleeping next to Wangji to prove that.

Are Wangji’s delusions based on the knowledge he will face punishment for his lack of restraint, for his unchaste behaviour and his failure to confess? Perhaps.

He draws on his own discipline and listens as he’s told he will have to be careful how he speaks with Wangji, careful in a way he knows he struggles with.

If only Xichen were here. Xichen has always known how to speak to and listen to his little brother, certainly more so than anyone else. Qiren has often felt lost in the face of Wangji’s silences. He is even less sure how he will handle the outbursts Dongmei describes now.

‘This is not the boy I raised,’ he tells the empty air before him, because he can’t look at Dongmei as he lets her words settle. With a sigh, he corrects himself. ‘This is not who I thought I was raising.’

Dongmei doesn’t say anything to that.

When he next looks over at her, she appears to be working through a thought, the shift of her eyes suggesting she is troubled by whatever it is.

‘You have something else to tell me?’ Qiren asks, bracing himself.

She shakes her head, stops, frowns, and finally speaks, picking her way carefully through these sentences with clear reluctance.

‘Please keep in mind that, whatever anyone else may believe about moving backwards through time, your nephew does believe this has happened to him. Sometimes, he’s confused between the present and what he believes will happen, but even at his most lucid he is certain he’s already lived this time. In his current state…’

‘You recommend I pretend to believe this?’ Qiren asks when it becomes clear she doesn’t have an end to that sentence. ‘Would supporting Wangji’s fantasy not cause more harm than good?’

The look she gives him then is sharper, though she tempers it quickly.

‘I would not ask Grandmaster to go against his principles. If you can’t pretend to believe him, at least don’t actively show you disbelieve. The most important thing just now is to keep him stable and he will become distressed if anyone attempts to correct him in this.’

Qiren has a list of matters upon which Wangji requires correction, but he sees they will have to wait.

‘And the boy? Is my grandnephew being told these fantasies are truth?’

His frustration grows as she hesitates, but she answers before he is made to ask again.

‘A-Yuan believes he is six. He is able to relate a number of details about the Cloud Recesses that he should not know. He already knew who Zewu-Jun was when they met, without having to be told.’

The little voice calling him Granduncle wells up in Qiren’s mind. He pushes it aside.

‘You sound almost as though you believe in this nonsense, Lan Dongmei. Is it catching?’

Her sharp inhale is her only reaction to his accusation, though her eyes are harder than he remembers them.

‘Whatever this is, it is not catching, no.’ She speaks with calm insistence. ‘Zewu-Jun believes it is more likely Wangji has shared such details with A-Yuan, but we both acknowledge it’s odd for a small boy to retain so much in such a case. And Wei Wuxian-‘

‘That boy!’

The widening of Dongmei’s eyes shows her shock at that. Qiren will apologise later for interrupting, but the flash of rage at hearing that name in conjunction with this situation is too much.

‘That boy,’ she replies, ‘believes Wangji is speaking the truth. Not just the truth as he knows it, but that it’s the reality of the situation and as such should be factored into our approach when developing treatment.’

This is delivered at a measured pace, giving little sign as to where Dongmei falls in her own belief.

‘You are an intelligent, rational person,’ Qiren says. ‘You cannot possibly think this.’

‘It makes little difference.’ She isn’t quite looking at him anymore. ‘Second Master Lan is fading. We have no way to cure the underlying issue, whichever it is. Denying his version of reality agitates him. A-Yuan being away from him agitates him. Anyone correcting A-Yuan agitates him. We must keep him as calm as possible if we are to have time to find a way to save him.’

Qiren thinks of two boys who believed what their mother told them even when it ran counter to what they should know. He remembers every time he had to disabuse notions that should never have taken hold. The longer such things were left unchecked, the harder, the more painful, it became when it could no longer be ignored.

‘And the harm this must be doing to my grandnephew, to be confused in this way? Wangji is asleep much of the time. From what you’ve told me, he’s incapable of caring for his own son even when he is awake. Would you have me pretend this is good for A-Yuan?’

‘What would you suggest instead, Grandmaster?’ Dongmei asks stiffly.

Qiren’s heart hurts. He never wanted to keep his nephews from their own parents. He saw how it pained them. That didn’t make it the wrong choice, all things considered. The pang in his chest doesn’t mean he can discard what must be done now.

‘I am the boy’s family,’ he says, resettling himself and ensuring his posture is as it should be. ‘I appreciate your thoughts on this, Healer Dongmei, and I trust you understand how deeply I hope for Wangji’s recovery, but I will not allow harm to come to my grandnephew when I am here to prevent it.’

‘You mean to remove him from his father?’

‘He will visit, under supervision. He is already being cared for by healers whilst his father is ill. This way, he will simply be in a calmer, healthier environment. You should be focused on saving my nephew, not on raising his child.’

‘He will be distraught, Grandmaster,’ she says carefully. ‘They both will.’

Qiren shuts his eyes and swallows. He has seen enough of Wangji’s grief, though it has been a long while since the boy shut away the last open signs of it.

‘I do not wish to cause him more pain,’ he tells her. ‘I have never wanted to cause them pain. But we cannot allow irrationality to dictate our choices, especially when it comes to the care of our young. What is best for Wangji may not be what is best for A-Yuan. I must weigh the potential damage to each.’

When he opens his eyes, Dongmei is looking back at him with sadness and acceptance. She is a Lan, after all. Their clan knows what it is to put what is right before what feels right, or what they wish could be right.

‘We will allow Wangji to wake and ensure he understands that I will be taking charge of A-Yuan’s care for the time being,’ Qiren says. ‘Once this is over, A-Yuan’s living situation will be decided properly. For now, this is for the best.’

Qiren will light incense, later. He will beg if he must, beg every god there is for his nephew to be healed. He will beg to be spared having to explain to another small boy that there will be no more visits to a parent. He will not allow A-Yuan’s mind to be distorted by his father’s delusions.

‘I will have another bed set up in my rooms,’ he says. ‘Send for me once A-Yuan and Wangji are awake and I will explain to them what I have decided.’

Dongmei lowers her head as he stands and leaves, and he doesn’t ask her for any further opinion. He has already heard every argument for and against keeping a son from a parent. Wangji is too young and too ill to be a father, so Qiren will have to take on yet another child born from passion overruling sense.

Qiren waits until he is alone in his guestrooms before he sinks to his knees and allows himself to grieve.

Huaisang slides the latest page of notes away from himself and sighs. Wine would be good, but Wen Qing made an acerbic comment as he finished the first jar and he is still working on securing her trust. For now, he makes do with standing and pacing about a little.

‘We need more information,’ he says to the top of Wen Qing’s head.

‘The only ones who can tell us more are A-Yuan and Lan Wangji,’ she points out without looking up, the brush she holds curving through another line in a diagram that makes no sense to Huaisang.

‘A-Yuan is unlikely to know much more of use,’ Huaisang says.

The boy is young, and little children rarely know much about politics and wider world events. Knowing that Xichen-ge keeps sweets hidden in his rooms is unlikely to help much, and the list provided by Xichen-ge is as much use as a fragmentary prophecy. Huaisang can’t work out how to avoid disasters about which he knows so little.

‘We need to question Wangji-xiong,’ he goes on, after staring at his pile of notes again, ‘but he wasn’t exactly making sense when I spoke with him.’

Wen Qing sets the brush down and adjusts her sleeves. Huaisang pauses in his pacing and waits until she looks up, noting the way her mouth is pinched and the barely visible hesitation in her eyes.

‘You have a way to help with that?’ he asks.

‘How much do you know about golden cores?’ she counters.

As it turns out, not as much as he thought he did. It takes nearly an hour for Wen Qing to sketch out what she declares to be the essential points and by the end of it Huaisang is clutching at his own robes, knowing the fear that his core may spin apart is irrational but unable to quell it.

‘That can happen?’ he asks. He makes no attempt to keep the horror from his voice. There’s no need to. Wen Qing has said she wants to be sure he understands what he’s asking. Obvious horror will show that he does. ‘They can…they can just…?’

‘I’ve never seen it to this extent.’ Wen Qing doesn’t tap her fingers on the desk or get up to pace or anything else to relieve the tension in her shoulders. She is still and composed. ‘When a core is first forming, this process can happen many times. It…splits and reforms.’

‘Reforms?’ Huaisang sinks back into his position at the table, relief bubbling up under his sternum. ‘Then, Wangji-xiong’s core will reform? Isn’t that…good? If it fixes itself?’

‘This should not be possible for a core of this size,’ Wen Qing says, shaking her head. ‘Lan Wangji is a powerful cultivator. Everyone knows this. But his core is even more powerful than I expected, which makes sense if he’s lived an extra four years, I suppose.’

‘Why does the size of his core make a difference?’

Wen Qing frowns at him.

‘A golden core is not exactly a physical thing, but it also isn’t without physicality, of a sort. The stronger the core, the more this is true. Think of it as…as steam turning to water turning to ice. It becomes heavier, more solid, but also less capable of dissipating and reforming.’

Apparently working out the look on Huaisang’s face, she waves one hand in a sharp motion.

‘Not a perfect metaphor. Don’t try to take it too far. The point it, the weaker, mostly much newer, cores can withstand this process. The core doesn’t have the same…weight to it. It can pull apart without much difficulty or damage. This is broadly true for a core up until it forms a stable centre, but after that it’s a very different matter. For a core such as Lan Wangji’s, this…this shredding should be devastating.’

Huaisang laughs, though there’s no humour in it. He probably shouldn’t find this as interesting as he does, in truth, but he isn’t without feeling for poor Wangji-xiong, even so.

‘It seems devastating enough, Qing…um. Wen Qing. Don’t you think? He’s already lost his ability to fight in the war, which for Wangji-xiong must be a terrible thing, and they took his sword away from him before he reached Qinghe. Did you know? I only touch my sabre when I must, but people like Wangji-xiong and Wei-xiong… Well, come to think of it, Wei-xiong started leaving his behind, but that’s not my point.’

‘What is your point?’ she asks, a jagged note in her question that Huaisang will think about later.

‘My point is that Wangji-xiong’s golden core is already having a devastating impact.’

‘It should be having more of one,’ she says flatly. ‘He should already have died in agony.’

Huaisang flinches.

‘Don’t be squeamish, now, Huaisang,’ she says. ‘Lan Wangji should have died screaming, but he hasn’t. This is not a standard qi deviation, as far as such a thing exists, and it isn’t the same as a newly forming core being unable to sustain itself, much though it feels like it.’

‘So you agree we need more information?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you have a way for us to do that without his core shredding apart and killing him instantly?’

Wen Qing grimaces and taps one of the many books lying on the table. It’s an old one, full of diagrams and phrasing that Huaisang couldn’t work out, but Wen Qing made many notes when reading through it.

‘One of your ancestors came up with a draught that can bring a mind back to clarity even on the cusp of a qi deviation. Unfortunately, it’s only useful as a means for the victim to pass on last words, because it also speeds up the end. If I combine it with a form of the treatment used to stop a mostly formed core from splintering, something I have only ever used when I’ve deemed the risk of allowing the process to run its course too dangerous, then we may be able to get Lan Wangji lucid and stable enough to speak to us.’

She jabs a finger at him as he opens his mouth to say that’s good.

‘May be able to, Nie Huaisang. I have never tried this before and if I thought we could work this out with the information we have, I would never attempt it now. We could be about to kill him more quickly.’

Huaisang lets a few breaths pass through him, to show he gets it, before he responds. He doesn’t ask how much of her willingness to do this revolves around Wangji-xiong’s warning about Wen Ning’s death or around whatever her connection is with A-Yuan. She has to be aware that if something she provides kills Hanguang-Jun, there will be cries for retribution, and she has made it plain she worries for the people in the prison camp. Huaisang will not insult her by asking her to walk him through these factors.

‘What do we need?’ He reaches for his brush and pulls a fresh sheet of paper towards him. ‘I will find out when we can speak to him without others present, just in case he’s reluctant to share with an audience. I think one of the healers due to sit with him this evening has taken a liking to me and an even greater liking to one of my guards. She will be happy for the chance to take a walk with him, I’m sure.’

If Wen Qing finds this side of him distasteful or dishonourable, she shows no sign of it. She just sighs and begins listing ingredients.

Chapter Text

Wangji wakes slowly. He hasn’t felt fully awake or entirely clear-headed in a long time, but this latest medicine has softened his thoughts into blurred, slow-moving impressions, and he can’t decide if this is any better than the needles.

He can’t decide anything. The attempt leads to a slipping sideways in his mind that leaves him nauseous. It is better not to try.

A small hand pats at his forearm. A-Yuan, he thinks, but a moment later he learns he’s wrong.

‘Wangji-xiong.’ Nie Huaisang’s voice is close. ‘Are you awake? We want to try something.’

‘Don’t push him, Huaisang,’ a woman’s voice instructs. ‘Let him wake naturally.’

Wangji knows that voice. He heard that voice chide Wei Ying, surrounded by dirt and death and less despair than expected. Hazy hope fills his lungs, but he opens his eyes to a woman dressed in muted greens and greys and doubt hits him.

‘Wen Qing?’

She frowns but makes no comment on his use of her name. Even so, he feels relief. The frown shifts her features just enough that he’s certain, now, that he’s right: this is the second older sister Wei Ying gained, the first older sister he lost.

‘Wen Qing,’ he says again, lurching upright, trying to reach for her, and almost falling back again.

An arm appears behind Wangji’s shoulders, supporting him, and he would flinch away except sitting up has sent the room reeling. When it rights itself, he takes stock.

Nie Huaisang sits on the bed beside Wangji, far too close to be polite and showing no sign he cares. It’s not just his arm around Wangji: their hips almost touch and Wangji’s shoulder presses against Nie Huaisang’s chest. The long lash-mark along that shoulder aches and Wangji realises it’s his own breaths he can hear, quick and shallow.

He wants to ask why they’re here, how they’re here, but something about that is wrong. This is the Unclean Realm, Nie Huaisang’s home, and didn’t the man already visit once today? Or was that a different day? Time is slippery and hard to hold onto ever since Wei Ying fell from his grasp. It’s only grown more so of late.

He closes his eyes, this time to focus on his breathing. Wei Ying fell, yes, but that hasn’t happened here. This isn’t the Jingshi and he isn’t being punished. Not yet. This is still during the Sunshot Campaign. Wei Ying is still alive, out there on the battlefields, without Wangji.

‘He’s trembling,’ Nie Huaisang says, sounding annoyingly worried. ‘What should I do?’

‘Let go of me,’ Wangji says, with his teeth still together.

‘You’ll fall down if I let go,’ Nie Huaisang protests.

Wangji jolts and tenses in Nie Huaisang’s hold. Nausea seeps into his throat as the space around him grows noisy, grows screams and shouts and bellowed threats of death, and his right arm stings, the slick of blood on his skin making his hold slip. Wangji can’t get enough breath, can’t summon the strength he needs, and-

Cool fingers press against Wangji’s wrist, the one not lying against Nie silks, and he feels a surge of fresh spiritual energy in his meridians, hauling him back to the present. Air floods his lungs and the room steadies. He gasps, swallowing down tears, and fights for control. He’s in the Unclean Realm. Neither battle at Nightless City has taken place yet. He has to keep hold of that, has to stop getting lost. Wei Ying can still be saved.

The energy soothes through his body as his breathing levels out, and a realisation dawns: Wen Qing’s energy seems…familiar.

‘You were here before,’ he says, blinking his eyes open to find Wen Qing kneeling at the side of his bed, her dark eyes fixed on a point beyond his skin. The energy in him moves to his core, Wen Qing handling it with an assurance he hasn’t felt from other healers, and more of the fog clears. ‘You held my core together.’

‘I did,’ Wen Qing agrees. Her lips press together as the energy moves on again, tracing along the underside of his skin, across his chest and shoulders, down his back. ‘You weren’t in a state to talk then. Can you manage it now?’

Wangji lowers his eyes, takes in the delicate hand on his wrist, the hand that’s tethering him to now. He’s as clear-headed as he ever is these days, enough that he knows he’s lost time again, that he became lost in time whilst speaking with Nie Huaisang before, that it just happened again, but that doesn’t mean he will have the answers she wants.

There’s another concern, too, now that he has chance to scan the room. Anxiety spikes.

‘Where’s A-Yuan?’

Huaisang is quick to reply.

‘A-Yuan is telling one of my cousin’s all about the pond. Don’t worry! I know you don’t like him out of your sight, but Rushi is under strict orders to be very, very careful with him, and I can go and fetch him back as soon as you need me to. Only…we’re here to see to you, Wangji-xiong, because it’s important. I really don’t think A-Yuan needs to be here for this. Wen Qing is an excellent doctor, but little boys don’t always understand that needles and potions and things are to help fix their fathers, you see.’

From so close, his words are a barrage, but they keep Wangji from full panic. He wants to tell Nie Huaisang to go and get A-Yuan at once, but it’s true that A-Yuan has seen enough of healers prodding at his father, and Nie Rushi has visited with A-Yuan a few times, now. Reluctantly, he turns to other matters.

‘How are you here?’ Wangji asks Wen Qing, because if he asked that earlier he can’t recall what she said.

‘I found her in the prison camp. Can you believe that?’ Nie Huaisang says, as though it would be more surprising for a Wen to have walked into the Unclean Realm of her own free will, as though Wangji didn’t ask about the prison camp himself. ‘Naturally, I asked her to see you. She’s the best doctor in all of the Qishan Wen Sect, after all! If anyone can heal you, Wangji-xiong, it’s Wen Qing.’

Wangji’s temples pulse. It’s a sudden, wet sort of pain and if Nie Huaisang keeps talking he knows it will only grow worse. He narrows his eyes at the other man.

‘Be quiet.’

The look of shock on Nie Huaisang’s face is ridiculous. After studying in Gusu more than once, he should know not to chatter endlessly around Wangji. But the shock, rather than shifting into compliance, becomes a petulant pout. It doesn’t look cute on Nie Huaisang.

‘Wangji-xiong, that’s most unfair. You asked me about the Wens and here I bring you Wen Qing, who is not only a Wen but is also the most talented and creative healer of them all. I really don’t think you should snap at me.’

‘Lan Wangji,’ Wen Qing says, drawing his attention back to her. When he only turns his head partway, she sets a forefinger under his chin and tilts his head around until he’s looking directly at her. ‘I have questions to ask about your health. I also have questions to ask about the four years you have lived that we have not. You need to tell me: are you able to give me those answers?’

He feels his eyes widen and his lips part.

‘You believe me?’ he asks.

The arm across his back shifts and Nie Huaisang squeezes his shoulder. Wangji does not shove him away, because he isn’t sure he can support himself and he doesn’t want to jostle Wen Qing’s hold, but a creeping wrongness radiates from the touch.

‘We both do, Wangji-xiong,’ Nie Huaisang says. ‘We’re here to help. So no more snapping, all right?’

Wen Qing still has her finger under Wangji’s chin, but he wouldn’t have looked back at Nie Huaisang in any case.

‘What questions?’ he asks Wen Qing.

There’s a note of pleading in his voice and he would hate it, but the medicine still has a firm enough hold on him to deaden all but the strongest emotions. Now that the slipping away into the future has been halted, the heavy drift is settling again in his thoughts.

‘First, I need you to listen to me,’ she says. ‘I’m going to offer you a treatment that is untried. It is risky. In all honesty, it may make things worse. But, if it works, it will clear your head enough for you to think properly, without any of these incidents I’ve been told about.’

‘You had one just now, didn’t you?’ Nie Huaisang says. ‘In your head, you weren’t here, were you?’

Wangji has never been in the habit of sharing every thought he has. He has never shared information freely. But these are the only two people other than Wei Ying who have believed him and now Wen Qing is offering a way to regain control of his mind. He should give them something, as a show of good faith.

Keeping things to himself failed to save people last time.

Still, it’s hard. By nature and by training, Wangji tends to silence. Talking is no easier when he’s so vulnerable, down to one layer and so weak he needs Nie Huaisang to keep him sitting upright, needs Wen Qing to stop him wandering in time. His throat hurts and bile threatens to well up at any moment, and he doesn’t want to shape words around the worst day of his life. But this is the woman who bullied Wei Ying into accepting healing, who struggled with him to build a life on dead bones. Who turned herself in to spare him. Another realisation hits.

‘Nightless City,’ Wangji says, and swallows, ‘just after Jin Guangyao and Jin Guangshan scattered your ashes, Lady Wen. Yours and your brothers. Just before I couldn’t save Wei Ying.’

Nie Huaisang makes a sound of distress. Wangji ignores him; Nie Huaisang was not at Nightless City and his life did not end that day. There’s no such sound from Wen Qing. From her, there is understanding in those dark eyes.

‘Our ashes,’ Wen Qing says carefully. ‘You said before that my brother dies. I die, too?’

Wangji nods.

‘Can it be stopped?’ she asks next.

Wangji doesn’t know. Hope is not the same as a strategy and he doesn’t know if anything he said to Wei Ying or to Brother has helped. So far, he may have only made things worse.

They stare at each other for long enough the silence becomes heavy, until Nie Huaisang speaks up.

‘Well, we’re far more likely to think of some way to fix all this if we know what actually happens. I don’t think sitting and staring will help much, really I don’t.’

Wen Qing blinks and nods.

‘He’s right. We need to know more. And we need to be clear about some things. You should know my brother is my highest priority.’

‘I know,’ Wangji says, and he does.

It was clear in every line of her when he saw them at the Burial Mounds. Wen Ning was her reason, her everything, but there was affection for Wei Ying, too. And, in the end, both of the siblings turned themselves in to save Wei Ying and the others. It didn’t work, but it still puts Wangji in their debt.

It’s her turn to lower her eyes, to stare at where she grips his wrist.

‘You should also know this treatment, it won’t last forever. It isn’t any kind of cure and I won’t lie to you about that. It’s a means to an end, that end being details so Huaisang and I can try to save people. So I can save my brother.’ She looks back at him, resolved and apologetic. ‘I won’t force it down your throat, but I’d be lying if I said I’d suggest it without A-Ning’s life on the line.’

Wangji nods, a small movement that presses his chin into her finger. It seems to bring her attention to the fact she’s still holding his face, and she draws her hand away. The flow of energy cuts off and she lets go on his wrist, rising to her feet and standing with her hands folded at her waist. She looks calm and professional and not at all as though she’s offering something that might kill Wangji in an effort to prevent the future from killing those they love.

‘What’s your decision, Hanguang-Jun?’ she asks.

She’s fierce and composed and dedicated. Were she not a Wen, Uncle and the elders would no doubt see her as an ideal match for Wangji. If he had ever been able to love a woman in that way, if he could now love anyone but Wei Ying, he may even agree. As things stand, despite the fogginess rising again now her energy is gone, Wangji looks at her and thinks that he’s capable of making some decisions, with Wen Qing asking it of him. She is no stranger to harsh choices, after all.

Wangji decides.

Holding a core of this strength together is almost as strange as extracting one from its owner. Almost, but not quite. Wangji’s energy is a part of him and his body wants to keep hold of it. Pulling the core from Wei Wuxian was an uprooting, tearing from his flesh and from his spirit something so vital she wasn’t sure there’d be any of him left until she was done.

She knows, now, that a cultivator, even one used to such power as Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji, can survive without that central part of themselves, but she also knows what it costs them. It is an option she hasn’t offered, not yet, but as she feeds Lan Wangji the draught and sets the cup down, as she sets her hands over his lower dantian, the robe opened to give her clear access, she knows she will do it if she must.

If Lan Wangji’s core reaches the point where she can’t contain it, if it’s a choice between letting go, letting it kill him, and doing anything she can to keep him and his knowledge of the next years alive, she will rip the golden core from him before it can tear him apart.

She won’t be trying to keep the core intact. She’s almost sure she can remove it quickly enough, with her own energy already wrapped around and through it, for Lan Wangji to survive, for her to force the energy in on itself until it’s burnt out.

It will be cruel. She will feel guilt. But she will do it if she must.

Please, do not make her have to.

Huaisang meets her eyes from where he still sits on the bed. He looks afraid, but not in the way she would have expected before today.

‘If I tell you to run, run,’ she says, and has time to see him nod before Lan Wangji’s core writhes and bucks and she has to plunge her entire focus into keeping him alive.

Chapter Text

Huaisang moves away from the bed as the thrashing energy within Lan Wangji grows strong enough that even he can sense it. Habit has him unfolding his fan, but he doesn’t hide his interest in what’s happening before him, even as he covers half of his face.

He can’t help but wonder at Lan Wangji’s use of Wen Qing’s name when he first greeted her, though he became more formal in address later on. There is still a lot here for Huaisang to discover. But that will have to wait until they see what this treatment makes of Lan Wangji.

As the procedure goes on, light seeps from within Lan Wangji until Huaisang fears the core is about to burst right out through the man’s flesh. The strain is clear in Wen Qing’s shoulders as she pushes her own energy in through his skin, her brow furrowed and her gaze as focused as Da-ge during a fight.

To begin with, she leans over her patient with both feet on the floor, but as that strain grows, she brings one knee up onto the bed, bracing herself. A few minutes later, she moves again, lifting herself up and over so she’s got a knee on either side of Lan Wangji’s thighs. The movement is quick, efficient, and her hands don’t lift from their place, only rotating slightly to accommodate her new angle. This is a woman in the midst of battle, for all they’re in a quiet room with no enemies near.

Huaisang would ask if it’s working, but he daren’t distract her.

From outside, Huaisang hears the laughter of the little Lan and the answering voice of his cousin. A-Yuan doesn’t know his father and Wen Qing are fighting together to keep other people alive. He doesn’t know that it may increase his chances of becoming an orphan. For an all-consuming moment, Huaisang closes his eyes against the pain of his own mother’s death, back when he was still so young. At least Huaisang had father. More importantly, he had Da-ge. For the first time, Huaisang looks at Lan Wangji with the realisation that Lan Qiren was all Xichen-ge and he had for so much of their lives, and he feels sympathy bloom.

No wonder Lan Wangji is so cold. It’s only a wonder Xichen-ge is not.

‘Come on, Wangji-xiong,’ Huaisang mutters. ‘Don’t let that boy out there be left without you.’

Wen Qing grunts as though she’s moving something heavy and sags, her palms still pressed low on Lan Wangji’s belly. She’s sweating, beads of it on her forehead and dampening the hair at her temples, at the nape of her neck. Her breath comes in pants, evening out as the glow of energy dims slowly.

‘It’s done?’ Huaisang asks. ‘Did it…did it work?’

‘Do you see chunks of Second Jade scattered about the room, Huaisang?’ she snaps, turning on him a scowl so strong he takes a step back and raises his fan. She sighs and withdraws her hands, slumping onto the bed next to Lan Wangji’s legs. ‘It worked. At least, his core is as together as it’s going to get. We’ll have to see how the draught worked once he comes round.’

Huaisang has time to fetch Wen Qing a drink of water and a damp cloth to freshen up with before Lan Wangji blinks his eyes open and sits up, going from horizontal to upright in one smooth move. Wen Qing hands the cup back to Huaisang and inspects Lan Wangji with brusque efficiency, feeling again at his qi and thumbing his eyelids back and other things doctors do that make no sense to Huaisang. She’s gathered her composure around herself by now, though strands of damp hair still stick to her skin. If her patient is confused as to why she’s on the bed with him, he doesn’t ask.

‘As far as I can tell, your core should be more-or-less stable for a while,’ she announces. ‘How’s your head?’

‘Fine,’ Lan Wangji says. ‘Clearer. How long?’

‘Will your core be stable?’ Wen Qing narrows her eyes. ‘Impossible to say. Maybe a few hours. Maybe a few days. I’ll have to check it again soon and measure any deterioration. That may give us a sense of how long you have.’

This time, Huaisang brings water to Lan Wangji, who takes the cup only after a sideways look at Huaisang that makes him feel he is expected to leave. He does nothing of the sort.

‘So, Wangji-xiong, are you good to answer questions now?’ he asks.

Lan Wangji looks down into the cup as though he’ll find something useful in there, and he’s back to the same inscrutable expression Huaisang finds more natural on him.

‘Yes,’ Lan Wangji says at last, and drains the cup.

Wangji refuses to remain in bed when Nie Huaisang worries about him getting up, and Wen Qing is in favour of him moving.

‘He’s spent enough time lying around, Huaisang,’ she insists, already pulling the covers from over his legs.

She offers an arm as support as he stands, fixing him with a steady look when he tries to ignore it. This is the woman who threatened Wei Ying with needles, Wangji reminds himself, and settles his right hand on her forearm.

‘Take it steady,’ she says, as he rises and feels the room sway just a little around him. ‘Even at its best, this isn’t a complete repair. We need to learn your limits.’

The slight buzzing in his mind and the remaining pain in his head is a vast improvement, though, so Wangji schools himself to patience when his steps are less secure than he would like. Wen Qing seems to think some of that will fade, assuming the core remains stable enough for him to get used to standing and walking more, and he can live with this. It’s a better start than when he first left his bed after the lashes, if nothing else. A great deal better.

As for the phantom lash-marks, they’re back to the faint impressions of those first hours in this time, and if Wangji were another type of man he would cry in relief at that. But he isn’t, so he allows Wen Qing to walk with him across the room and doesn’t react as she stands by him as he lowers himself to the mat.

Once they’re all settled at the table, Huaisang suggests tea, but for once Wangji declines.

‘Yes, well,’ Huaisang says, glancing away and fiddling with a strand of hair, ‘I suppose you’ll have had enough tea, at that. Perhaps…perhaps you could start by looking at the notes Xichen-ge sent?’

Making the suggestion seems to settle Huaisang. He produces a set of notes and spreads them before Wangji, pointing out which ones are from Brother, as though Wangji would not know that writing anywhere, and which ones have been made by Wen Qing and Nie Huaisang.

Brother’s list is…

‘These are all things I said?’

He doesn’t recall saying all of this. Much of it, in fact. Looking at it set down in ink makes him feel raw and exposed and yet he can see it isn’t enough. There isn’t much here that’s definite, that will help. He’s going to have to give them more of the time only he’s lived, or they’ll have hardly any points around which to plan.

Even with Wen Qing’s treatment, he is still so tired. The thought of having to speak, at length, with people who can’t read him is…a lot. Wangji would far rather take up his sword and fight through a horde of fierce corpses, but that is not the battle he is being asked to fight and he has never shied away from what is necessary.

‘Ask your questions,’ Wangji says.

Wen Qing and Nie Huaisang exchange a look before she looks back at Wangji.

‘How does my brother die?’ Wen Qing asks.

Wangji steels himself and gives them what he can, though it’s not just his usual habit of being concise that makes it difficult. The complex network that makes up any event takes a lot of explaining, and he has to branch into other matters to give the context necessary for this decision or to make clear the consequence of that act. At least Nie Huaisang and Wen Qing do most of the actual speaking, asking questions and offering speculations that ease the burden of speech on Wangji. It isn’t enough, though: he never saw the full picture and he can only fill in a fraction of the missing details.

He doesn’t know why Wei Ying refused to step away from demonic cultivation. He doesn’t know how Maiden Jiang reached Nightless City that night. He doesn’t know why even when Wei Ying stopped playing, the corpses still rose and attacked.

His own frustration is shared by Wen Qing.

‘You have no idea where my brother is now? None?

Wangji lowers his eyes. There’s no rational reason he would have investigated that, at the time or after the fact, but he still feels a pang of shame, as though he’s failed her.

‘I only know he is at Qiongqi Path six months after the war ends.’

‘And that’s where he dies?’ She sounds shaken, but she’s keeping it under control. ‘For the first time? Okay. Okay. Then, if we can’t find him before that, we can find him there.’

Huaisang taps his fan against his chin and makes a considering noise.

‘Wouldn’t it be better to avoid your family being thrown into such a place at all?’ he asks. ‘I understand it has already started, Wen Qing, but if there is a way to undo that, and to stop anyone else from being herded up, then we must try, I think. Why is it that even civilians end up in such a state?’

Wangji scours his mind, but most of his memories from those months after the war include musical scores and sect doctrines. Nie Huaisang presses for dates, for timescales, for the choices made by people Wangji paid no attention to.

‘You didn’t hear anything?’ he asks more than once. ‘You didn’t accidentally overhear any gossip, not anywhere? Xichen-ge said nothing to you about this?’

‘Brother was helping lay to rest the spirits in Qishan,’ Wangji says at some points. At others, he reiterates his own lack of patience for politics, states that he had his own duties.

‘But, Wangji-xiong,’ Nie Huaisang protests, ‘you must have heard something, surely, just in passing on your way through a town. I know it’s forbidden at the Cloud Recesses, but you can’t help but overhear some gossip elsewhere.’

‘Uncle forbade me from leaving the Cloud Recesses,’ Wangji says.

But he could have spoken with Brother, when Brother was at home. Brother would have been pleased to find Wangji taking an interest. He could have spoken with others. Asking for important news of the wider world wasn’t gossiping. He could have written to Wei Ying, though it’s hard to imagine Wei Ying would have replied. There were many things Wangji could have done, even from the library or his own rooms. He didn’t even take his meals in the communal dining hall for most of those months, where he may have heard something as people filed in or out, despite the rules. And now he may as well not have lived through that time, for all the good his knowledge will do.

The questions he can’t answer make the budding pain in Wangji’s temple pulse. It’s far milder than it has been, barely worth noticing, but Wen Qing has told him to be aware of any sign his state is declining. She tuts and moves closer when he tells her, reaching for his face, and Wangji lets her touch him, lets her drop one hand to his wrist and send out the increasingly familiar flow of energy.

‘Your core is as stable as it was,’ she says. ‘I think the headache must be unrelated. Stress, perhaps. Or dehydration. You should drink some more water.’

When Nie Huaisang tries to ask another question, Wen Qing cuts him off.

‘I’ll check again in another hour, but I believe we’ll be able to continue with this tomorrow. Lan Wangji shouldn’t tire himself too much.’

She hands Wangji a cup of water and turns to stare at Nie Huaisang until he sighs.

‘True, true,’ Nie Huaisang says. ‘But I don’t know that we’ll be able to speak freely when Lan Qiren is around.’

Wangji sets the cup down with a sharp click.

‘Uncle?’

‘He arrived a few hours ago,’ Wen Qing tells him.

She shares another of those looks with Nie Huaisang, who leans forward and spills words onto the table.

‘Don’t worry, Wangji-xiong. He already visited you, but you were asleep. I was here with A-Yuan, and A-Yuan knew him, reached for him, even. I really think it softened your uncle up on the spot. I never thought I would see Lan Qiren holding a child in his arms, but apparently he didn’t let A-Yuan go until Lan Dongmei turned up and made him, so he can’t be so very cross with you, can he? Not when he’s already seen what a wonderful little boy you’ve made.’

Coming to love A-Yuan didn’t lessen Uncle’s anger after Nightless City. It is unlikely to do so now. Recognising the panic trying to rise in his chest, Wangji tells himself the situation is not the same. Of course Uncle would not relent in his disappointment when Wangji’s crimes were unrelated to A-Yuan, but now A-Yuan’s existence is the crime. Part of it, at least. It’s different. Uncle may respond differently.

The fearful, animal part of his brain refuses to be soothed. Another thought stabs at him. Mother was locked away and kept from her children. Wangji was shut away and mostly kept from A-Yuan. Even if, this time, it is done due to concerns over his health, Uncle and the elders have shown a certain pattern of thought in these things.

‘He will want to speak to me,’ Wangji says, maintaining control of his breathing through sheer force of will. ‘He will take me back to Gusu. He will take A-Yuan away. I need to leave.’

From the wide-eyed look on Nie Huaisang’s face, Wangji’s panic is showing enough to be picked up on, his control not as good as he hoped. He can’t concern himself with that. Not now. Not when he needs to think, needs to move.

He pushes himself to his feet, muscles aching after so long without proper use, and looks around for his robes.

Wen Qing follows him as he heads for a chest by the far wall, getting in front of him and blocking his way. His right hand twitches, but he doesn’t have Bichen to draw on her, doesn’t even know where Bichen is.

‘Move.’

‘No.’ She glares up at him, her eyes fierce. ‘Where are you planning to go? Are you taking A-Yuan? On your own, when we don’t know how long you have until your core is back to shredding itself?’ She lowers her voice to a hiss. ‘You don’t get to take him, Lan Wangji.’

They stand there, tension thrumming between them, until A-Yuan’s voice breaks in from outside, high and loud and joyful.

‘Granduncle!’

Wangji sees her eyes widen and knows his have done the same. It’s too late. He can’t run now without getting past Uncle, and there is no possibility that Uncle will let him go without a fight.

Qiren has been told that the Lan are overly secretive and hard for outsiders to understand, but that is nothing compared to the layout of the Unclean Realm. He gets lost four times trying to find his way back to Wangji’s courtyard and, no matter that simple logistics make it impossible, there appear to be no servants around.

He’d turn back and wait to be collected, but it’s been hours and still nobody has come to tell him Wangji has woken. Qiren just needs to set eyes on him again before curfew. That’s all.

Qiren has never admitted it to anyone, won’t ever admit it, but he had trouble sleeping when his nephews were gone after the Cloud Recesses burned, Wangji to Qishan and Xichen to who knew where. He has found the same trouble since his nephews left for war. He knows himself well enough to be certain he won’t sleep unless he reassures himself that Wangji is safe.

It’s already dark and the torchlight warps the hallways, adding to the difficulty in navigating them, but eventually he makes it to a statue he recognises and from there he finds the open space with the pond. The pond and his grandnephew.

‘Granduncle!’

The tiny form of A-Yuan hurtles into Qiren, arms wrapping around a leg as he grins up. Neither of his nephews ever greeted him like this and Qiren finds himself momentarily stunned. A-Yuan fills the time by bobbing up and down in what is presumably excitement.

‘Granduncle! Come and see my pond!’

‘A-Yuan, your granduncle doesn’t need you hanging from his skirts,’ Nie Rushi chides gently, bowing and greeting Qiren in the next moment. By the time greetings are done, A-Yuan has detached himself and taken Nie Rushi’s hand instead. ‘Lady Wen and Second Master Nie are visiting Hanguang-Jun just now.’

‘He’s awake? Why wasn’t I informed?’

A brief look of concern crosses her face, but Qiren is already forcing his irritation into calm. He shouldn’t assume that this lady of the Nie Sect would ignore a request to call for him. Someone has possibly failed to pass on an instruction.

‘My apologies,’ he assures her stiffly, with a slight incline of his head. ‘I am anxious to speak with my nephew.’

‘I understand,’ she says, and once again Qiren is pleasantly surprised at how gracious she is. ‘Perhaps you could let A-Yuan show you the pond until they’re done?’

When this war is done, they will need to affirm their alliances. Qiren will have to ask Xichen if he’s met this woman, and what he thinks of her if he has. She would do well in Gusu Lan. For now, other matters are more pressing.

‘Thank-you, but I will see my nephew now.’

Once he has seen Wangji, once he has spoken with him, he will have a clearer idea of what needs to be done. Hopefully, he will be able to take A-Yuan with him back to his rooms and from there make plans for the boy’s longer-term care. A-Yuan should be a matter for the main family, but that won’t stop various elders from having an opinion. Qiren intends to present them with no reason to meddle.

A-Yuan can show him the pond another time. Tonight, Qiren already has a bedtime story picked out and his grandnephew should be in bed by curfew. Bad habits are all too easy to instil.

Nie Rushi says something as he turns and heads into Wangji’s room, but he doesn’t catch it. And then he is in Wangji’s room and he isn’t sure what to think.

Wangji stands in only an underrobe, facing a woman in Nie robes, a woman who appears to be blocking Wangji’s progress, whilst Nie Huaisang stands next to the table with his fan clasped between his hands and a look of shock on his face.

‘Wangji, why are you not in bed?’ Qiren demands.

At his words, his nephew stiffens, and the woman steps closer to him, telling him in a low voice that he would be better off lying down again. Wangji ignores her and turns to face Qiren.

The look in his eyes is frightening. It’s fury and fear and other things Qiren can’t name, and it’s aimed at him.

‘Wangji? Why are you looking at me like that?’

He takes a step closer, only to see Wangji flinch. It’s not much. Normally, even Qiren has trouble seeing how Wangji is feeling, though not so much as those outside their family. From Wangji, it’s enough to halt Qiren in his tracks.

Wangji’s bearing is subtly wrong and Qiren remembers Dongmei speaking of pain for which there are no visible marks. His jaw is tight, as well, and combined with his expression it is far too much like looking at Wangji’s father.

‘You need to tell me what this is about,’ he tries, because Wangji has never looked like this in all the years of his life and Qiren cannot lose his nephew the way he lost his brother. He just can’t. ‘Talk to me.’

‘Uncle,’ Wangji says, his voice tight, ‘I have disappointed you.’

‘You have,’ Qiren acknowledges, all too aware there are outsiders present, ‘but we will discuss that later.’

The woman steps up beside Wangji, her back straight and her gaze steady, and with a jolt Qiren realises who she is.

‘Lady Wen,’ he greets. It can only be his concern for Wangji that prevented him from making the obvious connection at once. Even when not in her own sect’s robes, her beauty and her demeanour make her distinctive, and Nie Rushi did say she was here. ‘You’ve examined my nephew?’

‘I have,’ she confirms. No further information is forthcoming.

‘Well,’ Qiren says, ‘at least you’re awake and out of bed, Wangji. There are matters we must discuss.’

Perhaps, once Nie Huaisang and Wen Qing have left them to speak privately, Wangji will explain the way he is looking at Qiren. It is possible the boy’s temperament has been unbalanced by his condition. Even a Lan cannot simply will away the anger and paranoia that so often accompanies a qi deviation, much though it grates to admit it.

Of course, that requires manners on the part of Nie Huaisang, who has yet to so much as greet Qiren, let alone bid him farewell. And Wen Qing is here as that boy’s guest, from what Qiren understands, so she can hardly walk out by herself. Letting a Wen walk the halls of the Unclean Realms alone would be folly.

‘My thanks for visiting my nephew, Nie Huaisang,’ Qiren says, and doesn’t have to look to be sure the boy jumps at his tone. ‘I will stay with Wangji until curfew. Do not let us detain you.’

‘Oh. Um. Right.’ Nie Huaisang sounds startled, as though he thought he wouldn’t be expected to leave. ‘Yes, of course. Of course. I’ll just… Yes.’

The shuffling of Nie Huaisang making his way to the door is an irritant, but one Qiren does not allow to touch him. He focuses instead on turning an expectant look on Wen Qing, whose lips press together before she takes a step away from Wangji.

Away from Wangji, whose hand shoots out and grabs her wrist, halting her.

‘Wangji,’ Qiren orders, ‘let her go. We do not need outsiders here whilst we talk.’ He takes a breath and feels the tension in his jaw. ‘You cannot simply take hold of a woman like this! Have you lost all sense of decorum, of propriety?’

Cold fury swirls in Wangji’s eyes and his lips part, but before he can reply they’re interrupted.

‘Father, father!’

A-Yuan arrives at speed, hurling himself past Qiren and at his father’s legs, where he clings just as he clung to Qiren in the courtyard. This time, he doesn’t bounce with excitement. He tilts his head back and pouts up at Wangji, who visibly softens as he looks down at the boy.

‘Aunty Rushi says I’m staying with Granduncle tonight, but I don’t want you to be lonely.’

‘I will not be lonely,’ Wangji says, and before Qiren can nod in approval at his nephew’s acceptance, he goes on. ‘You will stay here with me.’

Frustration bubbles in Qiren and he realises he will have to be firm. Wangji will have to accept that A-Yuan cannot stay with him, not until Wangji is recovered. Even then, their family is not in the habit of keeping their children next to them at all times. It isn’t appropriate.

‘A-Yuan has a bed ready in my rooms,’ Qiren says.

That should be enough to settle the matter. It will be most unusual should he have to be more explicit with Wangji, but he is prepared for it, if needs be. Wangji is ill, he reminds himself. His obedient nephew is not meaning to be disrespectful and surly.

His obedient nephew has kept a lover and child secret from his own family, but Qiren can only focus on so much at a time.

Wangji lets go of Wen Qing’s wrist and strokes his hand over A-Yuan’s head, making no attempt to meet Qiren’s eyes.

‘That bed is unnecessary,’ Wangji says.

A firmer hand is needed, then.

‘This behaviour-‘ he beings.

Wangji cuts him off, finally looking at Qiren with hard eyes.

‘I will not be separated from my son.’

‘You are sick!’

‘As mother was sick?’ Wangji asks, disgust and anger clear enough in his tone that Nie Huaisang gasps from his place by the door. Raising his chin, Wangji hardens his voice to match his eyes. ‘A-Yuan will not be raised as Brother and I were raised.’

‘Enough, Wangji!’

Airing such matters in front of the second master of the Nie Sect is an appalling blunder, not to mention the Wen in the room. Qiren truly does not want to cause Wangji the distress he’s been warned about, but he has to stop this.

Wen Qing places a hand on Wangji’s sleeve and draws his attention to her, and once again the tight anger in Wangji’s expression relaxes. He looks at Wen Qing as though she can be trusted over and above his own uncle.

‘If you must discuss this now, let me take A-Yuan back outside until you are done,’ she says. ‘Don’t worry. I won’t let anyone take A-Yuan away.’

She gets no answer, but Wangji makes no move to stop her as she bends and picks A-Yuan up anyway, settling him on her hip as the boy turns his head to blink at her. A-Yuan stares at Wen Qing, a puzzled expression on his face, and lifts a hand to pat slowly at her cheek.

Qiren is not ready for another shock, but the world has never cared for whether a person is ready. He can’t understand how he missed it before, but the Wen have rarely attended the lectures and he isn’t as familiar with the typical features of their clan.

Seeing A-Yuan and Wen Qing’s faces so close together, it’s unavoidable. A-Yuan looks like a perfect mix of Wangji and Wen Qing. Whoever his mother is, she must be a Wen.

In the middle of a war that has been building for years, Wangji has produced an heir, not just for himself but also for Gusu Lan, who has Wen blood. The political ramifications, within and without the sect, are potentially vast.

Wangji is already vulnerable. Qiren cannot allow this situation to grow worse.

He hasn’t regained any mental balance when A-Yuan’s face collapses into misery and he flings his arms around Wen Qing’s neck, sobbing, choking out words that are almost incomprehensible. Almost.

‘Aunty Qing! Where did you go? Why did you leave me?’

One calm thought floats in the confusion in Qiren’s mind: there will be no need to argue with Wangji over where A-Yuan will sleep, now. From the way Wen Qing is holding A-Yuan as she weeps, and with how Wangji sets a hand on A-Yuan’s back, there will be no removing the boy tonight.

Qiren turns and sighs at the sight of Nie Huaisang standing there, staring. There will be no way to prevent the Nie, at least, from knowing this. Perhaps they can rely on Xichen’s close friendship with Nie Mingjue to stop it from spreading further. Better not to push Nie Huaisang away, not when the irresponsible child will only run and find someone to gossip with.

‘I will send for tea,’ Qiren announces, though nobody reacts.

Curfew can be relaxed when it’s essential, and Qiren will stay awake all night if he must, so long as by morning he has some idea of how to prevent this spinning ever more out of control.

Chapter Text

Wen Qing is mostly done with crying as she checks Lan Wangji’s core again. A-Yuan stands right next to her, clinging to her skirts, and she stifles the wild thought that she could take the boy and run, run right out of the Unclean Realm and away into the mountains where she could…

Well. Where she could be hunted down and thrown back in the prison camp, if fortune favoured her. Kidnapping a Lan heir is unlikely to be taken lightly. Besides, she needs to find A-Ning. She needs to find a way to save the rest of her family. Patience and sense are required, not fleeing, not a headlong dash with no real plan.

‘A little more fluctuation than I’d like, but it’s holding for now,’ she says crisply, letting go of Lan Wangji’s wrist.

Lan Wangji nods and makes no move to step away from her. He isn’t looking at her. He isn’t looking at anybody, his gaze instead fixed on the middle distance. Wen Qing would put silver, however, on him knowing exactly where his uncle is and what the man is doing. There is a wariness to the Second Jade that she’s seen all too often in Wen Rouhan’s court.

‘Well?’ Lan Qiren asks, from his seat at the table. ‘Must he rest, or can we discuss what must be done?’

‘There is nothing to discuss,’ Lan Wangji states.

Before Lan Qiren can reply, Huaisang pauses in his task of preparing the tea and interjects.

‘Er, Wangji-xiong… I don’t think that’s true.’

His voice wavers and his eyes dart from one person to another, but his hands holding the teapot are steady. Wen Qing thinks of standing before the throne in Nightless City, her head bowed, and adds another item to her mental list about Huaisang.

‘For once, Nie Huaisang is right,’ Lan Qiren says. ‘Wangji, do not be obstinate. If Lady Wen insists you must rest, so be it, but do not pretend to be ignorant of the troubles we face.’

He gets no reaction at all from Lan Wangji.

‘A-Yuan should sleep,’ Wen Qing says. Granny tried to get him to what passed for a bed before this time, those weeks in the prison camp. ‘The rest of us can talk for a short while, but only if it remains calm.’

And then she must hope that Lan Qiren gives them chance to question Lan Wangji again, because they are a long way from an idea of how to save her family.

Without comment, Lan Wangji finally steps away from her, stoops to pick up A-Yuan and sets about readying the boy for bed. Wen Qing notes Lan Qiren tracking his nephew’s action and wonders whether the man expected Lan Wangji to be good at this. She doesn’t know how she’d feel, what she’d think, if her A-Ning were suddenly cast in such an unexpected role.

For the second time since wrestling Lan Wangji’s core, Wen Qing sits at the table and prepares for an unusual conversation. She feels Lan Qiren’s eyes on her more than once as they wait, but she keeps her gaze on the table and her focus on the domestic scene behind her, noting the low, soothing hum of Lan Wangji’s voice as he settles A-Yuan.

Once Lan Wangji joins them, Lan Qiren takes the lead.

‘Lady Wen is related to A-Yuan,’ Lan Qiren says, not quite a question, and though he isn’t looking at his nephew, it’s clear he expects Lan Wangji to confirm it. He huffs when he gets no reaction. ‘How do you think the other sects will react to this?’

Lan Wangji looks at Wen Qing and swallows. Even with his core temporarily stablished, his emotions are easier to read than they were at Dafan Mountain or back in the Cloud Recesses, fine cracks in the jade of him letting some of what he’s feeling seep through. As his doctor, Wen Qing is concerned. As the woman whose nephew he’s stolen, it’s something of a reassurance.

‘They cannot know,’ he says, and it sounds like an apology.

So, that is his plan: to keep A-Yuan’s heritage a secret, so that A-Yuan will not be a target. A plan that would make perfect sense if A-Yuan had nobody else.

‘There must be some way to soften the sentiment against my family,’ she says. ‘A-Yuan deserves to know who he is, and he isn’t the only one who needs protecting.’

‘A-Yuan will be protected by all of Gusu Lan,’ Lan Qiren states, and Wen Qing thinks she sees Lan Wangji’s eyes widen just a little bit. ‘My grandnephew will not be harmed, but there is no sense in providing a reason for enmity from our allies.’

If Lan Wangji is surprised that his uncle agrees with him in this, he shows no sign of it.

‘You want us to keep this a secret?’ Huaisang asks, in the tentative voice of a student unsure if he’s reaching the correct conclusion. His eyes widen and he clasps his hands together over his chest, the fan between them. ‘But…but Teacher Qiren, I don’t think I can lie to Da-ge.’

‘I would not ask you to lie, Nie Huaisang,’ Lan Qiren says, the frustration in his voice barely buried. ‘Least of all to your brother. It is no business of the other sects, that is all.’

‘You can’t possibly think I will let you take A-Yuan from his family,’ Wen Qing says. ‘I will agree not to say anything yet, but you promised me you would find a way to save my people, Lan Wangji, and I will hold you to that. And then A-Yuan will not have to hide. He will be able to be with his family.’

She realises her mistake as Lan Wangji and Lan Qiren both stiffen.

‘The boy is with his family,’ Lan Qiren says.

Lan Wangji says nothing, his eyes and mouth tight with uncomfortable emotion. There is no time to work out which one.

‘The boy’s grandmother is in the prison camp outside these walls,’ Wen Qing snaps.

‘And his father is at this table!’

Huaisang makes a noise of distress, and Wen Qing catches herself just in time, glaring at Lan Qiren but choking back any comment on where A-Yuan’s father is. Unless her cousin was unfaithful, both of A-Yuan’s parents are in the ground, along with his older sister, but the pretence that A-Yuan is half Lan is currently his best protection. She can’t ruin that.

‘People will wonder who his mother is,’ she says through gritted teeth, ‘whether you believe it is their business or not. There will be questions. If you refuse to answer, they will assume whatever they want. They will convince themselves of something far worse than his mother being a Wen.’

She feels her lips twist over that, and her fingers are digging into the fabric over her thighs, but she is already holding herself back as much as she can. She is already being more confrontational than she could ever risk in her uncle’s court.

‘People will stop wondering once Wangji is wed,’ Lan Qiren states, and continues over the sound of Huaisang spluttering on his tea. ‘At least, they will not dare speculate openly.’

‘You intend to let them think some other woman is A-Yuan’s mother?’ Wen Qing asks. She glances at Lan Wangji to find him staring at his uncle with what is possibly horror in his eyes. It’s nothing good, she is sure. ‘You will have the sects believe some young woman’s death was falsely reported and have her carry the damage to her reputation as well as raise another woman’s son as her own? Do you really think that will work?’

Lan Qiren looks at her as though she’s the one being disrespectful.

‘How can you call yourself righteous and plan to dishonour my cousin’s memory in this way?’ she demands.

Lan Wangji’s head snaps around and Wen Qing lifts her chin. So what if some of that was aimed at him, pretending to be A-Yuan’s father in place of the man who died defending the boy? Granny told her little, shaking whenever she managed to get any words out on the subject, but Wen Qing knows A-Yuan’s parents saved their son by giving Granny time to get him to a hiding place. Wen Qing accepts that, for now, for A-Yuan’s safety, she cannot reveal that lie for what it is, but it’s still disrespectful.

‘I will not marry,’ Lan Wangji insists.

Lan Qiren sets his hand on the table in something that for a Lan must count as a smack.

‘Wangji!’

Huaisang jumps at the impact and again at the name, and Wen Qing spares a moment to wonder how he has survived with Nie Mingjue as his brother. Her list keeps growing.

‘Perhaps…perhaps it would be best if we got some rest?’ Huaisang asks. ‘I promise, I promise, I will say nothing to anyone. I swear it. Just, please, let me go to my bed, now? I really don’t think it’s any of my business whether Wangji-xiong marries and I’m very tired. Please?’

Lan Qiren looks to have a lot more to say, but Wen Qing has had enough. She needs to talk to Lan Wangji properly and she certainly can’t do that with Lan Qiren ready to lecture his nephew on filial piety or obedience or politics.

‘I agree,’ she says. ‘I said this could not continue without calm. If your nephew is to live long enough to be married to whichever young woman you believe will go along with this, he needs to rest.’

She thinks Lan Qiren is going to insist on sitting there all night, but somehow Huaisang talks him into leaving, though not without another tense moment where the man looks at A-Yuan and Lan Wangji steps in to block his uncle’s line of sight.

‘My cousin will escort you back to your rooms, Teacher Qiren,’ Huaisang says, sounding as though he is unsure where Lan Qiren’s may be, and it seems said cousin has been waiting out in the courtyard.

Huaisang doesn’t reappear.

‘I have no idea where I’m mean to be sleeping,’ Wen Qing announces to the room, but there is some relief in not being marched back to the prison camp, even if not so much as when Huaisang offered her a basin of water, a cloth and a set of clean robes before they came to visit Lan Wangji. ‘Am I to sleep on the floor?’

‘Take the bed.’

Lan Wangji’s voice is quiet and smooth behind her, and Wen Qing turns to face him with her arms crossed. Her own, entirely earned, paranoia warns that he must have some ulterior motive. She quells it.

‘Oh, no. You are still ill, Hanguang-Jun. You will get into that bed and sleep. If you go undoing all my hard work on your golden core, I’ll find a way to make you wish you hadn’t.’

‘Wangji.’

He appears to be staring at her chin, his expression resolute.

‘What?’

This time, he lifts his gaze, but not his head, so despite his height he looks at her through his lashes. He can’t be entirely ignorant of the effect that has. Surely not. She still believes A-Yuan’s mother remained faithful to her husband, but she can see how some women, at least, may be tempted to indulge if this young man were on offer.

For the briefest of moments, she entertains the notion that Hanguang-Jun intends to seduce her into compliance with…with something. That thought, she eliminates ruthlessly.

‘Not Hanguang-Jun,’ he says. ‘Call me Wangji.’

Wen Qing is surrounded by overly familiar young men, it seems, but he sounds earnest rather than sultry, or however it is that men sound when they aim to sweet-talk a woman into bed. Her status as Wen Rouhan’s niece and her own demeanour combined have left her without a point of reference. Still, she can’t imagine Lan Wangji really trying such a thing.

‘You already called me Wen Qing,’ she replies, tilting her head in the way that makes her subordinates step warily. Or did, when she had any. ‘Without asking.’

She holds up a hand as he clearly prepares to apologise.

‘Don’t. I don’t know how long we have before Huaisang remembers I can’t be left in a man’s room all night,’ she says, noting a flicker of surprise cross his face, seeing embarrassed guilt chase it, and knowing she’s right about him, ‘and I have questions I didn’t want to ask in front of anyone.’

He gives a tight nod, finally looking at her directly. His stance suggests he anticipates censure.

‘About A-Yuan,’ he says.

At least he knows they need to talk about that, then.

‘Yes. About Wen Yuan.’ When he flinches at the slight stress on the family name, she sighs and makes herself uncross her arms. Hostility won’t help, here. It’s difficult to soften her tone, but she manages. ‘Why are you claiming to be his father, Wangji? We both know that isn’t true.’

‘I adopted him,’ Lan Wangji says. He pauses, and she has the impression he’s looking back over memories that haven’t happened yet. ‘After you died.’

She nods. Hearing that Wei Wuxian, of all people, would save the last of her people, killing those currently on his own side to do so, is something she is still struggling to believe. On her way out of that dungeon, she saw what Wei Wuxian had made of the other Wen in the supervisory office. But Lan Wangji doesn’t lie. Apparently, even when she thinks he is.

That she will die, did die, is something she holds at a distance. A-Ning’s life has always mattered more than her own and she needs all of her resilience for when she asks about her brother’s second death. For now, she needs to focus on A-Yuan.

‘So as far as you’re concerned, he really is your son.’

Lan Wangji nods, a slow, elegant dip of the head, and Wen Qing rubs at her temples.

‘Why adopt him? You said Wei Wuxian saves others.’

His gaze drifts away, down and to the side, and it takes several long moments for him to respond.

‘A-Yuan was the only Wen left.’

It strikes her in stages. Lan Wangji is saying they all died. Every Wen. Every single member of her family who survived the war and the workcamps died, will die, within a handful of years.

‘How?’ she asks, around the urge to choke on frustration and on fear and on grief.

‘The sects killed them.’

Wen Qing lets the weight of that sink into her mind, lets her assumptions and conclusions reshape around it. A-Yuan was not taken from his family; he was saved from a curse that took the rest of his family. The worst kind of curse because it involves nothing but people being people.

Despite the harsh lessons life has taught her, Wen Qing feels tears in her throat as she parses that.

‘He still has parents,’ she manages, knowing she wants to lash out and not quite suppressing it. ‘To call yourself his father…to replace… How could you? Did you even intend to let him pay his respects to them?’

At that, Lan Wangji closes his eyes.

‘A fever,’ he says, and stops. He opens his eyes and it’s a shock to see them glisten. ‘When I found him, he had a fever. It took his memories.’

He doesn’t point out how dangerous it would have been for the sects to discover a lone Wen. It must have been a relief, she thinks, to know A-Yuan was safe from himself.

Lan Wangji frowns: a faint, troubled thing.

‘I was not sure he would know you.’

‘But he does,’ she says.

Again, Lan Wangji nods. Wen Qing draws in a breath, then another, straightens her shoulders, folds her hands at her waist, and returns the nod. They will have to discuss this further, but she’s satisfied that Lan Wangji didn’t steal A-Yuan away. Not in the future. She still doesn’t know how he removed A-Yuan from the prison camp.

For now, in this limited pocket of time, there are other questions she must ask.

Lan Wangji beats her to it.

‘Is there a way to reach Wen Rouhan without being caught?’ he asks. ‘If I can make it to Nevernight, is there a way to reach him and to eliminate him?’

She stares at him, not sure what her expression must look like, before answering flatly.

‘You would die before you got there.’ She pushes on when Lan Wangji’s lips part. ‘No. I said the improvement is temporary. It is. And even if you did make it, you’d arrive in no fit state to fight your way to my uncle.’

‘Is there a way to avoid fighting?’ he asks, eyes as intense as she’s seen them, like a bird of prey with a target in sight.

‘Yes,’ she replies, letting her voice sharpen, ‘by not going.’

The gaze remains.

‘Fine! Let’s assume you can make it there, that I can give you a way in. There’s little chance any such way is unguarded, even those few routes that weren’t in the past. The Yin Iron was already making him paranoid, making him vicious. Not that it matters, because even if you could appear there with no further damage done to your core and with no need to fight your way to him, he’s far more powerful than any one cultivator. You would lose, Lan Wangji.’

He acts as though he doesn’t hear her warnings, as though he’s still waiting for her to speak. She tries another approach.

‘What about A-Yuan? You don’t even want your uncle to mind him. Do you really think you could bring yourself to leave him here whilst you go off on a suicide mission?’

‘You will care for him,’ he says at once, a ragged edge to his insistence.

She doesn’t have time to consider why the Second Jade of Lan would trust her over his own relative. There’s been no suggestion that, in those four years, Lan Wangji and she became close. Nothing, that is, save for his use of her name and for the way he’s treated her since he woke up. Not romantic or sexual interest, she’s now convinced, but some type of connection.

Rather than dwell on that, she clucks her tongue and pushes on with her argument.

‘The only chance you would have of infiltrating my uncle’s palace is if I showed you the way. There are routes only a Wen can use.’ Shaking her head, she gives tries not to picture the dangers in that. ‘And I hope you don’t think we could take A-Yuan with us.’

The frown shifts and tension plays about his mouth, but Lan Wangji doesn’t reply to that.

‘An entire army is on its way to fight Wen Rouhan,’ she says, hoping that his reaction is a sign he’s reconsidering. ‘A single person attempting to face him is nothing but folly. You said your side wins this war. Why interfere?’

‘What is Wangji-xiong interfering with?’

Glad of the excuse to break away from Lan Wangji’s hunter’s stare, she turns to ask Huaisang where she’s to spend the night and finds herself looking at Granny Wen standing beside him. Granny Wen looks worn down and colourless against the rich fabric of Huaisang’s robes, and she holds herself in a way that screams uncertainty, even fear. Some of that turns to relief when she sees Wen Qing.

Wen Qing thinks she may be near numb by now, with so many emotions being demanded from her in quick succession. At least, she wishes she were, because even her own relief at seeing this woman is an aching, grating thing that steals her words.

‘Ah,’ Huaisang says, ‘yes. I’ve been doing some thinking, and I don’t want to have to face Da-ge and tell him we kept Hanguang-Jun’s mother-in-law in a prison camp, so I had Madam Wen brought here. That was the right thing to do, wasn’t it?’

He even sounds anxious. Wen Qing isn’t sure whose benefit that is for.

‘Nie Huaisang-‘ Lan Wangji begins, but cuts off when Huaisang makes a disgruntled noise and ushers Granny Wen further into the room.

As Huaisang slides the doors closed, Wen Qing takes Granny Wen’s hands and shushes the old woman’s attempts to apologise. She has no idea what the apologies can be for, but they cut off as Wen Qing leads Granny Wen to the bed and lets her see A-Yuan.

‘He’s safe, Granny,’ she says, and lets the old woman cry silent tears with hands pressed to her mouth.

Once the tears stop, Wen Qing sighs, taking Granny Wen by the shoulders and turning her so the old woman can see Wen Qing’s expression.

‘Lan Yuan is safe here,’ she says as pointedly as she dares, ‘with his father. With Lan Wangji.’

Granny Wen looks confused, her mouth opening and shutting again as she looks from one person to another, but it isn’t long before her face smooths out and she nods. Wen Qing tries, with only a smile, to assure her that an explanation will be forthcoming. Later, once she has made sure her patient has discarded his self-destructive and unnecessary plan.

‘Nie Huaisang,’ Lan Wangji says, and Wen Qing lets go of Granny Wen so she can whip around and glare at him. He gives no sign he notices. ‘I must leave the Unclean Realm.’

‘What?’ Huaisang lets his mouth drop open. ‘But…but Wangji-xiong, you aren’t well. And we don’t have a plan… Er. I mean, don’t you want to stay and catch up with your mother-in-law?’

Lan Wangji takes a step closer to Huaisang, who takes two steps back, bringing that fan of his up like a shield.

‘Your brother will lead a handful of Nie cultivators in an attack,’ Lan Wangji says, with terrible certainty. ‘They will be captured and taken to Wen Rouhan. All but your brother will be killed. He will be beaten. Badly.’

Huaisang pales.

‘We have to warn him,’ he blurts out. ‘A message. A message could still get through. Wait, didn’t you tell him this already?’

‘No.’

Anger flashes in Huaisang’s eyes, but it’s gone again quickly, replaced with distress.

‘Da-ge will be hurt, my people killed, and you have done nothing about it?’

Lan Wangji is looking at Huaisang with the same intense gaze he was using on Wen Qing. He shows no remorse at failing to warn Nie Mingjue.

‘Help us leave the Unclean Realm and I will do my best to prevent your brother’s capture.’

‘He means to face Wen Rouhan himself,’ Wen Qing interjects.

‘That’s madness,’ Huaisang says, though he isn’t as vehement as he should be, in Wen Qing’s view. ‘You would be there all alone.’

‘Not true,’ Lan Wangji says. ‘Wen Qing will accompany me and we will have assistance from our spy in Wen Rouhan’s court.’

‘Spy?’ Huaisang asks. Now, he sounds more intrigued than anything else.

‘Meng Yao.’

There’s a long, stretched out moment where Huaisang bites his lip, his head tilted to one side, before he snaps his fan shut and nods.

‘Okay. Okay, I think I know how we can do this.’

And with the gleam in his eyes and the set of his jaw, Wen Qing realises she has lost. She will be returning to Nightless City to help Lan Wangji end this war. At least she will be able to search for A-Ning, she reassures herself as Huaisang outlines his ideas. Assuming she lives long enough.

Chapter Text

Nie Huaisang stands before Qiren with his head bowed. After stuttering out pointless apologies, the boy has taken to holding his fan tight to his chest and biting his own lip, which is better than the attempt to have Qiren forgive him.

Dongmei crosses from the other side of the room and hands Nie Huaisang a cup.

‘All of it,’ she says. ‘I don’t care how bad it tastes.’

The boy wrinkles his nose and looks like he’s about to whine, but a quick glance at Qiren stops him and he sips at the liquid.

‘There will be no long-standing impact?’ Qiren checks, because this is enough of a disaster as it is, without the heir to Qinghe Nie being permanently harmed in some way.

‘No.’ Dongmei looks both puzzled and disapproving. ‘It can’t have been Hanguang-Jun who placed the needles. I mean no disrespect, but he hasn’t the training.’

‘But Lady Wen would know how to avoid ill effects,’ Qiren points out, and sighs. ‘Do not underestimate my nephew’s ability to pick up new skills.’

If only Wangji would use that for the right reasons. Leaving their host immobilised on the bed Wangji should be using and vanishing into the night with his son and two Wens is hardly living up to Qiren’s teachings. Xichen is leading a war. Nie Mingjue is one of Xichen’s closest allies. To put that at risk should have been unthinkable to Wangji. It feels as though the boy will not be satisfied until he has heaped every imaginable difficulty upon his sect and his kin.

As it is, they need to find him and the Wens he’s taken away with him before their allies hear about it. The last thing Gusu Lan needs is to have their second master decried as an enemy sympathiser. That would be worse than people hearing Wangji kidnapped the women. And A-Yuan needs to be brought back to safety.

Thankfully, the Nie’s second young master has more colour in his cheeks and isn’t swaying as much as he was, and it was Qiren who found him. It is a Lan healer helping the boy recover. That should help matters. It can be made to.

‘I feel a little better, now. Thank-you, Healer Dongmei,’ Nie Huaisang says, his voice still wavering.

‘Another cup in an hour and again before you sleep tonight,’ Dongmei instructs, unmoved by the way Nie Huaisang sags. ‘I mean it, Second Master Nie. How are the nausea and the headache?’

‘Not so bad.’

And really, Qiren has no right to be cross with this boy. How could Nie Huaisang, who is still a child despite being Wangji’s age, be expected to fight off a warrior trained to be amongst the best of the Lan? If the needles Wangji used were only a fraction further wrong in their placement, Qiren would be having to confess that his nephew had murdered Nie Mingjue’s brother.

Nie Mingjue’s brother who has been left here, in their heavily defensible home, because he isn’t capable of facing battle, and now an ally has attacked him.

‘Really,’ Nie Huaisang says, looking from Dongmei to Qiren with an almost pleading expression, ‘I don’t think there’s any need to tell Da-ge. He’ll be so angry!’

Of course he will be. Qiren can only hope that the man’s close friendship with Xichen and the fact Wangji is suffering from a serious condition, one known to affect his mind and temperament, will mitigate the response.

‘We don’t have to write to him about it, do we?’ Nie Huaisang goes on. ‘I…I don’t think it would be good for Da-ge, to be distracted by this when he’s got to focus on defeating Wen Rouhan. We can tell him later. Yes? After the war?’

For all his foolishness and frippery, the boy has a point. It could well be a mistake to bring this matter to Sect Leader Nie’s attention, potentially causing strife between Xichen and him, when they have such important battles to plan.

‘He’ll be so cross,’ Nie Huaisang says, almost to himself, dropping his gaze to his fan and pursing his lips into something close to a pout. ‘He’ll make me train so much more.’

‘Training is important,’ Qiren replies, before realising the implications of that statement. ‘You could not have defeated Wangji.’

‘I know!’ Nie Huaisang all but wails. ‘Da-ge will be so cross that I haven’t trained harder. Poor Wangji-xiong is so ill and I couldn’t keep him safe.’

To Qiren’s irritation, Nie Huaisang falls to his knees, his tone taking on a note of such genuine regret that Xichen would no doubt be moved to comfort him.

‘Please, Teacher Qiren. Please accept my most heartfelt apologies for not taking better care of your nephew.’

‘Get up, Second Master Nie,’ Qiren instructs, staring at the wall over Nie Huaisang’s head. ‘Gusu Lan does not hold you accountable for Wangji’s actions.’

Dongmei helps Nie Huaisang rise, concern now her primary expression. Qiren is unsure which aspect of this whole situation is responsible for that. Possibly all of it.

‘Oh, but Wangji-xiong can’t be held accountable,’ Nie Huaisang insists. ‘Healer Dongmei was kind enough to explain it to me, how his mind is troubled and he doesn’t always know when or where he is.’

‘Did he say anything to indicate what he thought was happening?’ Dongmei asks, shooting Qiren a look that, whilst still suitably respectful, makes it clear he should let her speak.

She’s using the softly probing tone that Qiren dislikes in healers, but with someone as nervous as Nie Huaisang, it’s perhaps a good idea. They do not need the boy to break down into tears at the thought of his older brother’s reaction to this.

Nie Huaisang looked very small and overwhelmed when Qiren stepped into Wangji’s room and found him on the bed. Some soothing is warranted.

‘I don’t know,’ Nie Huaisang says. His brow furrows and he pulls the face he used to make in class when he was made to sit a test. ‘He… Well, you see, Lady Wen made a comment about her family’s village and Wangji-xiong became… He… Lady Wen’s branch of the family lived on Dafan Mountain. They’re not really part of Qishan Wen, as such. I remember we went there, Wei-xiong and Wangji-xiong and I, after leaving the Cloud Recesses, and… Healer Dongmei, do you think Wangji-xiong has gone looking for A-Yuan’s mother?’

He looks almost painfully hopeful that he’s worked out where Wangji has gone, a look that only grows as Dongmei agrees it is possible.

Qiren sighs, giving in to the need to close his eyes and take a few moments to gather his thoughts. If Wangji has slipped back into a delusional state whilst a relative of A-Yuan’s mother is present, if said relative has mentioned a location where the woman could once be found, then naturally Wangji would want to go there. He went to his mother’s house even when he knew she was no longer there. Another way in which Qiren has failed in his raising of the boy.

‘I will send two of our people to Dafan Mountain,’ he decides. ‘Hopefully, he hasn’t got too far.’

‘And it’s good he has a healer with him,’ Nie Huaisang adds. ‘I’m sure Lady Wen will help him, even though he did make her go.’

‘Healer Wen is an insightful and dedicated doctor,’ Dongmei says. ‘I would be a great deal more worried if Hanguang-Jun hadn’t taken her with him.’

Such a thing, to be grateful that his nephew has abducted a woman. Two women. Wens!

‘And if Lady Wen uses her medical skills to render Wangji defenceless and delivers him to Wen Rouhan?’ Qiren asks.

Nie Huaisang’s mouth drops open and he makes a flailing motion with his fan.

‘Oh, no! No, she would never. The Wen Sect threw her in a dungeon for aiding Wei-xiong and Jiang-xiong after Lotus Pier fell. They took her brother away from her. She would never help Wen Rouhan now. Please, Teacher Lan, do not worry on that account. Wangji-xiong is safe with her.’

Qiren dearly hopes this is true. He hopes many things: for Wangji to be found and returned and healed; for A-Yuan to be safe and where Qiren can see he is cared for; for Xichen to win this war and come home. For none of this last year to have happened.

‘Very well,’ he says. ‘I will organise the disciples. Dongmei, continue with your search for a way to heal Wangji.’

‘I will walk Second Master Nie to his rooms first,’ Dongmei says, before taking her leave and ushering the boy out.

For his part, Nie Huaisang leaves in a flurry of apologies and thanks, though Qiren is no longer clear on what either is for. At this moment he is clear on little save for the fact he needs his nephew and grandnephew back. At least now he has something he can do towards that end.

Wangji has gone in search of a woman he loves. Once again, Qiren must make sure he is not allowed to hurt himself in the process.

Xichen tries once more to argue Mingjue-ge out of his plan.

‘I won’t change my mind, Xichen,’ Mingjue-ge says.

Around them, the camp is subdued. Every step of the way here has been fought for, and far too many of their people are no longer with them. From inside Xichen’s tent, the muffled sounds of camp life could almost sound peaceful, if he hadn’t seen the exhaustion etched into every face, delineated in every set of shoulders, as he made his way here after meeting with the other leaders.

Only Mingjue-ge by his side, a strong and steady presence, has given Xichen any comfort of late, a comfort that his friend dashed with his announcement during the meeting.

‘By all accounts, Wen Rouhan is surrounded by puppets and fierce corpses,’ Xichen tries again. ‘He has at least three pieces of Yin Iron. Even if you reach him, even being the warrior you are, it risks too much for you to face him alone.’

‘I won’t be alone.’ Mingjue-ge isn’t quite meeting Xichen’s eyes, but his jaw is firm. ‘I’ll have my people with me. Solid fighters, the lot of them.’

‘I don’t doubt that.’ Xichen aims for soothing, but he’s far from sure he hits it.

Mingjue-ge finally looks at him and raises an eyebrow.

‘You’re worried about me,’ he states.

‘Am I not allowed to be?’

They get no further before someone outside calls out a protest, followed almost at once by Wei Wuxian striding into the tent and bowing as though he’s laying down a challenge. He wears the flat, deadly look he dons during battle.

‘Wei Wuxian,’ Xichen greets, inclining his head and making sure his expression is pleasant. Many things set off this young man’s temper. More and more by the day, and Xichen doesn’t have the energy to spare to deal with that just now. Besides, he has often found it a good tactic when faced with disrespect. ‘Is there something you need? I was not aware you wanted to speak with me.’

‘I was not aware Chifeng-Zun had a means to counter the Yin Iron,’ Wei Wuxian responds, each word hardened.

‘And I was not aware I had to consult you,’ Mingjue-ge says, though he isn’t shouting yet. He almost sounds thoughtful, though irritation is layered over it.

Wei Wuxian never has explained his comment about having a method to deal with Wen Rouhan’s most deadly weapons.

‘Let me be the one to go,’ Wei Wuxian says. ‘Don’t risk a sect leader. I can end this.’

Xichen steels himself for yet another attempt to keep Wei Wuxian safe from his own impulses. So far, he has managed. Mostly.

‘I mean no disrespect, Wei Wuxian,’ he says, ‘but Wen Rouhan is one of the most powerful cultivators of the last few generations. Truly, had he not taken it into his head to pursue the use of the Yin Iron, he would likely have achieved immortality within the next decades.’

‘Xichen’s already not keen on me going,’ Mingjue-ge adds, showing no sign he knows he’s downplaying that by a fair margin. ‘Even if I were to let a Yunmeng Jiang disciple dictate my strategy, you can’t think he’ll accept you going. Not when he promised Wangji.’

Xichen has a moment of furious hope that, in his insistence on being the one to face Wen Rouhan, Wei Wuxian has missed that last part. His hope is dashed. Wei Wuxian stills, frowns, and turns his head to stare right at Xichen.

‘A promise? To Lan Zhan? What promise?’ Wei Wuxian steps closer, strands of hair beginning to drift around his face, bringing the ever-present dizi up to point at Xichen as the frown turns into a glare and a curled lip. His voice is low and dangerous, oddly level even as it crackles with the sort of energy that ends with a new corpse. ‘He made you promise to keep me away from this battle. How dare he. How dare you listen. He has no right to dictate where or how I fight to defend what is left of my family. None of you-‘

‘Wei Wuxian.’ Mingjue-ge snaps out the order just as he would to his own soldiers. ‘Stand down. Xichen made no such promise.’

Though Wei Wuxian has jumped to it so quickly that Xichen is sure Wangji said something of the like to his friend, in that final, tense conversation before Wangji was sent away. He certainly wanted Wei Wuxian kept away from Wen Rouhan, but he didn’t ask Xichen to stop his friend from fighting entirely. At least Wei Wuxian’s hackles settle somewhat.

‘Wangji didn’t want you to fight?’ Xichen asks.

‘Lan Zhan would have bundled me into that carriage and sent me away if he could.’

There’s less anger in that, but enough bitter wariness to make Xichen cautious.

‘I assure you,’ he tries, ‘my promise to Wangji did not include keeping you from this fight.’

He has no intention of revealing the full nature of the promise unless he must, nor Wangji’s frantic spilling of such terrible words that Xichen was driven to make it. There has been no letter from the Unclean Realm telling Xichen that his brother is cured, and there likely won’t be one. They are too close to Nightless City, now, too close to the end of this war. One way or the other. Even so, Xichen holds to the hope that Wangji’s mind will be clear when they see each other again, that he won’t still speak of Xichen letting such awful things happen.

Wei Wuxian lowers the dizi halfway and narrows his eyes.

‘Is this promise why you’ve been sticking so close to me?’ he asks. ‘Every time I turn around, there you are.’

‘I promised my brother I would watch your back during battle, as he could not,’ Xichen admits. ‘It was the only way he would leave to get the help he needed.’

If Wangji is to look upon Xichen with trust, Wei Wuxian must be alive and well when they are all reunited. Xichen will keep his word. He cannot allow Wei Wuxian to force his way onto a suicide mission, even if it may keep Mingjue-ge from the same. Even if Xichen aches to keep his own dear friend safe, over and above protecting his brother’s. But he will not be selfish.

Wei Wuxian lifts his chin, dropping his arm so his hands are held behind his back. He looks commanding. Arrogant.

‘Lan Zhan said I end this war,’ he states. ‘I have a way.’

The cluster of thoughts that still wrestle with Wangji and Wei Wuxian’s claim about time travel are momentarily tipped towards belief, then away. Wei Wuxian sounds so sure. But Wangji was desperate to keep Wei Wuxian from Wen Rouhan. Wangji would not put Wei Wuxian’s safety against the end of this entire war. Surely, he would not.

‘Explain this way of yours, then,’ Mingjue-ge says, his own stance shifting in response to Wei Wuxian’s, though he doesn’t reach for Baxia. ‘Just how do you propose to end the threat of the Yin Iron?’

They aren’t going to get an answer whilst Wei Wuxian is so defensive, so close to lashing out. All Wei Wuxian does is let one corner of his mouth curl up. His eyes are still flat, still cold. His hair may just be catching an edge of the breeze from outside. It may not.

‘Be reasonable, Wei Wuxian,’ Xichen tries. ‘You are asking us to alter our plans based on nothing but your insistence that we do so. We have the lives of the entire cultivation world to consider, your family included. Give us something to help us make an informed decision or accept the decision that has already been made.’

‘Your own brother’s word isn’t good enough?’ Wei Wuxian asks.

He has to know that’s unfair. He isn’t asking Xichen to rely on Wangji’s words: he’s asking Xichen to accept Wei Wuxian’s assertion that Wangji said any such thing, an assertion that contains no details.

‘Is this way of yours something that would cause Wangji concern?’ Xichen asks, because there is only one reason he can think of for Wangji to believe Wei Wuxian will end the war, yet at the same time want him kept away from it. ‘Will it cause you harm?’

This time, the curl of Wei Wuxian’s lip is almost a smile, accompanied by a huff of air and a shake of the head.

‘Ah, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan,’ Wei Wuxian says to the space between them. ‘So worried about poor, weak me.’

‘How badly will it harm you?’ Xichen asks.

An edge of something lost joins the ice in Wei Wuxian’s eyes as he refocuses on Xichen and Mingjue-ge.

‘Does it matter? What is one life against the entire cultivation world, my family included?’ Despair and bitterness and mockery all in one. He shrugs. ‘Besides, my methods haven’t killed me yet, but they have killed plenty of Wens.’

Mingjue-ge steps closer to Xichen, so they stand shoulder-to-shoulder.

‘I doubt your flute music will win you a fight against Wen Rouhan,’ he says. ‘I’ve seen enough of what you can do to know you’re an asset in battle. That doesn’t mean you can go up against the man who’s been turning living cultivators into puppets and win.’

Living. Dead. It doesn’t seem to matter to Wen Rouhan. And Mingjue-ge is right. Xichen has seen many corpses rise and fight over these last days and it has sickened him every time, but Wei Wuxian has never infected a living cultivator as far as Xichen has seen. He has never wrested control of a puppet from its master. He has never faced someone as powerful as Wen Rouhan.

There’s a pause long enough that Xichen half expects Wei Wuxian to sneer at them and stalk out. But Wei Wuxian doesn’t stalk out. He stands, battle-ready, looking poised to take sudden, explosive action but not moving at all.

‘And if I said I would not be relying on my dizi alone?’ Wei Wuxian asks at last, eyes narrowing.

Xichen has been in many meetings, both before and after the war started, and he is familiar with the sense that a turning point has been reached. If they are to persuade any details from Wei Wuxian, this is their chance.

‘I would want to know what else you will be relying on,’ Xichen says, and gambles that he’s correct about one reason Wei Wuxian is so hesitant to share. ‘I see no reason the information need go beyond the three of us.’

The two of them can vouch for whatever method Wei Wuxian has, if he can show them they should, if it is something that means needing to share an alteration in the plan.

‘I haven’t even told Jiang Cheng,’ Wei Wuxian says, once again losing focus. ‘But Lan Zhan knows. He saw. He can’t complain if…’

Xichen waits, pressing two fingers against Mingjue-ge’s wrist when he shifts in a way that reveals he’s about to push.

Finally, Wei Wuxian breathes out through his nose and some of the tension leaves him. No. Not leaves. Changes. He isn’t facing off against them, now, but he’s still on edge.

‘Very well,’ he relents. ‘I will take your word that this goes no further. You are not men who would want to claim power over others, after all.’

With that disquieting comment, Wei Wuxian lets Xichen settle them all at the table, and pulls a pouch from his robes. As he talks, Xichen feels disbelief, horror, hope. He sees the same on Mingjue-ge’s face, but Xichen also feels guilt. There is guilt at the relief when he realises Mingjue-ge can be talked out of sacrificing himself. There is guilt at what this means for Wangji and the promise Xichen made him.

But he cannot put Wei Wuxian’s safety above the possibilities being set out before them now. He can only hope his brother will forgive him.

Chapter Text

Zewu-Jun is waiting at the first bend in the track along the river.

‘I’m going alone,’ Wei Wuxian reminds him, pausing only because the track isn’t wide enough to pass by.

In the early morning light, with looming rock to one side and water to the other, Zewu-Jun looks capable of holding this route against anyone. He looks formidable, elegant, poised. He also looks faintly embarrassed.

‘Does Chifeng-Zun know you’re here?’ Wei Wuxian asks.

‘Our army won’t attack Nightless City again for several days,’ Zewu-Jun says, with no sign he realises he’s sidestepping the question. ‘Should the need arise, the Lan will follow Mingjue-ge. It is my hope that will not be necessary.’

When he left the man’s tent the day before, after a debate more tiring than subduing restless spirits, it was with the understanding he’d be going alone. He’s meant to be alone. It’s the best he can do to honour Lan Zhan’s frantic insistence that he not let anyone see him use the seal.

True, he’s shown the seal to Lan Zhan’s brother already, has explained something of what it should do, but having something described is not the same as experiencing it. People described the Burial Mounds to Wei Wuxian long before he ended up in them. The descriptions weren’t what changed him.

‘The Lan should follow you,’ Wei Wuxian says, forcing his hand to relax around Chenqing. ‘Go back, Zewu-Jun. I can do this by myself.’

‘I will not. I am going with you.’

The man doesn’t even have the grace to sound irritated. He just says the words calmly with that small smile on his lips, and doesn’t move out of the way.

Wei Wuxian knows Lan Zhan is stubborn. He suspects it’s a family trait. He can’t get past Zewu-Jun without fighting him, and he can’t fight him without using methods that would sicken Lan Zhan. Even then, he isn’t sure he could stop Zewu-Jun without doing him real harm. He already tried arguing.

He’s never been good at learning that particular lesson.

‘Do you Lans think you own me?’ he snaps, allowing the ever-present anger to flare. ‘Lan Zhan really thinks he has the right to hand me over to his brother, like a pet?’

Whatever the expression on Zewu-Jun’s face means, it isn’t capitulation, so Wei Wuxian ignores it.

‘That’s it, isn’t it?’ He curls his voice away from anger, into disdain, into implication. ‘Lan Zhan made some kind of creepy claim on me as far as your clan is concerned. All that scowling and lecturing he did. I don’t recall agreeing that gives him some right over me, and I certainly never said he could share with his brother.’

‘I can assure you, Wei Wuxian,’ Zewu-Jun says, a touch of strain in his voice, ‘neither Wangji nor I see you as a pet. And Wangji has never much liked to share.’

Which doesn’t include a denial of any claim. Damn. Wei Wuxian thought that would throw Zewu-Jun enough, embarrass him enough, that he’d back down. Besides, what was Lan Zhan thinking, extracting such a promise to watch Wei Wuxian’s back? What is that but a sign Lan Zhan thinks there’s some belonging involved?

However seriously Zewu-Jun takes such a promise, it shouldn’t be allowed to lead him into this.

‘You didn’t promise Lan Zhan you’d walk right up to Wen Rouhan,’ he tries, dropping anything but the frustration he can’t hide. ‘Is this really the best thing you can do for your sect? Putting yourself at risk like this when your brother is already so sick? Doesn’t one of you at least need to get through this, marry some pretty lady, and give your clan heirs?’

That gets a reaction. Zewu-Jun breaks eye contact and glances down at the ground, looking awkward. Wei Wuxian grimaces. No doubt, they are both thinking something similar in this moment, and all at once it’s too much. It should be Lan Zhan here with him, just the two of them fighting together to defeat the threat. Instead, Lan Zhan isn’t in a fit state to fight anything. And he already has an heir.

Wei Wuxian gives in.

‘So I’m to have the honour of being defended by Zewu-Jun himself on my quest,’ he says. ‘I suppose Lan Zhan will be pleased to hear I’m being watched.’

‘Supported,’ Zewu-Jun corrects.

Wei Wuxian lifts an eyebrow. It’s no secret the Lan are opposed to anything unorthodox and surely their sect leader will be keeping a close eye on what exactly Wei Wuxian does. The Lan are believers in delivering fitting punishment.

‘How fortunate I am,’ he demurs, and gestures for Zewu-Jun to turn and take the lead along the track.

Their route has been planned to take advantage of their spy’s information, a winding way up through the mountains and into the city through a warded path that is lightly guarded. Their spy has included the method by which the ward can be dismantled without causing an alarm, though Wei Wuxian hasn’t yet had chance to examine it.

All told, it will take them two days, leaving plenty of time to eliminate Wen Rouhan and confiscate the Yin Iron before their people are set to attempt another approach on the Wen stronghold. Wei Wuxian takes comfort from that. The first attempt to take Nightless City, only three days past, was a disaster, and now he has a chance to prevent what is left of the Jiang Sect from further loss.

And then, assuming Wei Wuxian survives, he will find a way to hide or destroy the Stygian Tyger Seal, so that it can’t be claimed by anyone who may seek to use it, and he will stay away from Lan Zhan. If needs be, he will bid farewell to his siblings and leave the cultivation world entirely. Whatever it takes to prevent his very existence from becoming a point of further conflict.

It is a very wide world. Somewhere, there will be a place he can stop and rest.

Wangji chafes against Wen Qing’s rules, though he has little choice but to obey them. She’s all but holding his golden core together with her two hands, and if she declares there will be no more flying, then there will be no more flying. Still, when she leans forward against his back and orders him to the ground, he considers ignoring her.

‘Now, Lan Wangji,’ she says. ‘Or you will push yourself into needing a day to rest before we can set off again, and I made no promise about keeping you conscious.’

He can’t pretend the wind has whipped her words away, because her lips are close enough her breath huffs warm against his earlobe, so he presses his own lips into a firm line and angles Bichen into a descent.

They land in a small meadow partway up a foothill, sheltered on all sides by rock. Wen Qing insists he meditate whilst she builds a fire and heats water for tea.

‘We aren’t far now,’ she says. ‘Do you want to collapse as soon as we get there?’

She is remarkably resistant to being glared at. Wangji already knows arguing won’t sway her. When it comes to both Nightless City and his own golden core, Wen Qing knows more than he does and isn’t afraid to remind him of this.

It’s when he’s meditated to her begrudging satisfaction, after she’s checked his core yet again and had him sit by the fire with the tea, that she declares they won’t be flying any further.

‘We must,’ Wangji says.

‘Too risky,’ she replies. ‘This close to Nightless City, we’re far too likely to be spotted. Besides, the way in can be reached from here on foot in under a day.’

It shouldn’t take a whole day to cover the remaining distance. The quick flick of her eyes to his face and away suggests she expects a protest, but he holds himself silent, simply waiting to hear what else she may say.

‘You’ll need to rest properly, so we’ll stay here for tonight. We’re beyond the outer wards, here, and not on a patrol route. Assuming they haven’t changed. And,’ she goes on, ‘you will need to stop and rest along the way tomorrow.’

‘Unacceptable.’

‘Accept it.’

In the end, he has to. He doesn’t know the route she is talking about and he won’t make it without her continued shoring up of his core, not even on foot. She has to be exhausted, he thinks, seeing how she sits slightly hunched over, bruise-shadows under her eyes.

‘Your core is fluctuating again,’ she says, her voice a little softer.

By now, Wen Qing must know Wangji’s core better than anyone. Not only has she held it together, pressed it into something functioning when it was trying to spin apart, but she’s continued to monitor it, to cradle it, as he’s flown from the Unclean Realm to Qishan. At first, he told himself it was discomfort at knowing her spiritual energy threaded through his meridians, or the simple fact that her hands pressed to his stomach, that her arms wrapped around his waist as she pressed close behind him on Bichen, that made him feel so strange, but lying to himself about this is unhelpful. Since they took off for the second time, Wangji has felt himself slipping.

‘I know,’ he tells her.

She sighs.

‘I will pretend you meant to inform me before blood started seeping from your eyes,’ she says. Tilting the cup she holds, she stares down at whatever tea is left in there for a while, tipping the cup back and forth, clearly thinking. ‘I’m reluctant to try the draught again, but I need to know if your mind is clear enough for this to have any chance of not ending in disaster.’

‘It is.’

He isn’t lying. Anger, grief, confusion have all welled up during the flight, but he’s noted them and let them pass and they haven’t consumed him. He’s still aware of where and when he is. If he feels the strain that flying puts on his core like a physical ache, that is something he will endure.

‘I still don’t think we should be doing this,’ she mutters, but she doesn’t seem to expect a response.

They finish their tea to the crackle of the fire, but once Wen Qing has cleared away the cups and set out bedrolls, she sits herself an arm’s length from Wangji and makes a request.

‘Tell me more. About this future you’re trying to change. About why you’re the one who took in A-Yuan.’

He doesn’t want to. Much of what he could say will only burden her, and there are so many things he doesn’t know. But she is asking so little of him, considering the strain this is putting on her and the danger this mission is putting her in. And there were some bright points, even amidst all the darkness.

He speaks quietly, the words slow.

‘You asked Wei Ying for help finding your brother,’ he starts, and pushes past his discomfort to speak as clearly as he can make himself about how close the two of them were that time Wangji visited the Burial Mounds, about how Wei Ying doted on A-Yuan, about how relieved everyone was when Wen Ning came back to himself. About how the sects decided the Wens, and Wei Ying, must die.

Wen Qing listens to it all with her dark eyes fixed on him, occasionally blinking but showing no other sign of tears. Once he’s done, aware of how pitifully little he’s been able to share, he meets her gaze.

‘I regret that I was only able to save A-Yuan,’ he says. ‘I regret that he could no longer be a Wen.’

‘They would have killed him, too, wouldn’t they?’ she asks, but the answer sits in her eyes. ‘They really hated us so much? They couldn’t even let an old woman or a small child live?’

She closes her eyes and drops her head into her hands, and Wangji has no idea how to offer comfort. He isn’t sure he should.

‘We can’t let it happen again,’ she says, voice muffled. There are tear tracks on her face when she lifts her head and looks at him, but she isn’t weeping. ‘Hanguang-Jun. Lan Wangji. We can not let it happen again.’

He dips his head, lowering his eyes to show his respect for her demand, and perhaps that’s why she manages to startle him. Her fingers grip his, pulling his hand until it’s between both of hers, and he realises she’s kneeling in front of him.

‘Lady Wen.’

‘No.’ She doesn’t explain what she’s rejecting or denying. ‘Lan Wangji, thank-you for saving A-Yuan. I understand, now. You weren’t trying to take him from his family.’

‘No. Never.’

Wangji is all too aware what it is like, to be kept apart from family. He would never have done such a thing to A-Yuan, would never have changed his son’s name, had there been a reasonable choice.

‘We will change things,’ she says, calmer and more certain this time, squeezing his hand between hers. ‘A-Yuan won’t lose us all again. But…but he already sees you as his father. That’s not something we need to change.’

It’s not a thing he expected her to grant, this acceptance. The rush of gratitude is almost too much.

‘We should sleep,’ he tells her, and thinks she smiles as she loosens her grip on his hand and pulls away, though she lowers her head enough he isn’t sure.

‘Yes,’ she agrees. ‘We should. A-Yuan is waiting for us to finish this and return to him. You will let me know the instant you feel any further shift in your condition.’

‘Yes, Lady Wen.’

Shaking her head, she offers him a smile he lacks the experience to categorise.

‘You may as well call me Wen Qing,’ she says. She sounds rueful. ‘Huaisang already does, and you and I are both A-Yuan’s family. I suppose that makes us family, too.' She stands, brushing down her skirts and no longer looking at him. 'Now. Bed!’

He obeys.

Chapter Text

The path through the foothills snakes back and forth, presenting loops of itself at random intervals. It feels like being mocked, to look down and see how much further she must walk before they even reach the bottom of the current hill, and then, ahead, to be faced with the reality that they will only have to climb up the next one. But spending her teenage years in the Nightless City taught Wen Qing to look out for what lies ahead, and it saves her this time just as surely as it saved her from an assassination attempt, being implicated in a plot against Wen Xu, and two marriage contracts.

It’s the fifth time they’ve stopped since midday, and Lan Wangji is becoming more resistant each time. For her part, Wen Qing is becoming more efficient, familiar enough with his core by now that she can slide into his meridians and into the glowing centre of his energy almost as quickly as she can access her own, and she’s only made him lean against a boulder whilst she does so. If they were sitting down, she would not be able to see over the rock and down through a break in the tree-cover, but she’s standing, and so she sees.

She moves quickly when she spots the guards heading towards them, hissing at Lan Wangji to play along and jabbing her own qi into his meridians with cold precision. He sags against her.

She withdraws her energy a little more gently, gripping his right arm to keep him upright and sweeping along with her chin lifted. Weakened though he is, Lan Wangji is tall and well-muscled, and she isn’t sure she could really have dragged him this far along the mountain track. The stretch from the boulder down to the curve in the trail below is quite enough. But she has to try something, or else just accept they’ve already lost.

Lan Wangji doesn’t ask what she’s doing, though his back was to the view and she hasn’t spared the time to tell him a patrol is out here where it should not be, and she feels him stiffen as the men in Qishan Wen colours appear before them. One of the guards sees her, the shock on his face showing Lan Wangji and she were not spotted before, and opens his mouth. She speaks first.

‘About time,’ she says. ‘Why was I not met sooner? Am I expected to drag this prize all the way to His Excellency myself?’

‘Prize?’ the guard asks in tones of disbelief.

‘Yes. Prize,’ Wen Qing insists, sliding back into the arrogance of a courtier more easily than she is proud of. ‘Do you not consider one of the Twin Jades of Lan a worthy gift?’

Lan Wangji is still and silent at her side, likely struggling with the lack of access to his golden core and even more likely aware that acting is too close to lying. He’s playing the role well so far, but he was taken by surprise and is being held in place, so no acting has been required. Which means she has to continue making this real enough for him. If a method works, it makes sense to use it.

With enough force to make him stumble, she shoves Lan Wangji forwards and kicks at the back of one knee to send him to the ground. Later, she will apologise. If for nothing else, she will apologise for the sharp exhale of breath forced out of him as he lands with both knees and one hand planted in the dirt, Bichen kept at his side in a white-knuckled grip.

‘I have been away from my uncle for too long. Make sure he keeps up,’ she says, and steps around him, passing the guards without so much as a glance.

‘He has his sword,’ the same guard says.

He doesn’t suggest Wen Qing is lying about Lan Wangji being a captive, but it has to have crossed at least one mind. Wen Qing leans into the fact these men will also have experience of the Wen Clan’s arrogance, of the Wen Clan’s anger and casual cruelty.

‘Remove it if it scares you so much. He’s too weak to use it. He can no longer use his core.’ She turns her head enough that her profile will be visible and curls her lip into an expression she saw often on Wen Chao. ‘It serves as a reminder of his lack of strength.’

A sword like Bichen is heavy enough that many people would struggle to even lift it without sufficient spiritual power, let alone wield it. Lan Wangji has assured her his own physical strength is sufficient to fight for a brief spell, but these guards shouldn’t know that. Besides, these men will have heard, or maybe seen, the impact losing a core has on a man. It’s something the soldiers of Qishan Wen have had plenty of opportunity to learn, and the tales of cultivators brought low will only have grown more horrific in the telling.

Still, these men make no move to take the sword. Perhaps, even in Qishan, tales of Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian killing the Xuanwu have spread; only the most wilfully ignorant of Wen Chao’s men can ever have believed he had the strength to do such a thing. Wen Qing cannot afford to have them thinking too hard about a prisoner still having hold of his own weapon.

She waits for a beat longer than is comfortable before spinning around and holding a hand out towards Lan Wangji.

‘Second Master Lan,’ she says, taking care to make it an insult, ‘hand me your sword.’

She thinks the glare as he brings himself back to kneel upright, as he lifts Bichen high enough she can take it without leaning down, is mostly real.

Wangji remembers being paraded out at the Indoctrination Bureau, remembers working to hide his limp and to keep his composure as he was made to walk alone to join the other hostages. He remembers the look on Wen Chao’s face as Wangji approached, a look that would have been nauseating had Wangji not already had his reactions under such control.

This is…similar.

He’s in less pain this time, he tells himself. The pain across his back doesn’t count because it isn’t real. It’s a side-effect, a lingering mark from a page not written, and as such it is to be ignored. Not having access to his core is troubling, but he wouldn’t be able to use it properly in its current state. Not without too much risk of ruining his chance at Wen Rouhan. He doesn’t have as much strength in him as he should. What he has, he must save.

As he’s walked along the widening track, a Wen guard holding each of his arms, he yet again uncurls his left hand. Bichen is not in enemy hands. Wen Qing is not his enemy. The empty space around which his fingers clench is not a sign of defeat.

Up ahead, Bichen gleams white and blue against Wen Qing’s deep-red skirts. They aren’t Wen robes, but they’re much closer than Wangji expected Nie Huaisang to produce for her. She glides ahead of the others, not looking back even once. There is no visible change in her stride or in her demeanour as the track emerges from between two tall piles of rock and teeters at the top of a steep incline. They are out of the foothills, at last.

In a way, it’s a shame they don’t pause. From this perspective, Nightless City lies as a lacework of lights in the dusk, sloping up towards the palace above. Aesthetically, it’s pleasing to the eye, but Wangji has to suppress a shiver as his mind paints in the red glow that sits out of sight, the red glow he last saw as a background to Wei Ying’s final moments.

A pause would let him steady himself before pushing on, but such things rarely happen when wished for.

Not far now. Not far until they are inside the city, and then the palace. It doesn’t matter that his arms are held, because Wen Qing has promised him she will get him to Wen Rouhan, and Wangji will tear his own crackling core out and shove it down Wen Rouhan’s throat to choke him if he has to: this time, Wen Rouhan’s death will not be used against Wei Ying.

A-Yuan’s face flashes through his mind and he misses a step, is yanked and shaken by the guard to his right as he gets his feet under him again. It aches, but he can’t save Wei Ying and be with A-Yuan. Not now. And A-Yuan is safe. Nie Huaisang has promised. No matter what happens to Wen Qing or to Wangji here, A-Yuan will be safe.

The sensation of something twisting deep in his body is just another thing he ignores as he keeps moving.

Xichen feels Wei Wuxian’s hand wrap around his bicep, but he’s too focused on applying spiritual energy to the correct points of the barrier to give the man his attention.

His fault, he thinks, for not considering how Wei Wuxian is no longer the tactile boy he was. Of course he wouldn’t hold onto Xichen for the sake of it. He never had, even when his every waking moment seemed dedicated to finding a way to hang off Wangji.

He concludes this with the air knocked from his lungs and a vision of the dawn sky above him, before sitting up to find he’s been pushed a whole body’s length away from the ward. Wei Wuxian stands wild-eyed in that space, wisps of hair floating around his face and his robes swaying.

‘Show me these instructions,’ he demands.

Xichen gets to his feet slowly, carefully, unsure what’s set his companion off, and brushes dirt from his own robes.

‘I am quite capable of following them, Master Wei,’ he points out, retreating to greater formality without meaning to. ‘I can assure you, talented though you undoubtedly are, Gusu Lan’s Sect Leader is not without training in this area.’

Formality and some indignation, then. He can be forgiven, surely, after ending up on his back in the middle of a road.

Wei Wuxian barks out something that resembles a laugh.

‘Following instructions,’ he all but sneers, shaking his head and turning away, back to staring at the ward. ‘Of course, of course. Gusu Lan has always believed in that, has it not? Never mind what the instructions will do, so long as they are followed. That’s the proper way.’

A first inkling of danger prods at Xichen’s mind, but he brushes it aside. It’s only natural, to be wary when this young man is taken by one of his moods. Sensible. Xichen has seen what Wei Wuxian can do. Still, he has given the man no reason to lash out, has in fact defended Wei Wuxian in battle, and he cannot allow himself to be nervous, besides.

‘When the instructions are from a trusted source, this is true,’ he tries.

‘And who is it that you trust so much?’ Wei Wuxian asks. ‘Could they not have made a mistake, if they are beyond suspicion of ill-intent?’

Xichen finishes setting his robes to rights and draws the instructions out of his sleeve. He has them memorised, but it’s reassuring to look at A-Yao’s writing and know his friend wrote these in order to help. Not the same as having A-Yao by his side, but the best he can have for the time being. As much comfort as they bring Xichen, he knows better than to reject a possibility outright. A reasonable possibility. Getting this information must have been difficult and risky for A-Yao, and anyone can make a mistake.

‘I trust this person with my life,’ he says. ‘What makes you think there is an error? I could feel the barrier weakening.’

Wei Wuxian is still on edge, but the lack of confrontation seems to have deflated some of the anger. He frowns at the barrier, his tone becoming more contemplative than angry, though his hair and robes still move in a breeze that isn’t there.

‘Weakening wasn’t all it was doing.’ Wei Wuxian points at one section of the barrier, then another. ‘Here, and here. There were pulses of energy. Yin Energy.’

‘I didn’t sense any.’

The snort would be insulting, if Xichen let it be. As it is, the rules are clear on the need to recognise expertise without falling to envy or pride, and whatever else the demonic cultivation is doing to Wei Wuxian, it does make him the expert in this.

‘What I don’t know is if those instructions of yours intended it, but what reason can you think of for a near undetectable reaction to someone tampering with a barrier?’

An alert. Xichen inhales slowly and refuses to let panic flood his system. They don’t know anyone is coming and clear thought is more important than quick reflexes just now.

‘Check for yourself,’ he says, holding the instructions out and only keeping hold for a moment too long once Wei Wuxian reaches for them. ‘I can’t believe it’s deliberate. Not on the part of my source.’

The paper is barely out of his hands when he hears people approaching at a run. Wei Wuxian doesn’t react at once, his attention on A-Yao’s words, but that’s not the most pressing issue, now.

‘Wei Wuxian,’ Xichen draws Shuoyue, already assessing where best to make his stand, letting his body grow more aware, ready for fight. Or flee. ‘People are coming. You have to go.’

‘What?’ Wei Wuxian looks up and scowls. ‘Then we have to go.’

Xichen spares time to fix Wei Wuxian with a look. He isn’t naïve enough to believe it will work, for all it even has some effect on several clan elders, but it helps him to steady himself.

‘They’re approaching from three sides. Only the woods to the left are clear.’

There isn’t a path that way, but there isn’t to the right, either, and several people are moving through the trees there.

‘Which means they want us to go that way!’

Wei Wuxian isn’t wrong. It just doesn’t matter. There really aren’t many choices open to them.

‘And I’m going to take it, as soon as I have their attention on me,’ Xichen tells him. ‘I need you to hide. Hide and find a way through the ward. Wei Wuxian, are you listening to me?’

It’s raw distress Xichen sees in Wei Wuxian’s eyes, now. Desperation. The younger man shakes his head and takes a step back, as though putting space between them will make the truth into something else.

Xichen needs Wei Wuxian to listen to him in this. To obey. It’s the only way to keep the promise to Wangji, and the only way for Wei Wuxian to fulfil the role Wangji claims for the man.

‘One of us needs to make it Wen Rouhan. You said yourself, you can end this. Wangji believes you can end this.’

‘Lan Zhan…’

Wei Wuxian is panting, his eyes glazing over, and for a stretched-out second Xichen thinks he’s already lost, but with a juddering inhale Wei Wuxian hauls himself back from whatever edge he’s on, his gaze becoming hard and bitter.

‘I won’t let Lan Zhan lose his family,’ he says.

‘He won’t,’ Xichen replies, pushing as much certainty into his words as he can. ‘You won’t. Wei Wuxian, I need you to hide, now. Hide and find a way through. I’m too valuable for them to kill me straight away. If you want Wangji to keep his brother, kill Wen Rouhan so that I can be rescued. Now hide. Go!’

He doesn’t note where Wei Wuxian goes, in part because the first of the incoming Wens are too close to risk splitting his focus, and in part because he can’t be made to reveal something he doesn’t know. Just in case they catch him quickly. Just in case.

As the first Wen soldiers appear, Xichen lifts Shuoyue and attacks.

Chapter Text

Wen Qing doesn’t recognise the man behind the desk at first. It’s dim in the office they’ve been brought to and she never saw him dealing with paperwork, never really paid much attention to him at all back in Yiling. Besides, Zhang Shao looks different with the scar snaking across his cheek, pulling at one side of his lip.

Recognition blooms once she’s already too far into the room to escape. It’s the way he looks at Lan Wangji, the shark’s fin of fear in his eyes even as he leans forward for a better look: it’s the same way he looked at her when Wen Chao had her thrown in the dungeon.

Too late now to do anything about it. He will know her, and he will know Second Master Wen declared her a traitor, and her only ally is on his knees with a sword pointed at his neck: Zhang Shao’s immediate order as the Lan lord stepped inside.

She grips Bichen as Zhang Shao sits back from inspecting their prisoner and turns his attention to her. To have brought herself back to this place only to die, because that’s what being brought before Wen Rouhan will mean, is something to which she can resign herself. Or could, if it were only her life on the line. But it’s not. She’s here, doing this, because Lan Wangji insisted and because Nie Huaisang promised to do all he could to save her family. She can’t imagine that will go well if word gets out she walked Lan Wangji to his death.

It almost felt as though they’d make it. All the way down that final, sloping path and along the edge of the city, Wen Qing daren’t look back at Lan Wangji. They were fortunate these men either hadn’t heard of her fall from grace or were too scared of any true Wen to argue with her, but she couldn’t reach Wen Rouhan without being challenged. Surely, she could not. For all she carried a powerful spiritual sword, her only real weapon was deception.

At least the role she played was one she’d practised for years.

Their luck held as they crossed through a ward that wasn’t there before, an energy she didn’t recognise sliding over her skin like cobwebs. It held as they reached the first physical barrier, a barred gate opened by a key, a gate she had never before seen locked. It still held as they reached the first of a series of courtyards that should have been empty.

When Wen Qing was last here, this area was abandoned, everything up to the main walls of the palace out of use for at least two generations.

Then again, there shouldn’t have been guards on the track, either. The guard had been increased, or pushed out of other areas to make way for Wen Rouhan’s puppets.

‘We’ll need to report the prisoner to the captain, Lady Wen,’ the most talkative of their escort said, and Wen Qing had no way to refuse that. Not that would avoid bringing others running. So she let these men lead Lan Wangji and her into a building that she remembered as being full of cobwebs and not much else. Now, it’s full of impending disaster.

Hoping the captain would be another ignorant guard was never a solid strategy.

She sees Zhang Shao’s eyes widen a heartbeat before points at her.

‘Take her,’ he orders. ‘Subdue the traitor Wen Qing!’

She healed his leg, once, when he hurt it during training. She gave him advice to send home to his sister about an ailment their healer couldn’t cure. Until this moment, she’d forgotten these things, these tiny pieces of practising her art. They don’t matter, now, she supposes.

Lan Wangji gets in the way of the first guard to move, throwing himself forward into a roll that knocks the other man down and ends with Lan Wangji on his feet, but Wen Qing doesn’t have time to watch him fight. Two other guards are already upon her and her own sword is long lost. Bichen is heavy and firmly sealed, but not being able to draw Lan Wangji’s sword doesn’t make the weapon useless.

Shifting her grip on a still sheathed Bichen, Wen Qing twists, pushing up from her feet, through her hips, using the elegant Lan sword as a short staff. It connects with the closest man’s temple and he crumples.

‘Stop-!’ another man shouts and cuts off as Bichen’s hilt smashes into his teeth.

Blood and a canine spray onto the floor, but Wen Qing is already swinging around to bring the sheathed sword down on his neck, and after that she can’t afford to stop to take stock.

A wailing alarm fills the room, stealing her focus for the length of a breath. It’s long enough for another guard to slash at her and by the time she’s dealt with him, she looks over to see Zhang Shao lies sprawled across his desk, his head at an unnatural angle.

Movement in the corner of her eye jolts her back into action. She registers white robes just in time to pull the blow and ends up staring into Lan Wangji’s eyes as he braces his forearm against Bichen. There’s a fresh cut above his left eyebrow, dripping blood into his eye.

Lan Wangji twists his wrist, takes hold of Bichen, and pulls his sword from her hold. The movement makes her stumble, as much from surprise as from any force, but she doesn’t try to hold on. He knows this blade much better than she does; even without full access to his spiritual energy, that means something.

A quick sweep of the room shows nobody else is left standing: a brief reprieve. A quick inspection of the desk shows Zhang Shao’s hand splayed over an array carved into the desk. It’s simple enough to shut down, but the time it spent active means she’ll have to deal with any injuries once they’ve found somewhere to hide.

‘We’re close to the door,’ she tells him. ‘Come on.’

‘No.’

He steps back and draws Bichen, the tightness around his mouth the only sign it’s harder than it should be.

‘Far too soon, there will be more soldiers coming in through that door,’ Wen Qing says. It’s a wonder they aren’t already here. ‘We can’t fight our way out, Lan Wangji.’

He tilts his head in what looks to be acknowledgement.

‘The alarm,’ he says.

All she can do is stare. He’s agreeing with her, but he isn’t moving. They have to run, now, before they’re facing fresh fighters, whilst there’s still a chance to reach the mostly forgotten door to which she has a key. If they manage that, they can likely make it to the workrooms on the lower levels of the palace, the ones where she made and stored her more dangerous medicines. The ones where she stored medicines easily turned to poison. They would have a chance.

Lan Wangji blinks.

‘They will expect an enemy,’ he says. ‘Not two.’

Horrified realisation blossoms and Wen Qing wants to argue. She really does. But he’s right. Out of the two of them, she has more chance of moving through the palace without being caught. And Lan Wangji doesn’t just have the cut above his eye: there’s new blood on one thigh, the fabric of his robes sliced right through; the method she used means his spiritual energy won’t return to him for several more hours; his core is still a mess. He’s the logical choice if one of them is to stay behind. If they capture Lan Wangji, they won’t look for Wen Qing. At least…

‘That would only work until one of these guards talked.’

It may be regret that flashes through his eyes, but there’s no hesitation. He glances down at a guard who’s whimpering quietly on the ground, and smoothly enough she would believe him in perfect health, he brings Bichen down in a brutal arc, driving the blade through the guard’s heart.

‘They will not,’ Lan Wangji assures her. ‘Find Wen Ning. Go.’

She pauses just long enough to hiss at him.

‘You can’t kill Wen Rouhan if you’re dead and I’m not doing it for you. Do you hear me?’

Keep yourself alive, she means. Don’t let me have brought you here so Wen Rouhan’s foot soldiers can slaughter you. Almost to her surprise, she finds she doesn’t only mean that because of what it may bring to her own family. But then, she has claimed he’s her family, too, hasn’t she? She has no idea if he hears that, but they’re long out of time to waste on sentiment.

She turns her back on Lan Wangji, scrambling out of a window on the opposite side of the room and darting away.

Meng Yao turns away from the servant and allows himself a brief moment of frustration. He’s thankful, at the very least, that Wen Rouhan has come to trust him, that all messages are now brought to Meng Yao first. Powerful men who focus on strength so often overlook the possibilities of paper, the way information can be wielded as well as any sword, but Meng Yao does not.

Normally, he has a better idea of how to use it, but this is not a situation he envisioned, and he doesn’t have a ready plan for its use.

Both Jades of Lan falling into Wen hands within an hour of each other. It has to be part of a plot. An unexpected one, certainly, and not one he can work out, but Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji are too controlled, too rational, to act alone. For each one to have decided on a lone attack at the same time as each other is unthinkable. It isn’t much more likely they’re working together but without the support of anyone else. But Meng Yao can’t think why Nie Mingjue would put such a plan into action or how best to react.

Wen Rouhan is too paranoid for Meng Yao’s position to ever be considered secure. No matter the truth behind this, he won’t be able to keep it from his current sect leader for long and, once he does, Lan Xichen is bound to be the primary target of Wen Rouhan’s ire.

‘Make sure they are chained,’ he says, making sure to smile with kindness as he instructs the servant. ‘Their qi must be sealed. And bring me their weapons. Hanguang-Jun will have a guqin as well as his sword. Bring both.’

‘Hanguang-Jun killed a number of our people before he was subdued,’ the servant says. His tone is respectful. ‘He is already chained and sealed in the cells. I will fetch the items.’

‘Wait.’ Meng Yao holds up a hand as the servant bows. ‘As he is already here, I will visit and collect them myself.’

This time, the bow is lower. It seems everyone has heard of Meng Yao’s visits to those kept in the cells and nobody wants to offend him. That’s good: he put enough effort into making sure the rumours spread.

And perhaps, if he can deal with Lan Wangji quickly, he won’t have to hurt Lan Xichen.

Nightless City looks different in the mid-morning light than it did during their attempt at taking it. For one thing, Wei Wuxian, relying only on his own skill and without hundreds of people beside and around him, has made it into the city rather than standing outside of it. For another, he isn’t faced with soldiers.

Oh, soldiers walk the streets. That much is true. But here, past the protections surrounding the city, most of the people are civilians. It was easy enough to steal an outer robe in the local style and let himself blend in, but it’s not so easy to ignore what he sees around him. Somehow, Wei Wuxian has been managing not to picture anyone in this place as innocent. It’s a mindset that collapses before he’s made it five streets into the place.

There are children playing amongst the stalls lining the streets, children with cute cheeks and bright smiles and smudges of dirt on their faces. One boy swings from the arm of a man who must be his grandfather, singing a song Wei Wuxian has never heard before, and a girl sitting nearby laughs. She looks so like A-Yuan that Wei Wuxian wants to scoop her up and ask if she knows him. And in the next street, a woman who looks barely older than a child herself cradles a baby in her arms as she stares at nothing, her clothing and her thin face proof enough she has no home to hide in should battle reach this place.

All the more reason for Wei Wuxian to reach the palace and fulfil Lan Zhan’s promise, he tells himself. Once Wen Rouhan is dead, these people who can have had nothing to do with the destruction of Lotus Pier, who cannot possibly have put Lan Zhan’s home to the torch, won’t have to suffer.

He does his best to quell the uncomfortable feeling in his gut that suggests it won’t be that simple. Cultivators are meant to protect people, not harm them. When he swore to kill Wens, when they all spoke of killing every Wen they saw, they didn’t mean civilians. They didn’t mean children. They didn’t.

He just has to do what Lan Zhan already saw him do, and then this can all be over for everyone.

The Second Jade of Lan looks halfway broken already. Meng Yao observes the boy through the bars of the cell, taking in the chains around his wrists and ankles, the strain across those shoulders as Lan Wangji attempts to kneel with a straight back, the cuts and bruises and blood.

‘His sword,’ the man to Meng Yao’s right murmurs, holding it out across his palms like an offering.

The prisoner doesn’t look up as Meng Yao takes the sword. Take away the chains and the visible injuries, and Lan Wangji would almost look to be meditating.

‘Leave us,’ Meng Yao tells the guards.

Now is not the time to worry about Lan Wangji’s guqin. He clearly lacks the spiritual energy to use it right now and Meng Yao can secure it later.

He waits until the corridor is clear before he sets Bichen down on the floor and unlocks the door to the cell. There’s no reaction as he approaches, as he sinks into a crouch and studies Lan Wangji further.

‘Why are you here?’ he asks. ‘What could you possibly be hoping to achieve?’

When Lan Wangji doesn’t respond, Meng Yao sets a finger under the boy’s chin, registers the flinch, and lifts Lan Wangji’s head. Now he can see his eyes, though they’re still lowered.

‘Who are you working with?’

There must be someone, other than Lan Xichen. Whether Lan Wangji will admit that is another matter. This boy is young, but he’s already faced a great deal and will not be easy to scare. But then, there are many types of fear.

‘You brother has been captured. He will be joining us soon.’

Lan Wangji’s lips part on what may be a stifled gasp and he finally looks at Meng Yao. His eyes are almost impossible to read, but there may be shock in them. Fear, perhaps. Anger.

‘You must protect him,’ Lan Wangji says, low and rasping.

He gives no indication as to why he thinks Meng Yao would protect an enemy. He just stares, his gaze disturbing in its intensity. Well, people do say the Twin Jades are close. Meng Yao shouldn’t be too surprised if Lan Xichen has told his little brother about the spy they have inside Qishan Wen. That doesn’t mean Meng Yao will admit to it.

It does give him a new idea.

‘His Excellency will expect me to treat two such high-ranking captives appropriately,’ he says, pitching his voice so it will be almost impossible to hear even halfway across the cell. ‘Zewu-Jun is a leader of the forces that killed his sons. Protecting him may be impossible.’

He doesn’t have to fake regret. Lan Xichen is the best person Meng Yao has ever met and he would far rather avoid causing the man pain. He wants, very badly, to save him, as he saved him before. But what a person wants and what a person can have are often too very different things.

‘Brother did not kill either one,’ Lan Wangji insists.

Of the two Jades, Lan Xichen is more important. If it becomes necessary, it won’t take much, Meng Yao is sure, to persuade this boy to take enough blame that he draws Wen Rouhan’s wrath. With Lan Wangji’s next words, he is taken aback at just how little.

‘I was there, in Yiling,’ Lan Wangji says, leaning forward enough that Meng Yao finds himself holding the boy’s jaw. ‘I helped. Brother did not.’

He can only mean when Wen Chao died. And, yes. Yes, that will be enough to steer Wen Rouhan’s greater anger towards this one. Meng Yao schools his features into hesitation, into concern. He feels nothing, personally, for this Lan, but the Second Jade is an important figure and saving him would be preferable, if he can manage it. Lan Xichen would want that.

‘His Excellency will take your head if you admit such a thing,’ he says.

‘Let him try,’ Lan Wangji says, but he doesn’t say the words with bravado. He makes it sound like a genuine suggestion.

‘Why would you want that?’ Meng Yao asks, still so quiet nobody else will ever know of this conversation unless he chooses to tell them. ‘Do you want to die at his hands?’

He’s seen people who would rather court death than continue living. Over these last months, Meng Yao has put several people in that position and has provided the death when he has been able to do so without losing Wen Rouhan’s trust. Despite the injuries he sees on Lan Wangji, despite the chains and very fact of his capture, there’s no sign of anything so painful that an end would be preferable.

‘He will die at yours,’ Lan Wangji says, with such certainty it’s as though he’s seen it already. ‘Use the distraction. Kill him.’

Meng Yao will do nothing of the kind until, unless, he is sure of success. Still, he nods.

‘It won’t be enough to stand before him,’ he warns. ‘If you want his focus on you, we will need to put on a convincing show.’

And if Lan Wangji is as bad at acting as Meng Yao suspects, then he will just have to be performer enough for the both of them.

Chapter Text

Meng Yao takes Bichen with him when he goes. Wangji understands. It will likely be presented to Wen Rouhan or locked away where a prisoner won’t be able to retrieve it, because Meng Yao is a spy and must maintain his cover. Brother explained this, the first time the war ended: Meng Yao had to perform tasks, take actions, that would have condemned him had he done so willingly in peacetime, but which were necessary in his role in the war. Set against killing Nie cultivators in front of Nie Mingjue, taking Bichen is a minor thing. Easily forgiven. It still leaves Wangji feeling vulnerable, but the guilt is worse.

He has been so angry with Brother, so bitter and confused. It’s been mixed up with relief and with gratitude and with love in an uncomfortable bundle of emotions he’s not been able to deal with, but Wangji never, not even at his most furious, his most despairing, wanted Brother hurt. He only ever wanted his brother to understand.

Perhaps Wangji also failed to understand. Brother has been taught from his childhood that he must consider the wide scope of any action, whereas Wangji has focused on what has seemed right in the moment. In trying to make Wei Ying and Brother change course, something he never expected to be affected has taken a different path.

Brother should not have been captured. He should have been with the bulk of their forces. Nie Mingjue was the one who stood in Wen Rouhan’s throne room before and Wangji doesn’t know why that’s changed. It must be something he’s done. Something he’s done has brought Brother into danger.

Wangji is meant to be protecting those he loves, not bringing them harm.

That twisting sensation in his gut sharpens his breath, and it’s harder, this time, to pretend it isn’t related to his golden core. He suffers one, brand-hot moment of agony across his back, echoed by other pains in his arm, his leg, on his chest. The sliced-thin, layered together feeling is back, only now it feels as though something is tugging at the layers, trying to pry them apart. It feels like it’s working.

With another breath, it’s all gone, and Wangji is back to only the hurts that could be seen by anyone who cares to examine him. Wen Qing’s treatment is holding for now, but she was clear from the start that it wasn’t a cure. This is likely to happen again.

He wants, very badly, to be back with A-Yuan, to have his son wrapped in the safety of his arms. He wants to feel safe. He wants to feel steady and sure. He wants many things and knows he can’t have them.

But Wen Qing is still free and she knows what they risk if Wen Rouhan is killed the way he was before. In this, he is considering the larger impact: Wen Rouhan’s death must not also be the death of all Wens. Wangji must be patient. He knows how to wait, how to endure, until he is brought before Wen Rouhan.

For now, he can do nothing but wait here in this locked space and hope that in trying to save two of those dearest to his heart, he hasn’t killed the other.

She remembers that A-Ning used to hide here, amongst the old scrolls and broken books, collecting dust in his hair and on his robes. There’s a corner of the room that catches the sun in the afternoon, a corner in which he would settle with blankets and read through some of the simpler medical texts that Wen Qing didn’t need.

Three texts sit in a tidy pile, still. He must not have had time to collect them before they left for Yiling. Wen Qing is grateful two blankets are still pooled on the floor.

She doubts Lan Wangji has the comfort of bedding, wherever they’ve thrown him. Too much to hope he’s being treated as a political prisoner the way he may have been before open war broke out. During the indoctrination, the students were kept in decent enough rooms even though guards prevented them from leaving, but even that thin fiction has been torn to pieces since. A cell, then. A cell in the heavily guarded dungeons. Perhaps A-Ning is in the same cells. Hard to know whether to hope for that or not.

If she could access her workrooms, she would have options. Some options. Drugs that could knock out the guards, perhaps something that could be diffused through the air to make them sluggish. But when she reached them, her heart still beating too quickly and her hands less steady than she would like, her old workrooms were locked and sealed, just how she left them. Exactly, suspiciously, as she left them. She inspected the protections carefully and as far as she could tell, nobody had been there. That seemed…odd. At the very least, she would have expected Wen Rouhan or one of his advisors to have had her rooms searched once news of her betrayal reached them.

She thought of the ward they passed through on their way to the palace, of the unfamiliar energy that laced through it, and drew away from the door.

Wen Rouhan always promoted and discarded people with ease, never feeling beholden and caring little for lineage. The only blood that ever mattered to her uncle was Wen blood, and that only counted when it came to who was in charge. With no way of knowing who her uncle has taken into his circle since she last left Nightless City, or what paths their thoughts may take, Wen Qing didn’t have enough information to reach a secure conclusion. Perhaps her workrooms were deemed unimportant, what with her locked up and likely dead in Yiling. Perhaps it was just meant to appear that way.

It took only moments to acknowledge she knew little of the secret places in the palace, those tucked away corners that would be quiet but not locked up, where she could hide and gather her thoughts and plan. The only one she could think of was the storage room her brother used to sneak away to, the one where librarians of a previous generation took damaged texts to die.

She was almost seen twice on the way, she’s certain, but she’s here now, wrapped in one blanket and lying down on the other, with a set of shelves wedged across the door to provide at least the illusion of safety.

As a doctor, she knows the signs that her body is running close to collapse from exhaustion and shock, that the jolt of energy provided by fighting and fleeing has worn off, leaving her sick and shaky. She needs to rest. She needs to eat and drink. Only then will she be steady enough to come up with a way forward.

For now, curled up and shivering, she wills herself to sleep.

To be fair, not everyone could make it through a tunnel that is submerged in water, even if it didn’t have warded gates at several points. Most people who did stand a chance would refuse to try once they found how badly the water stank, once they realised what floated in it once the river has passed through the palace grounds. Wei Wuxian, however, has won all manner of competitions in Yunmeng’s lakes, has floated face down in water containing a dead Xuanwu, has managed not to starve to death in the Burial Mounds. He has the lung capacity, the skill and the gag reflex to do this. He is also a creative genius with talismans, no matter how much that has angered authority figures throughout his life.

It doesn’t make it a pleasant experience.

He emerges from the water inside the palace grounds with burning lungs and a strong desire to strip naked and step into a bath. He makes do with leaving the sodden clothes in a heap behind a bush and replacing them with dry ones drawn from his qiankun pouch, but there is precious little he can do about his hair or the way the stench clings to his skin. Besides, now is not the time to worry about being pretty.

With no idea where the guards will be, he takes the first chance he gets to break in through a window, the seal on the shutters stronger than most but easily enough undone. For him, it is.

It’s some kind of storeroom, or rather a series of them, and he prowls through them with an eye out for anything that could prove useful. He has Chenqing with him, he has the seal, but using either may be noticed by Wen Rouhan. Presumably, the man can sense resentful energy as well as Wei Wuxian can. Very few people can sense a dagger. But for that, he’d need an armoury, so he’ll have to make do.

Satisfying though it would be to hunt Wen Rouhan through the hallways of his own palace, the way he hunted Wen Chao across the land, he can’t indulge himself this time. Wen Rouhan will have heard what Wei Wuxian can do: calling on the dead will only announce the attack, and surprise is an advantage he can’t afford to lose.

In the third connected room, tucked almost behind a set of shelves, he finds a collection of irons. The memory of singed flesh makes him hiss and he wrinkles his nose against the ghost-scent of his own body burning, but he doesn’t see any other options. Two of the branding irons carry the Wen symbol. Wei Wuxian avoids even touching those. Four others are more complex, almost fanciful, and the final two are so simple they are little more than rods of iron with a lump at the end. Wei Wuxian chooses one of the those. A pathetic weapon for a cultivator, but this is hardly the first time in his life that Wei Wuxian has placed practicality above pride.

And he can always take the sword from the first person he kills.

Xichen comes back to himself slowly, consciousness feeling like the dragging together of heavy lengths of cloth that snag and twist and bunch, and which must be made to fold neatly together. When he’s managed it enough to wonder where he is, he takes note of the hard, cold surface beneath him and of the fact he’s lying on his back. His head is cushioned on something. His spiritual energy is sealed.

‘Steady,’ a voice says above him. ‘They gave you quite a beating.’

‘A-Yao?’

He feels his own words more than hears them, feels them scraping at the inside of his throat, but it must be clear enough for A-Yao. Gentle fingers stroke across Xichen’s brow and over his cheeks, coming to rest at the pulse point under his jaw.

‘I’m here, Zewu-Jun. I’m sorry, but I couldn’t avoid them sealing your spiritual energy. The other cultivators being kept in the cells are chained, as well, but I told them you would not wake for some time yet.’

‘How long do we have?’

‘Not long.’

A-Yao will have to chain him, if that is the usual way of things here. It’s an unpleasant fact, but Xichen can cope with it if it keeps A-Yao’s true loyalty secret.

‘Are you expected to question me?’

Xichen finally opens his eyes, the torch on the wall outside stabbing light into his brain, and peers up at A-Yao. Another realisation sneaks in, this one warming his cheeks. His head is resting in A-Yao’s lap.

‘No, don’t move yet,’ A-Yao says, when Xichen shifts. ‘I have little medical training, but I know enough to be sure your head hurts and you feel dizzy. Here, I brought something for you to drink, to ease the pain.’

Xichen lets A-Yao tip a small jar to his lips, the taste of it bitter underneath top notes of sweetness.

‘The tension will start to fade soon,’ A-Yao promises. ‘I will tell them I questioned you. They’ll believe it. I often…’

A-Yao takes a breath and Xichen waits for him to go on. Clearly, this is something A-Yao finds hard to say, perhaps even something he feels regret or guilt over. Or embarrassment. Wen Rouhan is not above humiliating those under his command.

‘I’ve been charged with questioning people a number of times,’ A-Yao goes on, sounding shaky. ‘It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve done so without an audience. So. I will be believed when I say you’ve been interrogated. Do not worry, Zewu-Jun. I can handle this.’

Xichen wants to tell A-Yao that he trusts him, that he has complete confidence in his abilities. He wants to tell his friend he’s sorry for whatever A-Yao has been made to do in pursuit of Wen Rouhan’s trust. Instead, he blinks and wonders when his eyelids became so heavy.

‘What…?’

He should panic. He should fight to stay awake. Xichen shifts in an attempt to keep himself from slipping away, but he only manages to move his head a fraction to the side. Not good enough. Wei Wuxian may not have found his way in through the ward, meaning Xichen will have to make an attempt on Wen Rouhan’s life. He has to be conscious for that. A new worry strikes him: Wei Wuxian may have been captured.

But A-Yao is stroking Xichen’s cheeks and it’s soothing. So very soothing.

‘Don’t worry,’ A-Yao says again. ‘It’s just the medicine I gave you. It can make people drowsy, but it really will reduce the pain. Just…just rest. I promise I am here. I will take care of you.’

It’s getting harder to keep his eyes from closing. Each blink grows longer and Xichen now sees only glimpses of light between stretches of darkness. Still, he redoubles his efforts. He needs to at least ask this.

‘Wei Wuxian,’ he rasps. ‘A-Yao, is he still free?’

‘As far as I know,’ A-Yao says slowly. It’s rare for him to sound so confused. ‘Why do you ask about him?’

But Xichen can’t manage more words and his mind is dizzy and thick behind his eyes. Wei Wuxian hasn’t been captured. A-Yao would know if he had been. That’s good. That’s very good. Wangji would be so unhappy if Xichen let Wei Wuxian be caught. More than anything, he doesn’t want to cause his brother more distress.

With a certain amount of relief, Xichen gives up and lets his thoughts swirl into sleep.

Wen Qing only sleeps, fitfully and half-mired in nightmares, for an hour or two. She can allow herself no longer, not with people depending on her help. Leaving the thin safety of the room is hard, but she has never been easy on herself.

She’s long been used to moving with care around the palace. Remaining unnoticed became important early on, though the methods used were about not drawing ire rather than not being seen. It’s as much luck as anything that she makes it to the cells without being caught.

Luck, and the legacy of weakness.

‘Lady Wen?’

A-Yi speaks with the soft, unobtrusive tone of a young woman who knows well not to disrupt the focus of those she serves. Dressed in the same servant’s robes as so many in the palace, with the same hairstyle and similar features to so many of the women who work here, it’s unlikely Wen Rouhan knows her name. Wen Chao probably never knew her name, and she worked in his wing of the palace for a time.

Wen Qing has remembered the name ever since she came across A-Yi huddled in a corner of the hallway leading to A-Ning’s hiding spot. She remembers telling the girl she couldn’t help, and remembers taking A-Ning with her that night, both of them cloaked, to a small house down a narrow street, where A-Yi’s brother lay taut with pain. She was weak, to give in so easily, when she could have missed a summons by Wen Rouhan and put both herself and her own brother in danger.

It was hard to feel regret for that, even before A-Yi’s quiet voice calls her out of a hallway just in time to miss a pair of guards.

A crowded hour later, A-Yi looks back at Wen Qing from the last corner before the cells.

‘Lady Wen, the guard is away from his post. Come on.’

In identical robes, with identical hairstyles, Wen Qing and A-Yi make their way along the first corridor of cells, Wen Qing peering into each space and trying not to think of the times she attended sorry scraps of humanity in this place. There were times her uncle did not want his prisoners dying too quickly.

There is no sign of A-Ning, no sign of Lan Wangji, but in a cell deep in the dungeons they find a man lying unmoving, and Wen Qing hisses words that make A-Yi stare at her open-mouthed.

Zewu-Jun. What the fuck is Lan Wangji’s brother doing here?

‘Is this one of them, Lady Wen?’ A-Yi whispers.

‘No.’ Wen Qing reaches for the door and steels herself to do something stupid. ‘Do you think we can get hold of the keys?’

A-Yi actually takes a step back, eyes darting as though she expects guards to materialise from the shadows. Not a surprise. The woman has already risked herself to help Wen Qing, who saved her brother’s life. The leader of an enemy sect is owed no favour.

‘I… Why? You said he isn’t one of the men you’re looking for.’

It isn’t a case of the woman being callous. To survive here, even the most kind-hearted have had to learn when to look away. Well, not the most kind-hearted. A-Ning never entirely managed. It seems Wen Qing is more like her brother than she thought.

‘This one knows them,’ she says, because she can’t bring herself to state that Lan Wangji would be devastated if his brother dies. Please, let Zewu-Jun still be alive. ‘And he’s powerful. I can unblock his qi if it’s sealed. Get him on his feet. He can help us.’

A-Yi looks doubtful, possibly at what they need help with other than getting Wen Qing and her two men out of the Nightless City, but she nods and says to wait before disappearing back the way they came. Wen Qing feels a flicker of hope that A-Yi will be wiling to turn against Wen Rouhan, but she hasn’t got time to indulge in such thoughts. She’s becoming soft.

‘You Lans just keep making my life harder,’ Wen Qing mutters to the prone form of Lan Wangji’s elder brother. She isn’t in the mood to be fair right now. ‘When this is done, I’m going to stick the both of you full of needles, you and those idiots from Lotus Pier. Anyone else who needs it, too, so I can have an afternoon to myself.’

Her knuckles are white around the bars of the cell as she presses close in an effort to see if his chest rises and falls. She isn’t in the mood to acknowledge that, either.

Meng Yao stands to the side of Wen Rouhan’s throne as the man stares down at Lan Wangji. Lan Xichen is still safe in his cell, kept unaware of his little brother’s plight, and Meng Yao will do his best to keep it that way.

‘This is the venerated Hanguang-Jun?’ Wen Rouhan asks, as though he hasn’t seen Lan Wangji at discussion conferences and is wondering how something so beneath him can exist. With how unstable the Yin Iron makes him, it’s possible he doesn’t recall the man. ‘Pathetic.’

Lan Wangji kneels with his hands bound before him and with a guard standing at either shoulder. One of them has a hand buried deep in Lan Wangji’s hair, pulling the prisoner’s head back to expose the long line of his throat, the guard’s sword pressed against Lan Wangji’s skin. One word from Wen Rouhan, and the Lan will bleed out over his white robes from a cut even a cultivator can’t survive.

‘You will die,’ Lan Wangji says through gritted teeth. ‘Soon.’

‘You dare threaten His Excellency’s life?’ Meng Yao demands, filtering outrage into his voice. He is Wen Rouhan’s loyal dog, after all, eager to bite any who upset his master. ‘You think yourself so skilled, to risk this with only the two of you?’

At the reminder of his brother, Lan Wangji jerks forward. A thin red line wells up across his neck.

‘The boy still thinks to defy me, even on his knees,’ Wen Rouhan says. The gleam in his eyes turns speculative as he trails his gaze up and down Lan Wangji. ‘He’ll do my bidding soon enough.’

Floating in their usual spot, the Yin Irons spark as Wen Rouhan lifts a hand and closes it into a fist.

To send Lan Wangji against his own people, dead yet still moving, would be an effective tactic: the Bearer of Light now bearing death. Were Meng Yao determined to see the Wens win, he would approve. As things stand, however, he has not yet given up hope of returning Lan Xichen to his own sect.

‘A quick death would be kinder than the one he helped deal to Second Master Wen.’

Fury tightens Wen Rouhan’s face, and he pushes himself up from his throne to tower even higher above them all.

‘This one killed my son?’

It may be Meng Yao’s imagination that makes those words distort and crackle. It may not. Many strange things happen when so much resentful energy exists in one place. He’s been researching it, when he can.

‘He boasted to me that he was there in Yiling,’ Meng Yao confirms, and feels a little smug that he isn’t even having to lie. Lan Xichen should be proud.

At Wen Rouhan’s next words, cold fear and shock replace the feeling. He may have misjudged a step.

‘Bring the other one here,’ Wen Rouhan orders. ‘As he helped take my son from me, let us see how Hanguang-Jun enjoys watching his own blood die in agony.’

Meng Yao jolts forward, catching himself and turning it into a respectful bow. He clasps his hands together and is relieved they do not shake.

‘Excellency, Zewu-Jun lost consciousness during my visit with him.’

‘Then have him dragged here!’

A smile can be a shield, Meng Yao knows. He uses it now to cover his attempts to turn this back onto the route he has mapped out.

‘I only mean that it may not be as the Lan deserves, if his brother is not awake to know what is being done to him.’

With his back now to Lan Wangji, Meng Yao can’t see how the man is reacting, but from the look on Wen Rouhan’s face, it’s not with perfect stoicism.

‘Have Lan Xichen dragged here or carried here but get him here.’ Wen Rouhan’s tone loses some of its heat as he sinks back onto his throne, the anticipation of satisfaction glimmering in his eyes. ‘We will wait until he recovers from your attentions enough to take part.’

This is not how things were supposed to go. If Lan Wangji will not draw Wen Rouhan’s focus from Lan Xichen, perhaps someone else will. This time, he lets his smile curl into something pleased.

‘Of course.’ There’s an art to lowering the eyes at the right time, to widening them, to closing them. Meng Yao has always learnt well and his mother and her peers had much to teach him, though the men they practised on did not wield such power. ‘Perhaps it is better not to wait until Wei Wuxian makes his move.’

Scuffling, abruptly cut off, speaks of Lan Wangji’s reaction. Meng Yao keeps his eyes on Wen Rouhan. The man doesn’t look quite so far gone on resentful energy when viewed through eyelashes.

‘Wei Wuxian?’ Wen Rouhan almost sneers the name. ‘The boy who thinks he is the master of my craft? The one who turned ghosts on my son?’

There is no indication that the man sees a disparity in those statements.

‘It may be nothing,’ Meng Yao says, in the exact way he always says that when it very much is something, ‘but Zewu-Jun called out for Wei Wuxian when I was…attending to him. I wonder if our enemies have sent their pale imitation of His Excellency to confront you. Perhaps the Lans are a distraction.’

‘Meng Yao!’ Lan Wangji makes the name sound like a slash with his sword, but there is the sound of an impact and he says nothing more.

‘Useless!’ Wen Rouhan’s ire is an uncomfortable thing to have directed at him. ‘You stand here prattling when that demon is loose in my home? Go! Find him. Bring him to me. Now!’

Meng Yao bows deeply, but doesn’t take the time to go to his knees. Obeying with alacrity is wiser than asking for forgiveness in this moment. He doesn’t look at Lan Wangji as he walks swiftly past, though he can almost sense the killing intent streaming from the man. The idiot is far too noble to understand this is how Meng Yao can protect Lan Xichen.

He is almost to the doors when Wen Rouhan calls out again.

‘Have someone else bring Lan Xichen here. If Wei Wuxian makes it to this hall, let him face the Twin Jades as my bodyguards.’

Meng Yao doesn’t stumble. He doesn’t gasp or turn to beg. Those won’t work now. He keeps his steps steady and his pace even as his mind moves ever faster, seeking a way to save the one person who has only ever been kind to him.

Behind him, he feels the distinctive swell of resentful energy and knows Wen Rouhan has woken the Yin Irons.

‘And Meng Yao? It seems your plan has not worked. I will not wait for Nie Mingjue to bring his army to me. My puppets will end this today.’

The power swells again, and Meng Yao’s hands begin to shake.

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian yanks the iron back, registering the squelch and give of flesh only as a background detail. The Wen guard is nothing more than a pile of meat as he lands, blood already seeping out across the floor.

The man’s sword is inferior to anything Wei Wuxian used since he last trained with a wooden sword, but he leans down to snatch it up anyway. It will do.

He’s turning to head further into the palace when the sounds of movement drag his attention back to the guard who should be dead. Who is dead, he realises. Dead, but moving.

There’s something insulting about being on the other side of that.

It’s been many months since Wei Wuxian used a sword, but a sword isn’t his best choice here, in any case. He should have noticed the growing buzz of resentful energy and tang of Yin Iron in the atmosphere, but Wei Wuxian is packed so full of resentful energy that it takes focus to separate his awareness of the two. It’s strong. Strong enough that Wen Rouhan must be using the Yin Iron, though the puppet already told him as much.

No need for secrecy now.

Stepping smartly back to give himself space, Wei Wuxian throws the sword aside and draws Chenqing from his belt. The plain iron goes, too, clattering a discordant counterpart to the first notes rising from the dizi, and it’s almost a relief to stop pretending this was going to end any other way.

He would apologise to Lan Zhan, if he could.

Once the puppet is dealt with, Wei Wuxian turns and follows the path laid out for him by the taste of Yin Iron, the dead Wen now marching at his back.

Meng Yao sends servants running, running to order the bells rung in warning so the streets can be cleared, running to open the gates so the puppets won’t batter themselves against them, running to alert everyone within the palace to hunt for Wei Wuxian.

He hesitates as he faces the last servant, a young man with eyes that would have done him well in the brothel. Just now, those eyes are wide and anxious and Meng Yao wants to snap at the boy that he will invite nothing but abuse if he doesn’t learn better. Instead, he sends the boy running with a request for an update on Lan Xichen.

It will delay only by a few minutes and risks bringing wrath down on Meng Yao’s shoulders, and for anyone else he wouldn’t consider it. For Lan Xichen, he’s willing to stall.

He doesn’t go far from the throne room. There are many ways events could spin out and nobody could predict them exactly, not now the man who uses the dead as hunting dogs is here. Meng Yao needs to be close enough to assess whether things are turning against Wen Rouhan, so he can be ready to strike if there’s an opening.

The wide-eyed servant returns as the first tolls of warning ring out. The sound will no doubt scatter many of the people of the streets, but not all will have somewhere to hide. Some will be swallowed up by Wen Rouhan’s dead army. Any pang he feels over that is quelled instantly at the servant’s words.

‘Zewu-Jun isn’t in his cell. He’s missing.’

Zewu-Jun is heavy. Wen Qing is far from weak and knows all too well how difficult an unconscious man can be to lift, but very few are as tall or as well-muscled as the leader of the Lan. She’s sweating by the time she’s able to set him down, nodding her thanks to A-Yi as the other woman slides the door shut.

They’re in a room that’s little more than a cupboard, a sorry sort of space in which to examine a patient of any sort. Zewu-Jun looks entirely out of place.

‘Is he dead?’ A-Yi asks.

Wen Qing pauses with one hand on the man’s wrist and looks up at the servant.

‘Drugged, I think.’ She thumbed his eyes open back in the cell, checked his breathing and his pulse, performed a cursory check for injuries: enough to be sure he could be moved. ‘You should go. There’s no need to put yourself at further risk.’

A-Yi looks scared, but she shakes her head.

‘You said he isn’t one of your men. You still need my help, Lady Wen.’

Wen Qing is beginning to believe that what the world really needs is a tonic to prevent self-sacrificing idiocy, but all she allows herself at the thought is a sigh.

‘Very well. But what I need now is information. And water.’

Once A-Yi is gone in search of both, Wen Qing lifts Zewu-Jun’s wrist and sends her qi into his body. A strong core is hardly new to her. She’s treated Wen Rouhan many times. Wen Rouhan, however, never felt like this. Zewu-Jun’s core isn’t as powerful at her uncle’s, but it’s clear and bright in a way Wen Rouhan’s never was. Wen Qing feels her lips part as her energy brushes up against his, thrumming deep in the centre of him, warm and refreshing like a mountain stream under strong sunlight.

She wonders if this is what Lan Wangji’s core should feel like.

Withdrawing feels like a loss, but she’s sensed enough to be sure the man suffers bruises and lacerations only because his core is sealed. Otherwise, he’d be healed already with the level of cultivation he has. The drug in his system is the only reason he’s out cold, though she will be happier once the slight swelling of a concussion has vanished.

It’s a simple matter to unseal his core, and then all she has to do is wait. As she settles into a more comfortable position, bells ring out in deep, carrying notes, and Wen Qing feels her own breath turn shallow and quick. These bells weren’t part of any system she knew when she still lived here. She thinks of the old yards newly filled with soldiers and wonders how well Nie Mingjue and his army are prepared for an attack.

If they fall, if Nie Huaisang’s brother dies and their side loses, any chance at surviving will die with them. Any chance of A-Ning surviving will die.

She finds herself staring at the door, willing A-Yi to return. She holds one of her needles in her hand, for all the good it will do, and tries not to feel like a fox caught in a pit trap.

The sting across Wangji’s throat is an irritant. Nothing more. The cold press of the blade matters only in that it prevents him from lunging forward, from removing Wen Rouhan from the world. Distantly, Wangji is aware this is because doing so would mean opening his throat, would mean spilling his life’s blood and his air and any possibility of words until he was a dead thing. That, too, only matters because it would not save Brother, would not save Wei Ying.

Wangji cannot die until they are safe. Wen Rouhan has declared his intention to kill Wangji, to dishonour his corpse by raising it to stand against his own.

He feels the press of hands, in his hair, on his shoulder, as the guards keep him in place. He watches Wen Rouhan stalk towards him, one fist raised with sickening light playing around the knuckles.

The floor is hard beneath Wangji’s shins and kneeling is something he knows well, but even when his uncle ordered the beating to begin, it wasn’t with the expectation of death. Uncle and the elders hoped to transform Wangji, intended the whip to cut away tainted parts of him, but they believed their destruction to be healing. Wangji is almost sure of that, on his good days.

Those first endless months after the punishment, as Brother worried over the scraps of Wangji, as grief and confusion and pain took up all the space Wangji had left for feeling, there were no good days. He longed, sometimes, to slide into absence, to simply stop. He wanted it all to stop.

Brother could tell, he thinks, given the way he found reasons to remain by Wangji’s side. That was usually when the yearning grew strong enough that Wangji’s thoughts turned to fantasises.

For two whole months, Brother refused to leave Bichen on its stand, removing it for safekeeping with no explanation as to why. Wangji doesn’t think it was necessary, doesn’t think he would have turned his blade on himself. There was A-Yuan to think of, after all, and Wangji didn’t really want to be dead. He just didn’t want to be.

Now, he watches death approach him and reaches a conclusion. Death, now, will not mean an end. It will only mean an end of this second chance to protect his loved ones. He could have slipped into death without caring, then, for all he wouldn’t have brought it about. Perhaps, even with the doubt in his mind and the hurt in his heart, his spirit would have found rest. But not now. Not when Wei Ying lives, when Brother is in such danger. Not without seeing A-Yuan again. All of Wangji’s options end in a resentful death and even his body won’t be allowed to rest.

Wen Rouhan stops mere paces from Wangji, looking down at him with a cruelly amused twist to his lips. There is no such amusement in his eyes. His eyes show hard anger and a kind of desire Wangji has never felt.

‘Gusu Lan has long thought too well of itself,’ he says, a pronouncement of guilt that Wangji can’t entirely reject. ‘Let your sect see its precious Jades have learnt their place.’

Wangji doesn’t say they do know their place. For his own part, it would be a lie. Throughout his life, others have seemed certain as to where the two of them should be, as to what they should be. The ground beneath Wangji’s certainty started crumbling even before he lived this war the first time, and it fell out from under him completely when Wei Ying’s hand left his.

He keeps his silence and glares.

‘I’m told Chifeng-Zun and Zewu-Jun are close as brothers,’ Wen Rouhan goes on, the titles an insult in his mouth. ‘Do you think Nie Mingjue will hesitate when it comes to cutting his dear friend down? Perhaps I should let your brother have his sword back and see if he tries to cut the head from your shoulders when he sees what you’ve become.’

Brother will do what he must, when he must. Wangji has cause to know this. It isn’t a matter of whether Brother will try to destroy the puppet that used to be Wangji; it’s a matter of whether Brother realises in time that Wangji is already gone.

With his skin already so pale and his face devoid of expression, how different will he even look? But then, Brother has always been the one who’s worked to see the tiny shifts on Wangji’s face. It hurts, to think of Brother finally seeing only the blank nothingness that others perceive.

If suicide would prevent that, Wangji would push forward onto that blade this moment.

Perhaps something in his posture changes, because Wen Rouhan’s gaze is drawn down to Wangji’s throat and he grimaces.

‘I won’t have flaws in what’s mine,’ he says, directing his next words at the guard to Wangji’s right. ‘Remove your sword.’

Before Wangji can think to react, the sword is replaced with Wen Rouhan’s fingers on the stinging skin. The flow of spiritual energy is an intrusion, and Wangji closes his eyes, the panic of a trapped animal plucking at his heart. Panic and frustration and guilt and… There are too many emotions and he is in no state to parse them all, let alone settle them. He works on not letting them show.

His ears catch a noise of displeasure just before the fingers on his neck shift to wrap around his throat, the spiritual energy increasing as the physical hold tightens. It’s not enough to choke him, but the threat is there.

‘What is this?’ Wen Rouhan demands. ‘What is happening to your core?’

It’s almost enough to cut off Wangji’s air, the way those fingers squeeze even more as Wen Rouhan drags him to his feet, further, so Wangji is up on his toes. The hand on his shoulder falls away but there’s still no escape. Not from this. It takes work to keep a grimace from his face.

Wen Rouhan’s spiritual energy scours his meridians, thorns of flame ripping into Wangji’s spiritual pathways, and he thinks of what Wen Qing told him about the procedure she performed on his core, how if it had gone wrong his core could have exploded. A shame, he thinks, that he doesn’t know how to make it do that now.

The fingers tighten enough almost no air gets through, and Wen Rouhan’s arm rises, hoisting Wangji so he has to rise even further up on his toes, until he isn’t touching the floor at all. Until he can’t draw in any air. He feels his body spasm, out of his control, the need to get free overwhelming.

‘How can a boy like you have such power in you?’ Wen Rouhan sounds almost wondering, though his hold doesn’t lessen. He sounds to be speaking to himself. ‘You couldn’t have… Could you? Who knows what secrets Gusu Lan has buried in that library, what secrets it’s stolen from other sects for safekeeping.’

Wangji doesn’t know what he’s talking about, couldn’t answer even if he did. He scrabbles at Wen Rouhan’s fingers with his bound hands, but this man already possessed an almost immortal core before he turned to the Yin Iron: Wangji is no match for his strength.

His vision is going strange around the edges, fading and splotchy, his skull is too full of pressure, and his ears feel full of roaring, like he’s swum underwater and they haven’t cleared, but he won’t give up. Can’t. Not when there’s still a chance Meng Yao will complete his mission.

Wen Rouhan is distracted. Meng Yao has his chance. He can end this and Wangji won’t have to worry about this war anymore. Meng Yao can kill Wen Rouhan, and it won’t involve Wei Ying this time. Wei Ying will be safer than before.

The rest will have to be in the hands of others. A-Yuan will be reliant on others, without Wangji there to take care of him, to protect him. The Wens will still be at risk. Wei Ying will still be Wei Ying, perfectly incapable of keeping to the orthodox path.

Deep in his body, the tearing sensation he’s being ignoring bursts to life, forcing a gasp from his almost empty lungs. It catches on Wen Rouhan’s fist around Wangji’s throat.

He hears Wen Rouhan’s voice again, but now he can’t make out any of the words. It’s just noise, trapped on the other side of the veil falling around Wangji. One last attempt to find purchase on the other man’s hand, and Wangji feels the strength slip from him, feels his arms drop.

If Meng Yao does not return to kill Wen Rouhan immediately, Wangji will have failed utterly.

But the twisting inside him pulses again, his core blazing, and every wound his body has ever suffered blazes with it. He is pain and he is purpose and that is all he is. Pain and protection and the lash of splintering power.

The hand gripping Wangji’s throat disappears. He drops, unable to catch himself in time, his left knee driving into the floor. This time, his gasp draws in air. The air is hard and awkward in his throat, sits heavy in his lungs, but he fights through it. The dead don’t breathe, but he is not yet dead.

‘What have you done?’

Wen Rouhan’s voice is raised and ragged. The man himself, when Wangji manages to blink the tears from his eyes enough to focus, stands most of the way across the hall, in a stance that suggests he was thrown there. Disbelief is carved into his face. Disbelief or shock.

‘Answer me!’

But even if Wangji’s throat wasn’t sore and aching, he wouldn’t be able to explain, because he doesn’t know.

Whatever this is, it’s ongoing. His vision ripples, showing him the hall he’s in, but also the tent in which Nie Mingjue holds meetings, the cliff outside this palace, a small boy huddled in a cave, his brother sitting by the bed in the Jingshi and weeping. With each image, it feels as though someone is carving his core away into fine sheets. It hurts. It hurts and it’s too much and Wangji cannot go back to seeing what isn’t in front of him. He won’t go back to being treated as though he’s lost his mind, even if he’s starting to fear it may be true.

He glances behind him and finds the guards are unmoving heaps on the floor. Impossible to say if they still live.

‘Whatever this is,’ Wen Rouhan says, ‘you’re no match for me.’

Wangji never thought that he was.

He doesn’t attempt a reply. Goading and posturing and hurling words have never appealed to him, and there are no words that will stop this. Wangji has long placed his faith in thought and in action, and though his faith has been a fractured thing for so long, he holds certain truths in his heart, hard-won and horded: he loves his family, even when he doesn’t understand them and they refuse to understand him; he cannot wait for others to act or trust they will agree on the right action to take; when all else fails, Lan Wangji can rely on his blade.

To the side of the hall, tucked back far enough he missed it before, he sees two familiar swords sitting on a stand. Shuoyue and Bichen.

Distantly, he hears the sound of bells ringing, deep and booming, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing outside this hall matters. Only killing Wen Rouhan does.

He forms a sword seal with his bound hands as he rises to his feet, and does his best to ignore the flickering images of the Jingshi, of the Cold Pond Cave, of the Wen Remnants’ settlement in ruins. His mind is lying to him, or else showing truths that are of no help to him here. With each image, his spiritual energy crackles, feeling as though it will crisp his skin from the inside.

With his vision compromised and his hands tied, he can’t hope to fight Wen Rouhan. With his core shredding itself, he can’t expect another chance at this. He’s on his extra chance already. This has to be done now.

Wen Rouhan watches as Wangji steps to the side, away from Bichen, putting the sect leader between Wangji and his sword. Dishonourable, perhaps, but that depends on how honour is determined. And Meng Yao struck from behind the last time. There is precedent, if nothing else. As a good student of Lan teachings, Wangji knows the importance of that.

‘Enough of this,’ Wen Rouhan all but snarls, lifting his right hand into the air and closing it. The pieces of Yin Iron fly from their place to circle him. ‘I’ll get as much of an answer from you once you’re a puppet.’

Bichen is behind Wen Rouhan now, though Wangji isn’t sure the angle is right. He can’t be sure Bichen will strike Wen Rouhan where it will be fatal. But the resentful energy is so strong he can taste it, an oily, ashen layer over his tongue, and he has to try.

Pouring every bit of focus into it, ignoring the strain and ache of his core coming apart, Wangji calls on Bichen.

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian hisses as the thread of resentful energy leading him to the Yin Iron pulses and snaps, the force of it a blow. Behind him, the guard he commands grips at his head and screams, and Wei Wuxian lets him. He’s too busy seeking that connection, needing it to guide him to his prey.

When he finds it, it’s snarled and wild, hard to track, and he loses valuable time fighting the resentful energy into compliance. Nevertheless, he manages.

He pulls the now silent guard along with him as he prowls onward, wondering at the lack of Wen soldiers in his way. It should not be so easy to walk through this palace. Not even if he had been silent the whole way, and certainly not with the echoes of a corpse’s screaming still hanging in the air.

He would be grateful if it didn’t stink of something gone wrong.

The first puppet takes Wei Wuxian by surprise. He’s faced them on the battlefield, half expected there may be some around Wen Rouhan, but he didn’t anticipate one lunging at him when he’s halfway along a hallway.

He catches the puppet’s strike with Chenqing and redirects it, spinning away out of reach as the puppet crashes into a wall. His own puppet joins the fight, drags this new one up and away as Wei Wuxian sets to work with his music.

More puppets appear, more fierce corpses. Some are newly risen, still bleeding from the wounds that took their lives, and Wei Wuxian bends those to his will with ease. He understands the dead, perhaps better than anyone can who hasn’t so nearly become one of them. He understands what will sway them and he promises what they need.

The puppets are harder, bound more closely to the Yin Iron, with the spark of the living soul still held within the crusted skin, but they, too, he wrenches from the warped hold of Wen Rouhan. It feels too much like prying a sword from stiff, dead fingers, quite unlike the way it has felt before, and he wonders again what can have happened.

No matter. Up ahead, in the next hallway or maybe the one after or the one after that, the snarled mass of resentful energy crashes and heaves like a river in spate, the way the waters back home are after a fierce storm, when they are heavy and swollen and all too ready to swallow the lives of any caught in them. There are more puppets, too. This close, Wei Wuxian can sense them.

Wen Rouhan must be there. Wei Wuxian shuts out all thought of anything beyond this hunt and plays on.

Xichen wakes again, this time with his head hurting less. His qi is unblocked. Without meaning to, he inhales and presses a hand to his abdomen, desperately grateful not to be so helpless. Somewhere, bells are ringing, but they’re muffled.

‘Zewu-Jun?’

It’s a woman’s voice, one he faintly recognises but can’t place. He snaps his eyes open, sitting up as he does so, and is caught partway by a firm hand on his shoulder.

‘Carefully, Zewu-Jun. Don’t undo my work. I’m sure you feel a lot better, but you’re still not fully recovered.’

Wherever he is now, it’s not the cell and it’s dimly lit. The woman wears robes fit for a servant, but her posture reveals the lie even before he recalls her face.

‘Lady Wen?’

He hears the strain in his own voice and works to suppress it. Whatever is behind Wen Qing’s presence here, whatever her intentions may be, there is no need to show unnecessary weakness. Her hand moves with him as he eases himself the rest of the way to sitting, gathering his composure around himself as he does so.

‘I had heard you were no longer part of Wen Rouhan’s court.’

Her expression twists for a moment before she smooths it back to a steady resolve even Wangji would approve of. The way she glances away and swallows speaks of hesitation, perhaps wariness, but she faces him again with her chin up and her words clear.

‘I’m here for my family.’ Her hand on Xichen’s shoulder tightens. She speaks carefully, maintaining eye-contact. ‘I wasn’t sure how long it would take you to come round. It’s been barely any time since I unblocked your qi. That’s a good sign, but I don’t know what they gave you or what after-effects it may have.’

Despite the tension in him, Xichen lets a bloom of affection have space in his chest. He feels his lips curve.

‘It was meant to soothe pain,’ he says. ‘I… Forgive me, Lady Wen, but why did you remove me from the cell?’

Because she must have done so, but Xichen can think of no reason why. This can’t be on Wen Rouhan’s orders, even if she is still working for her uncle. What would be the point? Unless…someone else removed him and left him here, and Wen Qing merely came across him. None of this makes sense and he is so very tired of finding his world is other than he expected it to be.

Any Wen should be his enemy. He should be anticipating hurt at her hands, but the way she frowns at him, the way her gaze roves across him, as though seeking answers of her own, carry no noticeable harmful intent and her hand is warm against his neck.

‘You would have preferred I did not?’

Her voice is tart as bitter fruit. Xichen considers her actions, her words, her manner of dress, and makes a decision.

‘I was given the pain relief by someone who is working against Wen Rouhan. If he knew it would make me sleep, that was also likely a means of protecting me.’

Not, perhaps, the best choice. Not one Xichen would choose, what with it leaving him so vulnerable, but A-Yao did a number of things that took Xichen by surprise back when they were hiding together. The man is overprotective and so sweetly concerned for Xichen’s well-being. Xichen is long past the point of questioning the impulse behind A-Yao’s methods.

‘Protecting you,’ she says. There’s a tiny pause before she goes on with the air of one who has also made a decision. ‘You’re talking about Meng Yao.’

He considers denying it, but it seems pointless. If she already knows A-Yao’s name, Xichen can only hope he’s right that she isn’t on Wen Rouhan’s side. Even so, he refuses to confirm her guess.

She sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose with her free hand.

‘I don’t expect you to tell me I’m right,’ she says. ‘You don’t need to. I know Meng Yao is working for you. Just tell me whether you spoke with him.’

Xichen offers her a small smile.

‘Lady Wen- ‘

‘Zewu-Jun.’ She cuts him off and has the temerity to glare at him as she does so. ‘I just need to know what he said about your brother.’

Xichen used to think he knew what fear was. It was Uncle’s disappointment and his teacher’s reprimands, his father’s cold stare and the times he failed Wangji. But that was when disappointing his uncle had to do with a misstep in etiquette, and when failing Wangji was another time he left his brother alone because Xichen had to attend to his future as sect leader. Since then, he has learnt real fear.

This fear that seeps like bile into his throat is one he’s tasted before, though so often he heard of the dangers Wangji was in after they happened. Having his leg broken, being dragged to Qishan, being left behind in a sealed cave.

‘What has happened to Wangji?’ he asks, unable to stop the words from coming out thick and sticky.

‘You didn’t speak with Meng Yao or he didn’t mention Lan Wangji?’

Her insistence on this is an irritant. Xichen gives up his smile and meets her stare head on. She is so much smaller than him. Weaker. He could take hold of her hand where it sits on his shoulder and snap the wrist with no effort. She cannot trust the Lan rules enough to be sure he won’t, but he can see that doesn’t matter. There is no give in her.

‘I spoke with him,’ he relents, because she already knows about A-Yao and he needs to know about Wangji. ‘He didn’t say anything about my brother. Tell me.’

Her lips pinch together and she shakes her head.

‘I’ve searched the cells. Only you were there. I’ve never seen them so empty.’ At last, she lifts the hand from his shoulder, but only to quiet him. ‘Meng Yao must know where Lan Wangji is.’

Xichen clutches the material over his thighs to stop himself from grabbing her, from demanding she recants that statement. Hurting her won’t help him. Denying the truth won’t help anyone. But the fear is strong enough, now, to be a physical ache.

‘What are you saying? Wangji is here?’

Wen Qing has gone very still.

‘He insisted.’

‘He’s sick. He can’t be here,’ Xichen says over the end of her words. ‘We have to get him out of here.’

‘Zewu-Jun.’ The title is sharper this time, pitched to slice through panic. ‘Your brother knows he’s not well. He chose to come here knowing it. Part of the reason I came with him was to monitor his condition.’

‘But now you don’t know where he is.’

‘He was captured,’ she says. ‘He let himself be captured so I could remain free.’

And Xichen wishes he could be angry at that, at the thought of his little brother doing something so…so… But Xichen did exactly the same thing for Wei Wuxian. Of course, Xichen is not on the verge of collapse from a deviating core. Xichen was not sent away from the frontlines, was not confused and upset and irrational. He’s dangerously close to feeling all of those things, now.

‘At least tell me- ‘

This time, he’s interrupted by the doors sliding open. He reaches for Shuoyue without thinking, his fingers wrapping around empty air, and sees Wen Qing raise a hand in a way that suggests she holds something ready. There’s a glint of narrow metal against her fingertips.

‘A-Yi,’ Wen Qing breathes out almost at once, lowering her hand, ‘quickly. Come inside.’

The newcomer is another woman dressed as a servant, panic clear in the stuttering breaths and in the trembling hands that clutch at Wen Qing’s sleeve. A gash cuts right through the cloth over this A-Yi’s shoulder and far enough into the flesh to leave a visible wound.

‘What happened?’ Wen Qing asks, moving with sure swiftness to untangle A-Yi’s fingers and turn the woman enough to inspect that wound.

A-Yi gulps out her reply, as much a sob as it is language, but Xichen has too much experience at understanding people who are pushed near to incoherency.

‘Sect Leader let his puppets loose. They…they’re in the palace. Attacking everyone, Lady Wen. I saw… I saw… And they got back up. They got back up.’

Wen Qing soothes the woman with steady hands, pulling little else of sense from her as she does so, but managing to calm A-Yi enough to confirm what she already said. It’s frustrating beyond measure. All Xichen can think about is that Wangji is somewhere in this place, hurt and vulnerable and not where he is meant to be, and Xichen is stuck kneeling here as a woman he doesn’t know sobs her fear into the shoulder of one he barely knows.

‘We have to find Wangji,’ he says, rising to his feet.

He doesn’t know if it’s his tone or the height of him, so suddenly towering above her, but A-Yi makes a pitiful noise and cowers away. Wen Qing glares at him.

‘Have you a weapon?’ she asks. ‘Because I have seen my uncle’s puppets and I doubt I can fight one with my bare hands.’

The thought alone is sickening. Xichen has seen what happens to those infected by Wen Rouhan’s puppets, has ordered his own people carried from the battlefields only to be caged, or killed, when they have turned into the very things they fought against. But he has to find Wangji.

‘Does my brother have a weapon?’ he asks. ‘You have a brother, Lady Wen. Would you keep yourself hidden away and leave him out there, unprotected?’

Rage flashes across her face, but she smothers it and turns from him, easing A-Yi further into the room until the woman is huddled in on herself and Wen Qing can stand up to face Xichen.

‘I don’t know where my brother is.’ She lays each word down like a stitch through flesh, something neat and tight and designed to hold together what is torn. ‘I had hoped to find him here. I still intend to look for him here, as I intend to find your brother. I don’t give up on my family, Zewu-Jun. But getting myself killed by a puppet would not help them. Becoming one would be worse. I will not do that. I will not let you do that.’

Her voice grows no louder by the end, but Xichen feels as though he’s being shouted at. Still, his closest friend is a Nie. It’s not an entirely unfamiliar feeling. It’s not enough to crush the need to be out of this room.

‘With respect, Lady Wen, I do not answer to you.’

He pays no attention to whether the women follow him. He doesn’t let himself despair at the sheer size of Wen Rouhan’s palace. Of all his many duties in this life, the one he holds dearest is that of Wangji’s older brother, and he will tear the puppets apart with his teeth if he must.

Meng Yao stares at the empty space that should contain Lan Xichen. Three times on the way here, he had to make use of his sword. Three times, he had to fight off a fierce corpse and run. And now the man he intended to keep safe is gone.

None of this should be happening.

‘Find him!’ he orders, sending the few guards who have gathered to him scattering. ‘Find him, or I will feed you to the Yin Iron myself!’

He keeps two guards with him as he makes his way back to Wen Rouhan. One of them falls to a puppet, rises again, and is felled by the other before they get halfway. The other lasts until the final hallway before the throne room. Meng Yao breaks away and runs.

Whatever is going wrong with the Yin Iron, he needs to know.

The sound of a flute stops him dead. The only reports he’s received on this music are from those far enough away not to see much, but he knows it brings destruction. He knows it’s connected to Wei Wuxian, the young man who stalked and tortured Wen Chao, who somehow fought free of the Burial Mounds. A young man whose name has become a curse to the Wen.

This is why Lan Xichen asked about him. They must have come here together, or at least as part of the same plan. In theory, this means Wei Wuxian could know the role Meng Yao has been playing, but it’s by no means certain. And Meng Yao has seen how badly the resentful energy affects Wen Rouhan’s mind and temperament, how it kills reason.

No. It is too dangerous to rely on Wei Wuxian treating him as an ally, and the music is growing swiftly closer. Safest to wait and see.

Taking advantage of the momentarily empty hallway, Meng Yao slides into the shadowed space of an alcove and presses his back to the wall. Whichever man wins this fight, Meng Yao will be there to make use of it.

The puppets and corpses are harder to subdue the closer he gets, but Wei Wuxian wades through them. They either become his or they are torn to pieces by those he already commands, and finally – finally – he reaches the throne room and stalks inside.

At first, Wei Wuxian sees only his target. Wen Rouhan is on his knees, his body leaning forward and his hands clutching at something near his chest.

No. Not near. Through.

A blade sticks out from the man’s chest, angled downward with the point buried into the floor. The hilt must be up against Wen Rouhan’s back. Blood drains down the sword, more drips from the wound to soak through the skirts of his robes, but Wen Rouhan is still alive. Still alive, but badly injured and ripe for a final blow.

All of this, Wei Wuxian takes in before his gaze lands on the white-robed figure a short distance from where Wen Rohan has fallen, and his heart stutters. Lan robes. He can’t see the man’s face from where he is, but he knows of only one Lan who is in Nightless City. Lan Xichen. It must be Lan Xichen, lying crumpled and bleeding so close to their enemy. Lan Xichen, who Wei Wuxian was supposed to save.

The energy here is so thick it sits heavy on his tongue, coats the back of his throat. It’s so thick he breathes it. And he sees it now, the way the energy winds from and through the Yin Iron, the pieces of which float above Wen Rouhan, shifting like flotsam on unsettled waters. As a disciple of Yunmeng Jiang, raised by the river as much as by any person, he knows what to do with flotsam.

Wei Wuxian reaches out, with his music, with his will, with the amulet that sits snug inside his robes. Using everything he has, he casts a net around the Yin Iron and pulls.

Even partway to death, Wen Rouhan fights it, his mouth opening in a scream, a roar, as he clings to his connection with the Yin Iron, but Wei Wuxian just smirks and keeps pulling. He tastes victory, here in this moment, a metallic, blood-rich thing that need not be rushed. Let Wen Rouhan feel it, that inexorable wash of failure against a more powerful force. Let him struggle with all he has and know it’s useless.

Around them, howling and snapping, the resentful energy thickens, rising in thrashing ropes that surround Lan Xichen’s prone form, surround Wen Rouhan, that shut both of them in with Wei Wuxian. There will be no rescue for the man who let his sons bring fire and ruin to other sects. No matter what, Wei Wuxian will not stop now until this is done.

Xichen rips the arm from yet another fierce corpse, flinging the limb away and reaching for the head. That, he lets falls from numb hands. It’s the last one in sight, but no doubt others are nearby. Half the palace must have been turned, given how many he’s fought already.

But up ahead he hears the music of Wei Wuxian in combat. The sound has grown from a distant warble to the clarion call of demonic cultivation, so close now that Xichen must be almost upon Wen Rouhan. Who else would Wei Wuxian hunt down?

‘Zewu-Jun!’

A-Yao’s voice pulls his attention down the hallway, where the man himself is running towards Xichen, an urgent look on his face.

‘A-Yao!’ Xichen meets him, catches him as A-Yao stumbles, so they end up clutching at each other’s forearm’s. ‘Where is Wangji?’

From the way A-Yao’s lips part, his eyes widening, he expected a different question. Xichen feels a burst of anger that Wangji’s presence in the palace wasn’t the first thing A-Yao told him back in the cell, an anger he stifles. Anger won’t help him.

‘Zewu-Jun?’

He sounds almost afraid. Perhaps some of the anger showed, however briefly. Xichen lets go of A-Yao and notes the blood left behind on the other man’s sleeves, blood that feels to have saturated Xichen’s skin form the amount he’s spilled to get here.

‘My brother was captured,’ Xichen says. ‘He was not in the cells.’

A jolt of something runs through A-Yao.

‘Yes. Yes, of course.’ A-Yao stretches a hand out as though to reclaim his hold on Xichen, but stops before he makes contact, his gaze flickering down and back up to Xichen’s face. ‘Hanguang-Jun was taken to Wen Rouhan. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, but there was nothing I could do-‘

‘Where?’ He could have told Xichen. He chose not to, for some reason that cannot possibly matter, but Xichen must move forwards. ‘Take me to him.’

Meng Yao glances, snake-strike quick, at the doorway not far beyond them. The doorway that must lead to where Wei Wuxian plays his dizi.

Xichen is past A-Yao and through that doorway before the other man can speak, and he’s greeted by a scene from a nightmare.

At first, he sees little beyond the thick smoke of resentful energy, the way it heaves confusing the eye, but Xichen allows his gaze to slide beyond, to seek instead the shapes further in. He makes out the dark form that must be Wei Wuxian with his dizi at his lips, then the kneeling figure of Wen Rouhan, his face twisted in rage or fear or pain. Hanging in the air between them, spinning shapes must be the Yin Iron, at the centre of a whirlpool of power that warps the space around it.

There is no-one else standing, no-one else kneeling, but lower down, at floor level, there are bodies. Xichen holds himself still, makes himself look carefully. One is dressed in dark robes, black and red: Wen. The next one is the same. The last one…

White robes, streaked with red. Wangji.

He lies mostly on his side, unmoving, far too close to Wen Rouhan. Through the miasma of resentful energy, Xichen can’t see him clearly, but he pushes his senses until he gets as much as he can. There’s blood. There is so much blood. Blood and no movement, and Wen Rouhan clutching at Bichen where the blade protrudes from his chest. One of Wangji’s arms is stretched out along the floor, the hand limp. He must have been reaching for his sword.

‘No! Zewu-Jun, you can’t!’

A-Yao’s voice sounds like it’s coming from somewhere far away, but the shock of his arms wrapping around Xichen, trying to pull him to a halt, shakes his focus from Wangji for just a moment. It’s enough for A-Yao to move, to slide around in front of Xichen and brace himself against Xichen’s biceps. His face is pale, his eyes wide and wet.

‘You can’t go over there,’ he pleads, and it is pleading. His hands are trembling. ‘I tried. I’m sorry. I couldn’t…’

He trails off, but Xichen can’t spare any attention for A-Yao. A-Yao is conscious, is well enough to move and act.

‘A-Yao…’ Xichen manages. But A-Yao can do nothing. He cannot even keep Xichen back, not really, not by strength alone. ‘I have to reach Wangji.’

A-Yao’s fingers dig in, hard enough they may bruise even Xichen.

‘You won’t make it through that,’ A-Yao insists. ‘I’ve seen what resentful energy can do. It would flay you, Zewu-Jun!’

That doesn’t matter. A-Yao doesn’t know what it means to have a younger brother. He doesn’t know what Wangji means to Xichen.

Before he can push A-Yao aside, the situation shifts. The pieces of Yin Iron spin out of their position, flying to Wei Wuxian, whose music cuts off sharply as he holds his hands out to his sides. The pieces of Yin Iron take up a new orbit around him, and the ropes of resentment pour towards Wen Rouhan.

The first one slithers past him so quickly that at first it appears to have done nothing. In its wake, blood wells up from a cut along Wen Rouhan’s cheek, but by then, a second slice has been made along his arm, and another down the side of his neck, and then it becomes a maelstrom of dark smoke and blood.

Wen Rouhan is being cut to pieces by the energy he thought to control, and Wangji is still in there.

‘Wei Wuxian!’ Xichen bellows. ‘Wangji!’

The resentful energy vanishes so quickly it feels as though it sucks the air with it. Xichen takes two steps forwards, A-Yao still trying to stop him, before Wei Wuxian turns, wide-eyed, and stares at Xichen.

‘How…?’ he asks. Behind him, what remains of Wen Rouhan falls to the floor with a wet thud. Wei Wuxian doesn’t seem to notice. ‘Who is…?’

There is blood everywhere, forming pools across the floor, smeared up the walls, but there appears to be none in Wei Wuxian’s face as he turns to look at Wangji. The sound he makes echoes the one in Xichen’s heart, and they move towards Wangji at the same time, A-Yao finally letting go.

‘Lan Zhan,’ Wei Wuxian chokes out, falling to his knees and setting a hand on Wangji’s outstretched arm.

He drops the dizi and uses that hand to wipe at Wangji’s face. His fingers come away red. Wangji is bleeding from his mouth, his nose, his eyes. No doubt his ears, hidden behind his hair, are bleeding, too. Classic signs of a severe qi deviation.

Xichen kneels on the other side of his brother, leaning in to find any sign of life. Xichen is shaking, he knows he is, and his head feels tight and heavy, but he can’t get a proper breath as he searches for a pulse, for a spark of qi.

There. Thin and thready, but beautifully, gloriously there.

‘I have his pulse,’ Xichen says, close to a sob of relief. Even from this brief contact, he can feel Wangji’s qi, can tell it is close to shredding itself and taking Wangji with it, but he isn’t lost to them, yet. ‘Wei Wuxian, listen to me. You have to bring Wen Qing.’

‘What?’ Wei Wuxian looks at him as though he’s the one who’s unstable. ‘Where am I supposed to find her?’

‘Try turning around.’

Wen Qing’s voice may be the loveliest thing Xichen has ever heard. Uncle would scold him for hyperbole, but in this moment he experiences it as truth.

He looks over to see Wen Qing standing in the doorway, leaning on A-Yao, who is the process of adjusting his hold on her. Wei Wuxian has twisted himself to look, too, and he sounds young and lost when he says her name.

‘I was held up,’ Wen Qing says, allowing A-Yao to support her in crossing the room. A gash on her leg is the most obvious wound. ‘Whatever you did, the puppets and fierce corpses all collapsed a few minutes ago. I got here as quickly as I could.’

‘Lady Wen,’ Xichen says, and doesn’t care at all for the dignity of Gusu Lan as his voice breaks on the plea, ‘please. My brother.’

‘I told you, Zewu-Jun,’ Wen Qing replies, her own voice brisk and battle-ready, ‘I don’t give up on my family. Move aside, Wei Wuxian. Let me save A-Yuan’s father.’

Chapter Text

Zewu-Jun won’t let anyone else carry Lan Zhan. Following Wen Qing’s instructions and Meng Yao’s directions, he gathers his brother into his arms and leaves the room. Wen Qing shoots a considering look at Wei Wuxian before she follows, still leaning on Meng Yao, but she doesn’t say anything to him.

Wei Wuxian stays where he is, kneeling on the floor, his gaze returning to Lan Zhan’s blood whenever he manages to look away.

Lan Zhan was not supposed to be here. He was meant to be safe, was meant to be far away from a confrontation that clearly upset him so much the first time. Wei Wuxian was going to deal with this in Lan Zhan’s absence, wasn’t even going to search for Zewu-Jun until it was over. He was going to end the war just like Lan Zhan said he would, without getting anyone else involved.

Wen Rouhan was already dying. Lan Zhan already ran him through. Perhaps death would have claimed him soon enough, and there was no need for Wei Wuxian to wrest the Yin Iron pieces from him. And he didn’t recognise Lan Zhan, but he did know someone was lying there, even thought it was Lan Zhan’s brother, and didn’t pause to think about the possibility of harming him.

He expected to feel…something now that it’s over. Relief, maybe. Satisfaction. Instead, he just feels tired and small and wrong.

He should move. Wen Rouhan’s corpse is beginning to stink, the rot of resentful energy spoiling the meat of him, and he feels soaked in it. There must be some robes somewhere. A bath. Something.

The hiss of an indrawn breath snaps him out of his daze, and he twists his body around to find Meng Yao crouching close by, his right hand cradled against his chest. Chenqing lies in front of him. Even as he watches, Meng Yao tidies away any sign of pain on his face and replaces it with lowered eyes and a helpful smile.

‘Master Wei, I meant to pass your spiritual weapon to you. I apologise. I must not be thinking clearly.’

Wei Wuxian leans over and snatches Chenqing up, rising quickly as Meng Yao dips alarmingly close to a bow.

‘No need to worry.’ He sounds wrong, too, his voice as hollow as the rest of him. ‘And no bowing. Please.’

Meng Yao nods and stands, so neat and graceful he makes Wei Wuxian feel clumsy. Clumsy and weary and wrong. So very wrong. He wants to claw his robes off and then his skin, to find a way to scrape at the wrongness in him that let him look at Lan Zhan and not recognise him, that let him…that let him…

‘Master Wei?’ Meng Yao speaks as though he’s wary of the reaction. ‘Is there anything I can do?’

‘I need to get clean,’ Wei Wuxian says. ‘I need to get this blood off me.’

Meng Yao nods and organises Wei Wuxian into a room with a bathtub, and Wei Wuxian doesn’t have it in him to care what happens to Wen Rouhan’s remains. He doesn’t dare ask about Lan Zhan. What right does he have? If Zewu-Jun hadn’t called out, he would have…

He climbs into the bathtub and scrubs at himself until it stings.

Wen Qing is all too aware of Zewu-Jun’s presence. She had to order him to set Lan Wangji down on the bed in this room Meng Yao brought them to, hesitating as though releasing his hold would mean immediately losing his little brother.

It’s not that she fails to understand. If – when – she finds A-Ning, she is sure she will find it just as hard to let go. Part of her has always been convinced that her brother is only safe when he’s within the circle of her arms. But she can’t treat a patient she can barely reach past those sleeves these Lans wear.

Now, Zewu-Jun stands too close to the bed as she gets to work. She hears the start of a protest as she swings herself over Lan Wangji, taking up the position she ended up in the last time she pushed his core together because she knows better, now, how much this will take. It means ignoring the pain of her own wounds, but none of them are major and those that bled have already clotted. There is no place in this for part-measures, for a split-focus.

It would have been useful if Meng Yao had remained, so that he could comfort or distract Zewu-Jun, but the man had scuttled off as soon as he could. She’s just going to have to work with what she has. It’s hardly the first time she’s worked in less than ideal circumstances.

Going as quickly as she can without causing further harm, Wen Qing sends her spiritual energy into her patient.

She almost recoils. Lan Wangji’s core is worse now. An understatement, but it’s a realisation she has to approach carefully, or else she will be overwhelmed. Where before it was trying to shred itself, now it has succeeded. It’s…fragments. Sharp, jagged pieces, which should be impossible. She has no idea why it hasn’t exploded completely, but it’s as though the core is caught mid-destruction, suspended one moment from annihilation.

There is no fixing this.

Her own energy can only move so far within the morass before cold pain threads through her hands and back towards her own core. If that were the only barrier, she would push on: a little pain does not count when set against saving a life. But she also feels a reverberation in Lan Wangji’s energy, a sensation of some precarious weight beginning to shift. With no idea what is holding him in this state, she can’t risk upsetting it.

She also can’t leave him like this. Not long term. Strange though his exact state is, it’s unlikely there will be a long term without intervention.

‘Why have you stopped?’

Zewu-Jun doesn’t reach out and shake her – with how thoroughly trained the Lans are, maybe it doesn’t even occur to him – but the edge to his voice would go with such an action.

‘There’s nothing I can do.’

Wen Qing doesn’t look at him as she replies. She doesn’t move her hands from Lan Wangji’s abdomen, either. The moment she does so, she’s admitting she’s given up, that she is helpless in the face of this, just as she was when asked to heal a crushed core.

Of one thing she is certain: she will not dig a golden core from another person, no matter how much they beg. Not again. Not unless… But she daren’t even try to remove his core to save him. The damage extends too far.

‘You said you would save him.’ Zewu-Jun’s words shake, though it’s clear he’s working to keep himself together. ‘You said you would never give up on family. Don’t give up on Wangji.’

Irritation flares in her chest, sending a flush of heat up her neck, and she snaps the next words despite herself.

‘I didn’t say I’m giving up.’

But it feels like giving up, when she finally draws her hands away and slides off the bed. To give herself time to regain her composure, she adjusts her robes and smooths her skirts. She only goes on when her heartrate has settled. It’s not a comfortable calm, but that is unimportant. Only then does she make herself look up and meet Zewu-Jun’s eyes.

‘Before,’ she says, ‘in Qinghe, I was able to use a combination of treatments to clear his mind and consolidate his core. It was never going to be permanent.’

‘Do it again,’ he says, halfway between pleading and ordering.

She wants to spit his words from earlier back at him, to tell him she doesn’t answer to him, but she isn’t so naïve as that.

‘It won’t work again.’ She pauses, but there is no good way to share this. ‘The damage to his core is extensive. Frankly, Zewu-Jun, I don’t know how he’s still alive.’ She holds up a hand as he jolts forward, his mouth falling open. ‘I mean to say there is something keeping his core from complete destruction, but I can’t tell what it is and I don’t know what may or may not destabilise it. Until I have more idea, anything I do could make matters worse.’

Zewu-Jun’s gaze flickers to his brother and back to Wen Qing, his lips still parted.

‘He…’ He swallows and tries again. ‘He’s stable?’

There are times when hope is harder to hear than grief.

‘As far as I can tell,’ Wen Qing stresses, ‘and I don’t know how. I cannot promise you anything except I will keep working on this.’

Though she does need to find A-Ning, still. She needs to remind Nie Huaisang of his promises. She needs to save who she can, as many as she can. She can do none of it if she angers this man, who has helped lead the war against her sect. That she was deemed a traitor by Wen Chao is irrelevant when set against her name being Wen, and she isn’t stupid enough to think otherwise. She’s already been in a prison camp once.

‘Yes.’ Zewu-Jun finally blinks and lowers his eyes, a frown creasing his brow. ‘If there is anything you need…anything at all…’

There are many things. None of them will bring Lan Wangji back to his brother.

‘I left my notes in Qinghe,’ she says. ‘If I may be permitted to send for them?’

He doesn’t ask why she would need his permission, here in the heart of Wen territory. She finds she’s grateful not to be cossetted by pretence. Qishan Wen is an occupied sect, for all it took only three men. Four, if she counts Meng Yao. She isn’t sure yet whether she should.

‘Of course.’ Zewu-Jun takes a breath and appears calmer when he looks once again at Lan Wangji. Calmer, but not entirely present, as though he’s having to wrap himself away behind layers of gauze to keep his worry and love from bleeding out, as though he’s no longer entirely touching the world. ‘I will need to send a message to Mingjue-ge, as well. Much needs organising.’

‘Sit with your brother, Zewu-Jun,’ she tells him, needing to do something that will bring tangible results. ‘I will find you writing materials.’

Meng Yao will be within earshot, she is sure, for all that he vanished as soon as they were in this room, and he will know who can be tasked with delivering messages. Meng Yao, she strongly suspects, is a large part of the reason there has been no further fighting, given how he marshalled the few servants and fewer guards in the immediate aftermath of Wen Rouhan’s end.

Looking at it that way, she will have to consider Meng Yao a part of the occupying force. She thinks about the fact the man didn’t speak of Lan Wangji’s presence, of how he drugged Zewu-Jun into unconsciousness. She considers the relative states of Wei Wuxian, the Lans, and Meng Yao, and finds herself speeding up her steps. Zewu-Jun really does need to send those messages.

Meng Yao delivers the messages to people whose obedience he trusts. He has them dress in robes that will not declare them part of the Wen Sect and cautions them on what to say. He saw first-hand how the Nie Sect treated any Wen before they were openly at war. It can hardly be better now.

‘Deliver this into the hands of Sect Leader Nie,’ he tells the one he’s sending to the camp. ‘Nobody else. You understand?’

The one to the Unclean Realm is addressed to Nie Huaisang, Second Master of the Nie Sect, but it’s likely someone else will read it. Huaisang never showed any interest in matters beyond his hobbies.

Once that is taken care of, he moves on to the next issue. There is much in need of attention before Nie Mingjue steps foot in the palace. Of everyone on the winning side, he is the one least likely to accept Meng Yao’s return.

‘A-Lin,’ he says, knowing he doesn’t need to check to be sure the young man is listening attentively, ‘there are some things I need you to take care of in the dungeons.’

Nie Mingjue will find no reason to cast aspersions on Meng Yao. None at all. The cultivation world will see that Meng Yao has been vital to the war-effort. They will see he is worthy of praise and trust. His father will see it. Lan Xichen will be reassured of it. No other outcome can be permitted.

It’s dark when Wei Wuxian slinks into the room. Xichen looks up to find the younger man standing halfway across the space, his gaze fixed heavy and dark on Wangji. That dizi of his is tucked in his belt, and for once his hands are clenched around nothing at his sides.

‘Why are you here at this hour, Wei Wuxian?’ Xichen asks. The words scrape his throat, and he remembers that he turned away a servant offering food and tea some hours ago. ‘You should be resting.’

‘You’re the one who should be resting,’ Wei Wuxian replies. ‘Isn’t it long past your Lan bedtime? I suppose at least Lan Zhan is getting some sleep.’

There is such bitterness in that, layered in with other things Xichen can’t parse. Wei Wuxian sounds jagged and empty. He looks worse.

The blood is gone and his robes are clean, though they don’t seem made for him. A-Yao must have found them somewhere. They’re dark grey and not quite as fine as they should be for Wei Wuxian’s status as first disciple of a great sect. All they manage is to heighten the dark smudges under his eyes and wash the life from his skin. Even in candlelight, there should be more colour to him that this.

The robes Xichen wears are similar, though his are a deep blue-green: the closest A-Yao could find to Lan colours, he explained when he arrived with them. He had a bathtub brought, as well, and placed behind privacy screens, though Xichen only let himself be cajoled into it when Wen Qing promised to sit with Wangji. A-Yao offered to, but…well. There is a lot to be done and only A-Yao able to focus on it, so Xichen can’t let him sit by a bed. It wouldn’t be wise.

Shaking off thoughts of A-Yao, he inclines his head, indicating that Wei Wuxian is welcome to sit. There is no point in chasing him away.

‘I’m not staying,’ Wei Wuxian says, though he moves to the foot of the bed.

‘Wen Qing says Wangji is stable for now,’ Xichen says, when Wangji’s visitor says nothing more. It isn’t easy to share this information, some childish part of Xichen feeling he’s speaking it into existence, as though refusing to say anything will keep it from being real. ‘His core is badly damaged. There is a treatment she used before to lessen the symptoms, but she isn’t able to try it again.’ He draws in a breath, then another, refusing to lose his composure. ‘She said it would kill him.’

‘Then she’ll have to try another treatment,’ Wei Wuxian says, and now he sounds irritated, a little panicked. ‘Why isn’t she here now? Why isn’t she helping him?’

‘Lady Wen is sleeping. There is nothing more she can do just now.’

‘Lady Wen was sleeping,’ Wen Qing grumbles, appearing from behind one of the privacy screens separating the space in two. She has her outer robe thrown over her inner one, but it isn’t settled properly on her shoulders and she holds it closed with her crossed arms. ‘And if I knew of another treatment, Wei Wuxian, I would have tried it already.’

Wei Wuxian’s jaw tenses and he turns to face her as though he’s intending to shout.

‘Don’t,’ she says, low and sharp. She walks up to Wei Wuxian and glares up at him, her unbound hair spilling down her back. ‘I know every medical book in this place. Do you think I don’t? I searched for a cure for A-Ning for years, Wei Wuxian. Believe me, I’ve read every one.’

Wei Wuxian’s lips twist.

‘Look again. You weren’t looking for this. You could have missed something. You missed-‘

He cuts himself off as Wen Qing gasps and darts a look at Xichen. They both appear frozen for a long moment, before Wen Qing drags her attention back to Wei Wuxian and somehow makes herself loom.

‘Zewu-Jun has sent to the Unclean Realm for the books I was using there, and for my notes. As for the books here, you may help yourself. Dig through all of them. But do it after we have all had some sleep.’

Wei Wuxian opens his mouth and Wen Qing lifts one hand as though intending to stab him with something. As far as Xichen can tell, her hand is empty, but it works. Her robe does slip a little off one shoulder.

‘No. If I go looking now, I won’t take anything in. And you are in no state to stay awake for days, especially after what you did in the throne room. You need to get back to whatever bed you’ve been given and stay in it.’

‘You think I can sleep?’

They’re arguing as though they’ve done this before, debated when to take a break from research and when to push on, though Xichen didn’t know they were close. For what must be at least the tenth time since kneeling by Wangji’s bed, Xichen turns over her statement about not giving up on family. Wei Wuxian insisted he didn’t know about Wangji’s affair, but perhaps that was a lie.

‘I think you will try to sleep or I will make you,’ Wen Qing states, still in that quiet, insistent tone. She deflates, closing her eyes on a long blink and rubbing at her forehead. ‘Wei Wuxian, I know how you are when someone you care about is hurt, and believe me, I want him to recover, as well. I don’t want A-Yuan to lose Lan Wangji.’

Xichen sees his chance.

‘You know my nephew, Lady Wen?’

Both of them are looking at Xichen, now, both frowning.

‘Yes,’ Wen Qing says at last. She draws herself together, pulling the robe back up and wrapping it more closely about herself. ‘A-Yuan is my cousin’s child.’

‘A-Yuan is a Wen?’ Wei Wuxian asks, before Xichen has smothered his shock enough to speak.

Perhaps he wasn’t lying. Wangji must not have trusted even his closest friend with knowledge of A-Yuan’s Wen blood.

Wen Qing sighs.

‘No.’ It sounds like it pains her to say it, but she doesn’t waver. ‘He’s a Lan. Right, Zewu-Jun?’

The way she looks at Xichen is a challenge, though he isn’t sure why. He’s already accepted A-Yuan as family and, no matter what any of the elders may say, he won’t let it be otherwise.

‘He is. His name will be written into the genealogy as soon as I return to Gusu.’

And now he knows the mother’s family name. He knows who to ask for the rest.

‘Good,’ she says. ‘Now go to bed and sleep. Both of you. I’ll sit with him for a while.’

Wei Wuxian protests. It seems he is incapable of doing otherwise.

‘You just said you need sleep so you’ll be fit to help Lan Zhan. I won’t sleep anyway, so I’ll sit and watch him. It hardly matters if I sleep tomorrow.’

Xichen doesn’t want to leave either of them to sit by Wangji. He wants to be doing that himself. Wen Qing, however, is as stubborn as a Lan, and at least as fierce, and he finds himself on a pallet at the other end of the room, weariness weighing him down the moment he gives in to it.

He falls asleep to the sound of Wen Qing and Wei Wuxian speaking in hushed voices, apparently still arguing. Amongst all of the awful shocks he’s suffered of late, and whatever the relationship between the them, Xichen is at least soothed by the thought that Wangji has these people who care for him so much. Xichen is not alone in needing Wangji to survive, to recover. The best doctor of her generation and the young man who mastered a new form of cultivation will surely think of something.

A Wen and a Demonic Cultivator, his mind whispers. It sounds like his Uncle, though his uncle never speaks so softly.

My own nephew is part Wen, he tells those thoughts. And she has already helped Wangji. Wei Wuxian is his friend. He would never hurt Wangji deliberately, and he is brilliant in a way that’s needed, when facing an ailment none of them have seen before.

They will think of a way to save Xichen’s brother. They will.

Chapter Text

Once again, someone precious to Wei Wuxian is gravely damaged and he’s standing nearby speaking with Wen Qing in hushed, urgent tones. He was not supposed to be in this situation a second time. At least back in Yiling, they could leave Jiang Cheng’s bedside and argue about his treatment in Wen Qing’s study. Here, she has to stay with Lan Zhan so Zewu-Jun can get some sleep.

He can’t wait until they can leave Lan Zhan under his brother’s supervision, though. He’s been too late to save people too many times. He won’t fail Lan Zhan.

‘You believe me about the time travel?’ he asks Wen Qing, as behind a screen the sounds of Zewu-Jun preparing to sleep peter out. ‘You think it could be the cause? His older core trying to fold in with his existing one?’

Wen Qing has collected a belt and secured her robe, but she still stands with her arms crossed.

‘I believe Lan Wangji about the time travel,’ she corrects. ‘I have no idea if it’s responsible for his state. There are no medical texts on the effects of such a thing, Wei Wuxian.’

Of course, there aren’t.

‘But you checked his core? Wen Qing, you are the best doctor I know. The most knowledgeable about golden cores. You have to be. Who else has…’

Who else has held one, he was going to say, but he catches himself in time. He doesn’t know for certain that Zewu-Jun is asleep.

‘I’ve checked it, yes,’ she says.

‘And?’

The narrow-eyed look she levels at him is assessing. She doesn’t explain what she’s looking for, but after a stretched second her gaze slides over to Lan Zhan and something in her posture gives.

‘And it’s not as straightforward as that.’

Wei Wuxian waits. Desperate as he is for information from a healer whose skill he trusts, he knows pushing Wen Qing will only get him so far. He limbs are aching with the need to be doing something by the time she speaks again, quiet and careful.

‘I was shown the list Zewu-Jun made,’ she says. ‘I know Lan Wangji revealed that he was whipped.’

‘Would have been whipped,’ Wei Wuxian corrects. ‘I know…I know he remembers living it, but it won’t happen now. I swear it.’

And not because Lan Zhan won’t live long enough. He refuses to accept that outcome. It won’t happen because Wei Wuxian won’t let it. Lan Zhan will not have cause to fight his own people on Wei Wuxian’s behalf. Lan Zhan has already been hurt enough by Wei Wuxian.

‘For him, it already happened,’ Wen Qing says, and she doesn’t make it sound like she’s agreeing. ‘When I examined him, I felt the lash marks.’

‘No.’ Something cold like dread and hard like horror slithers into Wei Wuxian’s lungs. ‘No, that can’t be right. Zewu-Jun said they checked. There were no wounds. No scars.’

‘Not on his flesh.’ She looks up at him, her eyes even darker in the dim light of the room. ‘There’s… Sometimes, when a cultivator is injured, their spiritual energy holds onto the memory of it even when their wounds are healed. At first, I thought perhaps it was that, but the amount and type of damage should have left scars. I checked. I agree. There are no scars.’

‘But you said-‘

‘A memory held in the spiritual energy isn’t something the imagination can conjure, do you understand? It isn’t physical in the same way as flesh, but it is real. It isn’t only in his thoughts.’

Perhaps it should feel uncomfortable, to be staring into each other’s eyes like this, but it’s the least uncomfortable part of all this.

‘Lan Zhan said he thought it was just his mind that travelled back, that his body was of this time.’

‘And his core?’

‘I don’t know. He didn’t say.’

They stand in heavy silence for some time, until Wen Qing looks away and rubs a hand over her face. She must be exhausted.

‘Well, his energy behaved as though the lashes were real and very much present, just as they did for the brand on his chest-‘

‘Wait. The what?’

‘Brand mark,’ Wen Qing confirms. ‘There was no mention of it on Zewu-Jun’s list, so I assume Lan Wangji didn’t mention it. It’s…’

Her frown deepens as she lifts her right hand and once again faces Wei Wuxian.

‘Now that I think about it, it’s somewhere about here.’

Her fingertips settle on Wei Wuxian’s chest, right where his robes hide the Wen brand. The jolt he feels has nothing to do with her touch.

‘What of?’ he asks, his voice hoarse. ‘It…not a Wen brand?’

It’s strange enough to think of Lan Zhan carrying any sort of brand at all, let alone in the same spot as Wei Wuxian’s. Lan Zhan’s pale skin should not be marred by anything, but it’s a special sort of wrongness for him to be marked by the Wen, for him to be marked in exactly the same way as Wei Wuxian. He can’t look directly at what that could mean.

Wen Qing shakes her head.

‘No,’ she says. ‘Not the Wen brand. It’s a complicated pattern. Not one I’d seen before. I know I drew it back at the Unclean Realm, but I didn’t bring those notes with me and I can’t recall the details well enough to draw it again. It was something like…’

‘What? Something like what? Show me.’

Her fingers are still splayed over Wei Wuxian’s chest and her expression shifts into concentration as she curls her fingers until only the forefinger is in contact. She bites her lip as she sketches out a shape, looking anything but confident. With a huff of air, she lets her hand drop and shrugs.

‘I can’t remember,’ she says, sounding frustrated. ‘That’s the best I can do.’

But Wei Wuxian catches at her hand and draws it back, guiding her over the shape she just traced against his robes.

‘Like this? It was something like this?’

She nods. ‘Why? You recognise it?’

‘No. Not exactly.’ He should release her hand, but he thinks that point of contact may be the only thing keeping him from spinning off in a random direction and he needs to be sensible about this. Lan Zhan needs him to be sensible about this. ‘It’s just… If it’s anything like what you just drew, then it’s not like any brand mark I’ve learnt about, but it does remind me of something.’

‘What?’

He doubts many people would see the connection. It’s entirely possible it’s one that isn’t there. He knows his own mind well enough, though, to be aware the ways he tangles points together works at least as often as not, and he’s always been fascinated with the subject. He’s trawled through books that have been largely ignored by any but masters on the subject, including some he found in the library at the Cloud Recesses. He needs to get his hands on paper and ink, to draw out the shape and have Wen Qing confirm or adjust it, but he’s already certain enough that he has to pursue it.

‘An array,’ he says.

He looks again at Lan Zhan, who hasn’t moved even the smallest bit this whole time, and feels something fizz in his veins. This could be a thread to some part of the mystery his friend is wrapped up in, and Wei Wuxian is the best person to unravel it. He can do something. At last. Something that will help Lan Zhan instead of harm him.

‘It reminds me of some sort of an array. I’m going to need a proper drawing of it, because someone has burnt an array into Lan Zhan’s body, and I am going to work out what it does.’

‘An array?’

Xichen holds a cup of warm tea only because Wen Qing held it out until he took it, but he hasn’t yet managed to take a sip.

As soon as he woke, he caught the sound of muttering from somewhere in the room, and he emerged from behind the privacy screen to find Wei Wuxian knelt at a low table that wasn’t there the night before, papers strewn across the surface and ink on his right cheek.

Wen Qing noticed Xichen first, only letting him sit at the table and offering tea once she was satisfied he looked a little less worn out. The drawings on the sheets of paper took too much of his attention for him to do more than curl his fingers around the spot of warmth the cup offered. He did not expect Wei Wuxian to shove one of the sheets at him and name it a drawing of an array.

‘Not until he’s drunk the tea,’ Wen Qing insists, from where she’s now once again checking on Wangji.

There’s a new energy to her, just as there is to Wei Wuxian. It’s not exactly reassuring: there’s something slightly frantic about it, something about it that feels as though it may spiral out of control if not properly tended to. Even so, it’s a relief after hearing nothing but cautions to wait and hope the day before.

‘This is something to do with Wangji?’ he asks, and drinks half the cup when Wen Qing clears her throat pointedly. He’s barely lowered it from his lips before he presses on. ‘Could this be what’s caused the qi deviation? Has someone done this to him?’

That thought should enrage him, but something done on purpose perhaps has a solution and, whatever else Wei Wuxian is, he is brilliant with arrays.

Wei Wuxian pulls a face, tapping the end of the brush against his lips as he stares at his current drawing. It’s covered in annotations, though the basic shape at the centre is the same as on many of the other sheets.

‘Not one I know. Maybe I’m wrong, anyway. We need the one Wen Qing drew before, when she first found it. Her memory for arrays isn’t as wonderful as her memory for medical techniques, and she can’t get a fresh impression because Lan Zhan’s energy is so bad, now, that she can’t trace it again, but Nie-xiong will send her notes and the drawing should be with them, and then I can get a clearer look at it. I’m trying to get a head start on it, but of course it’s not far off guesswork with what I have to work on, which is annoying, but even so I can already get a sense of-‘

‘Wei Wuxian, breathe.’ Wen Qing cuts him off, appearing at the table and settling opposite Xichen, to the left of Wei Wuxian. ‘Let me explain at a speed a human can follow.’

Her explanation only helps a little. The tiny bud of hope at this possible finding is offset by learning of yet another injury Wangji has suffered. Other implications are worse.

‘The wounds are real? Even though we can’t see them?’

It’s sickening. He can’t attempt the rest of the tea for fear he will bring it straight back up. For weeks, he’s been clinging to the thought that Wangji can’t really have experienced being whipped. Awful though it’s been to think his brother could imagine it, that he could construct a vivid false-memory of it, that’s better than…than…

‘You believe him now?’ Wei Wuxian asks, the manic edge to him sinking out of sight as cold disdain surfaces.

Xichen meets Wei Wuxian’s eyes and doesn’t know how to respond. The judgement there is hard to face, of a different quality entirely from what he’s used to.

‘It’s not that I didn’t believe Wangji,’ he tries. ‘I knew he wasn’t lying.’

‘You just thought he’d lost his mind,’ Wei Wuxian says flatly.

He sounds bitter now, disgusted, as though for him it really was easier to believe someone could slip backwards through time than it was to doubt Wangji’s version of reality.

‘You have not always accepted Wangji’s words as truth, yourself,’ Xichen points out quietly, though he feels petty for doing so.

Even so, this young man has no right to condemn Xichen for needing proof of something so radical. He has no right to find Xichen wanting in his love for Wangji. Xichen is not the one who’s been rejecting his brother’s help.

Wei Wuxian’s lip curls and he lifts his chin, a warning of violence flashing in his eyes.

‘I know my own mind, my own heart, better than anyone else can know it. Even Lan Zhan. That is hardly the same as you refusing to accept he knows himself.’

Years of experience tell Xichen that anger is a poor base for diplomacy, and he needs to be diplomatic. He can’t risk sending Wei Wuxian into a fury when he’s the one most qualified to pry apart this mysterious, invisible array.

Still, it takes him a moment to centre himself and to ensure his usual calm expression is in place. He takes another sip of the tea to give himself that time and only struggles a little to drink. Nothing another person will notice.

As he sets the cup down, he notes that Wen Qing has a hand on Wei Wuxian’s forearm. Wei Wuxian is glaring at his own clenched fist.

‘The message should reach the Unclean Realm today,’ he says, taking care not to stare at that point of contact. ‘A-Yao has sent someone who can fly there directly. Are you sure Huaisang will know where to find the notes you need, Lady Wen, and that he will include all of them?’

Wen Qing is steadier than Wei Wuxian, though it would be unwise to ignore the wariness that’s wrapped so tightly into everything she does. She’s vulnerable and knows it, Xichen is sure, but seems determined not to let that deter her from her duty as a healer. It’s admirable.

He is aware his own desperation may be making him more willing to trust her. He is also aware he has little choice.

‘I left them in his rooms,’ Wen Qing says. She shoots Wei Wuxian a quelling look when his head whips round and he opens his mouth. ‘Huaisang believes Lan Wangji about the time travel. He is also the one who had me removed from the prison camp and asked me to help. There is nothing untoward about our relationship.’

Wei Wuxian huffs, suddenly looking younger and looser, more as he did when he was studying at Xichen’s sect. His entire body slumps into what looks like petulance, as though the anger of moments before never existed.

‘Well, of course not. You are far too good for him and Huaisang is far to scared of being stabbed to attempt anything, anyway.’

Xichen cannot fathom how this boy survives his own quicksilver emotions. It must be exhausting, to switch from one to another so often, at such speed. His own heart lies tense and heavy in his chest, as it has done for so long now he thinks it may be permanent, and although he just woke up a little while ago, all he wants to do is crawl back to his bedding and sink back under. But he can’t, so he won’t.

‘Is there anything else we should send for, now that we know there’s an array?’ he asks.

‘Until I see Wen Qing’s drawing, I won’t know,’ Wei Wuxian replies, falling back into a more serious demeanour at once. ‘Perhaps collecting any books the Nightless City has on talismans would help. I haven’t had chance to read through anything particular to Qishan Wen on the subject before.’ He turns to Wen Qing and pats the hand still resting on his other forearm. ‘And people can search for Wen Ning, too, right? We need to find him.’

Of course. Lady Wen told Xichen she was looking for her brother.

‘You said you hoped to find him here.’ He recalls Wen Ning. A quiet boy, almost helpless compared to the others on that nighthunt at Biling Lake. ‘You also said the cells were empty apart from me.’

‘I did.’

She says nothing more and she doesn’t look at him directly, but Xichen is gripped by guilt and by fear: naturally, she wants to find her baby brother. He saw enough of their dynamic when they were at the Cloud Recesses to be surprised she hasn’t demanded she be allowed to leave Wangji’s side to search. It would be understandable. It also cannot be allowed.

‘I will ask A-Yao to send servants to bring any books here. As you say, they can report back on anyone they find. Mingjue will also receive my message today. It’s not a long journey when the main road can be taken. There will be enough people, then, for a full search to be conducted.’

She nods, her expression unchanging. Wei Wuxian frowns.

‘Wen Qing doesn’t know arrays well enough to help me. Lan Zhan is stable. Why should she wait any longer to look for her brother?’

‘Wangji is stable now, yes, but can we trust he will remain that way?’ Xichen should never have let Wangji out of his sight. It won’t be happening again. Wen Qing won’t be leaving him, either. Xichen will deal with what this says about him later. ‘I assure you, Lady Wen, your brother will be found, but many people can search for one boy. My brother needs you here.’

Her eyes light up with emotion, but before Xichen can decipher it, she drags it back under and regards him steadily.

‘I have already told you I won’t give up on Lan Wangji,’ she says, ‘but I doubt anything in his condition will change in the next few hours. I’ve concentrated on your brother, Zewu-Jun, because I don’t know exactly where to look for A-Ning and because I’m a healer, but Wei Wuxian makes a good point. If I-‘

‘Can you promise me nothing will change?’ Xichen asks.

She breaks eye-contact first.

‘You’re going to keep her here?’ Wei Wuxian demands. ‘Is Wen Qing your prisoner, Zewu-Jun?’

Xichen doesn’t flinch. He does feel the edges of his smile harden.

‘I would not do such a thing,’ he says, and is almost sure he isn’t trying to persuade himself.

‘Wei Wuxian, leave it,’ Wen Qing says. She pulls her hand free and stands, neat and composed and hiding any sign of how she feels about being denied. ‘Zewu-Jun is right. There’s no point in looking by myself when I’m not sure where to start. It is generous of him to get people to look in my place.’

This woman, Xichen is reminded, served Wen Rouhan, even as the man lost himself to resentful energy. It’s…unpleasant to think she’s using the same placating obedience now that she may have used on that man. Unpleasant, but better than her leaving Wangji’s side.

‘Then where are you going?’ Wei Wuxian demands, as she turns to move away from the table.

‘Lan Wangji is not the only one under my care,’ she replies. ‘I’ve made you a tonic. It should be ready by now. I expect you to drink it.’

And that’s another thing. Wei Wuxian has resisted any and all efforts made by Wangji, turning away healing music played by a foremost practitioner, yet he doesn’t attempt to argue when Wen Qing insists on treating him. Xichen did not realise the two were so close.

Xichen finds himself watching her as Wen Qing crosses to the workstation she’s made herself at the side of the room, so he sees her rest her palms on the table top for a moment, shoulders sagging, before she straightens and reaches for a flask.

‘I want Lan Zhan safe and well, Zewu-Jun,’ Wei Wuxian mutters, ‘but you had better hold to your word Wen Ning will be found. Don’t make her choose between your brother and hers.’

After everything they’ve gone through, none of them are strangers to hard choices, Xichen is sure. In this, though, he can only stay quiet, because he’s starting to fear what he may be capable of if such a choice needs to be made.

He pours himself more tea and doesn’t reply.

Chapter Text

Jiang Yanli is securing the last end of a bandage around a young Nie woman’s arm when she hears the commotion. It starts as raised voices in the distance, the words unintelligible, and moves closer in shouts and sudden movement. She shares a look with her patient before tidying away her things and rising. If it’s an attack, there is nothing that panicking will do to help.

‘Maiden Jiang.’

Jin Zixuan’s voice stops her as she leaves the healer’s tent. He’s only a few steps away, clearly heading towards the place she’s leaving, and she cautions herself not to look him up and down. There have only been minor skirmishes the last few days, but still, she worries. Needlessly, perhaps, given how skilled Jin Zixuan is, but her parents were skilled, too. Even so, she would be taking liberties to openly show concern. If he’s injured, he will say so.

‘Ah. I’m uninjured, Maiden Jiang,’ he says, sounding flustered.

Jiang Yanli pulls her gaze away from his body and meets his eyes, her lips parting despite not having any apology lined up. She turns it into a smile of greeting even as her cheeks flush, and notes how the colour in his face rises, too, how he glances away and adjusts his robes before looking back at her.

‘I’m on my way to meet with the Sect Leaders,’ he says. ‘I thought, as Sect Leader Jiang is out on reconnaissance, that perhaps you would agree to let me escort you.’

She still isn’t used to this. It’s a pleasant change, to be sure, but she’s spent so many years knowing that Jin Zixuan holds her in no great regard, that finding him so willing, so eager, to find ways to spend time with her is almost as odd as being at war. Maybe more so. There is something humdrum and dull about war for the most part, whereas every time this man seeks her out it feels like a surprise, like a gift.

A gift she still isn’t sure she should accept, a confusing gift, but a gift all the same.

‘We’re not under attack,’ she says, part looking for confirmation and part to move them on from staring at each other. Her skin feels heated.

‘No,’ Jin Zixuan agrees, and they fall into step as though they’ve been walking companionably together for much longer than a few weeks. ‘A messenger arrived for Chifeng-Zun. The patrol that brought him in claims the war is over.’ He sighs. ‘People are celebrating.’

‘You think they’re mistaken?’

‘I think we shouldn’t speculate until we hear what the messenger has to say.’

Jiang Yanli shoots him an approving look and pretends not to see how he ducks his head, looking pleased.

‘If more people thought as you do on the matter of rumours and reactions, our world would be better for it,’ she tells him.

They don’t speak again until they’re at the meeting, A-Cheng looking over from where he’s speaking with a Nie and noticeably losing some of the tension in his shoulders. He must be just back from his patrol, the hem of his robes splashed with dirt he would never allow to remain for longer than necessary, and he looks tired.

‘A-Jie,’ he greets her, gesturing her over.

This, too, is new. A-Cheng and A-Xian argued about it, but in the end it was agreed Jiang Yanli would start attending the meetings at least some of the time.

‘If the Peacock can drag along those arrogant bastards to every meeting, just because they share blood, then you can take the best person we know,’ A-Xian stated during their final debate on the matter.

‘Wei Wuxian,’ A-Cheng ground out, ‘he only brings the same man. His cousin. Jin-‘

‘I don’t care.’

A-Xian punctuated his opinion with a wave of his hand before tipping the last of his wine into his mouth. If Jiang Yanli ignored the faint tremble of his hand, the waxy paleness of his skin, it almost looked like casual disregard.

Naturally, A-Cheng took this as another sign that their brother was pulling away from them, that he didn’t take his duties seriously, but A-Xian told her in private that he was finding it harder and harder not to hit some of the people over the head with his flute.

‘I need to focus on my cultivation, Shijie,’ he told her, the childish whine in his voice making her itch to inspect him for harm. ‘Everyone is so concerned I’ll lose control, which I won’t! But they seem determined to destroy every bit of control I have by being such idiots. Please, help your Xianxian. He can’t deal with people like Shijie can.’

Watered-down truths and flattery, she thought, but did what she could to bring about an agreement. If A-Xian couldn’t always be there to support A-Cheng, then she would step in, even if her presence is accepted more easily by some than by others.

Today, Jin Zixun is already in the tent, and he only sneers at her once. An improvement. He hasn’t dared to mention the rumours about Hanguang-Jun and her in almost a week, not even obliquely, but she doesn’t let herself believe he’s given up on them. She focuses on her brother, not letting herself look over as Jin Zixuan goes to stand by his cousin, and doesn’t let any of her ongoing annoyance show.

Chifeng-Zun arrives almost at once, holding in his hand a roll of paper and followed by a young man dressed in non-descript robes.

‘News from Nightless City,’ Chifeng-Jun announces, his tone giving no sign of whether the news is good or bad.

‘Who is this man?’ Jin Zixun asks. ‘I don’t recognise him.’

‘Zewu-Jun sent him,’ Chifeng-Zun says, as though that ends the matter, though more than one person shifts and frowns. ‘He’s been working for our spy in Wen Rouhan’s court.’

‘What spy?’ one minor sect leader calls out.

‘Zewu-Jun is in Nightless City?’ another asks.

Others join in. Jiang Yanli shares a look with her brother. She sees worry in A-Cheng’s eyes and is sure her own reflect it, but nobody is yet asking whether A-Xian disappeared to the same place. Rumours have placed him in all manner of locations, on all manner of tasks, as they have Zewu-Jun, but only a handful of people were told the truth.

This is the first Jiang Yanli has heard of a spy.

‘Enough,’ Chifeng-Zun states, and quells any further muttering with his glare. ‘Zewu-Jun and Wei Wuxian entered Nightless City in order to assassinate Wen Rouhan. They have been successful.’

A fresh wave of noise swells and is cut off. Jiang Yanli sees grins, hears shouts of joy, but there’s a tension in Chifeng-Zun that makes her desperate for firm news of A-Xian. She wouldn’t expect the leader of the Nie Sect to beam with joy, but he is far too grim for a general announcing victory without having lost any more soldiers. Indeed, he sighs heavily before he goes on.

‘It has not been without cost,’ he says. His glare cuts to the Jiangs and softens, just a bit. ‘Wei Wuxian is unharmed.’

The relief she feels at those words is enough to sway her against A-Cheng, who wraps a trembling arm around her. A-Xian is unharmed. A-Xian is alive, then, and their enemy is dead. Surely, now, they can go home. Soon, she will be able to collect both of her brothers and see them safe at Lotus Pier, which they will rebuild. For now, she won’t think about all that will entail. She will only think of the fact they will be home, the three of them. They can start healing.

‘And Zewu-Jun?’ Jin Zixuan asks.

Guilt pricks at Jiang Yanli, that she so quickly fell into her own thoughts and forgot about the man she so recently saw worrying for his own younger brother.

‘Recovering,’ Chifeng-Zun says. ‘They faced Wen Rouhan’s monsters. It seems those creatures turned on their own people before the end.’

‘I hope every Wen-dog was ripped to pieces,’ someone calls out.

The man standing just behind Chifeng-Zun flinches. As far as Jiang Yanli can tell, he has yet to meet anyone’s eyes and he looks nervous even beyond that of someone finding themselves surrounded by high born gentry. She knows better than to draw attention to it.

‘When do we break camp?’ A-Cheng asks. His arm withdraws from Jiang Yanli smoothly enough that only those closest are likely to have noticed and thankfully nobody comments. He adopts one of the stances he uses when he’s concerned his age will deduct from his rank, perhaps more suitable for a battlefield than for a meeting. ‘Two men can carry out an assassination, but holding an entire palace, let alone a city, needs more.’

‘Sect Leader Jiang is right,’ Jin Zixuan says. ‘We should move in and secure the city as soon as possible.’

It’s a mark of how things have changed that A-Cheng nods in agreement with no sign of irritation.

‘We will break camp and move out as soon as this meeting is done,’ Chifeng-Zun says, with a nod to Jin Zixuan. ‘However, covering that distance with our full force and camp followers will take time. I’ll go on ahead to support Zewu-Jun in consolidating our position.’

Jiang Yanli can’t help but frown. She understands his desire to be on the ground, but with Zewu-Jun already there it surely makes more sense to send people to follow the man’s commands rather than for Chifeng-Zun to go himself. There is something more to this.

‘You shouldn’t go alone.’ Jin Zixun pauses as agreement swells around him and goes on when quiet returns. ‘I’ll go with you. Our Jin Sect understands the importance of finishing this war properly.’

Jiang Yanli feels A-Cheng shift beside her, likely holding himself back from insisting the same for his own reasons. A-Xian is there without them and, despite not having spoken of it, she doubts A-Cheng has forgotten Zewu-Jun’s words any more than she has: Lan Wangji thought A-Xian was dead. He thought A-Xian was dead, and A-Xian believes Lan Wangji has lived in the future. A-Xian, who is so brilliant, so capable of making connections others miss, of giving his trust where others hesitate. A-Xian who was apart from his siblings for three months and came back hollowed out.

She turns to her youngest brother and finds him looking back at her.

‘Chifeng-Zun,’ A-Cheng says, looking away from her only after he’s started speaking, ‘There is no need to trouble the Jin Sect. Jiang Sect’s head disciple is already at Nightless City. I would prefer to hear his report as soon as possible.’

‘Very well.’ Chifeng-Zun turns to Jin Zixuan. ‘I place the camp in your hands, Young Master Jin.’

Responsibility is a good look on Jin Zixuan, Jiang Yanli thinks, as he accepts the assignment and promises to see everyone safely to their destination. At his side, his cousin frowns, his mouth pulling into a discontented shape, but he doesn’t protest. It is a disaster averted, that. She dreads to think what would happen with Jin Zixun and A-Xian being left together almost unsupervised.

The meeting ends shortly after, and Jiang Yanli makes A-Cheng promise to wait until she has fetched a few things for A-Xian before he leaves.

‘A-Jie, you’ll see him yourself soon,’ he tells her, but she watches him walk over to Chifeng-Zun and hears him ask a question that will require some discussion. Her brother has always been good to her. Perhaps he will discover what has happened for Chifeng-Jun to be so insistent on getting to Nightless City himself.

On her way out of the tent, she pauses briefly by Jin Zixuan and shares a small smile. Jin Zixun is muttering something to his cousin and she needs to make it to her own tent and back, but she can’t resist that moment of contact.

One of her brother’s is going to make sure the other is safe, their enemy is gone, and Jin Zixuan is going to escort her to the ending of this war. Jiang Yanli thinks she can permit herself to feel warmed by that.

Wen Qing manages to persuade Zewu-Jun to leave the room a couple of hours after breakfast. She watches him depart with Meng Yao and notes the way Wei Wuxian stares after them both.

‘You don’t trust him?’ she asks, once enough time has passed to make the question safe.

‘Which one?’ Wei Wuxian responds.

By now he’s back to scribbling over a sketch of the shape she remembers and he’s clearly only paying her partial attention, but she wasn’t going to risk being overheard.

‘I meant Meng Yao,’ she replies, frowning, ‘but…’

Her silence must catch his attention where her words did not, because Wei Wuxian sets down his brush and turns to her. He has an ink mark on one cheek.

‘You think we shouldn’t trust Zewu-Jun?’ he asks.

Wen Qing believed what Lan Wangji told her. Of course, she did. If not, she wouldn’t have journeyed here with him, would not have declared him family or allowed that he is A-Yuan’s father. Even so, it strikes her hard, to hear Wei Wuxian say ‘we’. He says it simply, as though it really is so easy for him to align himself with her. With a Wen.

‘I think he loves his little brother very much and is filled with worry for him. I think he is exhausted, and desperate for the fighting to be done.’

Wei Wuxian looks thoughtful, sounding contemplative as he asks, ‘And you think that makes him untrustworthy?’

‘I think he is a powerful man soon to be surrounded by other powerful men, ones who will not be tolerant of a Wen.’

‘So, you think the other sect leaders will try to turn Zewu-Jun against you?’ He shakes his head. ‘You’re the best person to help Lan Zhan. Even if they could talk Zewu-Jun out of doing what is right-‘

‘And what is right, Wei Wuxian?’ she asks, leaning in and setting her hand on his arm. ‘He has an entire sect to lead. I am but one woman, no matter how skilled, and there are other healers. I cannot afford to upset Zewu-Jun when he is the sect leader who wants me somewhere other than a cell. Wei Wuxian, please…’ She has to take a breath and it feels wet. ‘I haven’t found Wen Ning.’

He still shows no sign of grasping what she means. She makes herself stay calm. Already, she has seen that Wei Wuxian is volatile and she knows from Lan Wangji’s memories that he can be worse, but he has to be made aware of what is at stake.

‘The sects won’t suffer the Wen Sect to rise again,’ she says. ‘I have to find Wen Ning and get him away from them. I have to get as many of my people as I can away from them, including the ones being held at Qinghe. I won’t be able to do that if Zewu-Jun decides I must be made to stay by his brother’s side, and I won’t be able to do it if he decides I am too much trouble and turns me over to the others. To the Jin Sect.’

Wei Wuxian’s brow wrinkles.

‘But why would the Jin-‘

She tightens her fingers hard enough to silence him. He does so with a gasp, but his eyes show surprise rather than rage, so she pushes on.

‘Lan Wangji told me about the work camps. About Qiongqi way and the Burial Mounds.’

He flinches, his expression wounded.

‘I don’t know anything about Qiongqi way,’ he mutters, no longer meeting her eyes, ‘or any work camps.

Wen Qing sighs and doesn’t press him on the third subject. She hopes she has time to explain everything before Zewu-Jun or Meng Yao return, but if Wei Wuxian is under the impression they are safe now, just because Wen Rouhan is dead, then he must be made to understand. Lan Wangji was clear that Wei Wuxian’s fate is tied to her people, and Wei Wuxian himself just spoke of them as a group.

‘You wouldn’t let him tell you much,’ she says, and refuses to loosen her grip when his arm jerks, ‘but I listened to him. Nie Huaisang and I listened. We questioned. No, don’t interrupt. There are things you need to know, and I am going to tell you.’

His lips part as though he means to protest, but after a moment he presses them together and nods.

She begins.

Huaisang takes the letter out into his courtyard and reads it again, as though it will look any different under direct sunlight.

‘Lady Wen requests her notes,’ he murmurs to himself, lingering on the relevant part of the message. ‘Ah, Wangji-xiong, she did warn you this was a bad idea.’

Still, the notes will be easy enough to deliver, given they’re already collected together in a box in Huaisang’s rooms. She wants the books, too, and he isn’t sure whether that means just the ones she left with the notes, so he will have to consult the healers. Better to take every book they have than to leave one behind that Wen Qing may need.

Some may have to travel by carriage, if there are too many, but he will send the more obviously useful ones with cultivators who are strong enough to fly to Nightless City at speed. It won’t be so difficult to arrange.

No, the greater problem is what to do about Granny Wen and A-Yuan.

No matter how he thinks it over, Huaisang simply isn’t comfortable with his options.

‘Sang-gege!’

Huaisang has time to spin and crouch before A-Yuan crashes into him. The boy half climbs Huaisang until he’s picked up properly and hugged, and Huaisang rises to his feet with A-Yuan wrapped around him to find Granny Wen looking exasperated.

‘I’m sorry, Second Master Nie. I didn’t mean for A-Yuan to disturb you.’

It’s a conversation they’ve had many times in the days since Wangji-xiong and Wen Qing left for Nightless City. With time short and secrecy paramount, not to mention Wangji-xiong’s…strong opinions on who should be allowed to take care of the boy, Huaisang’s own rooms seemed the only workable choice. Lan Qiren would hardly stoop to questioning the servants who clean Huaisang’s rooms and wouldn’t think to search for A-Yuan here.

It does mean Huaisang has spent a lot more time than he ever thought he would entertaining a small boy. A small boy who likes to cling and chatter and who wants to be involved in everything. Though A-Yuan has shown talent at recognising the different birds he’s shown.

‘Not to worry,’ Huaisang assures Granny Wen. ‘I wanted to speak with you both anyway. I am going away for a little while, and-‘

He gets no further because A-Yuan bursts into tears. The little boy’s words are almost impossible to make out though the sobbing, but Huaisang hears enough to get a sense of the problem: A-Yuan doesn’t want to be left behind.

‘Oh. Oh, A-Yuan. No. You won’t be on your own. Your Granny will be with you, still.’

That doesn’t stop the crying.

‘But I can’t take you with me,’ he says, shooting a desperate look at Granny Wen, who hovers close enough to set a comforting hand on A-Yuan’s back but doesn’t seem to have any magic words to hand. ‘It’s such a long way, and there will be so many people. And I really don’t think a little boy should be there where a war just ended.’

A-Yuan, clearly and loudly, thinks differently. Huaisang really is much weaker to the child than he expected to be.

‘Well,’ he sighs, ‘I suppose everyone knows I am a lazy young master who will want to travel by carriage. But you must be very good and very quiet on the way, do you hear me, A-Yuan? Nobody else can know you are with me, okay?’

The tears stop so quickly that, if he did not already know A-Yuan incapable of such a thing, Huaisang would think they were false. A gasp and a smile replace them.

‘I’ll be so quiet nobody will hear me!’ A-Yuan announces, before bursting into questions about how they will travel and what will be waiting at the other end.

Granny Wen looks at him with mild reproach, but as far as Huaisang is concerned, if she wanted A-Yuan to stay at the Unclean Realm then she should have stepped in and helped. And now he will need to arrange for a suitable carriage for A-Yuan and himself, not to mention working out whether Granny Wen will be safe here by herself.

Really, Da-ge had better not complain that Huaisang is lax in any duties, because he’s been working harder since Lan Wangji arrived at Qinghe than he ever has. At least this will all be over soon and he can return to the life he is meant to lead. Just a few more details to work on, that’s all.

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian can’t stay in the room after that. Wen Qing assures him she’ll stay with Lan Zhan, as though she has any choice with the way Zewu-Jun reacted to the suggestion of her leaving.

At first, he intends to go back to his room, but he’ll find no answers there. Besides, Wei Wuxian’s thoughts feel thick and clouded in his skull, but the rest of him is restless. He can’t sit and think this through, because he’s fighting the urge to run. To or away isn’t clear. Perhaps just for the sake of movement. Shutting himself in another room will only make him worse.

The few servants he sees bow as he passes, not a single one of them giving him a glimpse of their face. They look scared. Perhaps they are right to be.

He wonders whether these people, too, were rounded up and made to pay for Wen Rouhan’s crimes, or whether only those with the name Wen, the ones of the main family and its branches, were taken. Wen Qing was certain nobody with the name survived, but a sect, the region it serves, isn’t made up of only one family.

The servants here are working under Meng Yao for now, cooking and cleaning and carrying for the leader of another great sect. Would Zewu-Jun really condemn them?

But Zewu-Jun must have approved of what happened to the Wens. The cultivation world claims to listen to the Lan on matters of ethics, and Jin Guangshan could not have swept the remaining Wens away unless his fellow leaders allowed it, surely. At the very least, Zewu-Jun did not feel it should be stopped.

‘The sects judged us all guilty,’ Wen Qing said, low and insistent, ‘no matter our actions or abilities. Being Wen was enough.’

Sick of the fear, Wei Wuxian takes the first doorway he finds that leads to the outside. He needs air.

He finds himself in a courtyard, lined with boxes filled with plants, and is struck still by it. All these plants, so obviously tended with care, so clearly kept healthy and flourishing, in a place of torture and death. Whoever had the task of nurturing these green and growing things, with their scattered bursts of colour, could well be dead already.

Wen Rouhan’s puppets and fierce corpses tore through the palace. He heard Meng Yao report on the death toll, though he was busy chasing references through one text after another and isn’t sure he heard the exact number. Enough to make Zewu-Jun comment on it.

But if they aren’t already dead, the sects will see to it that they die anyway. They will sentence those who water flowers for the crimes of a man who ordered thousands killed.

It can’t be allowed. Those people he walked past, the children playing and the girl sitting in a doorway, the stallholders and parents and everyone else, are no more or less guilty of Wen Rouhan’s crimes than…than A-Yuan is.

Even the Jin are not uniformly awful. The Peacock, for all of his faults, has shown no sign he sees women as his father does. Not all of the Lan are the same. Zewu-Jun and Lan Zhan are called twins, but anyone can see the differences. Anyone even thinking the Nie are all alike has never met Chifeng-Zun or Huaisang.

If Wen Rouhan and his sons could doom every Wen by association, what does that mean Wei Wuxian is doing to the Jiang Sect? To the ordinary citizens of Yunmeng? Perhaps leaving was the only way to keep them safe.

‘You took us to the Burial Mounds,’ Wen Qing told him. ‘Lan Wangji said we lived there for over a year.’

A year. Over a year, stuck back in the Burial Mounds, as though he never dragged himself out. And he took others to suffer there, too? He took them there and trapped them away behind wards and they all slowly starved together. All except Wen Ning, because Wen Ning was not truly alive.

‘I can’t let it happen that way again, Wei Wuxian. Do you understand me?’ And her eyes held him pinned, the fury in them all defensive. ‘Lan Wangji has sworn to help me save my people. Nie Huaisang has agreed to speak for me. But I can’t risk alienating Zewu-Jun. We can’t.’

They killed the remaining Wens for existing. They killed Wei Wuxian for attempting to protect them. Why didn’t Lan Zhan tell him that? He said it was because the sects feared Wei Wuxian’s power, but clearly that power was not enough to save the people he was trying to keep alive.

His power wasn’t needed, in the end, to put down Wen Rouhan: Lan Zhan already dealt with that. Wei Wuxian just…helped it along.

‘They killed all of your people?’ he asked Wen Qing, the same way he used to ask Shijie if she really had to marry into another sect. ‘Even the children?’

She hesitated, he’s almost sure of it, but she shook her head.

‘Lan Wangji told me there was nobody left in these lands with the name of Wen.’

If only he could think. Lan Zhan is the one who’s lived through this. Lan Zhan has to know more, must have some idea of how to prevent this. If – when – Wei Wuxian and Wen Qing get Lan Zhan stable enough for him to wake up, they can get more information.

He has no idea where in the palace he is or how to get back to Lan Zhan’s room, but he doesn’t have the time to tackle this a few books at a time.

The first servant he finds after he leaves the courtyard pales as he calls for her, not quite able to hide the way her hands tremble, but she leads him to the library and that’s all he needs.

The city appears almost deserted as they fly over, and Mingjue finds himself scowling. If the Wens have hidden themselves away, or fled, they will need tracking down, digging up, and dealing with. It’s not something Xichen is likely to have thought about.

For now, at least it’s a damn sight better than rioting or retaliation.

There’s still no sign of any attempt to fight back by the time he lands in the plaza before the palace, Jiang Wanyin touching down at his side. It isn’t empty, though the two lines of servants and guards at either side, forming a pathway up to the top of the steps, are dwarfed by the size of the building itself. He wonders how many are Wens, how many were already working for the other sects and how many switched sides when they realised the war had been lost.

It’s enough to distract him from the figure at the top of the stairs until he’s almost level with him, and he doesn’t try to stop the flash of anger when he recognises that simpering face.

‘Meng Yao.’

He hears Jiang Wanyin’s steps falter, but he doesn’t look around to see how the younger sect leader is otherwise responding to the barely buried fury in Mingjue’s tone. The kid’s just brought what remains of his sect through a war. He can handle a bit of anger that isn’t even aimed at him.

‘Chifeng-Zun,’ Meng Yao greets him with that infuriating smile and perfect bow, as though he hasn’t heard the way his own name was just treated. ‘Sect Leader Jiang. Welcome.’

‘And why are you greeting us?’ Mingjue demands. ‘Is this where you’ve been lurking?’

Meng Yao bows again, an edge of nervousness, a hint of apology showing on what Mingjue still sees of his face. He knows better than to take that as the truth. Still, he waits for an explanation.

‘You’re the spy,’ Jiang Wanyin says, before Meng Yao gets chance to utter whatever excuses he was about to come up with. ‘You’ve been here working for Zewu-Jun.’

He sounds impatient, but not suspicious. Eager to see his head disciple, no doubt. From what Mingjue saw when they visited the Unclean Realm, the two are close. The stress of war has strained their interactions since Wei Wuxian reappeared from wherever the Wen threw him, but they’ll have chance to put that behind them now the war is done. The fighting part of it, at any rate.

‘I…’ Meng Yao doesn’t entirely straighten up from his bow, his gaze flickering over to Mingjue and back to the ground. He’s the very image of hopeful contrition. He sighs, a tremulous smile making him seem younger and more vulnerable. ‘I confess, I worried about keeping my identity a secret, but in a time of war-‘

‘Where’s Xichen?’ Mingjue cuts him off. He isn’t going to stand here and listen to this creature and his well-oiled words. A sword should be oiled. Words should not. ‘I need to speak with him at once.’

As smoothly as ever, Meng Yao adjusts to Mingjue’s demands, inviting both sect leaders to follow him inside and giving a brief report of the current state of things as they walk. The report shows a secure grasp of what is going on. Meng Yao has burrowed in well, it seems. Mingjue’s right hand twitches, but he leaves Baxia sheathed. Xichen will be upset if his little spy ends up losing his head.

Begrudgingly, Mingjue admits removing Meng Yao would also make their job here harder. The man already has people organised retrieving the bodies from the final confrontation and preparing them for burial.

‘There have been enough resentful spirits created by this war, I think,’ Meng Yao says sadly. ‘I have had Wen Rouhan’s remains moved from the throne room, but they will be available for any who need to see them.’

As proof their enemy is truly dead. No doubt at least one sect leader will demand something awful be done to the body, but that isn’t worth worrying about at present. After what Wen Rouhan did to Mingjue’s father, he can’t summon much horror at the idea, in any case.

The remaining guards, Meng Yao insists, are loyal to the victors, which seems unlikely. A man as paranoid as Wen Rouhan surely wouldn’t end up with so many traitors in his ranks. But their own people will be here soon and the palace can be cleared out then, if needs be.

‘And Wei Wuxian?’ Jiang Wanyin asks. ‘Where is he?’

‘With Hanguang-Jun and Zewu-Jun,’ Meng Yao says.

Jiang Wanyin breathes out sharply through his nostrils, though it can’t be a surprise to him that Wangji is here, or that he’s hurt. Mingjue told him as much in private before they set off.

‘How is Wangji?’ Mingjue asks.

The message made it clear the boy was badly injured but said nothing about the condition that sent him away from the war.

‘Not good,’ Meng Yao says. ‘I…I understand the need not to spread panic, but Zewu-Jun must know it will get out eventually. It is good that you are here, Sect Leader Jiang.’

He doesn’t explain why he makes those two statements sound connected, and Mingjue isn’t interested in asking. Perhaps Wei Wuxian has been making a nuisance of himself, bothering Wangji when the boy needs to focus on healing. From what Xichen has said, it’s entirely possible.

As they pass a linking hallway, Jiang Wanyin stops abruptly. Mingjue turns to find him staring down the other hallway, scowling.

‘Problem?’ he asks.

‘I see Wei Wuxian,’ Jiang Wanyin says.

‘Not with Xichen, then,’ Mingjue points out.

He glances at Meng Yao, whose smile flickers and steadies, though there’s a strain to it he doesn’t normally allow to show.

‘I was under the impression books were being brought to Wei Wuxian, but perhaps he’s elected to visit the library himself. His interests are…unorthodox. I imagine it is difficult for the servants to predict what he will need.’

Mingjue narrows his eyes.

‘What’s he researching? Xichen’s message said the Yin Iron was under control.’

‘It is in Wei Wuxian’s control,’ Meng Yao says, not quite making it sound like a correction. ‘I’m afraid he hasn’t shared with me whether the research is about that.’

Jiang Wanyin darts a look at Meng Yao and then at Mingjue.

‘As his sect leader, Wei Wuxian will tell me,’ he says, and offers Mingjue a brief bow. ‘Chifeng-Zun, I’m sure Zewu-Jun would prefer to speak first with his close friend, especially when his brother’s health is involved. I’ll speak with my brother and meet with you later.’

Mingjue can’t help but think the young man is right. For all his seeming friendliness, Xichen is not much less private than Wangji.

‘Agreed,’ he says, and wastes no more time on the matter.

Meng Yao isn’t quite so quick to resume walking, and Mingjue is almost sure he isn’t meant to see the way Meng Yao looks consideringly after Jiang Wanyin.

‘Come on,’ Mingjue says. ‘Xichen shouldn’t be left alone by his little brother’s sickbed.’

‘Of course,’ Meng Yao replies, but for once he sounds distracted, and there’s a shadow of something in his eyes as he turns away from that other hallway that makes Mingjue only want to reach Xichen more quickly.

There’s no telling what danger lurks in this benighted place.

‘Wei Wuxian!’

Jiang Cheng’s voice echoes down the hallway, halting Wei Wuxian in his steps. With his back to that end of the hallway, he can’t see his brother, but there’s a wealth of worry in the shout.

‘Jiang Cheng?’ he asks, turning slowly enough that the teetering pile of books and scrolls he has tucked under his chin doesn’t spill. ‘Is the army here already?’

It’s entirely possible he’s lost time, somewhere. He’s almost sure it’s only been one night since he left what remained of Wen Rouhan on the floor, but perhaps it’s been longer.

‘I flew ahead with Chifeng-Zun,’ Jiang Cheng says, striding towards Wei Wuxian with intent. There’s half a hallway between them, but he’s approaching at speed, glaring at Wei Wuxian. ‘You look like shit. Haven’t you slept? When did you last eat?’

He gives Wei Wuxian no chance to reply before grabbing him by the shoulders and pulling him into a hug. It’s brief and fierce and he keeps hold of Wei Wuxian’s shoulders after, gaze searching.

‘Seriously, you don’t look well. Were you hurt?’

‘Not me.’

Wei Wuxian walked away tacky with drying blood, but hardly any of it was his own. He is still tired, still hollowed out, still feels the resentful energy scraping at the underside of his skin, but he wasn’t the one hurt.

Jiang Cheng sighs and shakes his head, finally letting go of Wei Wuxian.

‘Yeah. I heard about Lan Wangji. What was he doing, turning up here when his core is unstable?’

‘I don’t know,’ Wei Wuxian murmurs.

‘And all of this?’ Jiang Cheng gestures at the books and scrolls. ‘What’s this about? Meng Yao said you told him the Yin Iron was secure. Is this to find a way to destroy it?’

Ah, the Yin Iron. Yes, he will have to do something about that, he supposes.

‘It’s to help Lan Zhan,’ he says, part of his mind circling the issue of that iron now that Jiang Cheng has brought it up, ‘He… It’s not good.’

His brother’s brow furrows, this time into something confused and concerned and irritable all mixed together.

‘And you think you can do what about that? When did you become a doctor?’ He does reach out this time, slapping Wei Wuxian on the arm. ‘Can’t you finally leave Lan Wangji alone? Let Zewu-Jun take care of his own brother. You should be helping A-Jie and me with our own sect.’

Wei Wuxian can’t help it. He flinches. He flinches and tries to pass it off as an exaggeration, as teasing, but too many thoughts are tumbling through his head. Their sect. Because Jiang Cheng is a sect leader, too.

It hurts, to think that Jiang Cheng, that Shijie, could let the last of the Wens die on a mountain of corpses.

‘Jiang Cheng,’ he asks, knowing he sounds too urgent, ‘you know not everyone called Wen is to blame, right? They aren’t all the same. Wen Ning and Wen Qing even helped us.’

‘Why are you asking this?’

Did Jiang Cheng not see anyone in the city? Has he not realised that something must be decided about the people yet living in Wen territory? About any remaining members of the sect itself, at the very least, though Wen Qing made it sound as though the destruction spread further.

‘Wen Qing is here,’ he says, because Jiang Cheng knows some of what they owe to her, and he’s always found it easier to care about people he knows. ‘Right now, she’s in Lan Zhan’s room, doing what she can to keep him stable. Jiang Cheng, she got him here. He’s the one who ran Wen Rouhan through, and Wen Qing got him here, but do you really think people are going to just accept that she’s on our side?’

‘What?’ Jiang Cheng looks around as though checking for listeners before fixing his attention back on Wei Wuxian. There’s the tell-tale flicker of frustration in his eyes. ‘Look, if Wen Qing really helped Lan Wangji kill Wen Rouhan, then of course she’s different. The Lan Sect will speak for her. She’ll be protected.’

‘And the rest of them?’ Wei Wuxian demands. ‘There’s a whole city out there. You think any of those people had a chance to go against a near-immortal? Do they deserve to die for that?’

‘You want me to save a whole city full of strangers?’ Jiang Cheng’s voice snaps with real anger, now. ‘Wei Wuxian! I have a sect to rebuild. Our own people to protect. What makes you think anyone cares about the people in the city, anyway?’

‘Lan Zhan said-‘

‘Lan Wangji again. Is this another of his visions from the future? Haven’t we enough to deal with as it is, without worrying about his delusions?’

Wei Wuxian feels rage laced with resentment well up in response, and the image of Lan Zhan on the ground, surrounded by blood, flashes through his mind.

He can’t let that happen. Not again. Never again. If he hurts his brother…

‘Wei Wuxian?’

Jiang Cheng sounds worried, now, and further away. Wei Wuxian realises he’s stumbled backwards, dropping a couple of books and a scroll as he’s gone, and he has himself pressed with his back against the wall. He feels hunched and ragged. His lungs hurt.

‘I’m fine,’ he says. ‘I’m fine. Just…’ The anger is still there, pushed down. Simmering. He breathes in and out slowly and tries again, though he doesn’t yet try to move. It takes effort to speak calmly, but he needs Jiang Cheng to listen. ‘I believe him, okay? I believe he’s lived through this already. Wen Qing believes him, too. We should listen.’

‘And he came back in time to save Nightless City? Is that what you’re telling me? Or is it all of Qishan he’s here to defend? Why would Lan Wangji care about Wens?’

‘He cares about what’s right, about protecting the weak,’ he replies, hating how sullen and unsure he sounds. How shaken.

Jiang Cheng only seems to get angrier.

‘Fine. Good for the pure and noble Hanguang-Jun. But enough to find a way to relive the war? To damage his core? Who would do that? Even if there’s some secret spell in the Cloud Recesses, the Wens burnt it down! Why would Lan Wangji be so desperate to save the people who did that?’

And Wei Wuxian can’t answer him. Oh, he can argue that the people Wen Qing has told him about aren’t the ones who carried out the attack in Gusu, any more than they’re the ones who massacred the Jiang Sect. And Wei Wuxian is sure the ones who did that are dead. He took care of it himself.

And it isn’t going to be enough to make Jiang Cheng willing to defend anyone who hasn’t personally defended him first.

Wen Qing was clear that they shouldn’t antagonise the sect leaders. Not even Wei Wuxian’s own brother. The one reason Jiang Cheng would understand is the one Wei Wuxian can’t share: he can’t tell Jiang Cheng that Lan Zhan’s son is part Wen. It isn’t his secret to share.

‘I should get back to my research.’

Jiang Cheng stares at him for a long moment before he stoops to pick up the book closest to him and hands it to Wei Wuxian.

‘Chifeng-Zun will be with Zewu-Jun by now,’ he says. ‘Let’s at least see what they have to say about things before you start an incident over strangers.’

Will that be better or worse than half a year from now, Wei Wuxian wonders. He doesn’t ask. He doesn’t tell Jiang Cheng the Wens fate is tied to his own if things go as they already have.

‘And A-Jie sent clean robes for you,’ Jiang Cheng adds as they set off towards Lan Zhan’s room, ‘so you can get out of whatever these are and dress like yourself again.’

Not like a Jiang, though. The thought of cutting ties with his sect is a knife to the belly, so Wei Wuxian tells himself he can ignore it and listens to his brother complain about some Jin trying to stake a claim to Nightless City.

It won’t be like it was before. Even though he can’t see a way to fix things, there has to be one. One that doesn’t include hurting Jiang Cheng and Shijie. There just has to be. He tells himself the fury in him is settling and wonders how Jiang Cheng will react is Wei Wuxian starts wearing purple.

Meng Yao brings Mingjue to a doorway and excuses himself, claiming he needs to check on a search Xichen has asked him to take care of. Better for the man to be away from Mingjue, anyway.

He steps into the room and finds Xichen kneeling next to a bed, looking pale and worried and not at all like they just won anything. In the bed, Wangji looks most of the way to being a ghost.

‘How’s he doing?’ Mingjue asks and regrets it when Xichen closes his eyes in what looks to be pain. ‘Tell me you’ve had some sleep, Xichen. Something to eat. You haven’t sat here watching Wangji the entire time, have you?’

It’s been a full day since Wen Rouhan died, what with the time it took for a messenger to reach them and for Jiang Wanyin and Mingjue to fly to the palace. If Xichen has been in this state since then, it’s a good thing Mingjue is here.

Xichen sighs and rubs at his temples. When he looks up at Mingjue, it’s all too easy to see that his usual calm is a phantom, an illusion created by the man’s own exhaustion.

‘There’s no need to concern yourself, Mingjue-ge,’ he says. The smile he offers is strained. ‘Lady Wen insisted I eat. She made me sleep for at least a few hours last night.’

‘If I hadn’t, you’d have sat there until you passed out,’ a woman’s voice says, sounding to Mingjue’s ears as though she’s determined to play her part in a script neither of them have the energy for. Footsteps are followed by an inhale that’s just a little too sharp. ‘I didn’t realise your people were here, already, Zewu-Jun.’

Mingjue turns to find a woman dressed in red standing in the doorway with a bowl in her hands. Lady Wen, Xichen said. She’s vaguely familiar, but not someone Mingjue had reason to focus on in the past. Still, he can’t help but frown.

Xichen is allowing a Wen to treat Wangji.

‘I can send for our healers,’ Mingjue says. ‘They’ll be headed in this direction by now.’

The Wen woman doesn’t comment on that. She does lower her eyes and cross the room to kneel by Wangji’s bed, setting the bowl on the floor and waiting with her hands on her knees until Xichen looks across at her.

‘Perhaps one of the healers from the camp could sit with him,’ she says.

Xichen frowns, the reaction delayed. He doesn’t seem entirely connected to what is going on, his eyes sliding back to his brother even as he replies.

‘No. You are needed here. A-Yao will take care of it.’

She doesn’t argue, but her lips press together. Mingjue wonders how many times they have had a similar exchange, given most of it appears to have gone unsaid. Whatever reason she may have for wanting to leave, Mingjue is in favour of having someone other than a Wen as Wangji’s healer.

‘Xichen, let me send to the Unclean Realm. We have-‘

‘A message has been sent to Qinghe already,’ Xichen cuts in, still in that distanced, drifting tone, as though he’s continuing his reply to the Wen woman rather than speaking to Mingjue. ‘Lan Dongmei will bring your notes, Lady Wen, and the books you requested. Uncle…’ His voice turns wet for a moment, and he stops and draws in a shaky breath. ‘Uncle will be here soon.’

Which implies Lan Qiren is in the Unclean Realm. Mingjue was the only other person in camp who knew Wangji was really being sent there rather than back home to the Cloud Recesses, but he has yet to receive any message about Lan Qiren being there, too. He wonders if Huaisang gave any thought to informing Mingjue, how Lan Qiren could have let his extremely sick nephew leave and come here, of all places. At least Wangji’s boy will have family with him.

Still, if Xichen wants his uncle here…

Mingjue looks again at the boy in the bed. He’s Huaisang’s age. More or less. So many of the major figures in this war are kids, when he thinks about.

‘I’m sorry, Xichen,’ he says. He isn’t sure exactly what he’s apologising for. For Huaisang not taking better care of Wangji, perhaps, or for his friend’s brother being in this state when Mingjue’s has remained perfectly safe. Maybe for what he’s about to say. He sighs. ‘We need to discuss our plans.’

Xichen twitches. It’s just his left hand moving against his own thigh, but Mingjue knows his friend.

‘I know you don’t want to leave Wangji,’ he says, and can’t help glancing at the Wen woman again. She’s watching him through her lashes, like he’s the one who can’t be trusted. ‘But Meng Yao is practically in charge of Wen Rouhan’s city as things stand.’

He pauses, because much though it stings that Xichen didn’t tell him the spy was Meng Yao, he does know there will have been no ill intent behind it. He knows that Xichen must trust Meng Yao, to have acted on his information.

‘You’re right,’ Xichen says. He blinks and finally looks away from Wangji to stand. He wavers a little, but shakes his head when Mingjue reaches to steady him. ‘We should not leave Meng Yao to deal with everything.’

Despite being the one to pull Xichen from his vigil, Mingjue hesitates to lead the way from the room. He can’t help but look again at the Wen woman.

‘Wangji will be safe with her,’ Xichen says, an unfamiliar edge to his words. He sounds certain, but it’s a sharper certainty than is usual for Zewu-Jun, almost as though he expects a fight and intends to face it.

‘You really think so?’ Mingjue asks. ‘Xichen, she’s a Wen.’

‘I am aware.’

‘Then you know why I have concerns,’ Mingjue says.

‘Chifeng-Zun,’ the woman, Wen Qing, says. She isn’t looking at him, is kneeling still, but her head is high and her words are clear. ‘I understand why you doubt anyone named Wen, but I have promised Zewu-Jun that I will not give up on his brother. Your brother is the one who asked me to assist with Lan Wangji’s treatment in the first place. Should I not have listened to him?’

Huaisang asked her?

‘You were in the prison camp?’ Mingjue asks, because how else would Huaisang have been able to find her. A flush of irritation makes him grimace: Huaisang was not supposed to go near the prisoners. ‘And whose idea was it to let Wangji come here? As a healer, shouldn’t you be keeping him from hurting himself more?’

He sees Xichen flinch and is instantly regretful, but his point stands. Inaction is just as important as action when judging someone. Wangji should not have been permitted to put himself in such danger when he was already so ill.

Wen Qing’s expression is almost as hard to read as Wangji’s, her tone giving away nothing as she replies.

‘He abducted me,’ she says.

‘Wangji did what?’ Xichen asks.

With efficient, almost aggressive grace, Wen Qing stands and turns to face Xichen where he stands next to Mingjue. Mingjue gets a good look at her dark eyes and the determination in them, and finds a little grudging respect.

‘I don’t hold it against him, Zewu-Jun. Your uncle wouldn’t believe him about moving back in time, and he was talking about removing A-Yuan from Lan Wangji’s care.’

Xichen inhales in a way Mingjue knows means he’s distressed.

‘Wangji didn’t bring the boy here with you, did he?’ Mingjue asks, because if he has done, that’s a clearer sign that Wangji isn’t thinking straight than any number of stories about time-travel.

‘He did not,’ Wen Qing assures them, still not looking at Mingjue. ‘A-Yuan is safe. Wangji left him with his grandmother.’

As far as Mingjue knows, Wangji was still refusing to reveal the identity of A-Yuan’s mother by the time he was sent away to the Unclean Realm. Mingjue moves to stand shoulder to shoulder with his friend. There’s nothing he can do to help with Wangji’s health, but he can offer this silent support.

‘And who is his grandmother?’ Mingjue asks, when Xichen does not. He’s probably respecting his brother’s decision not to tell him, but Mingjue has more experience with little brothers who keep secrets. ‘Where is she?’

‘I’m afraid I couldn’t tell you where she is,’ Wen Qing says. She speaks as though she’s in a receiving hall, or a court, measured and steady with no give at all. ‘It was past midnight and I was unfamiliar with the location. Lan Wangji was in no mood to be questioned, you understand.’

‘Lan Zhan never likes being questioned.’

Mingjue turns only enough to see Jiang Wanyin and Wei Wuxian arrive, Wei Wuxian carrying more books than can be necessary and Jiang Wanyin already staring at Wen Qing.

‘Have you found anything useful?’ Wen Qing asks.

Her manner is still brusque, but there’s a certain warmth there that was missing when speaking with Xichen and Mingjue. In reply, Wei Wuxian shrugs and crosses to the desk set up between the door and the bed, setting the books and scrolls down and sighing.

‘Maybe. Maybe not. Any change with Lan Zhan?’

‘Lady Wen,’ Xichen says, and he has rarely sounded so much as though the words have escaped him without his permission. Everyone looks at him. Xichen closes his eyes and only opens them again once a trace of his smile is back in place. ‘Lady Wen, Wei Wuxian, I am eager for you to find a solution to Wangji’s troubles, but you’ve just told me Wangji abducted you and left our nephew with a woman I don’t know in a place you can’t name.’

Wen Qing nods. From the corner of his eye, Mingjue can still see Wei Wuxian sitting at the desk, his eyebrows raised. Mingjue knows something needs his attention, but isn’t sure just what.

‘A-Yuan’s grandmother,’ she says, emphasizing the familial connection.

‘Our,’ Mingjue mutters.

Wen Qing’s head snaps around to him and her gaze is burning.

‘Hanguang-Jun’s kid is part Wen?’ Jiang Wanyin says.

‘He is,’ Wen Qing confirms, but the relief from her looking at the other man is short-lived. She seems determined to stare through Mingjue. ‘Do you think you can trust me, now, Chifeng-Zun? At least as far as tending to Lan Wangji?’

Mingjue thinks again of Huaisang, imagines him announcing he married a Wen, that Mingjue has a nephew who shares his enemy’s blood. He imagines what some of the other sect leaders will make of this.

‘Xichen,’ he says, ‘we really do need to have a discussion.’

Chapter Text

Something is wrong with Wei Wuxian. Jiang Cheng is sick of having this thought. He’s sick of having this thought whilst in the middle of yet another conflict.

‘I will not allow harm to my nephew,’ Zewu-Jun states.

He’s standing upright with one hand tucked behind his back, as though he’s in the middle of nothing more tense than a lesson at the Cloud Recesses, for all he’s set himself across from Jiang Cheng and Chifeng-Zun, standing with his back to the far wall. Trust a Lan to keep up that poise even when he’s preparing to argue with his peers.

‘Of course not,’ Chifeng-Zun says dismissively. ‘The boy will be safe. No-one could claim he’s an enemy. Xichen, he’s barely more than a baby, and he’s a Lan.’

‘How much will that matter once people hear his mother was a Wen?’ Wei Wuxian asks.

He stands by the door, as though he needs to have a clear exit, and his words are bitter.

‘Who would dare to threaten harm to a member of Gusu Lan’s main family?’ Jiang Cheng demands. ‘The only ones who’ve dared such a thing in living memory have been Wens.’

‘Does that mean nobody but a Wen is capable?’ Wei Wuxian asks. ‘You think all the evil in the world is collected into the Wen Sect, leaving none for anyone else? You think that every other sect is righteous?’

There’s a biting edge to his tone that doesn’t appear when he’s only being difficult or is playing around. Wei Wuxian is angry, disgusted, afraid, and Jiang Cheng doesn’t understand why. They’ve won this awful, bloody war. Finally. And Wei Wuxian seems set on starting another one.

‘Righteous?’ he asks, striving for that calm authority Zewu-Jun manages even with his brother on his death-bed, or the irascible confidence of Chifeng-Zun. He can’t speak the way he wants to, not in a meeting of sect leaders, however informal. ‘It isn’t even about being righteous. Anyone would be an idiot to attack Zewu-Jun’s family. What is this about, Wei Wuxian?’

Wei Wuxian sneers and looks away.

‘Wei Wuxian,’ Zewu-Jun says, ‘my concerns are for my brother and his son. It is not my way to discuss clan matters widely, but everyone in this room is aware that Wangji has been the subject of gossip. Some of it is not sympathetic and I would not have it made worse.’

With his fixation on Lan Wangji, that should be something Wei Wuxian can agree with. But of course his brother can’t make things easy for Yunmeng Jiang.

‘And who cares about what will happen to anyone else who is Wen, right?’ Wei Wuxian asks. ‘Or who lives on Wen land. So long as we can pretend A-Yuan is not related to them, we can let them all die.’

‘Wei Wuxian!’

Jiang Cheng has been trying so hard to keep his composure in front of the other sect leaders. A-Jie has always been better by far at staying calm, whereas jiang Cheng knows his temper flares quickly. It’s only grown worse since Lotus Pier fell, and he can’t afford to look weak and unstable in front of his peers. But this? Wei Wuxian has to be knocked out of whatever weird mood he’s in. He can’t say things like this to the leaders of any sects, let alone two of the great sects.

If only Jiang Cheng knew how to convey that without shouting. For now, his brother’s name said like the lash of a whip has to do.

Wei Wuxian glares at him.

‘And what do you propose we do with our enemies?’ Chifeng-Zun asks. ‘Let them regroup and attack us again?’

‘Not all of them attacked us before,’ Wei Wuxian says, but he’s reined in the emotion in his voice, at least. He sounds calmer. No softer, but less heated, less sullen. His jaw is tight. ‘Tell me, honourable sect leaders, are all the people from your lands in our army? Has every one of them killed a Wen?’

Chifeng-Zun looks irritated now.

‘Wen Rouhan and his bloodline were a poison,’ he insists. ‘Such poison must not be left to infect others, or we will only be fighting this war again in a few years’ time.’

‘A poison can be drained or an antidote found,’ Zewu-Jun says, frowning. He’s looking at Wei Wuxian thoughtfully, something troubled in his eyes. ‘Surely we do not need to destroy an entire people?’

‘The only one who’s talked about destroying them all is Wei Wuxian,’ Jiang Cheng points out. His mother could quell Wei Wuxian with a look, but Jiang Cheng doesn’t have that skill. It doesn’t stop him trying. ‘Where is this coming from?’

‘Wangji,’ Zewu-Jun says, and even he can’t hide the strain entirely as he says his brother’s name. ‘Did Wangji say something about this?’

‘I thought he hadn’t woken up,’ Chifeng-Zun says. ‘I can understand him worrying about his son’s other family, but he can hardly have indicated that without being awake.’

They’re all looking at Wei Wuxian now. He isn’t looking back. He seems to be staring at a point in the distance and hating what he’s seeing. Jiang Cheng wants to shake him.

‘He told Wen Qing,’ Wei Wuxian says, at last. ‘People who had nothing to do with this war were rounded up and put in work camps. They were used as lures in hunting. They were beaten and killed and left unburied. That,’ he bites out, fixing Jiang Cheng with a look of his own, ‘is where this is coming from.’

In the silence following those statements, Jiang Cheng sees Chifeng-Jun and Zewu-Jun look at each other. He doesn’t know either well enough to parse the conversation they’re having, but neither appears happy with it. How could they be, when wild talk of seeing the future is involved?

‘You believe him,’ Chifeng-Zun says, at last.

Zewu-Jun sighs, but nods.

‘There is certain evidence in the damage to Wangji’s core that suggests he has moved back through time. As for these details in particular, I can’t see why Wangji would lie.’

The idea of Lan Wangji lying at all is still strange. Jiang Cheng wonders whether the man somehow managed to cover up a lover and a child without lying. If anyone could manage it, it would be him. But to believe this nonsense about reliving the past…

To openly doubt Zewu-Jun with this would not be a good idea, but it’s hard to stand still and pretend to be calm when a conversation about a conquered enemy is becoming something from the most fanciful of tales. A tale in which Jiang Cheng will be involved in Wei Wuxian’s death.

It’s nonsense. It has to be.

‘Wei Wuxian didn’t hear this from Wangji,’ Chifeng-Zun says, though he sounds less comfortable than usual, perhaps not wanting to upset his friend by pointing out how ridiculous this all is. ‘He heard it from a Wen. A Wen who was close to Wen Rouhan. Who’s to say she didn’t invent this, taking advantage of Wangji’s condition?’

‘Why would she risk that?’ Wei Wuxian demands. ‘When Lan Zhan wakes up, he would just tell us she was lying. Don’t look at me like that, Jiang Cheng. He’s going to wake up.’

Jiang Cheng scowls. In front of two other sect leaders, he scowls. He’s avoided commenting on Lan Wangji’s state for a reason.

‘What look? I didn’t look at you like anything. But Chifeng-Zun has a point. I know you trust her, but it makes sense Wen Qing would do what she can to protect her own people, even if it means making things up.’

Even if it means taking advantage of Lan Wangji being delusional.

Jiang Cheng would make up anything, would take advantage of anything, if it meant being able to reach back through time and bring his parents to him, alive and whole and able to stand in the place Jiang Cheng occupies now. If it could bring back Yunmeng Jiang as it was, he would say anything he had to. He won’t blame Wen Qing for making sure Wei Wuxian is swayed to her side, but that doesn’t mean he can allow it to go unchallenged. Wei Wuxian is the Jiang Sect’s head disciple. He already has a cause, a people to rebuild. There’s no space left to become the defender of the Wens.

But his brother is looking at him as though he’s failed some test.

‘I trust her because she’s shown more than once it’s deserved,’ Wei Wuxian says slowly. ‘She saved us at Dafan Mountain-‘

‘She was saving her own people,’ Jiang Cheng cuts in. ‘Lan Wangji and you destroyed the dire owl and ended that threat. If anything, she owes you.’

Something squirms in his belly to say these words, the memory of Wen Qing standing outside that cell in Yiling flaring up, her eyes dark and hurt. He quells it. She made her choice.

‘Wen Ning got you out of Lotus Pier,’ Wei Wuxian counters. ‘Wen Qing took us in, hid us. Treated us. That wasn’t to save her own blood.’

‘And I am grateful,’ Jiang Cheng snaps. He knows he snaps, can no longer keep the anger from showing. What does Wei Wuxian expect of him? ‘I offered her my protection when I saw her again, but she turned it down. I’ll offer it again, right now. But I can’t just look away from everything the Wen Sect has done. Don’t ask me to.’

Wei Wuxian straightens, pulling himself up to his full height. It’s easy, with how often he would play around in his youth, with how often he now slinks into corners, to forget quite how tall he is, how imposing he can be. A wisp of hair shifts by his cheek, and Jiang Cheng wants to believe it’s just from his movement.

‘You don’t need to look away from that,’ he says, voice cold. ‘You need to look at each other. At yourselves. We all do. We can’t just divide people into enemy and ally, into evil and good, and think every action taken falls in line with that judgment.’

Whatever Jiang Cheng expected from his brother, it wasn’t a lecture on philosophy.

It’s Chifeng-Zun who answers, the grating gruffness of his own anger rumbling in his words.

‘You of all people know we don’t divide things up so starkly,’ he says. ‘If we behaved as you claim, would your cultivation not have condemned you?’

Wei Wuxian laughs. There’s no humour in it.

‘Give it time,’ he says.

He’s talking as though the world has turned its back on him, as though Jiang Cheng has turned his back on him. It’s infuriating. He tries to gather the words to say so, but it’s hard through the haze of hurt.

Zewu-Jun speaks first.

‘Wen Qing does not need Yunmeng Jiang’s protection,’ he states, calmly. ‘Once we find Wen Ning, they will both be under the protection of Gusu Lan. They are Wangji’s extended family. I will not have them harmed.’

Given the way Zewu-Jun spoke earlier, Jiang Cheng is almost certain this care for Wen Qing and Wen Ning’s wellbeing is more about his own brother’s chances of survival. That doesn’t mean every other sect will accept it, no matter how stately Zewu-Jun sounds as he says it. Wen Qing and her brother are some of the closest blood relations to Wen Rouhan. They may be the closest yet living.

The sects will not be able to watch Wen Rouhan die: they may wish for a substitute.

It would have been satisfying, to watch Wen Rouhan’s end. At least he got to see Wen Chao and Wen Zhuliu meet theirs. He got to take part. Seeing Wen Qing die would not be the same.

It stings, to think of someone taking their due from the flesh of people who helped him when he was at his lowest. The people who helped his sister. In that, he does understand Wei Wuxian. If only Wei Wuxian would understand not everyone is free to make whatever choice they want.

Stifling his reservations, Jiang Cheng offers a bow and thanks Zewu-Jun. A more established sect leader will have more chance than he does of navigating this, and there is no sense in taking on trouble unless he has to. Let Gusu Lan do this.

‘You’re going to have to get this by the others,’ Chifeng-Zun points out. He sounds resigned, perhaps realising there’s nothing to be gained by arguing with his close friend. ‘There’ll be plenty who want to see justice done.’

‘Of course, of course,’ Wei Wuxian says, in that awful, tightly cheerful tone that speaks of nothing like agreement. ‘Justice. We are all so concerned with that.’

‘Once Wangji is awake, I will ask him about the Wens,’ Zewu-Jun says. ‘We should not make decisions about this until we know more.’

Jiang Cheng almost winces at the placating tone of his voice. Speaking to Wei Wuxian as though he’s an excitable child rarely ends well, not when he wants to be taken seriously. This time appears to be no exception.

‘The rest of our forces are on their way here,’ Wei Wuxian replies. ‘If a decision is not made soon, it may be taken out of your hands.’

He spins away and stalks out of the room without clarifying whether he’s speaking about the other cultivators or himself.

Jiang Cheng swallows down his desire to chase after Wei Wuxian and resigns himself to persuading Gusu Lan and Qinghe Nie that Yunmeng Jiang has not just threatened them.

Wen Qing doesn’t ask what’s been discussed. When Wei Wuxian reappears in the room and bypasses his notes, heading to Lan Wangji’s bedside, she keeps her mouth shut and continues grinding and mixing ingredients. She has a new medicine to try, one which hasn’t been used in over a hundred years, but which may help with a damaged core when applied correctly. Or so a scroll claims.

She stubbornly clings to the hope this attempt will yield results, unlike everything she already tried.

Wei Wuxian doesn’t need conversation, anyway. He’s dragged a heaviness in with him, one that would flatten any words she tried to share, and he kneels by the bed with a look on his face that speaks of nothing good.

‘Will he wake up?’ Wei Wuxian asks, at last.

Wen Qing adds a measure of the next ingredient to the bowl as she answers. It helps to be doing something.

‘I have no way of knowing for sure,’ she says. ‘He appears to be held in that state, so possibly not, but I’ve never seen this before. Most of what I could say is conjecture.’

‘He has to wake up.’

The powder in the bowl is turning blue, which isn’t what is meant to happen according to the directions, and she’s been so careful to follow them exactly. Was it the dried rose? That…really shouldn’t turn anything blue.

‘Wen Qing? I said-‘

‘I hear you,’ she says. ‘I don’t know how to wake him up. Or rather, there are methods that can be used, but I don’t know if they’ll work in this case and I don’t know what it will do to him.’

The texture is wrong, too. She’s chopped and ground and measured so carefully, and even the texture is wrong. What has she done wrong?

‘Wen Qing.’

‘I don’t know, okay?’ She sets her hands down on either side of the bowl, bracing her shoulders. ‘I don’t know what this is and I don’t know how to heal him. It’s… His core is splintering. I’ve never seen that.’

And she doesn’t know where A-Ning is or what the other sects will do to her people or…or anything. There is so much she doesn’t know that the vast weight of it threatens to suffocate her, and now she can’t even get a powder right, and she is tired. So very tired. And Wei Wuxian is looking at her as though he trusts she’ll have answers she just doesn’t have.

But she won’t cry. She won’t scream or shout. She won’t, can’t, let herself break down now, when helping Lan Wangji is so important for so many reasons.

‘Wen Qing.’

This time, it’s much closer, and she looks up to find Wei Wuxian right next to her, his own expression looking the way she feels: spiderwebbed with worry and held together by will.

When he opens his arms, she hesitates for far less time than she means to before she leans forward and lets him wrap her up in a hug.

‘It’ll be okay,’ he whispers into her hair. It would be more effective if he sounded less like he was trying to convince himself. ‘We’ll make it okay. We will.’

‘We have to,’ she agrees.

Ever since Lan Wangji first told her about her death, about A-Ning’s deaths, she’s lived with dread in her belly. After being told more of the details, she’s felt like she’s running out of time. Whatever has to be done to prevent that future, must be done.

It’s just that she doesn’t know what to do.

If she can’t help Lan Wangji, it means the end of her arrangement with Huaisang and the end of any support from Zewu-Jun.

Wei Wuxian holds her against him with no sign he intends to let go. The way he’s wrapped around her puts her in mind of how she used her own energy to surround and compress Lan Wangji’s golden core, but she can’t try that again.

Whereas before, Lan Wangji’s core was raging, fluctuating and flaring like a fire out of control, now it’s unmoving. Unmoving, but not still, not exactly. Not calm.

Just as she isn’t calm, held here within the circle of Wei Wuxian’s arms, the tension in her urging her to move even as she’s kept from it. She imagines his arms pressing her back into shape and feels herself steady, just a little.

‘Your notes will be here, soon,’ Wei Wuxian says. ‘Once I get a proper look at the array, there’ll be something I can do.’

She finally brings her own arms up and around his back, squeezing him as tightly as he’s squeezing her. She still has her golden core, after all. Physically, she’s stronger than him, now.

‘I hope so,’ she replies. ‘I really hope so.’

They stand leaning into each other for a long time.

Chapter Text

Not long after nightfall, cultivators arrive from The Unclean Realm with books, scrolls and the news that Huaisang is travelling to Qishan by carriage.

Wen Qing takes all three with outward calm, though their words aren’t aimed at her, and settles herself at the desk to sort through her materials. Chifeng-Zun leads his people away to another room, presumably to question them further where a Wen can’t hear them, but she notes it only as a background detail. War is not a time for luxuries, and trust has been a luxury in her life for many years.

It’s harder to ignore the weight of Zewu-Jun’s stare as he watches her, though once the Nies have left he returns to his seat at his brother’s bedside and thankfully asks no questions.

He’s been quiet since he returned to the room in the early evening. Whatever the sect leaders have discussed about her and her people, he hasn’t shared it, and more than once she’s caught him staring at Wei Wuxian as though he’s working on a puzzle.

The other men who have taken over her uncle’s palace have stayed away, Chifeng-Zun only appearing to meet his people.

Wen Qing assumes she will be told her fate once it’s been determined.

For his part, Wei Wuxian has been reading seemingly random pages from books Wen Qing has already searched through, asking questions that aren’t always connected to what she recalls from them. That heaviness from earlier has been overlaid by a jagged energy, and it seems it won’t let him settle to any one thing. She’s seen its like before, in people who are on their last dregs of energy but who can’t afford to rest. He’s only looked at Zewu-Jun in passing, and his expression has darkened every time.

Wei Wuxian drops the medical book he’s been leafing through for the past hour as soon as Wen Qing starts searching through her notes, his attention a pressure against her skin. It’s a relief on more than one level to find the drawing.

‘Here,’ she says, and thrusts it at Wei Wuxian. ‘Find something useful to tell me.’

Wei Wuxian grabs it and flattens it out on the desk, his eyes flitting over it so quickly it’s a wonder he can take anything in. Without saying anything further, Wen Qing moves one of the candles closer to give him more light.

It’s silent in the room after that, save for the occasional exclamation or bit of muttering from Wei Wuxian, who doesn’t appear to realise he’s doing it. Wen Qing finds herself watching him out of the corner of her eye.

‘And at the time, you were sure this was the pattern?’ Wei Wuxian asks at last.

‘Yes.’ She gives up any pretence at organising her notes and frowns at him. ‘I drew it shortly after tracing it and made certain to get it down in ink before I lost the details. Why?’

The furrow of Wei Wuxian’s brow isn’t encouraging, nor is the way he heaves a sigh and shakes his head.

‘I feel that I’ve seen this, but…but it was…more.’

He waves one hand as though describing a talisman in the air, his fingers dancing and drawing to a halt mid-air.

‘You must have read a lot of books about talismans and arrays,’ she says. ‘Can you remember anything about which book, where you were when you read it? Something to help us know where to look.’

Over his shoulder, she sees Zewu-Jun rise and walk almost to the desk, but she makes no move to take the drawing back or to nudge Wei Wuxian to angle it so the sect leader can see.

‘I’ve definitely seen this shape,’ Wei Wuxian insists. ‘I know I have. I just can’t remember where. It was…somewhere. Not at home.’

‘Could it have been at The Cloud Recesses?’ Zewu-Jun asks. ‘You did spend a lot of time in the library pavilion.’

Wei Wuxian shakes his head, but he shows no sign of whatever dark emotion Zewu-Jun has been causing all evening.

‘No, no. Not there. Not in a book, I don’t think. Oh, and recently. Somewhere…’ He meets Wen Qing’s eyes with a look of relief. ‘Somewhere here.’

‘You’ve seen it here?’ Wen Qing asks. ‘In Qishan?’

And how likely is it, that an array rare enough Wei Wuxian doesn’t know it, something powerful enough to leave a trace of itself in Lan Wangji’s spiritual energy, just happens to be somewhere close by?

‘Recently,’ Wei Wuxian murmurs. He tilts his head and narrows his eyes, his attention turned inward. ‘Really recently. Not just here in Qishan. Here in the palace.’

That seems even less likely, save for the fact Wen Rouhan long had an interest in the rare and the powerful. There are vaults full of treasures and artifacts, rumoured to be capable of wonders, but Wen Qing has never been permitted to see inside them. She isn’t even sure where they are. She isn’t sure anyone still does.

‘You haven’t been to many places here,’ Wen Qing points out, and certainly he won’t have been to those vaults. If he’s wrong, it shouldn’t waste many hours to search. ‘Could we retrace your steps since you arrived? Where did you get in?’

Through the water-tunnel. Of course. Wen Qing hopes Wei Wuxian didn’t see this array there. They won’t begin their search in the water, in any case. There are many corridors and numerous rooms to inspect before that.

‘And you don’t remember which window you crawled in through?’ she asks, burning with the need to be doing something that may help, now that such a thing exists. ‘Then we’ll have to check every room along that side of the palace.’

Maybe more than a few hours, but better to be doing this than yet another failed attempt at following instructions in a book. The change may refresh her thinking, if nothing else.

She makes it to her feet before Zewu-Jun calls her name, and she turns to find him looking at her with an expression that’s almost vulnerable. This, too, she’s seen before: the family of a patient clutching at her presence as though she herself is a talisman warding off death.

‘Zewu-Jun, I know this place better than Wei Wuxian does,’ she says, ‘and in the event there’s a warded room, Wen blood may open it. It’s possible. Lan Wangji is as stable as he can be for now and you’re here with him. I won’t be gone long. I swear it.’

It tastes like oily ashes, having to ask permission even now Wen Rouhan is dead, even though she knows this man doesn’t have the same motives or character, but it’s not a new sensation. If she hoped, even a little, to find herself less restricted with her uncle gone, then she has only her own naivety to blame.

Zewu-Jun is not threatening to kill her brother if she fails. He’s said nothing so crude as that, and perhaps hasn’t even thought it, but offending this man is not a risk she can take. The powerful can cause a great deal of harm without even realising it, and someone so worried for their little brother may lash out in ways she can’t predict. She needs his protection, and that means asking for his permission.

‘Why should you ask him?’ Wei Wuxian demands. He’s already at the doorway, crackling with the sort of energy that will burn out quickly and leave him ever closer to collapse. ‘Lan Zhan needs me to find this array more than he needs you to stare at him. Come on.’

‘Wei Wuxian,’ Zewu-Jun says, ‘why must you seek this array in another place? You have it there, in your hand.’

‘And I just said, when I saw it before, it was…more.’ He shakes the paper. ‘This isn’t complete. It can’t be. It doesn’t tell me what it is. I can’t save Lan Zhan if I don’t know what this is.’

Even as he talks, he’s grabbing Wen Qing’s arm and dragging her out of the room. Zewu-Jun opens his mouth but closes it again without speaking. Wen Qing takes that to mean she can go and leaves before she can be corrected.

They find it in the fifth room they check. Wei Wuxian recognises it as soon as Wen Qing slides the door open, the memory blooming clear enough he walks straight to the collection of branding irons. He has no idea where the plain one he picked out has ended up, or why his mind snagged on these twisted pieces of metal to remember when so much else doesn’t stick. But then, he always has retained more about arrays and talismans than he does about people.

‘Here,’ he says. ‘It’s one of these.’

His own brand mark itches at the thought of Lan Zhan being burned in such a way, and he rubs at it absently as he peers at the collection. More than one has the shape of an array, but it’s only a few moments before he sees the one he’s after.

The shapes are there, almost exactly as Wen Qing drew them, but an extra layer surrounds the array she put on paper. At first glance, they tell Wei Wuxian nothing about what this array is or how it functions.

‘A Wen branding iron,’ Wen Qing says. She sounds more thoughtful than anything, but there’s perhaps an edge of discomfort. ‘Why would Lan Wangji have been subjected to that?’

‘His sect whipped him. Maybe they decided he deserved this, too.’

It would be an unusual punishment, oddly petty and not set down in any Lan rules he knows about, but Wei Wuxian is no longer sure what any sect is capable of. He no longer has the patience to think the best of them.

‘Wouldn’t they use one of their own brands, in that case?’ she asks, sounding all too used to the thought that someone would be branded by their own people.

Wei Wuxian realises that, for Wen Qing, it’s not the branding itself that is hard to accept; it’s that Gusu Lan would not scar their own mark into Lan Zhan. She perhaps hasn’t realised Gusu Lan prefers other methods.

But this isn’t a Wen brand. Not the sort that Wei Wuxian carries, the sort that tells anyone at a glance exactly which sect saw fit to scar you. This is something altogether different and he can think of no reason this would be chosen for a punishment. No, this can’t be meant as a punishment. This is meant to achieve a purpose. The question is, what does it do? What has it done to Lan Zhan?

Tracing a finger over the shape of the brand, he considers how the energy would flow.

He flinches when Wen Qing grabs his wrist, snatching his hand away from the metal.

‘Are you an idiot?’ she asks, taking his hand in both of hers and turning it, prodding a little at the skin of his forefinger.

‘What did I do now?’

Being scolded for touching something is so banal as to be unbelievable, but that’s exactly what happens. The Wen brands, Wen Qing reminds him, heat themselves. Wei Wuxian just ran his fingertip across something that should have seared it.

‘But it didn’t,’ he points out. ‘Wen Qing, come on. Calm down. This is what we need, okay? Stop shouting at me.’

Her lips press together as she stares at him, but she finally huffs, lets go of his wrist, and crosses her arms.

‘You’re sure whoever branded Lan Wangji used one like this?’ she asks. ‘Can you tell what it does, now?’

‘No more than I could before,’ he says. ‘I already knew about the Wen brand first-hand, of course. Ah, don’t look at me like that. I’m allowed to mention it. But I never heard of them being used to set arrays into skin.’

He looks at her expectantly and she stares back, arms still crossed but her gaze more contemplative.

‘Don’t expect me to be able to tell you about them,’ she says. ‘I’ve never heard of it, either. Wen Rouhan has gathered any spiritual items he could over the years, anything that could give him more power or a new way to hurt his enemies, and I’ve never been given an explanation about any of them.’

Disappointing, but not surprising.

‘Will he have kept records?’

‘Yes. Almost certainly. That doesn’t mean I know where they are. And, Wei Wuxian, this isn’t where he’d store something powerful. He might not have known this was anything of interest.’

Well, it’s still more than they knew earlier, Wei Wuxian reassures himself. It gives them a path to follow.

‘How long will it take to search the whole palace?’ he asks.

Meng Yao isn’t asleep when a servant comes to rouse him. He’s reading through yet more reports in preparation for the morning, when he will need to be ready with any facts Lan Xichen asks for. His neck aches and his eyes feel gritty, but that is of little consequence in the greater scheme of things.

It doesn’t mean he’s pleased to be called to Lan Wangji’s sickroom.

Still, he goes, taking only a moment to ensure he’s presentable before dismissing the servant and walking briskly to whatever this new request will be.

Lan Xichen greets him as soon as he arrives, turning from Wei Wuxian to apologise for waking Meng Yao. The bruise-dark shadows under his eyes are still all too visible, but there’s more energy in the eyes themselves, and Meng Yao brushes the apology aside, keen to know what has brought this spark back to Lan Xichen.

‘Books.’

The word comes not from Lan Xichen but from Wei Wuxian, who is clutching a long, narrow piece of metal with both hands as though afraid someone will take it from him. He doesn’t look any better than Lan Xichen. If anything, he looks worse, gaunt and brittle in a way the women from his youth would be, sometimes, when they were ill and hiding it. It would be easy to forget that he’s the most dangerous person in this room.

‘Books, Master Wei?’

‘Yes. On this.’

Meng Yao finds himself staring at what he now sees is a branding iron. They’re not powerful tools, nor are they especially rare, but any sect runs on records as much as it does on wealth or strength, and Meng Yao is sure this is one he saw during an inventory of their supplies some months back. It was like any other iron, besides the fanciful shape. A failed experiment, an older record-keeper told him, from three generations back. Whatever the experiments had been attempting, the branding irons all behaved the same way.

‘On this particular one?’ he asks.

Already, he’s running through his mental catalogue, but he’s come across nothing on the topic besides four texts on the usual branding irons.

‘One in this shape,’ Wei Wuxian says.

‘That…may take some time,’ Meng Yao cautions, and adjusts his smile to make sure he doesn’t seem difficult. ‘I’ve read nothing in the main library about this, but I was told Wen Rouhan’s grandfather had it made. Perhaps if we search for anything from that period, we will discover something.’

He will have to go through the private archives, too. This will be a good reason to spend time there, amongst the information Wen Rouhan horded to himself. Meng Yao has been waiting for a chance to do so without rousing suspicion. Knowledge should always be gathered, after all.

‘May I know why you have an interest in this item?’

When they told him to bring books on arrays, they didn’t tell him much. Bring everything, Wei Wuxian said, and so Meng Yao organised to have just that done, piece by piece, in a way that would have brought every scrap about arrays to Wei Wuxian in the course of time. And the boy became impatient and went to rifle through the library himself.

If he is to meet people’s needs, he needs them to be clear as to what they are.

‘I need to know what it did to Lan Zhan.’

Meng Yao maintains his smile, but he darts a glance at Lan Xichen. Perhaps Wei Wuxian has been driven further from sanity than he thought. Lan Xichen makes no indication anything irrational has been said.

‘That particular branding iron has been in storage for many years,’ Meng Yao says. ‘And I assure you, both of you, no such thing was used on Hanguang-Jun.’

He lets a little distress bleed into his voice, and Lan Xichen reacts by stepping closer, a hand partially raised, though he refrains from completing the gesture.

‘A-Yao, your efforts to keep Wangji and I safe are not in doubt. Wangji appears to have taken the wound at another time, and it effects may not be usual. Please, anything you find may help my brother.’

Meng Yao can do nothing else but promise Lan Xichen he will do everything he can. He will begin at once, he assures them, and it is rare he’s handed such an opportunity to gain valuable new knowledge without having to work for it. It’s rarer still to earn such a look of warm gratitude along with it.

It’s worth a night without sleep, even if he finds nothing to help Lan Wangji.

It’s cold in the room, and dark. Wen Ning huddles under the blanket and tells himself this isn’t so bad. It isn’t a dungeon, like the one Jiejie’s in.

He wants to hope she’s no longer in it, but in chains in a dungeon is better than dead.

Food would be good, but he still has a little water left, and the cut on his hand has scabbed over. It could be a lot worse. He’s glad to have a break between visits, really, even though it’s lonely in here and hard to sleep when he can’t get warm.

He’ll try meditating again. He’s never been very good at it, but he’s almost sure he’s been getting better at it over the last few weeks, and Young Master Wei said he should have more faith in himself. Having faith means not giving up.

Young Master Wei didn’t give up, even after all those hours in pain, and he didn’t give up when he was in the dungeon that time, or when he was trapped in the cave by Wen Chao. And Jiejie has never given up on anything important. She’s never given up on him.

If the two best and strongest people he knows can keep going through everything, then Wen Ning will try to do the same. Even though he is very hungry.

He’ll have a little bit of the water, and meditate, and not worry about when Sect Leader Wen will next visit. Wen Ning just has to hold on and Jiejie will find him. She will.

Chapter Text

Having to bring Wen Qing along complicates matters, but Meng Yao acknowledges it’s easier to have her in case of blood-bound wards. He watches her carefully, outwardly solicitous of her wellbeing as they search through the first of the sealed rooms.

This one is not far from the dungeons, and in truth Meng Yao has been in here before. It’s not one of the most closely guarded spaces and he’s brought her here more to test whether her blood will work than anything else. There’s always the chance, of course, that information on the brand will be in here. Meng Yao wasn’t given chance to search through everything.

‘Why would he trouble himself to seal this away?’ Wen Qing asks, standing in a clear spot between a pile of boxes and a heap of sacks towards one side of the space and frowning. ‘There’s nothing in here of value.’

He murmurs agreement that it does look that way, taking care not to glance at the third box in the pile. That’s the last place Wen Rouhan had him store some items he would very much like to inspect properly, though none of them are terribly powerful. Nothing powerful will be here, but power and value are not necessarily the same.

‘I saw Wen Rouhan place the seal just two weeks ago,’ he says. There’s no need to trouble her with what this room would have become, had Wen Rouhan still lived. ‘Master Wei did say we should search everywhere. Please, Lady Wen, be careful of your footing. There appears to be something spilt just there.’

Wen Qing looks annoyed at his comment, though she steps around the sticky patch on the floor as she heads for the back of the room.

She mostly ignores Meng Yao as she starts going through everything on the back shelves, leaving him to start at the front of the room. He estimates he’ll reach the box he’s interested in before she does, which will also mean he can remove the vial that must be leaking before she has chance to see it.

A minor poison affecting yang energy, but one that could have interesting applications, if put into the hands of someone who knows poisons. Meng Yao is sure he’ll come across somebody eventually.

They leave the room with nothing on branding irons, but with two scrolls on talismans Meng Yao decides they may as well take to Wei Wuxian, and with the vial tucked safely into Meng Yao’s sleeve.

‘Where’s the next room?’ Wen Qing asks, just short of a demand.

Meng Yao is still unclear as to her status in this post-war world, but Lan Xichen has taken her under his protection, and she doesn’t seem to be a prisoner. He offers her a smile and a dip of his head.

‘The other rooms along this corridor are without wards,’ he says. ‘I won’t keep you from Hanguang-Jun’s bedside. Rest assured, I’ll send someone should we require your assistance again, Lady Wen.’

Her lips parts around a word she doesn’t share. Whatever she’s thinking, those eyes of hers reveal nothing. Meng Yao could teach her to bring men to their knees with eyes like that, but he’s seen no sign she’d be willing to learn. She turns after one last, lingering look at him and walks away, the Wen red of her robes too bright, too proud.

He would teach her to use her large, beautiful eyes and her delicately pretty face as precisely as she must already use her needles, and he would have her change into something that doesn’t remind everyone of her blood. But that is none of his business. If Lan Xichen asks him for such help, he will give it, assuming it will harm nothing Meng Yao cares about.

As it is, he lets her leave without speaking, and returns to the search. There is a great deal to organise and he won’t allow himself to be distracted by fanciful thoughts.

Jin Zixuan strides into the clearing prepared to draw his sword, his escort fanning out around him. An ambush, the messenger said. A group of Wen soldiers aiming to pick off anyone they could from the edges of the moving camp.

He expects to find his cousin and the men under his command engaged in a fierce skirmish. He’s all too well versed in how deadly desperate men can be, and the Wen soldiers must know by now that their leader has fallen, that their side has lost.

Zixun’s messenger made it sound like the enemy intended to kill every last person they could, with nothing held back for escape. A suicide mission.

The bodies on the ground show they met their deaths.

‘What is this?’ Zixuan asks.

His cousin meets his gaze across the three bodies on the ground between them, the light of satisfaction in his eyes. His sword is already resheathed, if he bothered to draw it at all. Zixuan has already noted the arrows sticking from the backs of the dead.

‘No need for you to waste your time out here, Zixuan,’ Zixun says. ‘My men and I got the job done. These Wen-dogs won’t be causing us any more problems.’

This last is said with a curl of his lip as he reaches out with his right foot and nudges the nearest body. It’s a woman. An old woman, the grey bun on her head holding a hair stick of polished wood adorned with delicate carving. It’s not the sort of thing to be worn for battle.

‘I was told you were ambushed.’

Zixuan is aware he’s standing stiffly, that his voice is just as stiff and awkward, that his thoughts feel the same. The boy who ran to him is young, has rarely engaged the enemy, and has only just been assigned to Zixun’s scouting party. He must have misunderstood something.

‘Told?’ Zixun asks, sounding as though he can’t understand why Zixuan is bothering him with this detail. ‘I wouldn’t send someone to tell you about a little bit of trouble like this. You have the whole army to lead. Let me worry about a few rats trying to flee.’

‘Fleeing?’ Zixuan has no love for their enemy, but he’s only fought people who were trying to kill him. Never has he raised his sword or any weapon against an old woman’s back. ‘They were not attacking us?’

‘They’re Wens,’ Zixun says. ‘Their existence is an attack on us.’

Three dead Wens is nothing, not compared to the numbers slaughtered at the Unclean Realm, at the Cloud Recesses, at Lotus Pier. Not to mention the minor sects swallowed whole by Wen Rouhan’s armies.

Even so…

‘Tell me there were soldiers with them,’ he demands. ‘Tell me they were using the civilians as cover to escape.’

The old woman’s grandson could have played on her sympathies, had her act as a shield for a group of deserters to get away from the incoming army. There will be deserters, now their sect has lost. Letting them go may mean letting them regroup. Harsh though it is, some cruelty now may mean lives saved in the long term.

‘Zixun, were there soldiers?’

His cousin frowns.

‘If they weren’t soldiers, they raised them, fed them.’ He sweeps his arm out to indicate the bodies. ‘Two of these are women. How many soldiers did they birth to send against our sect?’

Zixuan didn’t see that the one closest to the treeline is also a woman. He looks now, seeing the way she’s sprawled on her belly, four arrows in her flesh. She almost made it, he thinks. She must have only been a few steps from cover.

‘Bury them,’ Zixuan orders, abruptly unable to take more of this conversation. ‘Whatever they were, we shouldn’t let them become resentful spirits.’

At that, his cousin balks.

‘The army will be long gone by the time we’re done,’ he protests. ‘They were cowards in life, they’ll be cowards in death. There’s no need to waste more time on them.’

Sometimes, Zixuan wonders whether his cousin ever learnt anything about resentment, beyond his own.

‘There are only three,’ he insists. ‘Bury them. Do not make me tell you again.’

There are more than three. Back in the direction of the Nightless City, there are closer to twenty bodies scattered between the trees. The old woman must have run ahead with the two who died beside her. He wonders if any escaped, and doesn’t voice the thought.

He has the bodies buried, despite Zixun’s opinion, and takes the hair pin with him.

It’s colder. It keeps getting colder.

Wen Ning is already curled into as much of a ball as he can manage, shivering around his core and wishing it were stronger.

A weak flame, Sect Leader Wen called it. Weak, but still Wen.

A-Jie would remind Wen Ning that they can be Wen and not be like Sect Leader Wen, that their branch of the family has never sought to destroy. He doesn’t think she ever dared to say that to Sect Leader Wen, not when she was still trying to protect him. Wen Ning is lucky to have only a few bruises as proof saying it upsets the man.

If he were warmer, and if he had any light, he would look at the scrolls left on the table. That may give him a clue as to what Sect Leader Wen wants with him. It’s not just punishment for aiding their enemy: it’s some sort of experiment. Wen Ning just doesn’t know what.

He considers fumbling his way to the table, taking the scrolls and hiding them, because whatever Sect Leader Wen wants with them, it surely can’t be good, but where could he hide them?

A muffled thump puts an end to his thinking. There’s a second thump, the first thing he’s heard from outside the room, and a third. Whatever’s causing this, it’s coming from the end of the room farthest from Wen Ning. That’s the end from which Sect Leader Wen always appears, but there’s never such thumping and banging with his visits.

Cautiously, Wen Ning uncurls and gets to his feet. In the dark, he places one hand against the wall and creeps along, feeling with the other for the standing shelf halfway down the room. There’s a pestle and mortar on the third shelf. It’s not much, but Sect Leader Wen has left no knives in the room, and the pestle is the only thing Wen Ning can think of to press into use as a rudimentary weapon.

They’d laugh at him, those young masters and their followers who’ve always let him know he’s no good at this. At taking care of himself or of Jiejie. But Young Master Wei wouldn’t laugh. Or, if he laughed, it would be friendly and he’d encourage Wen Ning to do his best with it. Jiejie would remind him how fragile the human skull is in places.

Jiejie would stand in front of Wen Ning and find a way to direct any attack away from him.

Wen Ning fumbles for the pestle and settles it in his right hand. He stands no chance against Sect Leader Wen, but he’ll at least try to fight back if it’s somebody else.

Xichen sets the latest batch of books down on the desk as he passes, taking care not to disturb Wei Wuxian, who is folded over, one cheek resting on an open scroll and his eyes closed. The branding iron sits at an angle across the desk, surrounded by what look to be drawings and notes.

Much though Xichen itches to wake him, to demand an update, he’s seen how focused Wei Wuxian has been, and has heard Wen Qing berate him for exhausting himself. Denying him sleep won’t help. Wangji is getting no better, but every time he’s checked with Wen Qing throughout the day, she’s assured him Wangji is also getting no worse.

It’s almost evening again, and he’s returned from yet another discussion with Mingjue-ge and Jiang Wanyin to find Wen Qing grumbling over her bowls and jars, a book and two scrolls spread out where she can see them. Rather, she isn’t speaking, is barely making any sound at all as she adds a pinch of something deep red to a mixture, but there’s an air about her that makes it feel as though she’s grumbling.

He would grumble himself had he practice at it. The search for any information on the branding iron is ongoing, and the pile of powerful items and rare books, collected in one of the smaller audience chambers, grows and grows. The pile of materials of use to Wei Wuxian remains small. He has yet to learn of it producing anything useful.

Xichen approaches Wen Qing and proffers the last book he’s brought.

‘This one mentions using heat in healing. I thought, perhaps, you should look at it.’ He scans the surface of her worktable, noting the book and scroll he handed to her earlier are no longer where he set them. ‘Have you found anything?’

She pauses to look up at him, and even in the part-light of early evening the exhaustion painted round her eyes is obvious.

‘Nothing definite,’ she says. ‘Nothing for this exact situation, and what I have found won’t work.’

He hears her frustration, but his own spike of panic drowns it out.

‘You tried them on Wangji?’

Xichen turns to check on his brother, not even taking one step before Wen Qing stops him.

‘No. As I said, they won’t work. The instructions appear complete and I have followed them exactly, but the result isn’t what’s described. I’m not about to try something on him that’s gone wrong.’

She doesn’t chastise him for the implication she needs his permission for each stage of Wangji’s treatment. Xichen is still master enough of his emotions to know he’s being overbearing, but he doesn’t apologise or assure her she has no need for such permission.

Once Wangji is well, he will reckon with himself for such behaviour.

And Wei Wuxian?’ he asks.

‘He only just fell asleep,’ Wen Qing says.

Xichen nods and offers a placating smile, and doesn’t tell her he already decided to let Wei Wuxian sleep. It would be counter-productive to upset her by seeming to bristle at her words, just as it would be counter-productive to wake a man who needs a clear mind to help Wangji.

Still, Xichen feels the urge to cross to the desk and shake Wei Wuxian. He must have learnt something about that branding iron by now.

‘Would he not sleep better in a bed?’ he asks instead.

‘I don’t think he’ll sleep better until we’ve found a way to help your brother,’ Wen Qing replies, and there’s something close to a warning in that, though it’s unclear exactly what she’s warning him about. ‘Just as I won’t sleep well until my brother is found.’

Guilt pinches at him. He knows she came here to find her brother as much as for any other reason. He can hardly blame her for it. He understands she must chafe at not being able to search for him herself. But it cannot be helped. Wen Qing is the best doctor they have, and she must remain by Wangji’s side until he’s cured. She’s already leaving more often than Xichen is comfortable with, though he acknowledges the need for it.

‘A-Yao has promised to search every part of the palace,’ he reminds her. ‘If your brother is here, he will surely be easier to discover than a book.’

For a moment, she stares at him, her eyes dark and sharp, and he thinks she’s going to argue. The moment passes, and she takes the new book from his hand, her eyes lowered.

‘I’ll see if there’s anything in here,’ she says quietly.

The tension is broken by a clattering and a thud, and Xichen turns see Wei Wuxian clinging to the desk with half open eyes, peering down at where the branding iron and a book now sit on the floor.

‘You should try a bed, Wei Wuxian,’ Wen Qing says, crossing to him so briskly it can only just avoid being called running away from Xichen. ‘Come on, get up. Do you think you can find your own bed, or does someone need to drag you?’

‘No, no!’ Wei Wuxian stumbles as he gets to his feet, but he’s nimble enough to avoid Wen Qing’s grasp and pick up the branding iron as he approaches Xichen. ‘Zewu-Jun, you’re back. I’ve been waiting for you. After you left for your meeting, I had a thought.’

‘Wei Wuxian,’ Wen Qing says, following him, ‘we talked about this.’

‘Right, right,’ he says, and holds the branding iron out to Xichen, the grogginess already gone from his face and replaced by an energy that seems unstable. He barrels on before Wen Qing can caution him again. ‘So far, none of the texts speak of this array, but some of them do detail the making of the usual branding irons, and how they heat themselves, and part of it involves an infusion of spiritual energy.’

‘But they can be used even by those with no golden core,’ Xichen points out, in the fleeting break of Wei Wuxian taking a breath.

‘Yes, yes, of course,’ Wei Wuxian shoves the branding iron into Xichen’s chest and lets go, apparently trusting Xichen will take it. ‘But all living things contain some spiritual energy, and the branding iron doesn’t work until some is present. After that, it draws in energy each time it’s used, directly from the one being branded. In this way, it never runs out of enough energy, so long as it’s not left for, say, fifty years or more without being used. And an array must sometimes be active before we can see exactly how the energy flows through it, so-‘

‘He wants you to infuse that thing with your spiritual energy,’ Wen Qing cuts in. ‘Without knowing what that will do.’

Wei Wuxian spins to face her, one finger pointing at her as though he’s telling off a student who’s failed to do the reading.

‘And I have told you, sometimes you only learn by doing. So far, the books haven’t given me anything about this specific branding iron or the array on it, so I need to experiment.’

Xichen holds the branding iron with the array pointed downwards and considers. Wen Qing said they had found nothing, which means she didn’t want him to hear about this. She must think it not worth pursuing, or perhaps believes it’s too great a risk. Xichen is no longer sure anything is too great a risk, as long as that risk is not to Wangji.

‘Can you not infuse it with energy yourself?’ he asks, because Wei Wuxian has hardly shown great regard for his own safety up until now. It’s something of a surprise that he hasn’t already tried this.

‘Me?’ Wei Wuxian asks, as though the thought never occurred to him. The smile he offers looks wrong. It lacks the sunshine warmth of his old smiles. ‘Hah, Zewu-Jun, I have to take notes, and Wen Qing must be ready to help if something goes wrong. Remember, we don’t know what this brand will do.’

‘I am sure he remembers,’ Wen Qing says. ‘You can’t-‘

‘I will do it,’ Xichen cuts in. Whatever the reason Wei Wuxian won’t try this himself, it can’t be important enough to waste time on. ‘Is there a particular method to it?’

Wei Wuxian uses ten words where Xichen would use one, but it doesn’t take long to grasp what’s needed. Xichen wraps both hands around the branding iron, one lower down and one closer to the twisted metal of the array, angled so Wei Wuxian has a clear view, and infuses the thing with his spiritual energy.

For a stretched second, there is nothing. Wei Wuxian stares at the array, Wen Qing watches Xichen, and Xichen feels his spiritual energy sink into the metal and vanish. Then, something gives.

Something gives, and Xichen feels heat, burning and pulling and consuming and-

Someone is screaming. Shouting. Begging? They aren’t words, exactly. He can’t hear them. But he feels them, knows they’re constant, that whoever this is has been screaming and hurting and pleading for a long time.

‘-ewu-Jun!’ Wen Qing’s voice cracks through, pulling Xichen back to the room. She has hold of his right arm, both of her hands gripping him, and her expression is taut. Urgent. ‘Zewu-Jun, you have to stop. It’s hurting him.’

Him?

With a gasp, Xichen stops the flow of energy and releases the brand. It hits the floor with a clang and a hiss, and Wen Qing lets go of him, moving in the direction of the bed.

Xichen turns, his heartbeat too loud and too fast, to see Wen Qing reaching out for Wangji’s wrist, her face set in concentration.

‘What…?’ he starts, but trails off as he takes in more. ‘Wangji?’

Wangji’s eyes are open.

Chapter Text

Waking is a pulling together, a surfacing, a realisation of pain. Above all, it’s unexpected.

Wangji thought he was dying, back there as he faced Wen Rouhan. He accepted it. To find himself still in his body, still Lan Wangji, seems wrong.

He’s aware he’s breathing, the air filling his lungs along with a prickling pain that shifts, but doesn’t ease, as he exhales. He’s lying down, his eyes open but taking in only dim blurs, and he feels as though every part of him is cracking open.

A cold pressure on his wrist tells him he’s not alone, and it’s only then he registers noise. Voices. Voices he knows.

‘What did it do to him? Did it hurt him? Did I hurt him?’

Brother. That’s Brother. Brother should not be here.

‘Can he hear us?’

Wei Ying. Why is Wei Ying here? Wangji was supposed to end the war so Wei Ying didn’t have to, so Wei Ying could stay far away from Wen Rouhan and any display of the Stygian Tiger Seal’s power. Has he failed so badly?

He blinks, trying to clear his vision, and feels the hand leave his wrist.

‘Lan Wangji,’ Wen Qing says, ‘can you hear me? Are your eyes troubling you?’

Moving sends a bolt of pain through his temple, but he manages a small nod. Wen Qing being here makes sense, at least.

‘Hold still,’ she says.

He flinches when something chilled and damp presses over his eyes, and scolds himself to stillness. When the cloth is removed, he’s able to make out the canopy of the bed above him, though it’s still hazy.

‘Thank you,’ he murmurs, or tries to.

In contrast to the sharp, burning fractures inside him, his surroundings feel heavy and frozen, like a gelid lake, and he knows he doesn’t have the energy to move through it.

Movement to his right doesn’t exactly startle him, but it’s unpleasant, not to know what or who is around him. He rolls his head slowly sideways and finds Brother kneeling by the bed, the mixture of worry and hope clear to see.

‘Wangji,’ Brother says, reaching for Wangji’s right hand and wrapping it in his own long fingers, ‘how are you feeling?’

When Wangji finds no words to begin explaining that, Brother glances up and over Wangji with a furrowed brow.

‘What did I just do to him?’ he asks. ‘Why has he woken?’

‘Almost as soon as you started infusing your spiritual energy, Lan Wangji showed signs of distress,’ Wen Qing says steadily. ‘I don’t know if it was sensing your spiritual energy or whether it has something to do with the brand, but he started to seize. It seemed wisest to stop.’

Seize? Wangji doesn’t recall that. It must have stopped before he became conscious. He would turn and ask Wen Qing questions, but the pain and the exhaustion are heavy on him and all he can do is stare at Brother and listen.

‘A seizure?’ Brother asks. ‘Wangji has never suffered from seizures.’

‘It stopped as soon as you let go of the branding iron.’ Wen Qing sounds calm, but there’s an underlying layer of frustration. ‘As far as I can tell, the only difference it’s made to his condition is that he’s awake.’

‘Does he know where and when he is?’ Brother asks.

The frustration in Wen Qing’s voice is stronger when she replies.

‘Zewu-Jun, your brother will have to tell us that himself, but he was perfectly lucid on our way here.’

Brother’s eyes widen and he leans back a little. It must be strange for him, to be chastised by anyone other than Uncle and the elders of their clan. A moment later, he nods and meets Wangji’s eyes again.

Wangji, still not feeling able to speak, does his best to squeeze his brother’s hand. The relief on Brother’s face is another form of hurt.

‘We’re in Qishan,’ Brother says. ‘Do you remember that?’

Wangji manages a small nod. He swallows, gathering himself, and rasps out a name.

‘Wen Rouhan?’

He can’t have failed entirely. Now he’s a little more alert, he knows this. Otherwise, he would be in a cell or worse, not in a bed with his brother on one side of him and Wen Qing on the other. Wei Ying would not be here: Wen Rouhan would never let someone of Wei Ying’s talents walk freely around his palace.

Still, he needs to hear it.

Brother brings his free hand up to stroke some of the hair back from Wangji’s face, or maybe just to stroke his hair, and his smile takes on pride and sorrow and a hardened, bitter satisfaction.

‘Wen Rouhan is dead. You killed him, Wangji. The war is over.’

There’s relief, but not as much as Wangji would like. Because Brother is wrong, of course. The war is only over in part, not entirely, and too many people are still at risk.

‘Wei Ying,’ he tries to say next, though his lips feel wrong and clumsy.

Brother glances up to the right, a complicated look flashing in his eyes.

‘Wei Wuxian is here,’ he says. ‘He’s helping Lady Wen find a cure for you.’ His expression shifts into concern as he looks back at Wangji. ‘Do you remember being branded?’

Brother and Wei Ying must be able to read his answer in his expression, because they both react, his brother by frowning and Wei Ying by appearing beside Brother in a flurry of words.

‘Lan Zhan, Wen Qing felt the scarring in your spiritual energy. It’s not on your body now, but it happened. There’s no doubt about that. It must have happened sometime in the next four years. Are you sure you don’t remember anything?’

At first, Wangji can only look at Wei Ying, searching for any sign of harm. There’s the same exhaustion Brother carries and a frenetic energy that carries too many edges to be mistaken for the exuberance of days gone by. No obvious wounds, though. That dragging layer of resentful energy is nothing in comparison to the last time this war ended, and-

‘Lan Zhan? Are you listening to me? Can you follow what I’m saying?’

Wangji listens in increasing confusion as Wei Ying shows him the branding iron and a drawing he fetches from elsewhere in the room.

He manages to convey his lack of recognition, and listens as closely as he can to what Wei Ying has worked out about the array. It isn’t much. Wei Ying can’t be sure it has anything to do with how Wangji came to be back here, or with the condition he’s in.

‘A-Yao is having the entire palace searched for any information on this array,’ Brother assures him.

It’s odd, seeing Brother and Wei Ying kneeling side-by-side. They do both look tired, but they’re clean and whole and Wei Ying isn’t lying unconscious. With his initial panic over, Wangji allows himself to hope he has made things better than they were. Perhaps he has made Wei Ying safer.

A wave of pain washes through him, running fire through the fissures he feels inside him, and Brother’s fingers press into his wrist as Wei Ying half reaches for his face, concern clear.

‘Lan Zhan?’ he asks.

‘Don’t pass any spiritual energy to him, Zewu-Jun,’ Wen Qing says at the same time, sharp and certain.

Brother’s face tightens, but he doesn’t disobey.

‘You must be able to give him something for the pain,’ Wei Ying says, twisting away from Wangji to look at where Wen Qing must now be standing. ‘It’s not like he needs to be awake to keep his core together.’

But Wangji doesn’t want to sink into sleep. He’s spent more than enough time unconscious. Brother, who has always been able to read him best, must see his distress.

‘I don’t want you to be in pain, Little Brother,’ Brother says. ‘I…Wangji, when I passed spiritual energy into the branding iron, I felt such pain. Anguish. It wasn’t mine.’

‘You felt Lan Zhan’s pain?’ Wei Ying demands, and his expression takes on that fierce, intense look that means he’s piecing things together with a speed others can’t match. His eyes widen and his voice drops to a wondering, wounded murmur. ‘You felt Lan Zhan’s pain.’

He wants to deny what they’re saying. He has never wanted anyone to know how much he hurts, and it’s a leap in logic, besides. Brother and Wei Ying are upsetting themselves over an assumption.

Before he can force any words out, Wen Qing appears behind Wei Ying and ushers him out of the way, though Wei Ying remains close, standing to watch over her shoulder. She carries a drinking bowl.

‘Not every pain reliever knocks a person out, Wei Wuxian,’ Wen Qing says crisply, and holds the bowl out to Wangji. ‘Are you in pain, Lan Wangji? This will soothe some aches, but it won’t put you under. I have something stronger if you’d prefer, but I can’t guarantee you’ll stay awake after that.’

With some reluctance, Wangji allows Brother to help him sit up and lets Wen Qing help him drink. In some ways, it’s as much a relief to have Brother next to him as it is to feel the edges of the pain soften. He doesn’t dwell too much on whether it’s Brother’s presence he finds comforting or the fact he can no longer see the worry on Brother’s face. There are still things unresolved between them, many things, but Wangji is too tired and too aching to attempt any of it now.

‘If it was Lan Zhan’s pain you felt,’ Wei Ying says from where he’s still watching Wangji, as though there’s been no pause in the conversation, ‘that suggests an ongoing connection between the branding iron and a person who’s been branded. Will be branded? How would that work? Does the array not exist in one time alone?’

‘You said it may be what brought Lan Wangji back to this time,’ Wen Qing says.

‘Yes,’ Wei Ying replies, ‘it’s a possibility we’ve been considering.’ He shakes his head and begins pacing, back and forth along the side of the bed, and Wangji still hasn’t the voice to tell him to stop. ‘The array isn’t something I’ve seen anywhere else and we have no other clues as to how Lan Zhan came back here, so it’s reasonable to pursue this. Even if it isn’t anything to do with moving through time, it perhaps has something to do with the destabilisation of the golden core. Or with the not always being sure where and when it is. Or maybe it’s none of those. Or-‘

‘Wei Wuxian, slow down,’ Wen Qing orders, standing and stepping in front of him.

Wei Ying stops his pacing, but even without being able to see his whole face from the angle, Wangji sees that his friend’s mind is racing. Words spill out of him again within moments, and he looks from one person to another as he talks, turning as though seeking a way out, though he keeps himself in one spot.

‘How can we test it anymore if it’ll hurt Lan Zhan to do so?’ he asks. ’Zewu-Jun, you need to tell me everything you experienced, and Lan Zhan, you need to tell me if that’s what you’re feeling. Or were feeling. Lan Zhan, do you truly not have any memory of this array at all?’

Wangji still has questions. He wants to know for certain that Wei Ying has shown nobody the Stygian Tiger Seal. He needs to speak with his brother about the treatment of those on the losing side. But the softer edge to the pain has allowed the exhaustion to carry more weight, the sharpness no longer keeping out the press of the world even as the chill no longer reaches so far into him, and already he’s fighting sleep.

Brother notices.

‘I’ll be as detailed as I can be, but Wangji should be allowed to rest before we ask him to corroborate,’ Brother says.

He sounds calm and assured in a way that means it’s only skin deep. This period of the war was difficult for Brother the first time. It doesn’t appear to be any easier on him in this second iteration, if the pallor of his skin and the weariness hanging from him are anything to go by. Wangji has never wished to cause his brother pain.

Still, he can’t sleep just yet.

‘Wen Ning?’ he asks, his promise to Wen Qing a tether to his conscious mind.

‘Zewu-Jun has asked that those searching also look for A-Ning,’ she tells him, though her dark eyes slide away from him to the floor.

‘The Jins are a threat to him,’ Wangji manages. He’s already told her this, he knows, but the uncharacteristic need to say it again has him in its grip and he tries to sit further upright. He feels Brother’s arm stiffen against his shoulders. ‘Don’t let Jin Zixun find him.’ He doesn’t want to hurt Brother again, but… ‘Don’t let Jin Guangyao find him.’

Wen Qing glances past Wangji’s shoulder and away, her expression tight.

‘I’m not the one making those decisions,’ she says carefully.

‘Jin Zixuan is leading the rest of our forces here, but they have yet to arrive,’ Brother says. ‘As far as I know, Jin Zixun is with him, and I have never heard of a Jin Guangyao.’

He doesn’t ask why Wangji believes any Jin to be a danger.

‘Meng Yao is in charge of the search,’ Wen Qing says, still in that steady, unrevealing way.

Brother’s hands are on Wangji’s shoulders, now, the fingers digging in, and Brother speaks from close enough the breath hits Wangji’s ear.

‘Little Brother, no. You have to stay in bed. Don’t try to get up.’

Wangji strains against his brother’s hold. It’s a pitiful attempt, but he can’t seem to stop himself from making it. The memory of Meng Yao walking away, of him leaving Wangji facing Wen Rouhan and heading off to bring Brother to his death, is still too fresh. It casts strange light on older memories, of Brother insisting Jin Guangyao knew nothing of any child amongst the Wen prisoners. Of other things Brother was certain his A-Yao could not have known.

‘Wangji,’ Brother says, his voice a little louder, a little sharper, ‘stop this. You will do nothing but cause yourself further harm. Meng Yao is handling the search. There are no Jin Sect members here, and no harm will be done to Lady Wen’s brother. I have sworn it.’

‘Wen Qing should be searching,’ Wangji insists.

‘I am needed here, by Hanguang-Jun’s side,’ Wen Qing says, the stiff formality enough to show how she feels about this. ‘Zewu-Jun has given his word that my brother and I are under his protection.’ She meets his eyes and her gaze is searching. ‘You said yourself Meng Yao would not betray him.’

He did say that. He even believed it. Yet even without being left standing before Wen Rouhan alone, Wangji never thought Meng Yao would be the best person to save a Wen. Now…

‘Search with him,’ he says. There’s no way to explain without showing that Wangji doubts a man Brother trusts, but Wen Ning’s safety ties directly to Wei Ying’s. It has to be done. ‘Meng Yao is Jin Guangyao.’

He hears Wen Qing her draw in a breath, hears Wei Ying make a shocked sound, but neither of them speak. Brother frowns.

‘If Meng Yao is acknowledged by his father, then I will be happy for him, of course, but he will still be the same man. You can trust him with this search, Wangji. I’m needed here.’ Brother sounds so certain of that. ‘Don’t ask me to leave you, Little Brother. Not when you’ve only just woken up.’

He’s become complacent, Wangji realises. Wei Ying, Wen Qing, even Nie Huaisang, all believe him about the four years he’s lived that they have not. Brother, though… Back in the camp, before Wangji was packed into a carriage and sent away, Brother was still speaking about delusions, about Wangji not being in his right mind.

And Brother owes Meng Yao his life. Wangji can’t even say he’s certain that Jin Guangyao is a risk to Wen Ning. He has no examples or proof to offer, because until Meng Yao left him alone with Wen Rouhan, Wangji trusted his brother was right, that no matter what name he wore, Meng Yao was an ally.

All too familiar frustration wells up in Wangji’s chest, and he’s too tired to keep it from showing entirely. Brother, of course, picks up on this. His sigh is heavy in Wangji’s ear.

‘Will you promise to stay in bed, to rest properly, if I go to check on the search?’ he asks.

This is the tone he used when they were children, when they would make deals with each other. Looking back, those had always been ways for Brother to persuade Wangji to some behaviour, too. Wangji misses the days when that thought would have brought nothing but comfort.

He nods, and feels Brother shift, easing away the support of his arm and lowering Wangji down onto his back. When Brother’s face comes into view, the reluctance is clear, but he makes no further comment on it. Neither does Wangji, all his words spent and his body tying to pull him into rest despite his fears. For now, it will have to be enough that Brother will be there.

‘Wait,’ Wei Ying says. ‘If Wen Qing isn’t allowed to go and search for Wen Ning, then I’m the next best choice.’

Disgust drips from the word ‘allowed’, and an undercurrent of something hard implies Wei Ying knows not to trust a Jin. As he has done for years, Lan Zhan watches his brother absorb the blow and prepare to respond with gentle, immovable warmth.

The image of all those people, lined up in front of this very palace, their pale faces turned up to promise death to Wei Ying, floods Wangji’s mind, and his breath stutters in his chest. He can’t let Brother and Wei Ying be at odds. And he can’t let Wei Ying be the one who shields Wen Ning from a Jin.

‘Wangji?’ Brother asks.

‘Has the pain increased?’ Wen Qing asks, returning to his bedside and taking his wrist. Cool spiritual energy seeps into him, a hesitant probing compared to her earlier efforts. It stings at every broken point in him. ‘It should have faded somewhat by now.’

Wangji ignores her question in favour of staring at Brother.

‘You go. Not Wei Ying.’

‘Why should I not go, Lan Zhan?’ Wei Ying demands. He sounds as confused as he does irritated, but anger was never far below the surface during this time. ‘Do you think I can’t deal with Meng Yao?’

‘You go,’ Wangji repeats. He has to stop to breathe through a spike of pain in his chest, but struggles on. ‘Go, or I will.’

‘I’m going,’ Brother soothes. ‘You must remain in bed until Lady Wen says you are ready to leave it. Wei Wuxian, perhaps it is best if you stay here. Should Lady Wen be needed to undo a ward, I would not have Wangji left alone.’

But Wei Ying won’t be left behind. He insists he needs to question Brother over what he felt from the branding iron, that he’s found little of use in the books so far, and Wangji sees the looks Wei Ying and Wen Qing share. Wen Qing has told Wei Ying about the fate of her people. She must have.

And now Wangji has put Wei Ying on the defensive against Meng Yao, a man who will soon have the ear of Jin Guangshan.

Before he can marshal his panicked thoughts into order and even begin working out how to fix this, a from the doorway interrupts things.

‘Lady Wen?’ a woman’s voice says. ‘They’ve found another ward they need you for.’

Brother responds with near perfect composure, warm and controlled and in charge, as though there has been no conflict at all.

‘Lady Wen and I will come with you now. Wei Wuxian, you will remain here to keep an eye on my brother.’

Wen Qing looks at Wangji once before she joins Brother, an unhappy look that speaks of future questions, but she leaves with her usual quiet efficiency. Brother doesn’t even look at Wangji.

‘So,’ Wei Ying says, as soon as they’re alone, ‘are you going to tell me why I can’t go near Meng Yao, or do I have to guess?’

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian has grown used to having Chenqing in his hand. The branding iron is heavier, colder against his fingers, but he keeps hold of it. It’s grounding, to carry this piece of Lan Zhan’s vanished future. It’s a reminder.

Lan Zhan is the only one who can answer Wei Wuxian’s many questions about those four years he lived, but Wei Wuxian can’t lash out no matter how frustrating he finds the vague part-answers. His friend carries wounds from that time and Wei Wuxian must not make them worse.

He already came too close to causing Lan Zhan further harm.

Which is why, when his latest question goes unanswered, he focuses on the metal and keeps a tight hold on his temper.

‘Meng Yao became Jin Guangyao,’ Wei Wuxian says, watching the movement of the branding iron as he spins it slowly. ‘And the Jin Sect is a danger to Wen Ning. Wen Qing said they were in charge of the work camp where Wen Ning was hurt, right? So…did Jin Guangyao have something to do with the camp? Or do we just not trust anybody called Jin? Do I have to go back to keeping the Peacock away from my shijie?’

He brings the branding iron to a stop with the twisted metal of the array uppermost. He’s not really paying attention to it, even lets it go out of focus, but it’s somewhere to rest his gaze.

‘You didn’t want me here, Lan Zhan. You said they turned on me because they were scared of my power. Well, I came anyway. I used the seal anyway. So, there’s no point in trying to keep me hidden away. You may as well tell me what you know. If Meng Yao is one of those who turned on me, just say it.’

Lan Zhan is silent. Wei Wuxian turns his head to check whether his friend is still awake, only to find Lan Zhan staring at him with widened eyes.

‘You used the seal?’ he rasps.

Wei Wuxian’s fingers tighten around the branding iron.

‘Are you going to lecture me now?’ He takes a step closer to the bed, his grip pressing the metal he holds into his flesh. It’s an effort to keep his voice from rising. ‘What gives you the right? You demand I stay away, but you admit I win the war, and then you expect me to wait around in the camp like a good little boy? You may have been there the first time, Lan Zhan, but you weren’t this time. You were meant to be back home, safe and sound with your son. How was I to know you’d be here? Huh? How was I to know you’d throw yourself at Wen Rouhan?’

How was he to know Lan Zhan would be out cold on the floor, that he’d be so close to the effects of the seal?

‘Who saw?’

How typical of Lan Zhan, arrow-focused on his chosen target, and dismissing all concern for his own welfare. Wei Wuxian almost laughs.

‘Aren’t you horrified? Disgusted? Afraid of what my seal could have done to you?’

A muscle moves in Lan Zhan’s jaw.

‘Who saw?’ he asks again.

Wei Wuxian draws in a breath and lets it out slowly. Lan Xichen’s voice echoes in his memory, forcing the knowledge that Lan Zhan lay bleeding in the path of that storm into Wei Wuxian’s head. Other than that, he remembers kneeling, remembers blood on the cloth over his knees. He remembers Lan Zhan not moving and Lan Xichen leaning over his brother, as close to frantic as Wei Wuxian has ever seen him.

‘Your brother,’ he says, at last, giving a little. ‘Your brother saw.’

He saw the power of the Stygian Tiger Seal enclose his little brother, and saw how lost to it Wei Wuxian was. All told, it’s strange that Lan Xichen has left Wei Wuxian here alone with Lan Zhan. Had it been Shijie on that floor, and the Peacock standing over her…

‘Only Brother?’

Wei Wuxian shakes himself out of that awful moment and tries to think. Lan Zhan is annoyingly good at seeing when he’s lying, even if he can’t read the truth through Wei Wuxian’s smokescreen. He’s also stubborn enough not to let this go. But Wei Wuxian can be stubborn, too.

‘Yes.’

If anyone else did see, he didn’t notice them, can’t remember exactly when Wen Qing arrived. Meng Yao was there later. He’s almost sure of that. He has no idea if the man was around to see the seal in use.

Lan Zhan is quiet. Naturally, he’s always quiet, but this is of a different quality. A troubling quality. Wei Wuxian wonders how angry Lan Zhan is at him. His face has gone so blank it’s impossible to tell.

Then again, Lan Zhan does not have the monopoly on anger.

Aware he’s not as calm as he wants to be, Wei Wuxian takes another step towards the bed. He’s almost looming over Lan Zhan now. It shouldn’t feel good, but the whispers are rising in his head, hissing and cajoling and exulting, and the vicious part of him this war has nurtured wants to listen to them.

‘It doesn’t matter, that your brother saw,’ Wei Wuxian tells Lan Zhan. ‘It doesn’t matter, because I already told the so honourable Zewu-Jun and the strictly righteous Chifeng-Zun about the seal. I told them when I insisted on coming here to kill Wen Rouhan. I told them what it can do. So there’s no point in worrying about who saw. The people in charge of this war already knew.’

‘Wei Ying-‘

‘Lan Zhan!’ Wei Wuxian’s jaw is tight with the strain of not shouting. His temper flares so quickly, so hot, these days. He should care more about that, but he can’t. Even as Lan Zhan seems to pulls into himself, he can’t. ‘Done is done. Three people is better than an army, and Zewu-Jun has not denounced me yet. Stop thinking about it. Answer my question.’

‘You always want answers,’ Lan Zhan says, quietly enough even Wei Wuxian has trouble hearing him.

‘Should I not?’ he asks, unsure himself whether his voice is edged with anger or with frustration or with something else. ‘Am I supposed to just accept what little you’ve told me, what Wen Qing has told me, and leave it at that? I thought you knew me.’

‘I do.’

‘Not if you think I will sit quietly and be a good boy just because you say so,’ Wei Wuxian sneers. ‘I’m not one of your Lan disciples, Lan Zhan, so willing to do as they’re told without thinking for themselves.’

‘I’m not-‘

‘Yes, you are!’ He points the branding iron at Lan Zhan. ‘You told me to stay away from this and expected me to just go along with it. I had to force more out of you, and you still kept most of it back. And you have the gall to demand information from me, when you got yourself into such a state you were out cold? To me, it seems that you are the one who needs saving. You are the one who needs wrapping in blankets and keeping from harm.’

He sees Lan Zhan’s eyes widen, sees his lips part, and he dismisses these signs of shock. Wei Wuxian has done enough listening. This time, someone else will listen to him.

‘What? You get to protect me but I don’t get to protect the people I love?’

‘It will kill you.’

‘Not if you tell me how to do it right!’

They stare at each other, Wei Wuxian all to aware of the way his own chest is heaving. The snaking resentment winds through his body, like tangled worms in a burrow, pushing long hollows through his flesh and feeling ever closer to breaking him down into rot.

He can’t let that show. He just can’t. Lan Zhan has to believe Wei Wuxian is solid and strong. Jiang Cheng needs Wei Wuxian steady, useful. Shijie will worry herself sick if she sees how he really is. They can’t know, so he can’t back down.

‘I don’t know.’ Lan Zhan says the words like a confession, as though he’s admitting to a failure in an essential duty. ‘I don’t know exactly what you need to do.’

‘Then tell me what you do know. Come on, Lan Zhan. You say they turned on me, that they were scared of me, but what actually happened? Did the sects execute me? Did they send someone to kill me? What?’

Lan Zhan shakes his head, a slow movement against the pillow, and Wei Wuxian sees the way light catches at his eyes. Tears.

The sight pulls him up short. Only minutes ago, he reminded himself not to cause further harm to Lan Zhan, and now he is almost making the man cry. Lan Zhan hates being seen in such an emotional state, and here Wei Wuxian is, being the cause of it.

He sags, his anger abruptly deserting him and taking his energy with it. Still holding his arm out, he folds to his knees and lets the branding iron settle on the bed at the level of Lan Zhan’s hip.

‘Why won’t you just tell me?’ he asks. He sounds tired even to himself. ‘What do you take me for?’

Lan Zhan lets out a tiny, hitched breath, and the hand close to the branding iron twitches.

‘You asked me that before,’ Lan Zhan says. He must see the question on Wei Wuxian’s face, because for once he goes on without prompting. ‘You said you once considered me your zhiji.’

Wei Wuxian swallows. He knows he’s used that term before, that he’s thrown it out into the world like a jest, though he’s never meant it as one. He’s never demanded that Lan Zhan confirm it.

‘And what answer did you give me?’ he asks. There’s no tremor in his voice, at least.

Lan Zhan closes his eyes, his hand twitching again. He doesn’t respond.

‘Lan Zhan? Lan Zhan, you can’t just say that and not give me anything more.’

‘That I was still your zhiji,’ Lan Zhan says, through barely parted lips. ‘I still am.’

His eyes remain closed.

‘Lan Zhan,’ Wei Wuxian says around a damp huff of something like laughter, ‘you can’t even stand to look at me right now. How can someone who upsets you so be your zhiji? How can someone who causes you pain even be your friend?’

Wei Wuxian tightens his now lax grip around the branding iron, preparing to stand and leave Lan Zhan to his healing. It’s clear no useful information will be given up with him in this mood, and Wei Wuxian can make a start on working through what the link between the branding iron, Lan Zhan and Lan Xichen could mean.

Only, Lan Zhan moves at the same time, shifting on the bed to look straight at Wei Wuxian, his hand moving on the covers as he adjusts himself, and Wei Wuxian feels the moment the contact is made.

Lan Zhan touched the branding iron, and Wei Wuxian is no longer sitting on the floor of a bedroom in Wen Rouhan’s palace.

Meng Yao – Jin Guangyao to be – greets Lan Xichen with warmth and with reverence. Wen Qing is almost uncomfortable enough to leave them to it, but Meng Yao needs to show her where the ward is.

‘We searched every wall,’ Meng Yao tells Lan Xichen, ‘and eventually had to search the floor. The entrance to the warded room is here.’

He gestures to a heavy stone flag at one end of the room. It bears marks suggesting something normally stands on it, and a brazier off to the side must be that thing.

‘He hid it under a fire?’ she asks.

At her words, Meng Yao darts a smile at her, almost masking that his attention was so much on Lan Xichen as to overlook her.

‘He did, Lady Wen. As expected, the ward is locked to your bloodline.’

To her bloodline. She gives no reaction to this linking of Wen Rouhan’s blood and hers. It’s true, after all, as far as it goes. A timely reminder, if she needed one, that any distance between the main branch of the Wen Clan and the Dafan Wen is immaterial.

Lan Wangji told her how little she could rely on such a distinction for her people’s survival. In the eyes of the other sects, a Wen is a Wen and all of them are culpable.

Wen Qing must do all she can to make the men in charge of this new peace see that’s not the case.

She crosses to the slab and kneels, reaching out her right hand and focusing on the ward. It’s trickier than the others, and resentful energy itches at her meridians as she works to unpick it. Wen Rouhan experimented with mixing his energies like this before she stopped treating him, but the balance here is worse than she expected.

‘Is there a problem?’ Meng Yao asks from just behind her.

She didn’t hear him approach. How Wen Rouhan, in his increasingly paranoid state, coped with an assistant who can appear without warning, she has no idea.

‘A problem?’ Lan Xichen isn’t much louder as he joins them, but at least she hears the swish of his robes and the press of his boots against the floor. ‘What seems to be the matter?’

Having the two of them standing at her back is hardly comforting, but her own comfort is far down her list of priorities. At least having Lan Xichen right there eases some of the anxiety Lan Wangji’s most recent warning has caused. Meng Yao can’t stab her in the back with the great Zewu-Jun watching.

‘He used resentful energy as well as spiritual.’ At least her years serving Wen Rouhan taught her to sound calm and controlled even when faced with an unpleasant reality. ‘I can’t open it. Not alone.’

Lan Wangji will be upset, having both Wei Wuxian and Wen Qing here with Meng Yao, and Lan Xichen won’t accept leaving his brother unsupervised. One of them is going to have to give ground, because this ward isn’t going to.

Rising, Wen Qing turns to face Lan Xichen and ensures her tone is as definite as it needs to be. She’s a doctor: she knows how to tell people their only option is one they won’t like.

‘I need Wei Wuxian’s help,’ she says. ‘It will take both of us to open this door.’

Wei Wuxian fell into the Burial Mounds and lost all connection to time or place.

He knew pain and loss and anger and a thousand other wailing emotions, but he didn’t know how long he spent lying on the ground between one spirit attempting to possess him and the next. He had no idea if there was any time between, or only one spirit at a time, or if he’d been ousted from himself and was watching from the outside as ghosts fought over his body.

He fell again, over and over, into memories that weren’t his, and it felt like being swept away in river rapids. There was no footing to be had, no chance of working out where the surface may be, and any thought of affecting the outcome was a delusion.

His skill in Empathy was wrested from that endless drowning, as he learnt to cling to one spirit’s memories in order to keep from being torn apart by hundreds. It took time, it must have done, though surely not as much as it seemed, but Wei Wuxian is able to plunge deep into Empathy and find his way back to shore. Nobody has undergone the training he’s had.

And still, he wouldn’t choose to risk Empathy with a living spirit.

Lan Zhan is a maelstrom. There’s no coherence to the memories, no connection to anything but anguish and pain, and Wei Wuxian would panic if this weren’t a nightmare he’s faced before.

Twisting, reaching, gripping are all meaningless terms in the state he’s in, but there are no better ones, either. What he does is something along those lines, and he feels it when one memory coalesces out of the storm, when his knees, Lan Zhan’s knees, hit something solid.

He looks up to see Lan Qiren standing before him, and has time to wonder at the look in the man’s eyes before the first strike hits his back.

Chapter Text

Xichen would return to Wangji himself, but he hesitates. He keeps remembering Wangji demanding Wen Qing not be alone with A-Yao.

For Wangji to be so insistent, so openly panicked, there must be something to it.

For a moment, he wishes he could still believe Wangji is suffering from delusions, and guilt stabs him at the thought. It’s too close to wishing ill-fortune on a loved one, though in this case every option contains injury or illness for Wangji. If his mind isn’t concocting fantasies, then a future version of Xichen allowed great harm to come to his brother.

That future Xichen can’t have intended to cause such pain, such wariness, as he’s seen in Wangji since the day he first walked in with A-Yuan in his arms. There must have been a reason, perhaps several, for whatever course of action was taken.

‘Zewu-Jun?’ A-Yao asks, his eyes worried. ‘Shall I send someone to fetch Wei Wuxian?’

He’s asked already. Xichen knows he has. To leave the man waiting is ill-mannered and unkind, not to mention pointless. They need this ward undone so Wen Qing can return to Wangji, where her attention should be. And Xichen needs to stop wallowing in such thoughts.

Shaking himself out of his stupor, he offers a smile and thanks A-Yao.

‘Perhaps Lady Wen would be willing to ask Wei Wuxian to join us?’ Xichen suggests. He wouldn’t normally ask such a thing of her, but this way neither of Wangji’s people will be left with someone he distrusts. ‘That way, you can explain the matter to him on the way.’

Wen Qing levels him with a look that threatens to slice right through his words, but she lowers her eyes and dips into a small bow before it can become too obvious.

‘As Zewu-Jun wishes,’ she says.

A-Yao remains silent as Wen Qing leaves the room, though his brow is furrowed, and once she’s gone he turns questioning eyes on Xichen.

‘Have I don’t something to displease you, Zewu-Jun?’ he asks. ‘Please, tell me what it is, so I can make sure to avoid it in the future.’

At the soft sound of disappointment in the younger man’s tone, the doubts Wangji has planted in Xichen wither and die. Or nearly so. He’s aware he doesn’t want to believe badly of A-Yao. He doesn’t feel it can be true that A-Yao is a danger. But there are too many points of evidence now for doubt in one thing: Wangji has lived beyond the present day. Wangji must know things Xichen does not.

And A-Yao tried to keep Xichen from reaching Wangji as Wen Rouhan died, failed to tell Xichen that his little brother was in Qishan, that he’d been captured and taken to their enemy.

Yet…A-Yao saved Xichen from the Wen, and A-Yao is still warm and helpful, and he was afraid – transparently, obviously afraid – that the resentful energy would kill Xichen.

A clear conclusion is beyond him. There is no cause to upset a friend when a full picture is impossible to see.

‘Not at all,’ Xichen says, infusing his tone with warmth to make up for the delay in answering. ‘You’ve done nothing to upset me.’ Not in this search, certainly. ‘I confess, I’m being over-protective of my brother. This way, Lady Wen can reassure me he’s not taken a turn for the worse.’

‘Ah.’ A-Yao’s expression turns understanding. ‘It must be difficult, to keep your mind on everything you have to do when someone so close to you is unwell.’

They spoke, a little, about A-Yao’s mother, back when Xichen was hiding from the Wen. Naturally, he understands. And his mother’s illness was left to fester, without the help of a skilled physician or the resources Xichen can draw on.

‘I know he’s being well cared for,’ Xichen says, letting his smile turn grateful and unguarded for a brief moment, before pulling himself back into a more suitable demeanour. ‘I must try not to let myself be distracted, of course. Tell me, are we prepared for the other sect leaders to arrive?’

A-Yao lets him lead the conversation away to some of the many practical concerns the man deals with so well, and Xichen doesn’t let himself watch the door for Wen Qing’s return.

Wei Wuxian has seen a look of disgust in Lan Qiren’s eyes more than once, but this is Empathy. The Lan Qiren in this moment isn’t looking down at his most troublesome student: he’s looking at his own nephew. At Lan Zhan.

The blow to his – to Lan Zhan’s – back jolts the air in his lungs, but this body barely reacts. Wei Wuxian feels the jaw clench, feels the hands are in tight fists, but Lan Zhan is near silent and almost still as the strike falls, passes, falls again.

Wei Wuxian is no stranger to the sting of a whip. The bright lash of Zidian has felt strong in his memory, no matter what other pains he’s suffered. He learns now that the memory faded, after all.

The lash falls and Lan Zhan’s mouth twists, but he doesn’t cry out.

Lan Qiren breaks the silence, demanding that Lan Zhan state a rule, and Lan Zhan does so. Wei Wuxian feels his friend’s mouth shape the words against associating with evil, and he can’t tell if the rage he feels, the disgust, the guilt, are Lan Zhan’s or his own.

The grief, he thinks, is Lan Zhan’s.

They can’t be punishing him so brutally just for befriending Wei Wuxian. They can’t. Can they?

Lan Zhan said he was punished for trying to protect Wei Wuxian, for trying to protect that which Wei Wuxian protected, which means for protecting the last of the Wen. Is that who Lan Qiren means, or is the evil he has in mind all Wei Wuxian?

The blood that spills between Lan Zhan’s teeth and over his lips makes Wei Wuxian want to gag, only he can’t. He can’t, because this isn’t his body, and of the many things Lan Zhan is feeling in this moment, horror at what’s happening to his own body isn’t one of them.

‘I dare ask, Uncle,’ Lan Zhan grits out, and Wei Wuxian almost thinks his own thoughts are punching through into the future as Lan Zhan goes on. This doesn’t sound like the stern, composed boy Wei Wuxian first met, or the stoic warrior of the Sunshot Campaign. The question Lan Zhan aims at his uncle has the ring of something Wei Wuxian would say.

No wonder Lan Zhan feels like he’s in freefall. The solid footing of his worldview must have crumbled beneath him, for him to be asking what is right and what is wrong, for him to be doing so defiantly, on his knees, as the man who raised him has him beaten.

It feels wrong on so many levels, wrong that it happened, wrong that Wei Wuxian is witnessing it. He doesn’t want this - to be here, helpless, as this happens.

Forcing himself out of Empathy is hard. It’s easier by far to let the memory run its course, and even then, extricating himself has a cost. But he can’t take this. He can’t take knowing so intimately that Lan Zhan will boil with rage and grief, that he’ll spit the breaking of his old bedrock in his uncle’s face, but he’ll let them lacerate his back.

So Wei Wuxian tears himself out of this memory and claws his way into another.

Wen Qing isn’t far from Lan Wangji’s room when she finds her way blocked by Jiang Wanyin.

He’s taller than she remembers. Broader, too. Perhaps it’s as much his presence, which has expanded to fill even more space than when she saw him in the dungeons at Yiling. It’s the first time she’s had to acknowledge him properly since that time.

‘Sect Leader Jiang.’

She bows and waits. Antagonising this man won’t make anything better, and perhaps he wishes to pretend she doesn’t exist. He’s made no effort to speak to her in particular since he reached the palace, not in any way that matters.

‘Lady Wen,’ he replies, stiff and formal. ‘I expected you to be with Hanguang-Jun.’

There’s an edge of bitterness in that, though she isn’t sure why.

‘I’m on my way to his room,’ she says.

In the span of silence that follows, she notes the deep purple of the fabric across his chest, the embroidery that swirls along it. He’s dressed well, as a sect leader should be. There’s little of the wounded boy in him, now. Not on the surface, at least.

‘I shouldn’t keep you from your duties,’ Jiang Wanyin says, at last. ‘Is Wei Wuxian still hanging around in there instead of doing anything useful?’

Wen Qing lets her lips press into a thin line and waits for the flash of anger to pass. Anger won’t save her people. Being angry at those who didn’t help before won’t improve anything. Even if that person is speaking so dismissively of the man who used himself up to give her people more time.

‘If you have a task for him, Sect Leader Jiang,’ she says when she’s sure it will come out steady, ‘I’m afraid it will have to wait. Zewu-Jun has sent me to collect Wei Wuxian to help with a ward.’

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees his fist clench, the weapon on his wrist sparking.

‘Of course,’ he says. ‘The Lans come first.’

She should ignore that. She should continue on her way and let Jiang Wanyin simmer in whatever feelings he’s having. She should.

‘Zewu-Jun is helping me look for my brother,’ she says, snapping her head up to look at him properly.

Her brother, who risked his life to bring Jiang Wanyin out of Lotus Pier, who risked her anger to bring the remains of the Jiang Sect to hide in Yiling, who wept as he held Wei Wuxian down so Wen Qing could save the man before her now.

He meets her eyes for two heartbeats, three, before looking away, a faint flush staining his cheeks.

‘I hope you find him,’ he offers, the bitterness gone, the awkwardness increased.

And there he is, after all, that boy. Rather, the boy who thanked her for her help back in the Cloud Recesses, though at that time he looked at her and saw a pretty young woman.

Now, he’s still not looking at her as he steps aside and indicates she should pass. Wen Qing does so, unable to shake the look on his face even as she makes her way down the next hallway and into Lan Wangji’s room.

Once inside, all thought of Jiang Wanyin is driven from her mind.

His arm stings. That’s the first detail Wei Wuxian latches onto. It’s most of the way up the right arm, a pain that speaks of a cut already healing.

The next thing is the exhaustion.

Lan Zhan, in this memory, is close to collapse. He’s on his feet, but Wei Wuxian knows what it feels like, to be so drained, and Lan Zhan must be kept upright more by adrenaline and determination than by his spiritual energy.

Noise filters in next, at first a whisper and then a roar, and Wei Wuxian realises they’re in the middle of a battle. A kind of battle.

As his mind grasps what Lan Zhan is seeing, Wei Wuxian realises the people around him are either destroying their surroundings or facing off against Lan Zhan. And those surroundings…

The Burial Mounds. This battle is taking place in the Burial Mounds.

This is where he took the last of the Wens, according to what Wen Qing has told him, but where are the Wens now? Where is Wei Wuxian? He wouldn’t hide away and leave Lan Zhan to fight alone.

Bichen is heavy in his hand, though not so heavy as it would be to Wei Wuxian in his own flesh, and the blade slashes out in an arc to block a cultivator in white robes from passing. From the outside, the Lan sword forms are elegant and devastating. From the inside, the most obvious element is focus. It’s a cold, furious sort of focus, and it feels to Wei Wuxian as though Lan Zhan is holding tight to it in place of unravelling altogether.

‘Hanguang-Jun!’ the other cultivator snarls, and he looks vaguely familiar, though Wei Wuxian can’t place him. No forehead-ribbon, so not a Lan. ‘Move aside!’

Move aside. Right. Yes, because where Lan Zhan is standing is between the other cultivators and the cave. That must be where the Wens are. It has to be, because if they’re not in there, leaving Lan Zhan out here to protect them from those who want them dead, then why is this fight happening at all?

‘Hanguang-Jun,’ a woman in Jin robes calls out, ‘what are you defending? Stop this madness.’

There’s a slash across her shoulder and dirt on her face. She sways where she stands.

None of the people Wei Wuxian sees before him will make it past Lan Zhan. He’s sure of it. But Lan Zhan doesn’t feel calm and in control. He doesn’t feel confident. Layered through that exhaustion is disbelief and rage, is a numbness that threatens to fell him. They aren’t the emotions of someone who still has a chance to win.

All Wei Wuxian will see here, now, is defeat. It doesn’t matter than Lan Zhan can keep these people from gaining entry to the cave. It isn’t them he’s truly fighting.

Frantic to know what Lan Zhan is defending, Wei Wuxian rips himself from this memory, too, and finds himself standing in the cave.

Jiang Cheng intends to move on. He certainly doesn’t watch Wen Qing walk away, instead keeping his eyes directed at the opposite wall. Still, he can’t help but track the sound of her footsteps as she heads towards Lan Wangji’s room.

There’s no sense in following her, not when Wei Wuxian is already claimed for a task. Not that it would make much difference if Jiang Cheng reached Wei Wuxian before one of the Lans did. What Jiang Cheng and Yunmeng Jiang need are secondary.

Wei Wuxian has made it his business to follow the Twin Jades around like their dog. What with that and his obsession with the Wens, Jiang Cheng is starting to wonder if Wei Wuxian will refuse to return to Lotus Pier.

A sharp cry cuts off any further thoughts about Lan Wangji and his hold over Wei Wuxian, and Jiang Cheng is running without having made a conscious choice to do so.

He barrels into the room to find Wen Qing calling Wei Wuxian’s name. Wei Wuxian himself lies on the floor, his body juddering and his limbs flailing, and on the bed Lan Wangji is perfectly still, save for the hitched breaths that make him sound like he’s choking.

‘What’s happening?’ he demands.

‘Check Lan Wangji’s airway is clear,’ Wen Qing says, which doesn’t answer his question.

Jiang Cheng hesitates only for a moment. His training in healing is minimal, but all Jiang disciples are taught how to check an airway.

‘Clear,’ he reports. ‘He’s choking on nothing.’

‘Get him onto his side,’ Wen Qing orders, even as her hands fly over Wei Wuxian, doing something with needles that Jiang Cheng has no hope of understanding. ‘Don’t feed him any spiritual energy. Let me know if he stops breathing.’

The next minutes are tense and stretched, but finally Wen Qing sits back on her heels and meets Jiang Cheng’s eyes. Wei Wuxian is now still, or at least his limbs are no longer moving, but he’s trembling all over like something is suppressing his body’s need to move. The needles, he realises, spotting several sticking out of Wei Wuxian’s form.

‘Can you do that for him?’ Jiang Cheng asks, glancing down at Lan Wangji, who seems to be stuck permanently on the brink of suffocating on nothing. ‘Turning him on his side did nothing.’

‘It will stop him from drowning in his own saliva,’ Wen Qing tells him.

She sounds exhausted and on edge. Still a little irritable.

Slowly, she pushes herself to her feet and comes to stand by the bed, looking at something that now lies at Lan Wangji’s back.

‘I think this is to blame,’ she says, and frowns. ‘But it’s not having the same effect on Lan Wangji as when his brother touched it.’

Jiang Cheng leans in and sees it’s a branding iron. There’s no visible sign of a connection between it and either man, but he’s seen enough spiritual and cursed objects to know that means little.

‘What happened when Zewu-Jun touched it?’ he asks.

‘It may have formed a connection to what Lan Wangji was feeling,’ she says, her tone shifting into something more matter-of-fact and speculative. ‘But Zewu-Jun was still conscious and Lan Wangji woke up during it, so this isn’t the same. It seems…deeper, maybe.’

The idea of experiencing someone else’s feelings is horrifying. Jiang Cheng has more than enough with his own. And, though only a handful of weeks ago he’d have said Lan Wangji had very few emotions, that was before the man’s son appeared and Lan Wangji had some kind of breakdown.

‘How do we stop it?’

‘I have no idea,’ Wen Qing says.

The boy huddled behind a protruding lump of rock is dressed in worn clothes. He’s sweating and feverish, and Wei Wuxian is terrible with faces but he’s clearly seared Lan Zhan’s son into his mind: this is A-Yuan.

Why is A-Yuan here, in a cave in the Burial Mounds?

Lan Zhan pulls his hand back from A-Yuan’s forehead, and Wei Wuxian feels how anxious he is. How intent. This is Lan Zhan with a task before him, one he’s desperate not to fail, but the grief and the guilt and the rage are absent.

No. Not quite absent. There is anger, and an unsettling, corrosive drip of recrimination, though it’s hard to work out who it’s aimed at. Wei Wuxian hasn’t access to Lan Zhan’s thoughts. Not in any way that clarifies things.

As Lan Zhan gathers up the boy and stands, cradling A-Yuan close to his chest, Wei Wuxian takes note of other details. The sting on his arm is gone. Lan Zhan isn’t exhausted. Earlier than the fight outside the cave, then.

It doesn’t explain anything. Not really. It doesn’t tell Wei Wuxian where he is, or the Wens, or why A-Yuan is here in the first place.

His mother was a Wen. Fine. But did Lan Zhan really let her be driven into a camp and then into this resentment-packed wasteland? Along with his own child?

And if that is how it happened, if Lan Zhan, Hanguang-Jun himself, either didn’t know about his own boy or knew, and left him there, then why didn’t A-Yuan recognise Wei Wuxian back in the camp? Lan Zhan said the kid had his memories, that they seemed to fluctuate, but they were present. Surely, in the times A-Yuan spent with Wei Wuxian in the camp, it should have coincided with one moment of knowing him?

Lan Zhan has carried A-Yuan out of the cave, and the scene outside shows nothing of the destruction by boot and by fire that would be there if this took place after the fight. As Lan Zhan mounts Bichen and lifts off from the ground, Wei Wuxian falls away, falls and falls until he lands in a darkened room, with low, murmured voices in a dialect Wei Wuxian doesn’t speak.

Meng Yao is aware Wen Qing has been gone long enough to reach Lan Wangji’s room, explain the situation to Wei Wuxian, and return. It’s not quite been long enough to be sure something is awry, but he’s not surprised when someone arrives with bad news.

He is somewhat taken aback that it’s Jiang Wanyin, but perhaps the man simply doesn’t trust any of the servants Meng Yao has kept out of the dungeons.

‘Zewu-Jun,’ Jiang Wanyin says as soon as he spots Lan Xichen, not so much as appearing to notice Meng Yao, ‘Wen Qing sent me. Wei Wuxian and Hanguang-Jun are connected through the branding iron. She can’t wake either of them.’

Lan Xichen’s pleasant smile vanishes, revealing the stark worry underneath, and he takes one step towards Jiang Wanyin, as though some part of him thinks to take hold of the man. But of course, it lasts only a moment.

‘I will go to them,’ Lan Xichen announces, visibly drawing himself away from an emotional outburst. ‘A-Yao…’

‘Go,’ Meng Yao says, recognising the way Lan Xichen’s voice trails off as a sign he’s close to being overwhelmed. There was a lot to be overwhelmed by, back when Meng Yao was hiding Lan Xichen from the Wen Sect. ‘I’ll take care of things here until you can return.’

Almost on the heels of the two sect leaders leaving the room, a servant arrives to inform them that the combined forces of the sects have arrived at the Nightless City. Meng Yao casts a regretful look at the still-warded door, and goes to deal with it.

He can’t understand where he is, at first, his mind too busy struggling to parse the soft, sugary words spoken by the man next to him. Whoever that is, he’s stroking his hand gently along the hair above Wei Wuxian’s temple, small, slow strokes that don’t stop.

There are very few people Lan Zhan would let touch him at all, let alone like this.

Zewu-Jun. The man speaking to Lan Zhan, stroking his hair as Lan Zhan lies on his stomach in a room without light, must be the older Twin Jade.

Lan Zhan feels hazy, disconnected, and the pain of his back floats separate from him. Wei Wuxian doubts Lan Zhan has moved much, if at all, since being placed on this bed, and his eyes are full of tears. He isn’t crying. It’s not that. But the room, quite aside from being so dim, is also blurred by the wetness in his barely open eyes.

No wonder Zewu-Jun is being so soothing. He must be worried his little brother has gone away inside his head, driven under by the weight of pain.

Jiang Cheng was struck with the discipline whip, too, on the same awful night his core was taken. His will to live went with it. So Wei Wuxian knows how it feels, to sit by the beside of a beloved brother and know that you can’t reach him. He knows what it’s like to keep trying anyway.

Wei Wuxian feels the breath scrape hot against the inside of Lan Zhan’s throat and feels the effort of bringing up just one word. It emerges small and weak and urgent.

‘A-Yuan.’

Zewu-Jun falls silent, his hand stilling. The preparation to repeat himself shifts Lan Zhan’s ribcage and tugs the pain in his back closer.

‘Wangji, don’t speak,’ Zewu-Jun says, in the dialect they all share. ‘I heard you. I just…’

Panic. That’s panic solidifying in lungs, the tight, cramping terror that disaster has already happened. Wei Wuxian has felt it too many times to be mistaken.

This time, the sound Lan Zhan makes isn’t a word, but Zewu-Jun responds to it anyway, pressing the surety of his reply into the space between them.

‘He’s alive. He’s safe.’ The hand takes up its stroking again, hesitant now, in contrast with the words. ‘His fever broke last night and the healers say what he needs now is rest and nourishment.’

The relief Lan Zhan feels is painful and ragged, and Wei Wuxian barely gets to experience it before Zewu-Jun continues.

‘The fever has burnt away any memory of what came before. Whoever his people were, he doesn’t remember them.’

At Lan Zhan’s low sound of dismay, Zewu-Jun drops his hand to the back of Lan Zhan’s neck, avoiding any wounds in a way that speaks to how much time he’s spent at his brother’s bedside. The warmth of that hand is grounding, but without hair or fabric in the way, a faint tremor is noticeable. Whatever is to be said next, Zewu-Jun doesn’t want to say it.

‘Perhaps… Perhaps it is best, for him not to recall his past.’ The fingers tighten, just a little, not enough to hurt. ‘Wangji, the boy will need a new home, and this way he can say nothing to raise questions-‘

Nobody who’s been struck so many times by the discipline whip should be moving at all, let alone at speed, but Lan Zhan forces his body to life and twists enough that he can bury one hand in the robe across his older brother’s chest. They’re looking at each other now, and even with the light so faded and with the tears of pain renewed, it’s clear Zewu-Jun is hurting. He looks as drawn and worried in this memory as he does in Wei Wuxian’s present. He looks almost as tired and more conflicted.

Nevertheless, his voice is gentle and firm as he covers Lan Zhan’s hand with his own free one and continues. At least he sounds regretful.

‘A-Zhan, you can’t expect to keep the boy. Think. You will be in seclusion for three years. You cannot possibly care for him yourself. I know he’s… I know what this means to you, but such a thing would only bind you more tightly to what you’re meant to be letting go.’

Now, Lan Zhan’s hand spasms around the fabric of his brother’s robe, and is stilled by a squeeze from Zewu-Jun’s fingers.

‘People will wonder where he came from,’ Zewu-Jun says, and the way he says it suggests he’s been challenged on the last point of his argument and is trying another. ‘Can he really be safe if they suspect? Perhaps, if you had brought him here when you first knew the situation, there would have been a greater separation in people’s minds, but now?’

‘A-Yuan stays,’ Lan Zhan rasps.

The brothers stare at each other, Wei Wuxian trapped staring along with them.

‘I do not know if I can protect you both,’ Zewu-Jun whispers.

Wei Wuxian doesn’t feel even the slightest twinge of anger or resentment from Lan Zhan. There’s no sign his friend is thinking that his older brother didn’t protect him from the whip. There’s just that determined waiting.

And Wei Wuxian doesn’t know Zewu-Jun well enough to see the moment he relents. He knows it instead by the loosening of Lan Zhan’s hand and the sagging of his body flat to the bed, Zewu-Jun supporting his brother down.

There’s a heavy pause, in which Lan Zhan pants through the wounds being fully felt and Zewu-Jun arranges Lan Zhan’s limbs as they were before. The pause lasts through an endless moment, until the haze of unconsciousness creeps in at the edges of Lan Zhan’s awareness.

‘Okay,’ Zewu-Jun says, at last, as though he’s having to pry the words out with his fingers. Perhaps he knows he has to say this now, for fear Lan Zhan will let himself be buried if he has no hope. ‘Okay, Wangji. It will be as you say. We’ll protect A-Yuan here as well as we can.’

That same relief from earlier rushes in, and it almost seems that Lan Zhan’s next breath is close to a sob, though his overwhelming emotion is a desperate resolve. Resolve to protect his son, perhaps, or to be the father A-Yuan didn’t have in the Burial Mounds.

Perhaps it’s simply the resolve to heal, so he can see his son again.

But that healing can only have gone so far, because something sent Lan Zhan down the path into his own past, and Wei Wuxian is almost sure, now, that he knows what it was.

He gets no further with that thought before he feels the tugging, falling sensation that means he’s out of time. Whatever dragged him into Empathy is removing its hooks, and the part of all this that is Wei Wuxian spins out of the memory and lands, winded, on the floor of a room in Wen Rouhan’s palace.

Chapter Text

Wangji is powerless to stop the plunge into his memories. Whatever hold the branding iron has on him, it hauls him bodily into himself.

And he knows someone is there with him. Wei Ying. It must be Wei Ying, though he can’t communicate with him or see him or feel him. Not exactly. There’s just…an awareness of presence, a weight that prevents him from fleeing, from fracturing. It’s an intrusion.

He fights it.

The whip falls against his back, and he feels it, feels the impact and the hanging moments of nothing and the blooming, rising swell of pain. He feels it and he scrabbles for a way out, because he can’t do this again. He can’t. He knows how it builds and builds and seems that it’ll never end, seems that he’ll always be trapped in this time, his punishment unending. He knows the pain will barely recede, that he’ll be shackled to it for months. Years. That he won’t be able to move at first, how even his grief will have to exist in the cracks between the pain.

But he can do nothing to change it. There’s no way to limit or change this memory.

He can only exist in it, this strange doubling of his body and his emotions. There’s no method by which he can tear himself out, and no possibility of stopping Wei Ying from experiencing it.

Wei Ying, who is in Wangji’s memory of his body with him, pressing the both of them up tight against the edges of his skin so it feels there can’t be room for air.

If anyone has control over this, it’s not Wangji. When the scene shifts, all he can do is go with it. And go with it. And go with it again.

Wangji has never been one to scream. When Wen Xu had his leg broken, he remained stubbornly silent. The same has been true of every wound he’s taken, as far as it’s been within his power, but here, as he’s compressed between the alien presence of another consciousness and the weight of some of his worst times, he’d scream if he could. If only to relieve some of that pressure.

Finally, he feels something give, feels the other presence peel away, and he’s halfway convinced it’s taking chunks of Wangji with it. But there’s enough of him to know that whatever spell or curse this is, it’s loosened its hold on him, and he’s back in his present body, the one lying in a room in the Nightless City, his limbs and his head heavy and every hurt he just relived feeling fresh.

He wakes choking.

Wei Wuxian is halfway to his feet when Jiang Cheng reaches him, grabbing his right arm and hauling him the rest of the way. His fingers dig in.

‘What were you playing at?’ he demands.

He’s scowling, his glare enough to terrify any child, if there were any here, and Wei Wuxian knows he should placate his brother in some way. That’s been their pattern for so many years: Wei Wuxian does something Jiang Cheng considers reckless, Jiang Cheng berates him, and Wei Wuxian jokes or apologises or promises to take it all on himself. Whatever will soothe his brother.

But not since the Burial Mounds. Or, it’s at least been harder to play his part, has felt more like a poorly fitting mask than ever before. And just now he can’t bring himself to even try.

The mess of Lan Zhan’s emotions he experienced just now has slammed back into his body with him, and he feels tears and rage and despair and so many other things. None of it ever shows on Lan Zhan’s face, not even when he seems at his most emotional, not even when Wei Wuxian is sure those emotions have finally broken through.

If Wei Wuxian could cut himself open to let them spill out, he would.

Past Jiang Cheng, he sees Wen Qing leaning over Lan Zhan, who’s making an awful gasping sound, as Lan Xichen watches with worried eyes. Wei Wuxian tries to go to them, but Jiang Cheng holds him back.

‘What do you think you can do?’ he asks. ‘Let the doctor deal with it.’

A surge of anger takes Wei Wuxian by surprise, the resentful energy responding before he can think to stop it, and Jiang Cheng curses as he stumbles back, wisps of dark smoke dispersing from his fingers.

The way he looks at Wei Wuxian, then, with widened eyes and a clenched jaw, makes something in Wei Wuxian writhe. Guilt, perhaps. Shame. The desire to attack again.

It takes effort to shove that desire down, to tamp the anger into something he can ignore, or at least mostly.

By the time he’s done, Jiang Cheng has recovered his composure and Lan Zhan is breathing normally, though from the way Lan Xichen is fussing around him you’d think he’d stopped breathing altogether.

‘Take your time, Wangji,’ Lan Xichen says, as he holds a cup of water to his brother’s lips, tilting it slowly. ‘There’s no rush.’

The sight of him there, sitting beside Lan Zhan, caring for him, is too much. After what Wei Wuxian just witnessed, it’s all too much.

Abruptly, without a word to anyone, he turns and strides from the room, pretending he doesn’t hear Jiang Cheng or Wen Qing call after him. If either of the Lans say anything, he doesn’t hear it.

Wangji tries to speak and finds he cannot.

Grief and pain clog his throat, rendering him mute, and he can’t tell Brother to stop Wei Ying from leaving. He can’t say any of the many things that crowd into his mind.

Brother must see he’s distressed, because he sets the cup of water down and instead takes one of Wangji’s hands. It’s a touch Brother wouldn’t usually allow himself and Wangji barely manages not to flinch, but he has to admit the warmth of Brother’s skin, the clasp of his fingers, is grounding.

A strand of the panic Wangji feels loosens.

‘Wei Ying.’

It’s more a choke than a name, but it’s enough.

Brother falls into a heated discussion with Jiang Wanyin and Wen Qing, their words too large and too loud for Wangji to grasp, but it ends with Wen Qing leaving in search of Wei Ying, and that’s all he cares about.

It’s enough to let him give in to the exhaustion, to the chance to stop feeling, just for a while, and he slumps against Brother as he slides back into the dark.

Zixuan is used to riding through a city and paying little attention to those he passes by. Lanling is hardly smaller than the Nightless City, nor are its people less numerous. Never before has he found it so difficult.

Are any of the people who stare at him mourning loved ones killed by Zixuan’s people? By Zixuan himself? The Wen army contained many soldiers drawn from the common folk, and though he focused on the cultivators and the puppets, he cut down enough men without a core.

Then again, Wen Rouhan is the one responsible for forcing the war. Perhaps these people know that, or enough of them do, because there are no thrown stones and hurled insults, no clumps of mud or manure sent flying at the enemy riding through the Wen capitol.

Or maybe they fear making themselves into targets in return.

Yet again, Zixuan shakes away the image of the dead bodies on the forest floor. His cousin has been kept close by since then and strict orders given. There have been no more killings. There will be no more, not carried out in cold blood and with no due process. Not on old women and kids.

Not if Zixuan can stop it.

It’s with relief that he notes the petering out of the smaller houses and the appearance of larger, richer homes. There are public buildings, too, and inns that his sect would consider staying in, had they not got the palace to reach.

The eyes along this stretch are carefully lowered, the robes and ornaments perhaps more modest than he would have expected. Nobody carries a sword.

‘Do they expect us to believe none of them are cultivators?’ a disciple from the He Sect mutters.

She’s riding closer to Zixuan than she should be, strictly speaking, but those who would never think to encroach on space occupied by Nie Mingjue or Lan Xichen don’t appear to feel the same qualms over the heir to Lanling Jin. In any case, Zixuan gave the matter some thought when he first noticed people from other sects creeping closer, and decided it presented a more unified front.

Let every sect know they played their part in this war. Proportionately, the He Sect has likely sunk more of itself into this bloodshed than Zixuan’s own sect saw fit to risk.

That doesn’t mean he’s forgotten he’s in charge.

‘Do you believe Wen Rouhan would let even a single cultivator avoid fighting for his cause?’ he demands in reply, though the woman wasn’t speaking directly to him. ‘No doubt Qishan has its merchants, its officials, just as other places have.’

‘Merchants who’ve benefited from lands and resources stolen from our sects,’ a Chang disciple argues. ‘Officials who’ve helped to organise and record our losses.’

It’s a relief when they finally arrive at the palace, the army filing in behind Zixuan and his retinue and forming up across the open space before the steps. If things had gone another way, they would have been fighting here, most likely. Assuming they got this far.

Instead of facing ranks of the undead, Zixuan and his people are met by one man in neat robes, flanked on either side by servants. At first, Zixuan doesn’t recognise him, but once he notes the smile and the perfect posture, the eyes that are almost beseeching, he has to take a moment to gather himself.

‘Meng Yao,’ he says, once he’s ready, and hopes the name doesn’t sound as awkward to everyone around him as it does to his own ears. In lieu of a smoother greeting, he offers a nod, something more than an unacknowledged bastard of a brother should properly expect, and immediately doubts that choice, too.

‘Young Master Jin,’ Meng Yao replies. ‘Welcome to the Nightless City. Chifeng-Zun will be here to meet you shortly. In the meantime, rooms and quarters have been prepared.’

He continues, sending first one group and then another away with servants, and directing those who won’t be housed in the palace or surrounding buildings to pitch their tents, promising that all will be remembered when it comes to food and drink. Throughout all of it, there’s a severe lack of explanation as to why Meng Yao is here at all.

By the time Meng Yao has finished sorting out Zixuan’s men, Jiang Yanli stands beside Zixuan. She looks tired, but she politely refuses to be guided to her own room.

‘My brothers,’ she says.

A look of concern flashes across Meng Yao’s eyes.

‘What is it?’ Zixuan asks, hearing the words come out sharper than he intended. But these are Jiang Yanli’s little brothers, who are nestled so firmly in her heart that Zixuan has realised he’ll have to learn to sit alongside them, and he doesn’t want Jiang Yanli upset. ‘Has something happened to Jiang Wanyin? To Wei Wuxian?’

Jiang Yanli takes a step closer to Meng Yao, putting her slightly further forward than Zixuan, and he resists the impulse to pull her back. No threat is left here for her, or not one that can reach her on this spot.

Before she has to ask her own questions, Meng Yao blinks and bows, as though ready to take whatever has happened on his own shoulders.

‘Forgive me, Lady Jiang,’ he says, ‘for worrying you. Sect Leader Jiang is well.’

‘And A-Xian?’ Jiang Yanli asks.

There’s a pause. Meng Yao’s eyes look almost pleading, but he doesn’t seem to find a way around speaking words he’d rather not say, because he finally answers her question.

‘He’s been assisting Zewu-Jun and Hanguang-Jun with an artefact. Given his…unique skillset, he seemed best qualified.’ Meng Yao sounds doubtful but is doing his best to hide it. ‘Unfortunately, the artefact has affected both Master Wei and Hanguang-Jun, and Lady Wen has yet to find a remedy.’

‘Lady Wen?’ Zixuan asks. He can’t see why a Wen would be attending Hanguang-Jun or Wei Wuxian, but three sect leaders are in the palace and must know about it. At least Zixun isn’t close enough to hear.

Jiang Yanli frowns, but she clearly isn’t thinking the same way as Zixuan.

‘Lady Wen is a skilled doctor. If she hasn’t found a way to help them yet, it must be serious. Take me to A-Xian. I need to see my brother at once.’

Which is how Zixuan finds himself watching Jiang Yanli walk away from him in the company of his bastard half-brother, whilst Zixuan is left to wait for Nie Mingjue to arrive so he can hand over a now unnecessary army.

Jiang Yanli isn’t paying attention to the route they take, but she’s surprised with how quickly they stop. When she turns to Meng Yao, he offers her a polite smile and a small bow.

‘I believe I see Wei Wuxian, Lady Jiang,’ he murmurs, and sweeps an arm out to indicate an opening onto a courtyard to the left.

Yanli turns as directed and finds herself looking right at A-Xian, who doesn’t look to be with Lan Wangji or under any sort of curse, but does seem to be angry and upset. He’s standing half turned away from them, his visible hand clenched around Chenqing, and the set of his shoulders is tense.

‘Thank-you, Meng Yao,’ Yanli says, and moves to step away from him and towards A-Xian.

‘Maiden Jiang,’ Meng Yao says, sounding as though he didn’t quite mean to speak but has found he must. He continues when Yanli pauses and looks back enough to see his eyes are worried. ‘Maiden Jiang, forgive me, but I could not live with myself if you were put at risk.’

This time when he pauses, his gaze flickers past Yanli and back, his next words clearly hanging on his lips. She finds she doesn’t want to hear them.

‘I thank you again,’ she tells him, a little more firmly than before, ‘but there can be no harm to me here. My brother will keep me quite safe, I assure you.’

She inclines her head so as not to be too rude, but as she walks away she has to tidy away the anger that tries to make itself felt, tidy it and tuck it away where it can’t show. Too many people have muttered about her A-Xian since he returned, speculating what exactly he can do and who he may be willing to do it to. They think she hasn’t heard them. They are wrong.

But A-Xian needs her now, and doesn’t need her anger, so she calls to him earlier than she would have done in the past, giving him chance to adjust to someone approaching him, and smiles warmly when he faces her.

‘A-Xian,’ she scolds, ‘what are you doing out here? I was told you were affected by some cursed object. Should you be standing around outside?’

He tries to smile back at her as brilliantly as he used to. She sees the effort. But it’s fighting through too much and it just makes her heart ache more for this stubborn younger brother of hers.

‘Shijie,’ he exclaims, and perhaps it would fool someone who didn’t know him, who couldn’t see how close to tears he is. ‘I didn’t know you’d arrived already. Have you rested? You should rest. You must be tired from all that travelling. Did the Peacock look after you? If he didn’t, I’ll teach him a lesson, I promise.’

So many words. All he’s telling her is he missed her and that he doesn’t want her to ask about how he is again. Well, A-Xian can’t always have what he wants from her. Sometimes he has to get what he needs.

‘You’re the one who should rest,’ she says, reaching up to stroke a strand of hair back into place and pretending not to catch the flinch as her fingers skim close to his face. She draws back smoothly, letting them both ignore it. ‘Now tell me, what was this about a cursed object?’

A-Xian pouts and probably thinks she doesn’t notice that he pulls away from her as he does so.

‘Nothing. It’s nothing,’ he insists. ‘Lan Zhan is the one who’s not well, so I was just trying to help him, and there was a bit of a hitch, but it’s fine. Wen Qing sorted it out, ok? You know what a good doctor she is.’

‘I sorted nothing out,’ a firm voice corrects from behind Yanli.

Xichen would give much if it meant no longer having to see Wangji so still, though even that is better than seeing him in such pain.

Like this, huddled against Xichen with his head resting on Xichen’s shoulder, Wangji looks very young. Far too young.

‘I thought he was sent away to let him heal,’ Jiang Wanyin says. A sharp edge shows through his words, though he’s obviously not meaning to let it do so. Another one who is too young for what life has done to him. ‘Forgive me, Zewu-Jun, but Hanguang-Jun looks worse than he did before he left.’

Quite why Jiang Wanyin is still here, Xichen isn’t sure. He lost the argument over who should go after Wei Wuxian, but nothing was said about him having to remain in Wangji’s sickroom.

‘The matter is complicated,’ Xichen says.

Everything is complicated. He’s very tired of everything being so very complicated, and the end of the war doesn’t mean a return to life being simple. Assuming it ever was.

Now, he must try to make things safe for Wangji and A-Yuan, which may mean defending the very people against whom so many just lost their lives. Too many people already know that Wangji gave his heart to a Wen and gained a son in return. Xichen has no reason in particular to believe any one of them will share that more widely, but he can’t rely on it. He can’t hope to keep his brother and his nephew protected by secrecy alone.

And he aches with the need to heal Wangji, but whatever this is, it’s beyond his abilities as a healer or his skill with arrays.

Logically, he should leave this to the people with the better chance of success and use his own time on other matters, but that would mean Wangji being out of his sight. He can barely tolerate that when Wen Qing or Wei Wuxian, two people who have shown they care for Wangji, are watching over him. Certainly, Xichen is not about to go elsewhere just now.

‘Zewu-Jun? I hope I’m not interrupting.’

A-Yao’s voice is welcome. Xichen folds aside the thread of concern at Wangji’s sudden distrust of the man, for now at least, and fastens something like a smile to his lips.

‘A-Yao, of course not.’

Neither of them make mention of Wangji, but A-Yao’s eyes dip to Xichen’s shoulder and back, no doubt able to tell there’s been no improvement. A glimmer of sympathy shines in his eyes, before he turns to greet Jiang Wanyin and informs them both that their army has arrived.

‘At her request, I escorted Lady Jiang towards this room, but we found Wei Wuxian along the way and she elected to join him,’ A-Yao says apologetically, as though he could be expected to deliver Jiang Wanyin’s sister to him against her will.

‘With the mood he’s in, A-Jie shouldn’t be on her own with him,’ Jiang Wanyin says.

It startles Xichen. At no point has he felt Jiang Wanyin believes Wei Wuxian to be a risk to his sister. He’s piecing together his response when Jiang Wanyin huffs.

‘He’ll have her coddling him in no time,’ he says, sounding aggrieved and a little sour. ‘And anyway, wasn’t Wen Qing looking for him before…what happened? Isn’t there some work he should be doing?’

He seems to catch himself behaving with less formality and poise than a sect leader should and Xichen watches the urge to apologise come and go. He’s glad. He lacks the capacity to handle Jiang Wanyin’s apology just now.

He’s not above making use of any need the younger man feels to atone for his lapse.

It’s a relief to send the younger sect leader off with A-Yao. It means Xichen doesn’t have to feel ashamed that he’s abandoned the search for Wen Ning or for knowledge that could help Wangji, and it gives him the silence he needs to feel the warmth and weight of Wangji against him, to reassure himself that he hasn’t lost his little brother yet.

A-Xian and Yanli turn at the same time to face Wen Qing, who is almost stately as she walks up to them with her hands clasped at her waist, wearing a red that Yanli is surprised to see she’s allowed.

‘If you didn’t, then who did?’ A-Xian asks. ‘Wen Qing, don’t be modest.’

Wen Qing looks unimpressed. It’s the sort of unimpressed Yanli has seen on people’s faces before, when they want to lodge some sense in A-Xian’s head because they care. It’s…pleasant, to find that her brother has somehow made another friend at the end of a war. Strange, but pleasant.

‘I’m not being modest,’ Wen Qing says. ‘I stopped you from doing further harm to yourself whilst you were under whatever spell that thing cast, but I didn’t pull you out. Not you nor Lan Wangji. Who is breathing just fine again, now, by the way, and is asleep, so you can come back and stop hiding away.’

‘Who’s hiding?’ A-Xian demands, sounding outraged in that very specific way of his that means he thinks he’s been found out. ‘I’m not hiding. I just wanted some air.’

It’s a good attempt at acting like nothing is wrong apart from being harassed by his shijie and a woman who seems to interact with him as though she, too, is an elder sister, but there’s anger under it, and other emotions. Fear, she’s almost sure. Disgust, possibly. Something has hurt A-Xian very badly indeed.

‘Will Second Master Lan be well?’ she asks.

Wen Qing doesn’t quite look at Yanli. The hesitation is also telling. Yanli prepares herself for an answer that will make A-Xian worse.

‘He appears no worse now than he was, physically,’ Wen Qing finally allows. ‘The underlying issue remains.’

She doesn’t elaborate on how this recent incident, whatever it has been, has affected Lan Wangji mentally, emotionally, but Yanli is reminded of seeing the young man so worried over his son and is far past thinking Hanguang-Jun is without feelings.

‘I was hoping Wei Wuxian would have some idea what just happened,’ Wen Qing goes on, her dark eyes turning to him.

The two stare at each other for long enough Yanli wants to intervene, but she holds herself back. Much though she hates it, she isn’t the one who has the best chance of getting through to A-Xian on this one.

At last, A-Xian heaves a sigh that sounds painful and scowls.

‘Empathy,’ he says. ‘It was some form of Empathy.’

‘You experienced Lan Wangji’s memories?’ Wen Qing asks.

Yanli tries not to gasp at that. For A-Xian to connect to Lan Wangji through Empathy, wouldn’t Lan Wangji have to be dead? She’s no expert, but she has read and heard enough over the years to have gathered that impression. Only, A-Xian would be reacting differently had his friend died, she’s sure of it, and surely such news couldn’t have been kept quiet. Meng Yao would have known.

A-Xian just nods, and if Wen Qing finds it disturbing that such a connection could happen between two living people, she doesn’t show it.

‘Did you see anything useful?’ she asks next. ‘Anything that would show how or why he used the array?’

Clearly, there’s a lot Yanli is missing in this conversation, but she dare not interrupt them.

‘No,’ A-Xian says, sounding frustrated. ‘Unless…’

He glances at Yanli.

‘Young Master Lan should have his privacy,’ she says. ‘If this is something I shouldn’t hear, I can leave, but please don’t assume I’m so easily upset.’

She doesn’t remind him that she, too, has seen injury and death, that she’s suffered loss and been humiliated and all manner of unpleasant things. Truly, it’s sweet that A-Xian and A-Cheng still want so much to protect her, but she’s never needed to be shielded from ugly truths.

Her brothers couldn’t shield her from them, in any case.

A-Xian’s expression has gone pinched and unhappy, but he sighs again and nods, this one a small, tight movement that says he’s listened to her. He looks away from either of the women with him when he speaks.

‘A-Yuan,’ he says. ‘I think…I think the Lan Sect didn’t want to let Lan Zhan keep A-Yuan.’

Despite herself, Yanli does make a sound at that. She doesn’t mean to, but a tiny murmur of distress makes its way past her lips.

Not let a father keep his child? That seems cruel. And from everything she saw before Lan Wangji and A-Yuan were sent away, the boy is dearly loved and the father is determined to care for him. Zewu-Jun, too, seemed to have taken to the child.

‘Why would the Lan Sect want that?’ she asks.

She’s aware not all sects welcome children of dubious background. The Jin Sect is notorious for refusing to accept responsibility. Or, at least, their sect leader is. It’s understandable if at least some of the Lan Sect’s elders would prefer a bastard not be acknowledged or legitimised, assuming that is the case with A-Yuan, but for the father to be willing and yet to be denied? That is not a thing she’s heard of.

‘Zewu-Jun said he didn’t think they could keep him safe. Lan Zhan made him promise to try, but perhaps they didn’t manage it, in the end.’ A-Xian hesitates, turning apologetic eyes on Wen Qing. ‘He said Lan Zhan was meant to be letting go.’

Why that has anything to do with Wen Qing, Yanli has no idea, but the other woman lifts her chin as though facing down a foe.

‘Anyone who wanted Lan Wangji to forget about my family failed badly,’ she states. ‘From what he’s told me, he’s even more bound to us now than he was before.’

Something about that bothers A-Xian. He shakes his head and turns away from them, gripping Chenqing like he wants to hit someone with it.

‘You think that’s a bad thing?’ Wen Qing asks, a hint of challenge showing.

A-Xian doesn’t turn back. His response is muttered, low, angry.

‘I think no child should have been left to survive in the Burial Mounds,’ he says. ‘If the ever proper Hanguang-Jun has learned to put his son before his reputation sooner this time…’

Yanli can remain quiet no longer.

‘A-Xian, what do you mean?’ she asks, stepping around so she can see his face, which shows how conflicted he is. ‘Second Master Lan has put A-Yuan first. How could you imply he wouldn’t?’

‘He knew where A-Yuan was, Shijie.’ He looks closer to losing his fight against the tears. ‘He knew the ‘situation’ and he left A-Yuan there until it was nearly too late. What kind of a father does that?’

‘In the Burial Mounds?’ Yanli asks. ‘When was A-Yuan in the Burial Mounds? That makes no sense.’

Though she can’t deny the implication of several things she’s just heard: wherever A-Yuan was, it’s because he’s part Wen. She hopes the little boy is somewhere safe and far away from those who still want to punish anyone named Wen, even now the fighting is over.

‘Later,’ A-Xian tells her. ‘He was there later. After…’

He breaks off and closes his eyes, and Yanli is aware of Wen Qing appearing beside her, her expression so still it must be an effort.

‘After what was left of my family were placed in workcamps,’ she explains, and her voice shows almost no sign of the distress she must feel, either. ‘After the allies of the Sunshot Campaign, and the ones on Wen Rouhan’s side who were fortunate enough not to bear his name, denounced us.’

She doesn’t reach for A-Xian, and despite her yearning to hold him, neither does Yanli. Instead, Wen Qing continues steadily, inexorably.

‘Wei Wuxian rescued us, at great cost to himself, and took us to the Burial Mounds, where he continued to protect us. A-Yuan was one of the Wens he saved from the workcamp.’

She turns her head, those eyes needles pinning Yanli in place.

‘Wei Wuxian rescued us six months from now,’ she says. ‘We survived for over a year before the Jin Sect killed every one of us save for A-Yuan.’

‘Lan Zhan got A-Yuan out,’ A-Xian says, picking up so quickly from Wen Qing’s utterance that Yanli has no space to react. ‘He found him all alone, fevered, in a cave. He’d just been left by himself like that. Why? Why would he be left?’

Why would A-Xian leave a child to fend for himself, he means. Yanli is almost certain.

‘You say it was Empathy,’ she tries, not even commenting on the Wen heritage of a Lan child, ‘but from everything I’ve heard about Empathy, it doesn’t show you everything. You can’t really know how it happened. I believe you wouldn’t put a child in danger, A-Xian, so-‘

‘So it must have seemed he was in more danger if we took him with us, right?’ A-Xian cuts in. He’s distressed enough to cut Yanli off mid-sentence, which is not a good sign. ‘But then why would I let Lan Zhan just leave his son there? Why not send him to Gusu, where he’d have food and shelter and clothing that was warm?’

Yanli shakes her head, parting her lips to tell her brother she believes in him and in his good heart, that he would always make what he thought was the best choice for a child in his care, even if they can’t see those reasons from where they stand.

But A-Xian doesn’t give her the chance.

‘I can only think of one thing,’ he says. ‘One reason why A-Yuan would stay with us and not go to the Gusu Lan. His mother must have been with us.’

‘But A-Yuan’s mother is already gone,’ Yanli tries. ‘That’s why Second Master Lan had A-Yuan at the camp.’

It must be that A-Xian is too disturbed by Empathy to think clearly, because he waves that aside.

‘So she didn’t die yet the first time. Maybe he came back to save her and it made things worse. Messing with past events can’t always mean making things better. But why else would he have left A-Yuan to live on a mass grave? Lan Zhan wouldn’t take a child from his mother, I know he wouldn’t. He must have been trying to work out a way to take her back with him, too. A way that wouldn’t get her killed. And you know what that means?’

The pause this time is long enough to say she has no idea.

‘It means,’ he goes on, sounding more and more desperate, ‘that Lan Zhan left his wife in my care, and I failed to keep her alive.’

Yanli is too hurt by the look in A-Xian’s eyes to speak quickly enough, and Wen Qing beats her to it.

‘Wife?’ she asks. ‘Lan Wangji has never had a wife. My cousin was not married to him.’

That barely slows A-Xian down. He blinks, but keeps on in the same tone.

‘So they weren’t married. Do you really think that matters? Lan Zhan would consider the woman he loves as his wife, no matter what the rest of world says. No matter what anyone says, he would care for her, so-‘

Wen Qing cuts him off, her voice sharp.

‘So why would he ever leave the person he loved to suffer if he could do something about it? Wei Wuxian, do you hear yourself? No, you will listen to me. You’re done talking.’

The woman has nothing in her hands, but still gives the impression that the finger she lifts in front of A-Xian’s face could stab.

‘When Lan Wangji told me about that future, he never mentioned a wife. I don’t know if my cousin is alive now. I don’t know if anything about her fate has been changed by the array. All I know is that A-Yuan wasn’t with her when he was found. But I do know she is not and will never be married to Lan Wangji. I don’t believe she was in the Burial Mounds, but even if she was, if Lan Wangji failed to mention her when we spoke of it, that doesn’t mean he abandoned his son. A-Yuan is-‘

She cuts herself off this time, her eyes widening before she pulls herself back into the proud, controlled woman who gives little away.

‘Sect Leader Jiang,’ she says, raising her voice to carry, ‘you will be wanting to speak with your sister and sect-brother. I will depart.’

‘A-Jie, yes,’ A-Cheng replies. ‘I need to make sure my sister has been treated properly on the way here.’

A-Xian steps aside, keeping his back to A-Cheng and dashing a hand across his face, which gives Yanli the chance to assure herself that her youngest brother is no worse than he was before. He looks frustrated, the way his expression turns hard as he glances at A-Xian showing something has happened there, but he’s standing tall in a set of robes that show his status well, and Yanli feels a burst of pride.

Concern, of course, as she always does when her brothers are at odds, but A-Cheng is so young to be thrust into his role and she lets her pride in him be.

‘A-Cheng,’ she greets him. ‘I was treated very well. You’ve no need to worry.’

She wants to go back to the conversation they were having, because Wen Qing was on the verge of saying something she clearly felt was important, but Wen Qing is now silent and giving every impression she’s already removed herself from this place in her mind. At least, she isn’t looking at anyone and her lips are pressed closed.

It’s only when A-Cheng moves, striding towards her with the deep purple of his robes billowing out behind him, that Yanli notices the second figure who’s arrived.

Meng Yao makes himself small, she notes, and has the same tension about him as the servants at Lotus Pier when her mother was in a particularly bad mood but they’d been tasked with approaching her about something. This must be awful for the poor man.

She allows A-Cheng to fuss over her just a little before she asks what Meng Yao has been sent to tell them, and ignores A-Cheng’s frown at not being the centre of her attention. A-Xian, too, looks unhappy as he finally turns around and sees Meng Yao.

‘Forgive the interruption,’ Meng Yao says, his eyes cast downwards, ‘but we still need Lady Wen and Wei Wuxian to handle the ward on the last sealed room.’

‘Right,’ A-Cheng adds. He seems slightly embarrassed. ‘Zewu-Jun asked me to tell you he’ll stay with Hanguang-Jun for now, so you can take care of that.’

‘Of course,’ Wen Qing agrees, so it must be a matter she’s already aware of. She’s still looking into the middle distance, but manages to make it clear she’s addressing the next part to Wei Wuxian. ‘We will continue this conversation later. Right now, we have work to do.’

‘Hold on,’ A-Cheng says. He holds out one of his wrists in Wen Qing’s direction, though the glare is aimed at A-Xian. ‘Wei Wuxian used his demonic crap on me. I need to know if it’s done any damage.’

If Yanli hadn’t grown up with A-Xian at Lotus Pier, she’d think Wen Qing was the one who claimed him as family from the flash of anger in her eyes. None of that heat shows in her tone when she replies.

‘You would know if it had,’ she tells him, but presses two fingers to his pulse point, her eyes unfocusing for a moment, before a hint of derision enters her expression as she pulls away. ‘You are entirely unharmed, Sect Leader Jiang.’

And she sweeps out of the courtyard, gathering A-Xian to her with only a look, and disappears, taking whatever she was about to say with her.

Chapter Text

The knocking sounds stopped a while ago, but Wen Ning keeps himself in place, his fingers stiff around the pestle.

It’s hard to stay alert as the time drags on, and the lack of food is making him lightheaded. It would be so much easier to let the tension go from his legs and arms, to let himself lean back against the wall and slide down and just hope whoever was making the noises is a friend, come to look for him.

But Jiejie told him so many times that the Nightless City is not a place where that kind of thinking can be allowed, and he always listened, even if he didn’t always respond the way she wanted.

The person or people out there could well be working against Sect Leader Wen and still be a threat to Wen Ning. He has to remember that. He has to stay awake and upright and ready. Even if just so he can tell Jiejie he did so.

Wen Qing is relieved when Wei Wuxian follows her without protest. She supposes she should be grateful he doesn’t speak until they’re in an empty-seeming stretch of corridor. Even better, he waits until Meng Yao is stopped by a servant carrying a message and is forced to send them on ahead.

‘What was that?’ Wei Wuxian demands, leaning in but not lowering his voice enough for her liking. ‘What were you going to say?’

She pitches her own voice so it will barely carry. In the palace, you can’t assume you’re really alone just because it looks that way, and you can’t trust any part of the place to be free of hidden rooms or little known passageways unless you’ve explored it thoroughly yourself. Even then, it’s a risk.

‘I said later. I meant later. We have to deal with this ward, now.’

‘Do you mean later or do you mean never?’ Wei Wuxian asks, though he lowers his voice a fraction. ‘Have you just decided you shouldn’t tell me whatever it is? Is that it?’

Wen Qing stops so suddenly that Wei Wuxian takes three more steps before turning on his heel and facing her, and she doesn’t shiver at the look in his eyes but she can see why many would. His emotions are still high and not fully under his control, it would appear. But Wen Rouhan was worse.

‘I meant later,’ she tells him.

She says nothing else, but holds his gaze until she’s sure he’s paying attention, and slides her eyes meaningfully to a spot a little further along the corridor. From his puzzled frown, he doesn’t get it yet, but at least he holds his tongue.

They set off again, and as they pass the alcove she only lets herself notice the servant out of the corner of her eye. The man, more a boy, is doing something with a cloth. Maybe it’s even something that needs doing, but Wen Qing isn’t about to forget that every servant currently working in the palace owes their current freedom to Meng Yao. Any for whom he did not vouch is locked up, awaiting judgement.

Wei Wuxian’s inhalation is only just loud enough to reach her, but she has hope he’s realised what she has.

She forgot herself just now, announcing to any who could hear that A-Yuan is not Lan Wangji’s legitimate heir, and she would berate herself for it had she the time. At least she didn’t say more.

The wards she put up around Lan Wangji’s room the first chance she got are still not enough that she would risk some truths there. It’s a sign of the stress she’s under, of her own exhaustion, that she slipped so far in that courtyard, and she intends to take that for the warning it is.

When she speaks again, it’s to explain the ward to Wei Wuxian, and by the time they reach the room they have a working theory on how to untangle the thing.

Perhaps Wei Wuxian finds it steadying, to have a problem like this, one that can be picked apart and solved with a little bit of discussion and the sharing of their skills. She certainly does. She almost feels in control of herself again by the time the ward dissipates and she’s able to wave people forward to lift the door.

At this point, progress of any kind feels like a victory.

Zixuan is no stranger to opulence, but he’s used to the colours favoured at Koi Tower and they don’t smack him in the eye whenever he turns his head. The overuse of rich red and black here is oppressive, so he’s not unhappy when one of his people knocks on the door of the room he’s been given to inform him his presence is needed outside.

He’s less happy when he learns his father has arrived.

Still, he must be a filial son, which includes tidying his appearance and hastening to greet his father, and does not include telling the man how embarrassed he is that the Jin Sect’s leader has made it to the palace after his fighters, whereas the leaders of the Lan, Nie and Jiang Sects arrived even before the main army.

Just one of many things he won’t say to his father.

‘Zixuan,’ his father says, his manner more fitting for a feast or a festival than for the aftermath of a war, even when they are the victors. ‘Zixuan, come here and tell me more about how that bastard Wen Rouhan died.’

His jovial tone grates against Zixuan’s ear, but it must be worse for Meng Yao, who doesn’t quite hide the wince at his father’s words. Or perhaps it’s because his father has so clearly dismissed Meng Yao as being suitable to be the one greeting him.

‘I’m afraid I can’t,’ Zixuan says. ‘I wasn’t there and have heard little of it myself. I believe Meng Yao was present.’

He doesn’t know himself whether he’s doing Meng Yao a kindness by mentioning that, but it is the truth of what Zixuan knows and he’s never been good at creating information on the spot, or at working out what his father wants to hear.

Perhaps, if Jiang Yanli is free to take a walk with him later, he’ll ask her for her opinion on the matter, and for her assistance in crafting a suitable apology to Meng Yao if needs be.

For now, he sees the way his father doesn’t even try to hide his distaste as he turns his attention back to his illegitimate son, but a moment later that look is followed by what on a lesser man would be called a snort.

‘Well, it can’t be helped,’ his father says. ‘Show me to my rooms and fetch refreshments and a bath. Then, you can tell me what you saw.’

This time, it’s Zixuan who winces.

Meng Yao is not one of the palace servants. He’s the one who knows who everyone is and how to get those people to where they should be. He’s the one who isn’t at a loss for what to do with himself now the fighting is done. He’s not the one who fetches refreshments.

But Zixuan can’t marshal his thoughts into words before Meng Yao has bowed to his father and assured him it will be done, so all Zixuan can do is trail along behind them, wishing he didn’t feel quite so surplus to every requirement.

Wen Ning finds his fingers have seized up and it hurts to force them back to movement, but he makes himself do it as the sounds return. He has to make sure he has a good grip. A workable grip. Not one that is so tight he’ll risk hurting himself worse using the weapon than not.

All too soon, his confusion grows as his flickering hope fades: by now, he recognises the tendrils of resentful energy seeping into the space. Why Sect Leader Wen has made all that noise, he can’t imagine, but trying to predict or understand Sect Leader Wen’s actions has never been something Wen Ning could manage. And the effort has never once helped Wen Ning.

Only…this energy doesn’t feel quite the same. There’s the resentful energy, yes, and it pulls at Wen Ning the way the movement of water pushes at his body when he stands chest deep in a river, making him sway, but there isn’t the same sickening pulse of spiritual energy. He doesn’t feel as though he’ll be flattened by the sheer power of a golden core that never needed to turn to wicked tricks.

Has something happened to Sect Leader Wen’s core?

Not that Wen Ning stands a chance against him either way, but there’s a jab of vicious satisfaction under his sternum at the thought the man may have lost the power he spent so long developing.

He’s almost surprised at the lack of guilt he feels, but perhaps these last weeks have beaten him into something twisted, after all. And if anyone deserves to lose their spiritual power, it’s the man who caused such harm to Wen Ning’s family, the man who unleashed Wen Chao on the world and left Lotus Pier charred and smoking. The man who gave command of Wen Zhuliu’s power to a cruel bully so that Young Master Wei ended up screaming on his back as Wen Ning held him down, all so Young Master Wei could take the result of that cruelty from his brother.

It must be his thoughts straying that mean Wen Ning thinks he hears Young Master Wei now, in this dark cell of a space where Wen Ning has tried not to believe he will die.

He doesn’t sob, because it will do not good and because he’s not got the strength to spare for it, but he feels the pressure of it in his chest as he yanks his mind back to the present and makes himself listen, and…

‘Y…Young Master Wei?’ he whispers.

That can’t have been heard, but in his shock he lets go of the pestle, and it clatters to the ground in a burst of noise.

‘Did you hear that?’ a voice asks, and it isn’t Sect Leader Wen. The accent isn’t right for any Wen. That’s a Yunmeng accent, Wen Ning is almost sure.

He would be sure, if he wasn’t so scared to find out he’s hallucinating this.

‘Of course I heard it,’ another voice replies, an edge to it many would call cutting.

To Wen Ning, it’s the sound of home.

‘Jiejie,’ he shouts, or tries to. His voice is raspy and weak, and he has to cough and try again. ‘Jiejie!’

Total silence replies.

It stretches until he’s trembling at the thought he could be wrong, that this could be his mind finally giving up and inventing his sister’s voice. If it’s not her…if it’s not her…

The sob breaks free.

‘A-Ning? A-Ning, is that you? Wei Wuxian, where is that light you promised me? A-Ning!’

Jiejie sounds like she’s crying, too, and when she finally appears around the corner, the weak glow of a talisman light only just managing to fight back the cloying darkness, her eyes glimmer with wetness.

But she’s here.

Jiejie is here, with Young Master Wei right behind her, and Wen Ning would go to them but he can’t seem to make his legs work. He has to wait, shaking and shocked, until they reach him, and he falls forward into Jiejie’s hug with such relief it’s painful.

‘I have you,’ Jiejie murmurs, over and over as she strokes his hair, and she’s trembling, too. ‘I have you, A-Ning. We found you. I have you.’

His tears now are a cleansing, and he doesn’t even care they’re still in the space where Sect Leader Wen tried to bond resentful energy to Wen Ning as he hugs his sister back and cries.

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian can’t quite believe they’ve found Wen Ning. It softens the sting of not finding anything related to the branding iron.

Good as it is to see Wen Ning safe in his sister’s care, it’s a relief when Wen Qing goes back to Lan Zhan’s room. Wen Ning offers to stay and help We Wuxian sort through the room, but there’s no possibility of that happening.

‘No, no,’ Wei Wuxian assures him, not needing the sharpening of Wen Qing’s gaze to make him reject the suggestion. ‘You go help your sister look after Lan Zhan, okay?’

With Meng Yao nowhere to be found and Lan Xichen not having appeared, Wei Wuxian finds himself in charge of clearing out this newly revealed space. The people Meng Yao has assigned to the search follow Wei Wuxian’s orders without question, hauling everything that can be moved up and out into the larger room, carefully noting down each piece so records can be kept. A few men shuffle cautiously around the now dimly lit space itself, recording Wei Wuxian’s comments on why certain items can’t be removed.

The entire time, Wei Wuxian feels the edges of resentful energy that isn’t his own. It suffuses the space, hanging heavy in the air like faded incense smoke, pungent but hard to scent properly. He has no idea what Wen Rouhan was doing here, but he knows it feels wrong.

Lan Zhan is the more urgent matter. Wen Ning walked off with Wen Qing looking mostly fine, whereas Lan Zhan can barely stay conscious and has a core that’s trying to splinter apart. So Wei Wuxian needs to focus on finding a way to keep Lan Zhan in this world, to keep him with his family.

Those parts of his family that can be trusted with him.

But Wei Wuxian should start getting a feel for what was going on in this room, too. He is intimately familiar with the corrosive nature of resentful energy. It can’t have been good for Wen Ning to be stuck in here with it by his uncle for so long.

Was he in here for longer than three months?

Shaking away the thoughts that rise up at that question, Wei Wuxian keeps searching. There’s no point in seeking to compare a dark room with a mountain of dead earth and corpses, or a lack of food and water with what Wei Wuxian had around him.

And at least it wasn’t Wei Wuxian’s own kin who trapped him in that place.

No, he needs to keep his aims in sight: find a way to heal Lan Zhan; work out what was being done to Wen Ning and how to undo it; keep anyone from being trapped in a dark space again.

He remembers the press of the bed under his front, the oppressive weight of pain covering his back, and pushes that away, too.

The next time he speaks with Lan Zhan, he will demand answers, will insist Lan Zhan assures him that saving the Wens will also save Lan Zhan from such punishment. If not… Well, Lan Zhan has to survive, first.

Wei Wuxian picks another stack of scrolls and continues his hunt.

Wen Qing makes herself check on Lan Wangji before more thoroughly examining her little brother.

She’s already given instructions to one of the lingering servants along the way, so food and drink for A-Ning will be arriving shortly, followed by a bath and clean clothes. He will need those no matter what she determines about his health.

But once in the room she only indicates that A-Ning should settle on her own sleeping pallet near her worktable, and crosses to the bed.

Lan Xichen doesn’t let go of Lan Wangji, holding him in a way Wen Qing wishes she could sit and hold A-Ning, but she can’t afford that luxury just now. With the arrival of the army, it’s more important than ever that she remains in Lan Xichen’s good graces.

‘Young Master Wen,’ Lan Xichen says, dipping his head forwards in a small bow. ‘I’m relieved to see you reunited with your sister.’

He doesn’t ask where A-Ning was found, but Wen Qing tells him anyway. The man is a sect leader; he’s probably used to being given a report of anything important even without having to ask. It’s easy enough to check on Lan Wangji as she speaks, though she’s closer to Lan Xichen than she’s comfortable with being to a man who isn’t her brother or her patient, and she concludes her recount as she withdraws her spiritual energy from Lan Wangji.

‘Is he worse?’ Lan Xichen asks quietly.

Everything about Lan Xichen is even quieter than normal, even more still, and it’s not due to his usual air of tranquillity. The man is subdued. Disheartened.

‘His core is no better than it was,’ Wen Qing confirms, ‘but this is so far beyond anything I’ve seen before that I can’t say for sure it’s deteriorated further.’

She also can’t tell him how long Lan Wangji has left, but from the tender way Lan Xichen strokes a stray wisp of hair back from his brother’s cheek and from the building grief in his eyes, she doesn’t have to remind the man his brother is dying.

‘You will continue to do all you can,’ Lan Xichen tells her, and she pretends not to hear the hoarseness in his voice.

All Wen Qing can do is nod.

Hours later, there’s still nothing on that damn branding iron.

‘Have these delivered to Hanguang-Jun’s room,’ Wei Wuxian tells one of the men, gesturing at the pile he’s earmarked as potentially useful.

Only potentially. If he’s honest with himself, the potential is so small as to be almost non-existent, but he has to find some way forward. And Wen Qing told him her library contained nothing to help Jiang Cheng, only for him to find the scroll in her own hand that unlocked a second chance at life for his brother.

There has to be a similar second chance for Lan Zhan.

For now, he hesitates at the thought that Jiang Cheng and Shijie may be waiting for him to join them, but it’s Lan Zhan and the Wens who he knows have injury and death approaching, so he sends a mental apology to his sect siblings and promises himself he’ll see them later. When all this is done, they can return to Lotus Pier and…and something. He’ll think of something, some way to hide or explain away why he can’t be what they’ll expect him to be.

That’s another problem for later.

When he reaches Lan Zhan’s room, his eyes are drawn at once to the figure on the bed. Lan Zhan is sleeping on Zewu-Jun’s shoulder. It looks as though he passed out there, from the way Zewu-Jun is holding him, and it’s been hours since Empathy spat Lan Zhan back out.

Has Zewu-Jun been cradling him all this time?

‘Anything?’ Wen Qing asks.

Wei Wuxian turns to face her, finding her sitting beside Wen Ning on a sleeping mat that wasn’t there before. A mostly eaten meal sits on a tray nearby and Wen Ning is in different clothes, the ends of his hair still damp from when he must have bathed.

He looks better, like this - more substantial than he was in the near non-existent lighting in that room, though paler and more drawn than he should be.

Wen Qing’s got one of his hands in hers and looks to be examining his pulse or meridians, a tiny frown furrowing her brow. But her question is aimed at Wei Wuxian.

‘Some things I’m having brought here,’ he tells her, making sure to glance at Zewu-Jun, as well, ‘but nothing that looks obviously helpful.’

‘Helpful for Second Master Lan?’ Wen Ning asks. His gaze is full of sympathy as he peers over at Lan Zhan, despite what he’s just been freed from himself. ‘Jiejie told me he’s not well. Did Sect Leader Wen use resentful energy on him?’

Wen Qing shoots Wei Wuxian a look that seems to say she doesn’t want A-Ning to know, before sighing and shaking her head.

‘I told you, it’s not something you need to worry about,’ she says, though her tone and the slump of her shoulders suggest she’s all to aware she can’t protect Wen Ning from all the bad things in the world, no matter how much she still wants to.

Wei Wuxian understands. Shijie has always looked after him, has lived through this war and all that came before it, and has shown her resilience many times over, but Wei Wuxian still feels that urge to shield her.

But Wen Ning lived in this palace, too, and spent time with Wen Rouhan. It’s just possible he knows something, and they can’t afford to leave any possibility untried.

‘No,’ Wei Wuxian says. ‘It’s a spell, we think. An array. We’re looking for anything on this.’

He strides over to where the branding iron sits once again on the desk, sweeping it up and holding it out so Wen Ning can see the twisted metal at its end.

There’s a stretch of silence as Wen Ning blinks at the branding iron, and Wei Wuxian is about to drop his arm and tell the boy not to worry about this, that he should concentrate on getting better after his ordeal.

Wen Ning speaks first.

‘Oh, I think everyone gave up on those a long time ago. At least, that must be why they’d put the book in my storage room.’

He stops and ducks his head, and Wei Wuxian realises he isn’t the only one staring at Wen Ning. Wen Qing and Zewu-Jun are, too.

‘A-Ning,’ Wen Qing says carefully, ‘you’ve seen a book about that branding iron in that room?’

‘Yes, Jiejie,’ Wen Ning confirms, not looking up from his own lap. ‘Do you… I can show you where it is, I think. It was still there the last time I was in the room. Do you want to go now?’

Meng Yao waves the servants away and pours another cup of wine for his father himself.

The man leans forward and takes the cup as soon as it’s full, making no effort to look at Meng Yao. He’s mostly avoided looking at Meng Yao the entire time they’ve been here, though he’s pushed for more details on the end of the war and what’s happened in the palace since.

Jin Zixuan hasn’t looked much at Meng Yao, either, but he seems more awkward about it than deliberate. Meng Yao wonders whether the other man knows what happened on that day at Koi Tower, as the legitimate child was celebrated and indulged with festivities within his gilded walls.

But now isn’t the time to consider such things.

‘That boy Jiang Fengmian took in is really so powerful?’ his father muses, idly plucking a few nuts from one of the bowls on the table but not bothering to eat them. ‘You didn’t report this to me, Zixuan.’

Jin Zixuan looks surprised his father has spoken to him.

‘My understanding is that Hanguang-Jun struck the killing blow against Wen Rouhan,’ Jin Zixuan says, after a pause that is a bit too long. ‘That’s what Chifeng-Zun told me after we received word the war was won.’

‘But Wei Wuxian used some of this demonic cultivation on Rouhan to speed up his end,’ their father adds, making it sound like he’s correcting his acknowledged son. ‘And you just heard Meng Yao here say the boy has some object that’s linked to his crooked powers. Do we know if what he did to our mutual enemy shows the full extent of those?’

Having witnessed some of Wen Rouhan’s experiments, Meng Yao is certain even the full measure of power displayed during Wei Wuxian’s advance through the palace is not everything the man can do, but he hasn’t yet determined whether his father should know this.

‘Zewu-Jun stopped him before he could do more. It’s impossible to say.’

‘Stopped him?’ his father asks, disbelieving. ‘Stopped him why? Did Zewu-Jun want to keep the credit of the kill for his own sect? Or was it some Lan rule about mercy?’

Lan Xichen has so far made no effort to capitalise on his own brother being the one to strike Wen Rouhan, a choice Meng Yao thinks is wasteful, and nobody who saw the way Lan Xichen tore through puppets and fierce corpses on his way to that room could call the man merciful. At least, not in the way his father seems to mean it, with a twist of derision as though mercy is nothing more and nothing less than withholding a killing blow. As though mercy is weakness.

Meng Yao allows his smile to flicker.

‘I believe Zewu-Jun was…concerned for Hanguang-Jun.’

His father doesn’t coax more information from him: he demands. Mindful that this is the closest Meng Yao has ever come to gaining his father’s favour, he obliges.

The storage room is tucked away in a part of the palace that can’t be used much. It also doesn’t look like it was meant to be a storage room, let alone a library.

Wen Ning doesn’t take long to locate the book he’s looking for. Or, what used to be a book.

Wei Wuxian accepts the three sections of book that Wen Ning hands him and stares at them dubiously. There’s no title page. Chunks seem to be missing even from the pieces that are there, and the first page starts partway through a character, the corner torn away.

‘They weren’t together when I found them first,’ Wen Ning explains, sounding apologetic. ‘I read them, though, and they each mentioned some of the same things. Places, a few people, metal-working. And I thought, maybe they were all the same book, once, so I tried working out how they could have fit together, and…’

He gestures at the result of his efforts, looking earnest and hopeful and, still, like he should be saying sorry.

‘Ah, Wen Ning,’ Wei Wuxian says, ‘this is the best lead we’ve had. Thank you.’

He leaves the Wen siblings to look through the rest of the room, trusting that Wen Ning knows the contents better than anyone and knowing that Wen Qing can’t bear to leave his side just yet, and returns to Lan Zhan’s room and the desk that has become Wei Wuxian’s workspace.

The book is thick, for all it’s incomplete, and after exchanging a few quiet words with Lan Xichen, who has finally settled Lan Zhan on the bed properly, Wei Wuxian settles down to read it.

A-Yuan is excited to be in the carriage, even after days of travel. Huaisang points out birds to him, and flowers and trees and anything else he can think of, and A-Yuan draws pictures that come out even wonkier because of the sway of the carriage.

The little boy reacts to the approaching mountains around the Nightless City with no more or less enthusiasm than he has to other features of the landscape, but Granny Wen, sitting quietly near him, looks apprehensive.

‘It will all be fine,’ Huaisang assures her. ‘As soon as Da-ge understands what we owe the Dafan Wen, he’ll agree to protect you.’

The old woman nods, but continues her wary inspection of the mountains, and Huaisang supposes that after everything she and her clan have been through, it will take more than a few words from him to calm her nerves.

‘Will Father be there?’ A-Yuan asks, as he’s asked several times since that morning alone.

Yet again, Huaisang tells the boy that, yes, his father will be at their destination but that A-Yuan will have to listen to what the healer says about visiting him.

A-Yuan nods as though this is perfectly normal, and Huaisang feels a burst of irritation at Wangji-xiong for putting himself back in a sickbed.

‘And I’ll see Uncle and Xian-gege and Auntie Yanli,’ A-Yuan tells the wooden rabbit he carries with him everywhere. His eyes are wide and hopeful as he looks back at Huaisang. ‘Will I get to see Granduncle? I wasn’t allowed to see Granduncle before.’

It’s hard for Huaisang to imagine any child wanting to spend time with Lan Qiren, but he supposes many people think his brother is scary. And A-Yuan must have spent time with Lan Qiren in the future they’re aiming to change, so it isn’t really the case that he’s only met his granduncle a handful of times. It just seems that way to Huaisang.

So much to keep in mind about all this. It’s taxing.

He certainly didn’t intend to end up in charge of a Lan child, even if they’re really a Wen, but things have a way of gathering momentum and, well, Da-ge didn’t end up in Wen Rouhan’s hands. Nie Huaisang intends to pay his debts.

He smiles warmly at A-Yuan as he promises the boy that he’ll be with all his family soon.

‘And you’ll be able to meet my da-ge,’ he adds.

And then Huaisang can hand over responsibility for sorting out the whole Wen mess to his older brother, he thinks with relief. Really, Huaisang isn’t the best person to be trying to save an entire clan. Much better to leave that to the most protective person he knows.

Having read the entire thing through and then studying selected passages again, Wei Wuxian sits with one page open under his hands, trying not to panic.

This book does indeed describe the branding iron and its array, as one of several artifacts and treasures of a sect he’s never heard of and which must not now exist. From occasional references to other sects and places, Wei Wuxian is convinced this book was written before any of the current Great Sects existed.

Perhaps this is a copy of a copy, or it was preserved using some method he doesn’t know, but at some point, someone in the Wen Sect must have inherited or found the book.

It happens. Books and weapons and devices are invented, passed on, broken, lost. It happens with techniques, too. Many times, he’s been frustrated to follow a promising mention of some skill, only to find it connects to nothing known by their current world.

Parts of this book are clearly missing, which means it’s possible they’re somewhere else in the palace or were at one time. It’s conceivable the Wen Sect got the idea for their own branding irons from some reference to this one, only managing to recreate part of the process from a fragment of a record.

Where they found the branding iron itself and why they never connected it to this book aren’t questions he can answer, but his academic interest in lost knowledge is irrelevant compared to what’s at stake now.

He looks across at the bed, at Lan Zhan’s still figure.

Lan Xichen has finally been persuaded to leave Lan Zhan, pulled away by his duty as the leader of a Great Sect and by Chifeng-Zun’s insistence. Wen Qing has been by to check again on Lan Zhan before letting Wei Wuxian talk her into finding another room, one where both Wen Ning and she can have a proper rest, with none of this pallet on the floor nonsense. So it’s just Wei Wuxian, the book, and Lan Zhan’s unconscious presence.

No. That’s not quite right: there’s the brand, too, sitting once again on the edge of the desk. Wei Wuxian has inspected it several times since he began reading, and there’s only one conclusion he can now reach.

The brand is still cold to the touch. It isn’t brimming with the sun’s heat, as the author of this book put it. It’s cold.

Wei Wuxian stares down at the page, exhaustion making every thought hazy, indistinct, save for several blood-bright conclusions.

The brand seems inert once it’s been activated, which means it’s still active. That means Lan Zhan is not suffering the after-effects of a powerful spell. The spell is still working within him.

And the spell in the brand demands a price Wei Wuxian has theorised in his darker moments, when he’s spent too long dwelling on how it felt to have the light carved from his body to let someone else see hope. He’s wondered what else he would be willing to give up, has wondered if there’s some way to trade the leftover meat of him for the benefit of his loved ones.

What wouldn’t he sacrifice, if it meant pulling people back from death? If he could swap his own life for Uncle Jiang’s, for Madam Yu’s, for any one of his sect sisters or brothers, wouldn’t that be worth it?

And the spell housed in this brand offers so much more than that. It offers a chance to go back to before a loss, to change the course of things. It doesn’t bring the dead back to life so much as prevent them from having died in the first place.

As with all powerful spells, it comes with conditions.

It must be a loss, from what he can work out. Something broken or gone, not necessarily the life of a person, but something significant to the one using the brand, something to anchor the spell-caster to a point in time and drag them backwards.

One point, one change, and the spell would be done.

Lan Zhan must have felt the loss of something strongly enough to turn that brand on himself, and whatever it is, he must not yet have been able to protect it. Wei Wuxian knows this, because the book states it outright in clear, precise lines.

Once the anchoring loss is prevented, and the spell is complete, the cultivator will pay with their golden core, with their life, and with their soul.

And Wei Wuxian can think of only one loss that could have driven Lan Zhan to this: Lan Xichen must have been right in his prediction. The Lan Sect must not have been able to protect A-Yuan.

Chapter Text

Wen Qing isn’t asleep when Wei Wuxian arrives in what is, for the moment, her room.

It’s not the space she occupied when she lived here permanently at her uncle’s behest. That’s too far from her patient and she isn’t sure she’s ready to remind herself of her life then, in any case.

Instead, she’s taken the room near to what’s become Lan Wangji’s, a room into which she’s had a second bed delivered. A-Ning has spent too long in discomfort and fear to be made to sleep on anything less now, and they both need their rest.

But sleep has yet to find her.

‘You’re still awake,’ Wei Wuxian comments when he finds her standing by the open window, staring out into the dark. ‘Good. I need you to look at this.’

He thrusts a book at her hands. The book.

Wen Qing takes hold of it reflexively but keeps looking at Wei Wuxian.

‘All of it?’ she asks.

She’s far too tired to take in a full book on metalwork or arrays or whatever exactly this text is about. Even her medical books are harder to understand the more exhausted she becomes, to the point she’s read more than one passage recently that’s failed to resolve into anything. It’s just become a blur of remarks about fire and blood and other things she isn’t sure she’s really seeing.

It could just be her mind, plagued by images Lan Wangji’s account of the future branded into her mind.

‘This bit,’ Wei Wuxian says, tapping at the page he has open, halfway down.

She reads it with his fingertip still pressed to the page, too weary and tense already to feel horror as she makes sense of it. When she’s done, she looks back up at Wei Wuxian and waits for him to speak. She could be wrong about what it says, not being the expert here. Maybe it doesn’t mean what it seems to.

‘When the person he’s come back for is saved, the spell is complete. You see what will happen when it does?’

He points again at the relevant part, and Wen Qing would like very much not to have read it at all. But she has, and she understood it correctly, after all. Not for the first time, she wishes she didn’t understand a thing that can only cause pain.

‘It’s an old book that’s been in pieces for years,’ she tries. ‘We don’t even know for certain whoever wrote it really knew about the array. It could be wrong. We don’t know this will happen to Lan Wangji.’

She’s glad the disdain in Wei Wuxian’s eyes has rarely been turned her way. It’s still better than the despair.

‘He’s going to die,’ Wei Wuxian states flatly. ‘Lan Zhan is going to die and never be reborn.’

Wen Qing would contradict that, if she could. Of the many things she’s learnt about Lan Wangji, his determination to save those he lost before is high on the list. And despite her words, she has little faith this book is inaccurate. It has the ring of truth.

‘What happened to inventing a way to save him if we had to?’ she asks, sounding lifeless and hollow to her own ears.

Distantly, she wonders whether she can gather enough supplies to keep her brother and herself alive in the mountains without Lan Xichen finding out. Which means not letting Meng Yao find out. And then she’d have to leave without being spotted.

Only, that would mean abandoning the rest of her clan.

Not A-Yuan, though. A-Yuan should be safe. Wen Qing has persisted in the lie about A-Yuan’s conception in order to preserve that one life if all else fails. Even if Lan Wangji dies, Lan Xichen and Lan Qiren will protect the boy if they believe he’s connected to them by blood.

‘Wen Qing!’

Her attention snaps fully back into the now just as A-Ning yelps and bolts up from his bed, eyes wide.

‘Jiejie?’ he asks, clearly worried. ‘Oh, Young Master Wei. Is something wrong?’

She cuts in as Wei Wuxian opens his mouth, because he’s too distraught to be properly mindful of A-Ning’s state.

‘Wei Wuxian is worried about Lan Wangji,’ she says, simply.

‘Worried,’ Wei Wuxian says, as though he can’t believe she’s chosen such an inadequate word. He tips his head back and barks out a laugh with no humour in it. If anything, it sounds thick and wet. His eyes gleam when he tilts his head forward again. ‘Should I not be worried? I thought you wanted to keep Lan Zhan alive.’

He doesn’t mean the poisonous edge to his voice, she’s almost sure. It still stings.

As A-Ning rises from the bed, she keeps watching the man who would have tried to save them in another life, who would have died for it.

She’s had to remind herself of that more than once in these last days: not so much that Wei Wuxian would have tried to save them, but that she hasn’t lived it. She doesn’t have her other self’s experience with him, even if she feels close to him in a way she rarely has with anyone.

She’s seen Wei Wuxian’s genius and his drive to save others, not just now but back when her village was at risk, when he dug through her whole library seeking a way to save his brother. She saw how much closer to the surface his temper became after the destruction of his home, and has seen the after-effects of his new cultivation, including the bloody lump that was once Wen Rouhan.

Even that doesn’t match the tales told of Wei Wuxian’s revenge on Wen Chao.

This man is a patchwork of pieces and she would be foolish indeed to think she knows all of them, or how they fit together. Perhaps that other version of Wen Qing learnt how far he could be pushed, how desperate and angry and despairing he could be before he became the threat instead of the shelter.

Wen Qing cannot afford to become complacent.

‘Did the book not have anything?’ A-Ning asks, arriving beside Wen Qing and sounding so woebegone she wants to put her arms around him again. ‘I’m sorry. I really thought it might.’

Wei Wuxian stares at him for a loaded moment, before that bitterness sighs out of him and he’s left looking as exhausted as Wen Qing feels, beaten thin and clinging to a fragment of hope.

Only, he seems to have lost his grip on that last fragment. What’s written in the book has stolen it away.

‘The books has information on the array,’ she tells her little brother, swallowing down the regret at having momentarily regarded Wei Wuxian with suspicion. She’s becoming soft, it seems. If anything, she should berate herself for not being more wary. But what she thinks and what she feels on that subject are not lining up.

‘It tells me the array is designed to destroy Lan Zhan,’ Wei Wuxian adds, all the fight gone out of him.

With a pained noise, A-Ning reaches for the book and tugs at it when Wen Qing doesn’t let go.

‘Jiejie?’

Quelling the need to keep things from A-Ning is not a skill she’s practised, but this he already knows about in part, and it will eat at him if he doesn’t get to read it. She lets go one finger at a time.

As A-Ning reads, standing with his head bent and his hair spilling around his face, Wen Qing rubs a hand over her own face. Her eyes are gritty and aching.

‘You have more chance of subverting what the array demands than anyone,’ she insists, with as much conviction as she can pack into her words. She does believe it, but that doesn’t seem to be translating to her voice, and ‘more chance’ isn’t a guarantee. ‘Think. Does this give you anything to work with?’

‘I don’t know,’ he replies. ‘Maybe. I… Wen Qing, I just don’t…’

‘He’s as stable as I can get him for now,’ she says. ‘In a way, maybe this means he’s more stable than I can tell.’

‘What?’ Wei Wuxian’s face creases in a show of blatant disbelief.

‘Listen,’ she tells him, in an effort to share that fragment of remaining hope with him, even if it’s mostly wishful thinking, ‘the array takes its payment once the loss is prevented, yes?’ She waits for him to nod. Making him engage with her will keep him from panicking. ‘Then doesn’t it follow that until that point is reached, the array itself will keep him alive? Isn’t it possible, at least?’

Wei Wuxian’s brow crinkles.

‘I… That… Ah, Wen Qing, I don’t think it works that way.’

She’s never heard of an array working that way, either, but it doesn’t mean they can’t. And, yes, Wei Wuxian understands more about talisman and array theory than she ever could, but she’s not stupid. She has been educated.

And something is keeping Lan Wangji on this side of death, even if it may be kinder to let him go.

‘At least think about it,’ she urges.

All manner of things could spark an idea, she knows. Wei Wuxian shouldn’t discount anything that may help him, not when Lan Wangji’s survival, and the survival of those tied up with him, depends on it.

‘And what good does it do us, even if that is the case?’ Wei Wuxian demands, too overwrought to think about this calmly, it would seem. ‘What, are we to delay A-Yuan’s safety? Lan Zhan would never forgive that.’

A-Yuan? Wen Qing is struck speechless by the certainty with which Wei Wuxian says that.

‘A-Yuan?’ A-Ning asks in her place, looking up from the book. ‘Who’s A-Yuan, Young Master Wei?’

‘Lan Zhan’s kid,’ Wei Wuxian says, at the same time that Wen Qing says, ‘Wen Yuan, our cousin’s son.’

A-Ning looks back and forth between them, blinking.

‘I…I don’t understand. She wasn’t married to Second Master Lan.’

Wei Wuxian holds up a finger, his lips parting, but Wen Qing beats him to it, this time.

‘Don’t say that in anyone else’s hearing, A-Ning,’ she orders him. ‘Zewu-Jun has accepted A-Yuan as Lan Wangji’s son. That makes A-Yuan the safest Wen there is, just now.’

‘And so what if they weren’t married?’ Wei Wuxian snaps over the end of her words, back to anger again at such small provocation. ‘Is A-Yuan somehow worth less just because Lan Zhan and your cousin didn’t get to take their bows? Or maybe they did, and just kept that a secret. He’s good at secrets. Much better than you’d think.’

The sour twist by the end sends a jab of frustration through Wen Qing’s gut. Of all the…

‘Are you saying you think Lan Wangji used that array to come back in time and save A-Yuan?’ she asks.

‘Who else would matter enough to him?’ Wei Wuxian fires back. ‘His brother seemed fine in the memory I saw. His uncle, too.’ And that, he spits out in disgust. ‘And, look, here. You see?’

He practically tears the book out of A-Ning’s hands and holds it up in front of Wen Qing, who can’t read even a character with the way Wei Wuxian is brandishing the thing.

‘No,’ she says. ‘Whatever it is, just tell me.’

‘The anchoring loss has to be one person. I already said, it isn’t his brother or his uncle. Even then, would he really do this? Give up his…his everything? Which single person could Lan Zhan care about enough to destroy himself this way, if not his son?’

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Wen Qing almost wants to ask if he’s joking.

‘It can’t be A-Yuan’s mother,’ Wei Wuxian presses on, sounding almost desperate in his need to get Wen Qing to agree with him. ‘She’s gone. Maybe…maybe he could accept her loss, but not A-Yuan’s.’

She can’t listen to any more of this.

‘Wei Wuxian,’ she says, letting her tone be as sharp as it wants to be, ‘are you honestly telling me you believe Lan Wangji took my cousin to bed?’

‘Jiejie!’

‘What? You… Are you calling Lan Zhan a liar?’

‘No. He hasn’t lied even once that I know of,’ she says, still sharp but with a little more steadiness. This misconception of Wei Wuxian’s is something she can affect, but only if she can keep him calm enough to listen. ‘But he’s let people make up details he never shared, and I thought you knew that, but… Sit down. We need to talk.’

The streets of the Nightless City aren’t ever asleep, Huaisang knows from many stories and one visit, but as the carriage rolls along the main thoroughfare on its way to the palace, he’s forced to acknowledge things have changed.

‘Is that the palace?’ A-Yuan asks, pointing out of the window at a building lit by lanterns.

Here, there are people moving around, shadow-puppets at the windows. There are people in the street, too, mostly men, some with a watchful wariness and others with the stumbling glee of wine drunk too quickly.

As Huaisang thinks how to answer the boy without bringing Lan Wangji’s wrath down on his head, a man in Nie robes makes his way inside. Well, Huaisang has plenty to tell Da-ge as it is. It’s possible Da-ge has given their people permission to visit the local House of Flowers. No need to cause problems for their cultivators unless he has to.

‘Ah, that’s not the palace, A-Yuan,’ he says, as he notes the slight limp and the way the man holds himself. It’s always a good idea to know who is doing what, and whose reappearance amongst their ranks may need checking on come morning. ‘That’s somewhere grown-ups go sometimes, for fun.’

A-Yuan looks thoughtful. Huaisang has the horrible thought that the boy may ask if his father or…or granduncle have fun in buildings like that, and feels his heart constrict in preparation.

But the moment passes. A-Yuan just nods and points at another building, this one mostly dark, asking what it is. Huaisang answers where he knows and still answers where he doesn’t, making up more and more fanciful stories for the boy.

It’s better A-Yuan doesn’t latch onto the few people who stare at the carriage as it passes, their clothing marking them as natives of the city.

They’ll be at the palace soon, and the boy will see how far from it even the largest, finest buildings around them are from being alike. For now, they travel though a city that isn’t sleeping, but only because it’s got one eye open to see what the intruders are up to.

Wei Wuxian finds himself back in Lan Zhan’s room almost without conscious thought.

One moment, he’s sitting opposite Wen Qing, as Wen Ning serves them tea and Wen Qing’s words tear apart truths he’s only just made himself swallow, and the next he’s staring down at Lan Zhan’s pale face.

In the lamplight, Lan Zhan’s skin is washed with warmth, but Wei Wuxian knows it’s an illusion.

‘Is she right?’ he asks his unmoving friend. ‘Did you make us all believe a lie? You? Lan Zhan, I didn’t think you had it in you.’

He’s aware his voice sounds hollow, but he can’t think what to do about it. Anyway, it’s not as though Lan Zhan is awake to hear him. He isn’t awake to tell Wei Wuxian that Wen Qing is completely wrong about who Lan Zhan came back to save.

‘I have never known my brother to lie. I’m sure he’s told you it’s forbidden.’

Wei Wuxian spins around to find Lan Xichen standing just inside the doorway and has to tamp down the impulse to put himself between the Lans. Lan Xichen is no threat to his own little brother. In those visions, Lan Xichen was caring for Lan Zhan, was the one sitting beside Lan Zhan’s sickbed and trying to be soothing.

Perhaps the much-admired leader of the Lan Sect had no say in how his own brother was punished. Perhaps.

‘I thought eavesdropping was also forbidden,’ he says carefully, instead of begging to be told that Wen Qing is wrong, that Lan Xichen knew all along about Lan Zhan’s love for a Wen woman.

Instead of asking what Lan Zhan would have had to do, to be punished the way he was, if not for loving their enemy.

Lan Xichen’s lips twitch up a little at the edges, a shallow impression of his usual smile, and he walks sedately to stand on the other side of Lan Zhan’s bed. The fall of his robes, the arrangement of his hair, even his bearing, are all as they should be, but he looks faded.

‘Would you have me walk around with my hands over my ears?’ Lan Xichen asks, the muted humour in his tone somehow more distressing than if he’d shouted. Humour shouldn’t be such an effort to drag into the world. ‘What lie has my brother made us all believe, Wei Wuxian?’

Wen Qing was firm: nobody is to put A-Yuan’s layer of safety at risk. Lan Xichen must continue to believe Lan Zhan’s blood runs in A-Yuan’s veins.

Even so, even without the fact that Lan Zhan has apparently convinced so many people he fathered a child in secret when it isn’t true at all, Lan Xichen has to think his brother’s told some lies. Was his comment a bit of Lan wordcraft, a way to admit he’s failed to notice the deceptions that must exist?

But he can’t ask that, and he can’t ask how Lan Xichen could fail to see how his brother feels, if he truly cares enough for Wei Wuxian that he would…

Fortunately, there are lies lying around to choose from.

‘Do you really think Lan Zhan abducted Wen Qing?’ he asks.

Again, Lan Xichen favours him with a barely there quirk of his lips.

‘Would it be the act of a wise man, to allow a woman to treat my brother when she has reason to hold a grudge against him? But you’re mistaken. My brother made no attempt to sell that fiction. Lady Wen herself made that claim.’

They stand in silence on either side of the bed until Wei Wuxian can’t take it anymore.

‘Will you punish her for making false claims?’

He sounds cold and he knows it, but he does nothing to soften his question.

Lan Xichen’s expression is mild, but it looks to be something like indignation. The revered Zewu-Jun is likely unused to being spoken to in such a way, or to having his promises questioned. After all, he can hardly keep Wen Qing safe and punish her at the same time.

Again, the image flashes through Wei Wuxian’s mind: this man sitting by Lan Zhan, so full of care and concern even as the wounds from punishment pin Lan Zhan to the bed. Again, he forces it away.

‘I have given Lady Wen my word that she is under my protection,’ Lan Xichen states, his face smooth once more, though some stiffness lingers in his voice.

He says that as though it’s benevolence that guides him, and not that he’s made it into a bargain dependent on Lan Zhan’s recovery.

‘And she’s Lan Zhan’s extended family, is she not?’ Wei Wuxian adds. ‘After all, the woman he loved was kin to Wen Qing, right? Your Lan rules must have something to say about defending family.’

He watches Lan Xichen as closely as he can, but there’s no hint on the man’s face, in his posture, in his tone, that he suspects that connection to be false. If anything, he looks faintly chagrined, as though he’s just been scolded.

‘Several,’ he says. ‘You are right, of course, Wei Wuxian. I have…not been treating Lady Wen as kin. For Wangji’s sake, perhaps I should reflect on that.’

No, no hint at all he doubts Lan Zhan’s relationship with A-Yuan’s mother.

Wei Wuxian could ask the man outright. He could share the information from the book and ask who Lan Xichen believes his brother would give up his core, his life, and his soul for.

But that may take away some of Wei Wuxian’s options. Half-formed as they are, he’s loath to discard any.

‘It’s late,’ Lan Xichen points out, ‘and a meeting of the sect leaders will take place tomorrow, but I find myself far from sleep. I will sit with Wangji. You’ve been here reading that book all this time. You should take the chance to make use of a bed.’

And that is how it’s done, to lie without lying.

All Wei Wuxian has to do is nod and keep from letting all the awful details spill like bile into the room, and Lan Xichen won’t know. He won’t know the price his little brother will pay. He won’t know Wei Wuxian left the room, and Lan Zhan, unattended, not even thinking about that in his need to see Wen Qing, to have her shake some other meaning from those pages. He won’t know what Wei Wuxian saw in Empathy, how it’s left shock and grief and hurt reverberating through his body, or what that may mean for Lan Zhan.

‘Of course,’ Wei Wuxian says, forming his own mouth into a smile of sorts. ‘If you will excuse me, Zewu-Jun.’

Without waiting for a response, Wei Wuxian turns and stalks out.

Chapter Text

He doesn’t seek out the room Meng Yao put him in days ago. Exhaustion is sunk as deep in his flesh as resentful energy by this point, and he’s coming to terms with never being free of either again. Sleeping for a few hours won’t clear them, and the restless churning in his brain and in his gut won’t let him meditate. Better not to suffer through the irritation of trying.

It’s late enough that servants have risen from their own beds and are already moving about the hallways. He stops one, a young man with large, pretty eyes, and asks for some wine.

He takes the jar and his thoughts outside, standing on the broad top step and staring out into the darkness before the palace. The size of that open space is invisible in the darkness, but he knows it’s there, that it would have been a killing field if they’d been surrounded by Wen Rouhan’s puppets.

Lan Zhan’s memories didn’t show him that. They didn’t show him anything of the way the war went the first time. It sickens him to think that Lan Zhan’s worst moments weren’t even in war, where carnage and loss and futility are at home, and sickens him even more to learn all of their collected killing – of others, of parts of themselves, of their belief the world holds any security – was not enough to protect a child.

All the way back in that tent, Lan Zhan told him, didn’t he? He said Wei Wuxian died trying to protect something. Some people, it turns out. He thought Lan Zhan meant Wei Wuxian was killed trying to keep the Stygian Tiger Seal from others, but it wasn’t that at all. He was trying to keep others from the last of the Wens.

He failed. He failed, and Lan Zhan has offered up everything he is to give Wei Wuxian a chance to do better.

The rattling wheels of a carriage on stone, the hollow sharpness of a horse’s hooves, pull him from his thoughts and to the side of the stairs, where he lets a pillar’s bulk shield him from view.

It takes a while for the carriage to travel all the way across the plaza and up to the base of the stairs. Someone must be on guard duty out here, despite not having challenged Wei Wuxian or making themselves known to him, because a bevy of servants flock past bearing torches and array themselves in preparation of a welcome. Jin Guangyao appears as someone sets a stepping stool by the carriage and the passenger emerges to stand on the driver’s seat.

Nie Huaisang.

‘Meng Yao!’ Nie Huaisang calls out to his brother’s old deputy even before accepting help climbing down, sounding relieved and out of his depth. ‘I’m so glad you’re here. Can you believe we travelled through the night? How cruel! I’m so hungry. And nobody brought me anything fun to do on the way.’

The chatter continues as Nie Huaisang reaches the ground and meets Meng Yao a short way from the carriage, with Meng Yao interjecting with low, soothing comments Wei Wuxian can’t properly make out.

‘Where is everyone?’ Nie Huaisang asks suddenly, looking around as though he expects to find the combined allied sects waiting to greet him in the middle of the night. ‘Where’s Da-ge? Is he well? He is well, yes? He’s been resting? You know how he gets.’

Meng Yao’s tone is a fraction sharper as he responds. This time, Wei Wuxian can hear him clearly.

‘As far as I know, Chifeng-Zun is well. Everyone is sleeping, Second Young Master Nie.’

Nie Huaisang blinks at Meng Yao, his mouth open, before jolting back into movement.

‘Oh. Right. Right, of course. But…then why aren’t you sleeping?’

A good question. Before Lan Zhan spoke of Jin Guangyao, Wei Wuxian would have felt some pity for Meng Yao, up at all hours and taking care of every practical matter around the palace. He would have assumed Meng Yao was up to give the servants their orders or because one of the victorious cultivators made a request that needed dealing with. Now, he isn’t so sure.

‘It’s fortunate I’m awake to meet you, or else you’d be standing here not knowing where to go,’ Meng Yao says. ‘Come. I’ll find you a room and you can have a rest. I’ll make sure Chifeng-Zun receives word you’ve arrived.’

He sweeps out an arm to point the way, but Nie Huaisang doesn’t move.

‘We need to go to Wangji-xiong first,’ he says, ‘but then a rest would be wonderful.’

Perhaps Meng Yao is as confused by that statement as Wei Wuxian is, because he doesn’t speak as Nie Huaisang turns and gestures at an old woman being lifted down from the carriage, something bundled in a blanket held tight against her chest. Torchlight shifts and falls over different parts of her as she finds her feet and checks on whatever she’s carrying, and it’s with a sinking sense of the inevitable that Wei Wuxian notes a small hand, the curve of a little cheek.

A-Yuan. Nie Huaisang has brought Lan Zhan’s son to the Nightless City.

No. No, Wei Wuxian knows, now, that it’s more than that. It’s worse than bringing the Lan heir by blood to the end of a war.

A-Yuan is Lan Zhan’s adopted son, the boy Lan Zhan rescued when Wei Wuxian could not, because Lan Zhan isn’t the victim of a doomed love affair. Lan Zhan is just good. He saved the last Wen and made him safe when the world wouldn’t suffer a Wen to live.

And Nie Huaisang has brought that baby Wen here.

‘Nie-xiong!’

Several pairs of eyes turn to Wei Wuxian as he steps out from behind the pillar and calls to his classmate. Meng Yao and Nie Huaisang both look taken aback, though Meng Yao hides his surprise better. Nie Huaisang shakes himself out of it first, fluttering into motion and moving at speed up the steps, his robes held up with his free hand, the other clutching his fan as though afraid he’ll drop it.

‘Wei-xiong! It’s so good to see you. Can you believe how long it takes to get here from the Unclean Realm? I thought I would die inside that carriage!’

Five steps below the one Wei Wuxian has reached, it appears to dawn on Nie Huaisang what he just said. His words stop and his expression changes to one of horror.

‘Ah, that is-‘

Wei Wuxian waves him silent. It isn’t his old friend’s fault that his brother kept him away from the fighting, and Nie Huaisang can hardly have had such a goal in mind all those years he spent avoiding training. He reminds himself of this. Nobody’s suffering would have been lessened by forcing Nie Huaisang into battle. It isn’t Nie Huaisang’s fault that he’s still innocent enough to make such a crass comment.

Nie Huaisang’s voice is pitched higher when he speaks again, his eyes darting from Wei Wuxian to the darkness around them and not settling. His fan opens and rises to conceal the lower part of his face.

‘Um. It…it’s good to see you. You look…well. Do you… How is Wangji-xiong? Have you seen him?’

Meng Yao joins them with a slightly strained smile painted across his features and with entreating words meant to tidy them away before anyone can cause a scene. There isn’t even anyone here to see it, but the man looks anxious anyway.

‘Please, let me show you to a room. You must be tired after such a long journey,’ Meng Yao says, one arm again out in the direction he wishes Nie Huaisang to go.

With widened eyes, Nie Huaisang shakes his head and turns his body enough that Wei Wuxian can see past him to A-Yuan in the old woman’s arms.

‘Oh, but I can’t. I promised A-Yuan he could see his father. And his uncle and his granduncle, too. He’ll be far too upset to sleep if he doesn’t get to see them.’

‘Hanguang-Jun-,‘ Meng Yao begins, and Wei Wuxian abruptly can’t spend another moment standing out here talking.

‘Lan Zhan’s asleep,’ he cuts in, letting his tone of voice do whatever it will. ‘Winning this war for us was hard on him. A-Yuan will have to wait to see him.’

He won’t hear of the boy being taken to Lan Xichen, either, and frowns when Nie Huaisang asks after Lan Qiren.

‘He’s at your Unclean Realm, isn’t he? Nie-xiong, have you lost Lan Zhan’s uncle?’

The attempt at levity earns him a quick tilt of Nie Huaisang’s lips, which have re-emerged from behind his fan as it’s become clear Wei Wuxian won’t lose his temper over those earlier indelicate remarks. It’s nothing like one of his real smiles, but maybe all any of them have left is pretending.

‘I expected he would make it here before me, Wei-xiong,’ Nie Huaisang says. ‘Even an old man like him can fly all the way here, but I had to rely on horses.’

The exhaustion that waits always for Wei Wuxian washes up like a tide, scouring him clean of other emotions. He isn’t being fair. Nie Huaisang has travelled for days. A-Yuan and the old woman have travelled for days. And that whole way they’ve known they’re heading towards family who have waded through blood. Naturally, they will want to see their family members are in one piece before they rest.

But Wei Wuxian can’t take A-Yuan to Lan Zhan just now. He can’t bear bringing him to Zewu-Jun.

‘A-Yuan can go to his aunt and uncle,’ Wei Wuxian decides.

Wen Qing reported A-Yuan’s reaction to her with confusion, given that he didn’t recognise Wei Wuxian back in the camp, but it does mean the boy can go to family without risking him seeing the state his father – adoptive father – is in.

He brushes past Nie Huaisang and down the steps, leaving both men to react however they will.

Nie Huaisang reacts by following him.

‘Good idea. Good idea! I’ll come, too. I need to speak with Wen Qing, anyway. Did you know Wangji-xiong abducted her? Isn’t that strange? I should check that she’s all right.’

‘Old Man Lan isn’t here, Nie-xiong,’ Wei Wuxian says, managing not to stumble over the disconnect between this and similar exchanges during their studies. If anything, it makes him feel darkly amused. Nie Huaisang is still playing around and hiding from trouble, but the stakes are a lot higher than being assigned lines. ‘You don’t need an excuse to go see a pretty girl.’

He doesn’t need to remind people that Lan Zhan supposedly brought Wen Qing here against her will. Wei Wuxian isn’t sure what or who he’s trying to defend with it, but he finds he hates that particular story.

A-Yuan reaches for Wei Wuxian as soon as he’s close enough, wriggling in the old woman’s arms.

‘Xian-gege, you’re here!’ he calls out, sounding delighted.

Perhaps he only recalls Wei Wuxian from the camp. Probably, that’s all. Even so, Wei Wuxian finds himself searching A-Yuan’s face for more.

If A-Yuan does recall any of his life in the Burial Mounds, he’s looking at a man who once helped take care of him. It doesn’t matter that Wei Wuxian doesn’t – can’t – know anything about that time. Wei Wuxian can't know how he was with A-Yuan, doesn’t know if that matters, but he’s determined not to make this small boy feel a pang of rejection.

Reaching out, he plucks A-Yuan from the old woman's arms. She resists for a moment, before glancing at Nie Huaisang, relaxing, and letting go.

'Granny Wen,' Nie Huaisang says, 'won't you walk with me?'

Ah. This woman is A-Yuan's grandmother, then, or at least a kinswoman.

For his part, A-Yuan tucks his head under Wei Wuxian's chin and breathes into his throat, apparently feeling perfectly safe in the arms of the man who can raise the dead.

'This way,' he says, and turns to make his way back up those stairs, leaving the gaping space before the palace behind him and leading the little group to Wen Qing.

He isn't sure whether it's the unused battleground that makes his spine prickle, or Meng Yao watching them go.

Zixuan should be used to sleeping in an unfamiliar bed. At least this one isn’t in a tent. He should be able to fall asleep easily, now that the war is over and he’s got four walls around him and no need to listen out for sneak attacks.

Any responsibility is off his shoulders, so that shouldn’t be what has his belly tense and his limbs refusing to settle. His own father is here, more than experienced in taking charge of any Jin Sect cultivators, and the leaders of the entire Sunshot Campaign are both in this palace. Zixuan can rest.

Except he can’t, because his mind keeps going over the conversation his father had with Meng Yao.

It sits uneasily at the base of Zixuan's skull, the memory of his father asking about Lan Wangji's state, of Meng Yao being coaxed into sharing more and more of that final confrontation between Wen Rouhan and their own side.

The glimmer in his father's eyes was not well hidden. Then again, why would he even try? When has Zixuan ever challenged his father on his habits and actions? A filial son follows his father's lead and remains silent about his father's transgressions.

But Zixuan isn't sure he wants to be a filial son, not if it means he can't be a good man.

Jiang Yanli deserves a good man.

With a sigh, he shoves the covers from his body and rises, resigning himself to facing her brothers in his efforts to rinse the niggling unease from his flesh. He would rather speak with her alone, but it's not likely both Jiang Wanyin and Wei Wuxian will have left her alone, and neither will let Zixuan take her out on her own in the middle of the night.

Nor should they. When he looks at their behaviour from the perspective of keeping Jiang Yanli safe, as she should be, rather than from that of a young master being maligned and tormented, he finds rather more understanding of their attitudes. Not that he wishes to be chased away.

Even with the awareness that he may be walking himself into a situation where a demonic cultivator has cause to try and throw him out of the palace, Zixuan feels steadier once he's dressed and heading out of his rooms.

Perhaps this is why Wei Wuxian always looks so confident, no matter his status or reputation. The man always follows his own sense of what is right, and perhaps that is a part of why Jiang Yanli loves him so much.

Yes. Much though it goes against his past habits, much though his father will be angry with him should he find out, it is worth taking this chance to share his concerns. He will risk censure and sanctions to prevent Jiang Yanli from losing anyone else she loves.

Lan Xichen does his best to find calm, but it grows ever more difficult. It seems every new piece of information, every development, makes things more complicated, the path less easy to see.

Wei Wuxian's attitude towards him has soured, even beyond the prickly rage that has sat so close to the surface ever since the young man reappeared from his long absence, and Xichen isn't sure what to make of it.

Worse, he's afraid he does have some idea of what to make of it, and very much wants to be wrong. Wei Wuxian and Wangji were linked, more completely and for longer than Xichen and Wangji were linked, and it's possible Wei Wuxian now knows things Xichen never will about his own brother.

Sitting by Wangji’s bedside alone leaves Xichen dwelling on what those things could be. None of the possibilities are good.

He's pulled from his thoughts by the arrival of A-Yao, who looks concerned he may be unwelcome. Xichen rises from his seat and crosses to draw A-Yao further into the room.

'A-Yao,' Xichen says, 'you should be sleeping.'

A-Yao offers a smile, but it's tight and wan, though touched with an element of rueful affection.

'As should you, Zewu-Jun. Though I confess I'm relieved to see you awake. I shouldn't like to disturb your rest.'

'Rest has not been easy for any of us to find, I think,' Xichen tells him, noting the way A-Yao holds himself, as though he will fold up and become a bundle on the floor if he lets go of his control for a moment. 'You are not disturbing me. In fact, I welcome the chance to speak to a friend. But why do you seek me out at this hour?'

There must be a reason. Even when A-Yao was hiding Xichen away from his enemies, he rarely imposed. Conversation was pitched to comfort or inform Xichen, no matter how often he told A-Yao he didn't have to be so considerate.

The smile flickers, growing more strained, before A-Yao sighs and steps closer, until he's peering up at Xichen from so close they could touch. His voice drops to not much more than a murmur.

'Second Master Nie has arrived by carriage. He's brought Hanguang-Jun's son with him.'

'A-Yuan is here?'

Xichen hears the surprise in his own voice and decides it doesn't matter if A-Yao hears it. Uncle isn't here to chide Xichen for letting his emotions show, because Uncle is still organising the search for Xichen's nephew.

Finding Wangji here, of all places, was one of the most horrifying moments of Xichen's life, but at least he was able to send that news to Uncle along with confirming the end of the war. Better to know where Wangji is than to have him missing.

But Wangji hadn't spoken a word about A-Yuan and Wen Qing had refused to say more than that the boy was with his grandmother, meaning Uncle refused to travel to the Nightless City.

Instead, he has sent word of no confirmed sightings of A-Yuan despite having sent every disciple he had with him out to look.

And now A-Yuan is here. With Huaisang.

'How is this possible?' Xichen asks, this time as quietly as A-Yao was. There’s no need to wake Wangji.

Meng Yao lowers his eyes.

'I'm afraid I can't say. Second Master Nie didn't share everything with me even when I served Chifeng-Zun. All I know is that the carriage reached the palace not long ago, with no advanced warning, and that it contained Second Master Nie, Young Master Lan Yuan, and an old woman referred to as Granny Wen.'

Xichen blinks.

Could Wangji have taken Huaisang into his confidence where he hadn't even trusted his own brother? Huaisang must have been told where Wangji left his son, though Xichen can't recall the two ever being close enough for such a thing.

'Where are they now?' he asks.

Meng Yao's lips press together before he speaks, as though he doesn't want to say, before parting reluctantly to respond.

‘Master Wei has taken Young Master Lan to Wen Qing. I suppose… Forgive me for saying, but perhaps he felt a woman’s touch would be better with the boy, and she is his aunt, is she not?’

She is. Whether Xichen likes it or not, whether he’s been treating her as family or not, she is. That doesn’t mean he wants his nephew openly associated with his Wen ancestry when so much anti-Wen sentiment abounds. The time to let the wider cultivation world know that A-Yuan’s mother was a Wen is when the boy is safely behind the Cloud Recesses re-established wards.

‘I see,’ he says.

He doesn’t say A-Yao should go and fetch A-Yuan here, because he can only imagine how Wangji would react were he to learn any Jin, even one who has not been acknowledged, got near his son. He doesn’t say he’ll go to A-Yuan himself, because that would mean leaving Wangji untended, or asking A-Yao to keep watch, and neither of those can happen, either.

‘Please ask Master Wei to bring my nephew here,’ he adds, once he’s sure it will come out without any undertow of frustration, ‘once he has greeted his aunt and uncle. Lan Yuan should be with his father.’

And with his paternal uncle, who is closer blood than a parent’s cousin and who has more authority, more protection to offer, in these uncertain times.

A-Yao winces.

It’s a small movement of his lips and eyes, but Xichen is attuned to this man and well versed in subtle reactions besides, and compared to Wangji it’s expressive.

‘Ah, Zewu-Jun, I’m sure… That is, Master Wei has determined Young Master Lan should not be brought here. He was insistent. I don’t think I can change his mind.’

Xichen catches and suppresses the spike of fury even as it flares up, well versed in the need to maintain his composure. Still, he can’t pretend he’s willing to let Wei Wuxian take control of Lan Xichen’s family members. Wei Wuxian has no claim to A-Yuan, no matter how fascinated he has always been by the boy’s father.

‘Tell him I am asking,’ Xichen says calmly. He knows it’s calmly, because he has been trained to achieve that. ‘There is no need to change his mind. Only his actions.’

This time, the wince is more obvious. A-Yao opens and closes his mouth. He swallows. He doesn’t leave the room to fetch Xichen’s nephew.

‘You believe he will refuse me?’ Xichen asks.

A-Yao doesn’t deserve the coldness that seeps into that question, but Xichen is hard pressed to think of anyone who deserves what they’ve been given these last years. He will make it up to him. Once A-Yuan is where he should be.

‘Zewu-Jun, forgive me,’ A-Yao says, almost tremulous in a way he never is with Xichen, ‘but if you had been there when he said it… I… That is…’

When A-Yao stops, his lower lip catching on a white tooth, Xichen has to take a steadying breath before he can urge the man to continue.

‘Whatever it is, you can say it to me,’ he assures his friend.

Because A-Yao is his friend, has shown he can be trusted, that he will put himself in harm’s way to help Xichen and others. But for some reason he won’t now take a message to Wei Wuxian.

‘I shouldn’t,’ A-Yao says. He isn’t looking at Xichen anymore and his hands are clasped tightly together. ‘I should do as Zewu-Jun asks me to, of course. Forgive-‘

Xichen grasps A-Yao’s hands as they rise to start a bow.

‘There is no need for that,’ he insists, and keeps hold of A-Yao, his fingers tighter than he would normally allow. ‘Tell me why you’re so reluctant to take my instruction to Master Wei.’

He feels the moment A-Yao’s hesitation gives ways, feels it in the sway of the man’s body and the way his eyes flick back up to meet Xichen’s. A-Yao licks his lips before speaking, and Xichen watches that, too.

‘I was there, when Wen Rouhan died,’ A-Yao says unsteadily, as though not sure Xichen would recall it. ‘I saw what he can do.’

‘When pushed to it,’ Xichen says. ‘You don’t mean to say Master Wei would see this as a situation that warranted such a thing?’

A-Yao looks almost beseeching. His fingers tremble in Xichen’s hold.

‘I can’t say what he would see warranted that. I’ve never seen anything like it, not even from Wen Rouhan. I… I don’t believe he would hurt a child and he’s shown he cares for Lady Wen and her brother, but his temper seems unsettled. I saw what happened to Wen Rouhan before the end, how unstable he became and what sorts of things he felt were justified, and I would never forgive myself if Young Master Lan was hurt.’

He clearly has more to say but stops himself and looks down at their joined hands, a flush rising to his cheeks.

Before he can apologise again, for anything, Xichen closes his eyes and lets go. When he opens his eyes again, A-Yao looks worried, and Xichen hastens to reassure him.

‘I understand,’ he says. ‘Very well. Leave A-Yuan with his aunt and uncle for now. I will collect him in the morning, once Lady Wen is here to keep watch over Wangji.’

Not that he can take his nephew to the sect leaders’ meeting, but something can be arranged. There are plenty of Lan cultivators in the palace, some of them kin to Xichen and Wangji. If needs be, A-Yuan can be defended. If needs be, he can be taken from the city and flown home.

A-Yao excuses himself shortly after, saying he still has a few details to which he must attend, and refusing Xichen’s offer to speak to the other sect leaders about overworking him. It leaves Xichen with a growing headache and a still sleeping brother for company, but his own sleep is more distant now than it was earlier.

Returning to Wangji’s bedside, Xichen settles himself for meditation. He is going to need to be as clearheaded as possible to deal with the other sects in the morning. The other sects, and an increasingly difficult Wei Wuxian.

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian spends much of the night watching A-Yuan sleep.

The little boy didn’t greet Wen Ning by any name, but he seemed pleased to see him, and more than once put his fingers on Wen Ning’s neck to trace lines Wei Wuxian doesn’t want to think about.

But however puzzled or fascinated A-Yuan was with Wen Ning’s neck, he was still sleepy, and it didn’t take long to get him to settle down with his uncle.

It took longer to get Wen Qing to climb into her bed, and she only gave in after a staring match where her eyes drooped closed twice before she admitted defeat.

Since then, it’s just been Wei Wuxian and his thoughts. He sits against the wall opposite Wen Ning’s bed. From there, he will be able to get in between anyone who bursts through the door and the boys sleeping nearby.

Cuddled up next to Wen Ning, A-Yuan looks peaceful and cosy, and some part of Wei Wuxian wants to drag those who would hurt the Wens here and force them to explain why such a sweet child should bear their hatred. The rest of him wants everyone far away from A-Yuan, from Wen Ning, from any of those who are now at the mercy of the victors.

His list of those he’d feel safe letting close is very short.

Lan Zhan, of course, because nobody else saved A-Yuan in that lost future. And because, however they came to be father and son, it’s a bond that exists in truth. Wei Wuxian’s claim to be A-Yuan’s protector is minimal in comparison.

After all, in this course of events, he hasn’t stood against the world to save any Wen. In that other course of events, he ultimately failed.

Lan Xichen has done more here to keep these three Wens safe. He’s been steadfast in his insistence no harm will be permitted to them.

But when Wei Wuxian thinks of him, now, he flashes back to pain and despair and rage and disgust, and he isn’t sure what’s his response and what’s leftover from Lan Zhan’s memories. It makes it…confusing.

Lan Zhan trusts Lan Xichen with the boy. But is that just because he knows Lan Xichen believes he’s a Lan by blood?

From here, Wei Wuxian can puzzle over A-Yuan’s features, mentally cataloguing each one and comparing it to Wen Ning, to Wen Qing, to Lan Zhan. Even now, even having been told by Wen Qing that A-Yuan and Lan Zhan share no blood relation, the boy looks like he could be a Lan.

Blood or not, Lan Zhan has claimed A-Yuan. Lan Zhan wouldn’t do such a thing lightly, and he’s shown how he cares for his son. Lan Zhan would risk everything to keep A-Yuan safe, Wei Wuxian is sure of it. And he’s risked keeping A-Yuan’s full heritage a secret from his own older brother, from his own sect leader and closest confidant.

It's possible Lan Xichen would still claim A-Yuan as his kin if the truth of his parentage should be revealed. But possible isn’t certain. And Lan Xichen didn’t save his own brother from the whip.

How much does it protect A-Yuan, to be thought of as Lan Yuan rather than Wen? How far, when his Wen blood is still known to some?

Wen Qing insisted A-Yuan was safe in that other future, where everyone in this room, save for A-Yuan, died. Did Lan Xichen know he sheltered a Wen? Is Lan Yuan’s situation now better or worse than Wen Yuan’s was then?

‘You wouldn’t really leave your son an orphan to save me, Lan Zhan,’ Wei Wuxian murmurs, frowning. ‘Without you, how can he be safe? I can’t save him. We know that. So why would you risk such a thing?’

Too late, he realises the gleam of moonlight through the window is reflecting off an open eye.

‘Xian-gege, who are you talking to?’ A-Yuan asks, alert enough to be curious despite his voice having a yawn in it.

‘Just to myself,’ Wei Wuxian replies, only a little louder than he was before. ‘Sorry, little master. I didn’t mean to disturb you. But you should go back to sleep, yes? Even the mighty Hanguang-Jun’s son needs his sleep.’

‘Where is father?’ A-Yuan asks. ‘Is he sleeping again?

As quietly as he can, Wei Wuxian assures the boy his father is sleeping safely and A-Yuan should get his rest, as well.

‘You don’t want to be a sleepy dumpling when you see your father, right?’

‘And Uncle,’ A-Yuan drowsily adds. ‘And Great-uncle.’

Wei Wuxian isn’t about to get into an argument with a baby over his current thoughts on Lan Xichen, so he just says something vague and is relieved when it seems to be enough. A-Yuan’s body slumps into sleep again. Wei Wuxian wonders how used a child must be to a bedridden parent for it to not be a cause for sleepless nights.

Throughout this strange shift in time, A-Yuan has spoken of Lan Zhan’s injuries as though they’re a normal part of his world, something to be concerned about if the pain spikes, but otherwise just…there.

To Wei Wuxian, and to everyone else involved, he’s sure, Lan Zhan being so weak and hurt is very much out of the ordinary. Even with a broken leg, with his home burned and himself trapped in a cave, Lan Zhan never seemed weak. And he very much tried not to show he was hurt.

But to A-Yuan, it’s normal.

Because this child remembers Lan Zhan after the whipping, when he couldn’t leave his bed. Because – and Wei Wuxian feels his eyes widen and his spine straighten at the epiphany - because this is not Wen Yuan, but Lan Yuan, a fact Wei Wuxian knows but is only just considering properly.

If Lan Yuan didn’t travel back with his adopted father, the little boy would be Wen Yuan. He’d likely still be in the prison camp with Wen Qing and his grandmother. From there, events may or may not have unfolded the way they did before, because Lan Zhan would surely try to prevent Wen Yuan from suffering in the Burial Mounds again.

But it wouldn’t be certain. And the boy would not be the Lan Yuan he already saved.

Could it…could Lan Zhan have brought his son with him to make sure he’d still be a Lan?

And if so, how? The spell described in the book Wen Ning found insists only one loss can be the focus, and if that one loss really is Wei Wuxian, then how did Lan Zhan manage to include Lan Yuan?

He doesn’t want to put a light on and risk waking any of the people in the room, and he doesn’t want to leave his self-imposed guard duty, but he has to know if he’s onto something.

Naturally, everyone who knows about Lan Zhan’s situation also knows A-Yuan came back with him, but only Wei Wuxian has read and understood what the text says, and the text suggests A-Yuan would have to be the focal loss in order to be pulled back.

But the book also suggests it can’t be A-Yuan, because the more Wei Wuxian thinks about it, the more certain he is that Lan Yuan was already safe, that he is, now, already safer than most people. He has Lan Xichen, Lan Qiren and, by extension, the entire Lan Sect to defend him.

It isn’t just that they’re being told the boy is a Lan. A-Yuan believes it, lives it, himself. This boy is not a child who would have become Lan Zhan’s son: he is the boy who already became that.

Wen Qing is right: if Lan Yuan were the one Lan Zhan sacrificed himself to save, it would already be over. Lan Zhan would be dead.

Unable to sit still any longer, Wei Wuxian rises to his feet as quietly as he can and slinks away to find a space where he can read.

Meng Yao allows himself to rub a hand across his eyes. He can’t risk more. Any more and his body will demand he rest, which is just not possible yet.

A full night has been necessary to get the meeting set up for the sect leaders. It’s almost perfect, and it would have been foolish indeed to ruin it by falling asleep before it’s completely right. There would be time for a nap, now, though his eyes would be gritty and his limbs heavy throughout the day, if his father hadn’t also given him other instructions.

If his golden core were stronger, going without sleep wouldn’t matter so much. But dwelling on that will get him nowhere.

He denies himself a sigh as he rounds a corner just a few hallways from his rooms. And stops short.

Jin Zixuan is walking in the other direction, despite there being no reason for him to be awake now and nothing but bedrooms behind him.

The heir to the Lanling Jin Sect spots Meng Yao just after Meng Yao has spotted him, and turns his head as though to check behind him before visibly catching himself and nodding in greeting.

So, he’s been up to something he shouldn’t have been.

From the light flush on his cheeks, the way he doesn’t quite manage to make eye-contact, and the way his stance is not properly settled, Meng Yao would think Jin Zixuan is on his way back from a woman’s bed. The rooms given over to Jiang Wanyin and his sister are nearby.

But he can’t imagine Jiang Wanyin allowing any such nonsense, which would mean Jin Zixuan is more like their father than Meng Yao believed, and has been visiting another woman despite his apparent respect for Jiang Yanli.

Disappointing, but not surprising.

‘Young Master Jin,’ he murmurs, repaying the nod with a respectful bow. ‘You’re up early. Is there something I can help you with?’

Almost anyone would notice the way Jin Zixuan starts. This man is no good at hiding anything.

‘Ah,’ he says. ‘No. No, thank-you, Young Master Meng. It’s… I was just taking a walk.’

Of course he was. Down hallways leading only to bedrooms. Before the sun was up.

Meng Yao smiles.

The reply he has ready wastes away on his tongue when Jin Zixuan blurts out a question of his own.

‘Are you up early, or have you been up all night? Is nobody helping you with this meeting our father wants?’

Genuine concern for his own workload is so rare as to be almost non-existent. In fact, Meng Yao can only really think of Lan Xichen, Nie Huaisang and, to a lesser extent and not since their…disagreement, Nie Mingjue having mentioned him doing too much by himself. Jin Zixuan is unexpected.

He’s too well practised at maintaining his demeanour to let his reaction show. Another bow and a smile, a reassurance he’s capable of fulfilling this duty and that the esteemed young master shouldn’t worry, happen almost without Meng Yao having to think about it.

They do not have the expected result.

‘What still needs to be done?’ Jin Zixuan asks.

He more or less blurts the words out, that flush on his cheeks growing as though he’s embarrassed to have asked, but the set of his jaw and the way he clenches one hand into a fist imply he’s determined to stick to this course.

Why, when he doesn’t have to, when he has nothing to gain from it? Jin Guangshan will hardly look favourably upon his legal son dirtying his hands with servant’s work, and Jin Zixuan already has everything Meng Yao has ever wanted. Almost everything. Is there something he thinks he can get from Meng Yao? But what?

‘It’s all in hand, Young Master Jin,’ he says. ‘I thank you for your concern.’

It may be frustration that flashes across Jin Zixuan’s face. With how flustered the man already is, it’s hard to say. In any case, he chokes out something in response about Meng Yao not needing to thank him, and when he bids Meng Yao farewell, his hands lift as though he almost intends to bow.

He doesn’t. If he did think to do so, he must change his mind before the action is completed. Instead, he ducks his head in one of the most awkward nods Meng Yao has ever seen and brushes past, striding now. He must wish to outpace whatever this conversation just was.

Meng Yao stares after him for longer than he should before shaking himself out of his bemusement and returning to his tasks.

He still needs to decide on the best way to slip that potion into Wei Wuxian’s cup.

Finding somewhere quiet where he can read and think and theorise turns out to be difficult. Everywhere Wei Wuxian settles himself down, a cluster of servants appears with tasks to do. Or, as the night gives up its hold, early-rising cultivators gather to train or gossip.

The palace is huge, but unless he goes all the way up to Wen Ning’s hiding spot, he doesn’t think he’ll find much of it that’s empty. Not empty enough for his concentration, buzzing with worry as his mind is.

Not long after dawn, Wei Wuxian ends up perched on a rock in a wooded area, the hems of his robes dew-damp and his notes spilling out onto the ground.

He’s chasing down a promising thread of thought when the sound of a woman screaming cuts through the air.

Xichen arrives in the throne room to find Mingjue and Jin Guangshan already present. The message asking him to be here has prevented him from going to fetch A-Yuan, and he is already working harder than usual to keep his irritation from showing, so it doesn’t help when Jin Guangshan adopts such a fatherly tone from the outset.

He may have little experience with having a father, but Xichen is certain Jin Guangshan has far less experience of being one in a meaningful way. Certainly, he’s failed every child he’s fathered save one. Xichen has no intention of being treated as a child by this man.

The very thought of anyone denying him a chance to help raise A-Yuan is horrifying, and Jin Guangshan throws a son of his own away. No. He had others do it, didn’t he? He isn’t a man who does for himself what he can get others to do for him.

Which is why it takes Xichen longer than usual to parse the man’s words.

‘Your Jin Sect will take responsibility for the remaining Wens?’ he asks, almost expecting to be told he’s heard incorrectly. He’s tired enough it could be true.

‘It will be a simple matter,’ Jin Guangshan says, turning away with a flick of the sleeve as he speaks. He doesn’t even give Xichen and Mingjue the respect of his full attention. ‘I’ve already sent Zixun to round up strays, but once we begin to gather the ones in the palace-‘

‘You’ve told your nephew to do what?’ Xichen asks, the thought of Wangji’s Wens driving him to interrupt.

Jin Guangshan turns far enough to look at Xichen, his eyebrows raised.

‘Is there some problem with rounding up our enemies, Sect Leader Lan?’ he asks.

Xichen’s title sounds like a diminutive in his mouth.

Mingjue claps a hand on Xichen’s shoulder and keeps his hand there, as though concerned Xichen will forget every lesson in restraint and will launch himself at another sect leader. He may be right.

‘Any decision about how to deal with the Wen must be made between us,’ Mingjue says. The gruffness of his voice reveals he’s concerned about this, that he’s not going to give way to an older sect leader.

It says a lot that he hasn’t said anything about the Wen being a poison, a danger that will rise up once again to destroy them if left unchecked. Hard to say whether that’s down to being swayed by Xichen and Wei Wuxian’s arguments, or whether it’s out of a more direct worry for Xichen himself, and for Wangji, but it doesn’t matter. If it keeps A-Yuan safe and Wen Qing treating Wangji, it doesn’t matter.

Xichen will not fail Wangji in this. He will not.

Jin Guangshan does a poor job of hiding his irritation, assuming he tries at all, but with both leaders of the war facing him, he has little choice but to concede.

‘Very well,’ he says, his displeasure poorly concealed. ‘It will be discussed and decided during the meeting.’

Xichen barely waits until the man is out of sight before setting off at a brisk pace to find his nephew. No matter what decision the collected sect leaders and their advisors make, they aren’t getting A-Yuan.

Wei Wuxian lands in the middle of a dirt road and is almost knocked aside by a man who shows no sign he even notices him.

Others, men and women both, rush by, and Wei Wuxian turns to see them scattering as they go, clearly unsure of the best way to head.

A heartbeat late, the man who knocked into Wei Wuxian jerks and falls, an arrow protruding from his back. Another man leaps over the new corpse without stopping, though a third – younger, possibly a son – chokes out a name and slows, only continuing his stumbling run when a woman grabs his arm and pulls him.

The next arrow is blocked by Chenqing.

Wei Wuxian sends a blast of resentment-infused sound at the source of the arrows, shattering at least four in the air, and only when he no longer hears the footfalls of those fleeing does he remove his dizi from his lips and meet the indignant glare of a Jin.

‘Wei Wuxian,’ the Jin snaps, ‘you dare to interfere in this? Why do you defend the dregs of the Wen Sect?’

‘Dregs?’ Wei Wuxian asks. ‘I saw no dregs. I saw women, children, the elderly.’

A few younger men, too, but only very few wore the traditional Wen robes, and those few were in heavy chains. Had they truly escaped, or had this scowling man released them like prey to be hunted?

‘A Wen is a Wen,’ the Jin says.

‘And a Jin is a Jin,’ Wei Wuxian calls back. ‘Am I to blame every Jin now for your actions here?’

‘My actions? These are our Sect Leader’s orders, that none connected to the Yin Iron can be allowed to live. The Lan and Nie Sect Leaders have agreed. What right does Jiang have to question it?’

Wei Wuxian tightens his grip on Chenqing and stalks towards this man and his rabble.

‘Jiang Sect doesn’t question it,’ he tells them, feeling the wisps of hair at his nape lift from his skin as resentful energy seep out. ‘I, Wei Wuxian, question it.’

This Jin had better be lying, though. If Lan Xichen has agreed to this when Lan Zhan has told him not to let any Jin near the Wen…

‘Wei Wuxian! You think yourself so far above us all?’

It would be so easy to send a strand of resentful energy snapping forwards, to have it snag around this Jin’s throat and yank him to the ground. See who is above who when the man is cowering in the dirt.

Behind the Jin, others of that sect stare from Wei Wuxian to their leader with widened eyes, their posture screaming they want to run,

Well, they made others run. They set others running and shot arrows at their backs. Perhaps it would be justice to make them flee in turn. To hunt them in turn. Let them see how it feels, to know death is at your back, to feel your breath catch and your desperation consume you as you strive for every last heartbeat you can get.

Letting the resentful energy rise around him, he takes another step.

One of the Jins falls backwards, landing on his rear with a cut off yelp. His eyes are prey-panicked.

Wei Wuxian is hit by the image of Lan Zhan on the ground, of Lan Zhan surrounded by his own blood.

This one, he knows isn’t the remnants of another man’s memory. This, he saw himself. Did himself. Wei Wuxian set the storm of resentful energy roaring about Lan Zhan, when Lan Zhan had no chance to defend himself.

If he’d been conscious, Lan Zhan would not have shown fear, of course, but what would that have mattered in the face of Wei Wuxian’s power? Had Lan Xichen not made Wei Wuxian listen, Lan Zhan could have been torn apart just as Wen Rouhan was, all because Wei Wuxian was so convinced he was right to take action.

And then where would the Jiang Sect be, if he really had killed the Lan Sect’s Second Young Master?

Where will the Jiang Sect be now, if Wei Wuxian allows his anger to destroy these men, no matter how much they may deserve it?

The chill of what his actions could bring about stills him, but the sickening knowledge of what’s at stake won’t let him back down.

Did he feel this way before, in that other time, or was he driven to the point he had to shove aside his concerns for Yunmeng Jiang, for Jiang Cheng and for Shijie? He must have felt pulled in two. He feels that now.

‘Well?’ the lead Jin demands. He seems belligerent more than frightened, in stark contrast to the terror on the faces of several others. ‘I warn you, your Jiang Sect will pay for any insult offered to our Jin Sect. You think just because you know a few evil tricks you get to treat your betters this way? You really go too far!’

‘Too far?’ Wei Wuxian asks.

Perhaps he would be going too far, to attack these men here and now. At the very least, he should confront Lan Xichen, should find out whether the Lan Sect really has sanctioned the murder of the remaining Wens.

If he has…

Well, Wei Wuxian will just have to hope this puffed-up, murderous toad of a man is wrong, because if Lan Xichen really has agreed to such a thing, there may be no way through this without tearing Wei Wuxian into pieces. If Lan Xichen has agreed to genocide, despite what Lan Zhan has asked of him, Wei Wuxian can see no way to protect everyone he needs to protect, not and remain whole.

With a shout, he dissipates the built-up resentful energy, letting it wash past the Jins in a burst of noise and force which ultimately leaves them untouched. Just the way the Jin Sect likes it to be.

At least two of the men scream. Another runs.

Wei Wuxian turns his back on them and strides back to the palace. Some sort of reckoning is due, no matter how many directions it pulls him in.

And if it kills him… Wei Wuxian lets his lips curve into a grim smile at that thought, because if confronting those involved leads to his end, it will have one good outcome: Lan Zhan will never be called on to pay the price of saving him. Lan Yuan will be able to keep his father.

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian doesn’t find Lan Xichen where he left him. The sect leader has finally stepped away from his brother’s sickroom, it seems.

He does find Wen Qing, Wen Ning and A-Yuan, all of whom look up as he storms into the room. Wen Qing and Wen Ning look startled. A-Yuan calls out in delight and runs at him.

Fury can be a strong and lasting emotion, but it’s difficult to ride its peak when a small child grins up at you from your own thigh. Wei Wuxian tamps his rage down enough to smile almost genuinely at the boy, and to pat him on the head.

‘What are you doing in here, ah?’ he asks. ‘Didn’t I say you shouldn’t bother your father just now?’

He must manage to keep enough of his frustration out of his tone, because A-Yuan just keeps grinning.

‘I’m not bothering,’ A-Yuan says. ‘I’m helping.’

A smudge of reddish powder on his right cheek suggests he’s been helping by touching one of Wen Qing’s ground-up ingredients, but Wei Wuxian isn’t so far lost in anger as to think she’d ever risk this child. Whatever it is, it must be safe enough for him.

That doesn’t mean Wei Wuxian is pleased that A-Yuan is in here.

‘And does the great doctor Wen Qing need two helpers?’ he asks, sliding a look at her and seeing her lift her eyebrows at him in return.

His acting clearly isn’t good enough to fool her.

‘The great doctor Wen Qing does as the great and powerful Zewu-Jun commands,’ she says, still working at adding something to her bowl as she speaks.

Whatever it is, it smells bitter, but not so bitter as the undercurrent in Wen Qing’s words.

Lan Xichen, she tells him in curt sentences, appeared in their room in an agitated state and insisted they all stay together in Lan Zhan’s room, that they were to call for him at once should anyone attempt to remove them.

‘There should be a Lan guard outside,’ Wen Qing says, a frown pinching her brow.

Wei Wuxian assures her the Lan is there. It occurs to him that he walked right past the woman outside with no attempt being made to stop him, and he wonders at Zewu-Jun not seeing fit to ban Wei Wuxian from this room. Given the last time they spoke, and followed by Wei Wuxian refusing to allow A-Yuan to be brought to this room…

Well. Perhaps Zewu-Jun simply knows it would lead to Wei Wuxian forcing his way in and is looking to avoid doomed conflict. Lan Xichen, ever the peacemaker.

‘Where is he now if he’s so concerned with your safety?’ Wei Wuxian asks.

Wen Ning answers, reminding Wei Wuxian that the sect leaders will be gathering for the meeting very soon. He also unwinds A-Yuan from Wei Wuxian’s leg and lifts him into his arms, shooting an apologetic look at Wei Wuxian as he does so. It is far from clear what the apology is about.

‘Should you not be at this meeting?’ Wen Qing asks, now mashing the things in her bowl into a paste. ‘You’re still Sect Leader Jiang’s main support, aren’t you?’

She can’t mean it as a slap. She doesn’t know he’s struggling with the sense he can’t keep safe everyone he wants to keep safe, or that he can’t be everything he needs to be. It still lands like a strike.

‘Jiang Cheng will be fine without me.’

Lan Zhan hasn’t mentioned Jiang Cheng or Shijie suffering after Wei Wuxian’s death. Oh, they’ll have mourned him, he’s sure, but that’s not to say his loss will have ruined their lives.

Jiang Cheng is annoyed at him more often than anything, anyway.

‘Lady Jiang came looking for you not long ago,’ Wen Qing says, not quite scolding. ‘She believes you should be at the meeting. She was insistent. Will you disappoint her, Wei Wuxian?’

All he can do is stare at her. Of course he won’t disappoint Shijie, not if he can help it, but Jiang Cheng can manage without him. Lan Zhan and the Wens are in danger right now.

They will probably discuss the Wens in this meeting.

Frustration spiking, he closes his eyes and breathes through his nose for several heartbeats. The sounds of Wen Qing’s work and of Wen Ning murmuring to A-Yuan keep him company as he wrestles with himself.

This would be easier if he could gather together everyone in need of his protection and take them away, but he already knows taking the Wens away isn’t an option. Not the way he did it – would have done it – in the other time, at least. And the Lan Sect would chase him to take back Lan Zhan and A-Yuan.

No. Such thoughts are futile flights of fantasy, at best. If Lan Zhan’s situation has taught him anything, it’s that he can’t take action without thought.

What was Lan Zhan thinking when he turned that branding iron on himself? Did he have any idea what it would do, even if he can’t recall it now? Did he discuss it with anyone?

Doubtful. When has Lan Zhan fully explained himself to anyone, or waited to be told no when he’s determined a course of action?

Acting alone has been shown to lead to problems. It grates, but Wei Wuxian can see the sense in at least trying to get the other sects to behave.

‘I’ll go,’ he says, though he can’t hide the reluctance.

Now he’s got his own three Wens in front of him again, he’s struggling to keep the image of those people fleeing from his mind. It’s all too easy to imagine Wen Ning as the one pinned to the ground by arrows, or to see Wen Qing as the one gripping A-Yuan to her as she runs.

They have that guard, and they have Zewu-Jun’s authority shielding them. Will Jin Guangshan dare to take people named by Zewu-Jun as protected?

But there are too many unknowns to feel safe in his assumptions. Well, he can try to do something about one of them before he goes to the meeting.

‘Before I go,’ he says, glad he thought to collect his notes and the book on his way back here, even if it delayed him arriving in time to catch Lan Xichen, ‘I need to speak with Lan Zhan.’

‘Father’s sleeping,’ A-Yuan tells him, from where he’s now sitting in the cradle of Wen Ning’s crossed legs. ‘We don’t talk to father when he’s sleeping. Uncle says.’

‘I need to wake him up to try him with this medicine,’ Wen Qing says, though she sounds reluctant. ‘You can try talking to him once that’s done. But you are not to upset him. I mean it, Wei Wuxian.’

Given the conversation he needs to have, that isn’t something he can promise.

Wangji doesn’t want to wake up. In sleep, he can drift. In sleep, he doesn’t have to feel the fractures all the way through his core and his meridians, or the way it feels as though two conflicting tides move inside him. He doesn’t have to feel the phantom pains of wounds that now should never happen.

He also dislikes the nausea.

Still, he can’t fight being called back to the world by Wen Qing’s firm hand on his shoulder and her firmer voice in his ear, and at least the first thing he sees is Wei Ying.

Wei Ying, who perches on the edge of Wangji’s bed and looks down at him with intensity. It makes Wangji extremely aware he’s lying barely dressed under a single cover. Not that Wei Ying will be thinking of that – it will be something to do with the array, or with the Wens, or with a danger Wangji hasn’t thought of – but Wei Ying has not spent years despairing of the lust and love that fill him. Wangji has. First one type of despair, then another.

And Wei Ying is drawn and underfed, but he’s magnificent, and he’s alive, and he’s here, where Wangji could reach across and touch him. He won’t, but he could.

‘Wangji, I’ve got another dose of medicine for you to try,’ Wen Qing says from somewhere to the side.

Nothing she has tried since the confrontation with Wen Rouhan has made much impact. He’s dying, and they all must know it. It would be a relief if they’d just admit it and let him focus what energy he has on saving Wei Ying.

‘Here, let me,’ Wei Ying says, and is suddenly sitting close beside Wangji, holding a cup to his lips. ‘Drink it. Then we need to talk.’

That’s such an unusual thing for Wei Ying to say that Wangji drinks the medicine down without thinking, and coughs at the bitter taste. At least this one doesn’t send a chill through him or make him more nauseous than he already is.

After he’s endured Wen Qing’s follow-up examination, he looks to Wei Ying, expecting him to launch into whatever needs saying – and he’s fiercely grateful that he can listen to any words Wei Ying will share, fiercely concerned he hasn’t done enough to keep Wei Ying in the world - but instead he’s met with a conflicted expression and a sigh. Wei Ying’s shoulders slump and he twists his body away.

‘A-Yuan, come say hello to your father,’ Wei Ying says.

A-Yuan? Wangji has spent more time asleep – or unconscious – than he realised, if Nie Huaisang has already had time to bring A-Yuan to the Nightless City. What else has he missed? Is this what Wei Ying needs to talk about? Is A-Yuan in danger, after all?

And then A-Yuan is close enough to touch, hoisted up onto the bed by Wei Ying and smiling at Wangji. No. Grinning. He hasn’t seen A-Yuan grin in a long while, not since that day back in Yiling when they first met.

‘A-Yuan,’ he rasps, and finds his arms full of his son.

He’s fine. He’s healthy and happy and hugging Wangji with all the strength in his tiny arms. The relief at that is strong enough to make Wangji feel dizzy.

‘I didn’t wake you up,’ A-Yuan reports to the side of Wangji’s neck. ‘I was good. I was good for Nie-gege and Granny, and we rode in a carriage. There were so many big houses, but Nie-gege says some of them aren’t houses. They’re places grown-ups go for fun. And there were lots of lights…’

The stream of words is reassuring in that it gives Wangji information on his son’s physical and mental state, confusing in that it reveals A-Yuan is no longer quiet as he was in Gusu, and troubling in that Nie Huaisang needs to mind what he says around a small child.

Two details stand out.

‘Uncle is here?’ he asks. A-Yuan seems certain, but surely he’d have visited Wangji if that were the case. Uncle missed no chance to dictate the future to Wangji back in the Unclean Realm. It would be doubtful a change of location and a worsening of Wangji’s health would change that. ‘Granny Wen is here?’

Neither are in the room. That, he can see.

Wei Ying makes a sound that may indicate irritation or weariness or a dozen other things.

‘Granny Wen is in the palace, but we sent her to get some proper sleep last night. The poor woman’s exhausted. Your Uncle…’

The glance at A-Yuan and the twitch of Wei Ying’s brows is enough to add a new worry to Wangji’s list.

‘It’s taking him a little longer than expected to reach Qishan,’ Wei Ying goes on.

That sounds…potentially troubling. Nothing happened with Uncle during these events last time, and he never wanted to hurt Uncle or to cause him more worries.

To have his uncle hear Wangji’s words, to have him actually listen to the doubts and revelations plaguing him, and to understand a fraction of why Wangji acted as he did… That, he wanted. Wants, despite that version of his uncle no longer existing. But he never wanted to cause harm.

But he can’t regret it. A-Yuan is safer this time and Wei Ying hasn’t spent the three days from the end of the war unconscious. That, at least, is something.

He’s groggy enough that he misses some of what is said next, and he has to force himself to focus on the voices to work out that Wen Qing and Wei Ying are arguing quietly.

‘The guard is there for a reason,’ Wen Qing says.

‘And she can go with you,’ Wei Ying counters. ‘Just to the next room will work. Come on, Wen Qing. It’ll only be for a little while.’

‘You aren’t doing anything without me here.’

‘Ah, fine. Fine, fine. If you want to be that way, it still works. One guard can keep an eye on two doors that are right next to each other.’

‘Guard?’ Wangji asks.

Is someone under arrest? Or is the guard a protective measure? Against what? It’s frustrating not to have Bichen within reach, for all the good that would do.

‘A precaution of Zewu-Jun’s,’ Wen Qing tells him. ‘I’m more concerned about what this one has planned.’

A-Yuan stopped chattering into Wangji’s neck a little while ago, and now he mumbles sleepily. With his mouth mushed against skin, his words are impossible to understand, but he doesn’t sound nervous or upset.

Wangji rubs one hand slowly up and down A-Yuan’s back and feels reluctant to let go.

‘What do you have planned?’ he asks Wei Ying.

Historically, Wei Ying’s plans have often been unpredictable, brilliant, bold. Too many have been self-destructive.

‘Just some research, really,’ Wei Ying says, once again looking down at A-Yuan and back up. An edge of uncertainty – maybe defensiveness – has crept into his eyes. ‘Surely Hanguang-Jun can’t disapprove of that.’

This time, A-Yuan turns his head enough that his words are just about intelligible.

‘Diligence is the root,’ he says, and Wangji feels the boy’s nose wrinkle where it presses into Wangji’s jaw. ‘But boring. Want to play.’

He sounds as though he’s already most of the way into a nap, but A-Yuan wanting to play instead of being worried he must show his elders what a good disciple he is… Wangji can’t chastise him for that.

‘Hanguang-Jun, I can take A-Yuan next door to play,’ Wen Ning offers. ‘Young Master Wei is right; the guard will be able to keep us safe, still.’

Wen Qing breathes out sharply through her nose, but gives in.

‘Remember what I said, though, Wei Wuxian,’ she cautions. ‘You are not to distress him.’

It turns out the first problem is A-Yuan becoming distressed.

Once he realises Wen Ning is going to take him from his father, A-Yuan bunches up the material of Wangji’s top in his hands and clings, saying over and over that he won’t go. The tears start once Wei Ying tries to lift A-Yuan from Wangji, and the jolt of anguish Wangji feels at that is overwhelming.

He tightens his arms around A-Yuan.

‘Lan Zhan!’ Wei Ying sounds exasperated, now. At him. ‘It really is best if I try this without A-Yuan here.’

‘Try what?’ Wangji asks, because ‘research’ wasn’t a proper answer. Not enough to keep causing A-Yuan such tears.

He follows some of what Wei Ying says next, enough to understand why Wen Qing hisses part of an insult at him before cutting herself off.

‘Absolutely not,’ she continues, once she’s taken an audible breath. ‘You remember what happened last time.’

‘This time will be different,’ Wei Ying insists. ‘This time, I’ll be ready for it, and it wasn’t so bad last time, anyway. We were both fine.’

Wei Ying is suggesting a deliberate attempt at Empathy in order to uncover what Wangji’s waking mind has locked away. Namely, the activation of the array that brought him back here. Wangji has only just woken up from that last time and cannot say anything about it was less than awful.

But since he first awoke in the past, Wangji has tried to remember what brought him here. Learning of the array was one piece of that, but only a piece. It didn’t tell him enough.

He knows with every fibre of him that he would give up his life for Wei Ying, but he wouldn’t make A-Yuan give up the life he was growing into.

He thinks he would not.

Of the rest, he’s less certain. His Uncle and Brother were not the same towards him as they were before his punishment, but he’d set himself to endure that, to allow his own anger and sorrow and confusion and everything else to have its time. His family would still be there after, if he could bear to be near them again.

They hadn’t cast him out. However he felt about the rest, there was that, and there were moments in the midst of his pain where he almost believed his reasoning.

So it has to be Wei Ying’s loss that brought him to this, but it doesn’t tell him why from that point, or why to this point, or what he thought he could achieve.

If there is a way to know, he wants it.

As Wen Qing conveys her thoughts on how far from ‘fine’ Wangji has been, and A-Yuan continues to weep into Wangji’s throat, he makes a decision.

‘We’ll try it,’ he says.

‘You will not,’ Wen Qing snaps.

Her temper must be fraying. Perhaps it’s worry, and if so then Wangji is grateful for her care, but she will not make this decision for him.

‘There is no other choice.’

‘Find one.’

Wei Ying looks from Wen Qing to Wangji and shakes his head.

‘The only other way I can think of is to focus on A-Yuan, and-‘

‘No,’ Wangi and Wen Qing say together.

‘No,’ Wei Ying agrees. ‘Of course, no.’

After that, there isn’t much else to say.

Removing A-Yuan is not easy. It tears at Wei Wuxian’s heart to pull the boy away from his father so soon, but he knows he’s close to working something out. The buzz of it hums just under his skin, even as rage swirls in his chest, and he can think of only this as a viable next step.

Waiting until after the meeting may be more sensible, but he flinches away from the thought. Now he has an idea, he wants to test it, and testing it means unlocking Lan Zhan’s memory of using the branding iron.

Only then will Wei Wuxian know whether Lan Zhan managed to feel two needs so viscerally that they fused into one. Only then will Wei Wuxian know if Lan Zhan sought both to save him and to preserve Lan Yuan.

Then he can work out how to make the spell unhook itself from A-Yuan, so that both the boy and his father can live.

Chapter Text

Once a still sniffling A-Yuan has been carried from the room, and Wen Qing has settled herself to keep watch over them, it takes no time at all for Wei Wuxian to fall into Empathy.

Though this time, it isn’t really a fall. This is intentional. This is a leap.

He takes a firm hold of the branding iron and kneels next to Lan Zhan’s bed. Not on the bed, though Lan Zhan himself suggested it, because if Wei Wuxian reacts the same way as before, he doesn’t want to hit Lan Zhan as he spasms.

Whatever result this gets, it can’t be to make Lan Zhan worse.

‘Ready?’ he asks.

At Lan Zhan’s nod, he holds out the branding iron. Lan Zhan’s pale fingers wrap around the handle, just below the intricate twist of metal making up the array.

When he feels himself dragged under, Wei Wuxian adds his own force to the movement, diving down into the maelstrom in search of what he seeks: an origin for Lan Zhan’s link with this thing.

This isn’t something he’s tried before, this so-specific hunting. Before, he’s navigated spirits’ memories to find what they need to tell him, and he’s wrestled with the many ghosts in the Burial Mounds to keep himself from being lost in others’ agony and resentment: this is much more precise.

It’s not the first time he’s pried open a memory a ghost didn’t wish to share, or one the ghost didn’t fully recall, but here it’s both and in a living person.

Still, there’s…a thread. Something. A kind of knotted, trailing energy within the chaos, and he follows it. Down, down he goes, towards what he hopes is the source, flashes of scenes bombarding him as he presses on.

He glimpses the midst of battle, the Cloud Recesses covered in snow, the edge of a cliff outside this very palace. None are what he needs.

And then he’s pushing at a gnarled clump of emotions, shoving and coaxing and trying to slither through, and getting nowhere.

This has to be it. This is the only memory he has to fight to enter rather than exerting effort to keep from being sucked in.

He puts everything into one more push.

Anguish. Bitterness. Resentment. All-consuming and shot through with despair, with confusion, with longing. With…with love?

His whole body jerks. His spine stings at the impact with something hard and cold. His hand, the one that held the branding iron, feels bruised.

‘Wei Wuxian?’

Wen Qing’s voice. But according to everything he’s been told, Wen Qing was long dead by the time Lan Zhan branded himself, so why…?

‘What happened? Don’t tell me it worked so quickly.’

He tries to answer her and can manage only a wheeze. All of his breath has been knocked out of him.

Drawing in air is painful, as though his lungs had gone numb and are now waking up, but at least he is able to speak on this second try. He opens his eyes, too, and finds Wen Qing looking pinched and pale beside him.

‘I’m all right,’ he says, despite the evidence. Really, he isn’t lying. This is nothing. People should know by now he’s tougher than this. Wen Qing should know. ‘No. No, I thought…. For a moment… But, no. It didn’t work.’

Already, he doubts what he felt in that stinging moment of almost-connection. Love? For A-Yuan, yes – that, he would expect. For a friend, yes. But that had been…

‘Lan Zhan?’

‘I’m here, Wei Ying.’

Lan Zhan sounds little better than Wei Wuxian feels, but he’s awake and able to speak, so that’s...that’s good. At least, if this has been a failure, it hasn’t made things worse.

He doesn’t sound shocked or befuddled. He doesn’t sound as though the foundation of his understanding has cracked open.

Because, if Wei Wuxian is right and that was love he felt, the sort of love it seemed like, then it can only be aimed at…

Too strange. No. That can’t be it. Lan Zhan isn’t… He doesn’t…

‘Don’t tell me you’re going to try that again,’ Wen Qing says, cutting into his spiralling thoughts.

He stares up at her, too caught, still, on what he just felt to quite grasp the importance of what she’s asking.

‘Wei Wuxian? Are you sure you’re unhurt?’

Right. She doesn’t – can’t – know what was in there, that tangled mass of feeling so strong he doesn’t know how Lan Zhan survives it.

‘Not…’ He has to stop and cough, letting the branding iron drop the scant distance to the ground as he struggles upright to sit on the floor. ‘Not hurt.’

Wen Qing steadies him with a hand to his back, two fingers of her other hand going surely to his wrist. With her, he doesn’t have to flinch away. With the echo of Lan Zhan’s emotions battering at his heart, he has to remind himself of that.

‘Check Lan Zhan,’ he tells her.

‘Do you think I’d be wasting time with you if I hadn’t already made sure he’s fine?’

She sounds irritable and offended, but Wei Wuxian is growing ever more used to her: he hears concern and fights not to recoil from it.

‘I’m really fine, Qing-jie,’ he says. ‘Help me up.’

She grouses about him needing help if he’s really not been affected, but she also does as he asks and doesn’t scold him for being so familiar. Perhaps it’s convinced her he’s not straining his muscles to keep from shoving her away.

Lan Zhan has his head turned on the pillow, his eyes connecting with Wei Wuxian’s, and he looks no worse than he did. He’s still wan, still so obviously weakened that it strikes a wrong note in the universe. There’s no sign of the deep, unrelenting love from Empathy – just the same enduring rightness of having Lan Zhan see him.

Is that what it’s been, all this time?

‘Wei Ying?’

His left hand is stretched out across the bedding, left empty when Wei Wuxian fell back with the branding iron, and now his forefinger twitches, as though Lan Zhan is beckoning. Asking Wei Wuxian to go to him.

That… It can’t be what Lan Zhan has been asking, all these months. It can’t be.

‘You didn’t see anything?’ Wen Qing asks. ‘Are you sure?’

It must be so obvious how thrown he is by this, but he can’t tell her. He can’t. He isn’t even sure he’s right. And if he is… Well, if he is, he’s even less sure what to think. Of anything.

He should try again, despite how close it is to that meeting. Knowing the specifics of Lan Zhan’s intent when activating the array could be the key to saving him. But finding out will mean facing that knot again, and Wei Wuxian is suddenly, absolutely sure that undoing it will unravel him as well.

‘Yes. I said so, didn’t I?’

Lan Zhan’s fingers all move this time, curling up, away from Wei Wuxian’s tone. His lips part, and he’s about to ask a question Wei Wuxian cannot face. Not now. Not yet.

‘I need to work out what happened before I try again. I should…’

Tearing his gaze from Lan Zhan, he looks instead at Wen Qing and pretends he can’t see her concern.

‘After the meeting.’

Aware he’s fleeing and angry at himself about it, Wei Wuxian leaves the room at such speed he only hears the first part of his name called after him.

Chapter Text

Jin Zixuan avoids his father's gaze as he waits for the meeting to begin. After being the Jin representative at every meeting throughout the war, he's not about to stay out of this one. His father can think what he will.

It's a more formal affair than the ones in Nie Mingjue's command tent. They aren't standing around a table whilst fielding urgent messages and sharing casualty numbers. Instead, each person in attendance has a low table stocked with refreshments, a servant waiting quietly nearby, and the assurance their people will be safe.

And still, his father looks displeased.

Across the hall, he watches Jiang Wanyin and Jiang Yanli take their places, and feels himself flush as Jiang Yanli catches his eye and smiles. She was grateful for his visit in the early hours of the morning, to the point she praised his thoughtfulness and asked him to take tea with her this afternoon, and Zixuan knows there are far more important matters at hand, but he can't quite make himself feel that.

Wei Wuxian strides in once almost everyone is seated, his bearing and expression more suited to the opening of a battle than to a meeting discussing the end of them. Zixuan catches several people staring at the man, varying shades of disapproval and unease on their faces, in their postures, in the way they murmur to each other.

Wei Wuxian shows no sign he notices. His attention is fixed on the men sitting at the head of the hall, his expression hard and still in a way that has Zixuan checking that dizi is tucked away in Wei Wuxian’s belt rather than being in his hand. He only takes his place after his sister calls to him.

Jiang Yanli leans in close as soon as he’s settled and says something, one hand hovering over Wei Wuxian’s forearm but not landing. Whatever she says, Wei Wuxian shakes his head, a tight movement that has her shoulder’s shift as though she’s sighing, and she shoots him a concerned look once she’s sitting back upright.

Later, when this is all over, Zixuan will see to it she gets the peace and rest she deserves. He hopes to have the honour of doing so, in any case. He hopes to be her peace and her rest.

The burn of his own cheeks forces his attention away from her in self-defence. Nothing will be helped here if he looks flustered and foolish.

Nobody objects when Zixuan's father takes control of the meeting. After all, he's managed to get himself a place at the head of the room, beside Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue, despite the fact they were their generals in the war and Jin Guangshan remained in Koi Tower with his prostitutes.

Once again, Zixuan's face heats, but this time it's from embarrassment. He shouldn't be letting himself think such thoughts. The war has shaken loose a great deal of his thinking, but up until recently he hadn’t thought it had shaken his ability to keep his thoughts filial.

Or ignorant.

He’s discomforted enough he misses the start of the discussion and can only hope his troubled thoughts haven’t shown on his face – another way in which his respect for Lan Xichen keeps growing.

Lan Xichen, who is maintaining a graceful part-smile whilst Zixuan’s own father makes grandiose statements about sin.

‘We must ensure such evil is not permitted to rekindle,’ he proclaims, his gaze sweeping over those assembled as though he truly believes his words are as golden as his robes.

Zixuan will have to kneel in the ancestral hall when he finally returns home.

Murmurs of agreement with his father’s statement run through the hall, but several notable voices are silent. Beside Zixuan’s father, Nie Mingjue frowns. On his other side, Lan Xichen goes so far as to stop smiling.

It’s an inauspicious start to these end-of-war discussions, to have the men who held the Sunshot Campaign together already displeased. It perhaps speaks to their awareness of the Jin Sect’s mostly unscathed position that neither of them put an end to the speech.

For all his mother loudly despairs of him sometimes, Zixuan does understand certain parts of politics. At the very least, he knows his father will always push to be the biggest dog in the room, and how little energy or resources the other sects have left to fight him on it.

Of course, there are some who will fight no matter the politics.

‘Rekindle?’ Wei Wuxian’s voice bites out, his disgust not silent. When Zixuan looks across at him, the strange, tight smile pulling up one corner of his mouth is chilling. ‘The ones responsible for such evils are dead. Those coals are already cold.’

Zixuan barely holds in a sigh.

‘All dead?’ Zixun demands from behind Zixuan. ‘There are Wens still living within this palace. Wens close to Wen Rouhan. What do you mean, saying they’re all dead?’

If Zixun had any sense, he’d give ground at the look Wei Wuxian turns on him, but of all the things that can be said of Zixuan’s cousin, giving ground in a conflict isn’t one of them.

‘I did not say all the Wens are dead,’ Wei Wuxian says slowly. ‘I said the ones responsible are dead.’

And of course the man who threw Wen Mao’s words back in Wen Chao’s face will not back down from an argument.

‘What’s the difference?’ Zixun snaps back. ‘Wei Wuxian, would you absolve Wen Rouhan’s own blood of the debt they owe?’

‘Debt?’ Wei Wuxian asks, the scorn Zixuan has heard aimed at himself in the past even more scorching now. ‘Trust a Jin to speak of debt without understanding.’

‘Trust you to insult your betters.’

Even Zixun can’t really think that will slow Wei Wuxian down. Zixuan would tell his cousin to be quiet, but his father is letting this continue, and his father is still the sect leader. Despite all he has done, or not done, he is still the sect leader, and Zixuan should not go so far as to oppose him in public. He should not.

His right hand becomes a fist on his thigh, but he holds his tongue.

‘I would never insult my betters,’ Wei Wuxian replies, still sounding more like he’s speaking to an insect grubbing about in the dirt, rather than a young master of a rich and powerful sect. ‘Fortunately, you are not one of them.’

Meng Yao has been standing near his father – their father – but now he steps forward and speaks in a clear, ringing tone. Somehow, he still sounds deferential.

‘Young Master Wei, nothing is helped by becoming aggressive. Perhaps you will calm down and let the discussion continue. Please, take a drink and let this matter go.’

Zixuan has never seen Wei Wuxian refuse a drink, but he thinks he’s about to.

‘We should all drink,’ Lan Xichen announces, lifting his own cup with an elegance Zixuan dearly wishes he could master himself. Lan Xichen’s look at Wei Wuxian is pointed. ‘We are here to prevent future discord. Let us keep that objective in mind.’

A fine sentiment, and one Zixuan dearly wishes everybody shared.

As everyone around him raises their own cups and drinks, Wei Wuxian huffs, picks up his own, and holds Lan Xichen’s gaze as he downs it in one.

‘Good,’ Zixuan’s father announces, his smile one Zixuan has seen before when his father has found some leverage in his ongoing marital fight. ‘We are indeed here to prevent future discord. I agree with the ever-honourable Zewu-Jun, as I am sure we all do.’

From somewhere behind and to the left of Zixuan, a voice mutters something. Another replies. He catches ‘honourable’ and it does not sound admiring.

Zixuan looks across the hall and finds Jiang Yanli looking back at him, her expression concerned, puzzled. Perhaps there is muttering on that side of the hall, as well.

‘Then we should waste no more time,’ Nie Mingjue says. He doesn’t look at anyone, but he’s emanating an aura of discontent, as though he wants something to point his sabre at. ‘The war is won. Now we must decide what to do with our victory.’

‘Indeed,’ Zixuan’s father says. ‘Let me tell you all, we of the Jin Sect believe that victory is only truly achieved once all matters related to it are settled. Much though we applaud the…decisive actions of those who killed that scourge Wen Rouhan, much damage has been done. We must ensure no further damage is possible.’

Many people must notice that he looks across at Wei Wuxian as he speaks.

More than one person calls out, much of it the sort of aggrandising or sycophantic nothingness that gives Zixuan a headache, more of it aimed at his father than seems warranted. If they have nothing concrete or sensible to add, why bother speaking?

Sect Leader Yao goes further.

‘The Wen Sect slaughtered my people. I must thank Sect Leader Jin for his assurance that such will not be permitted again. But how do we make sure of this? As Jin Zixun points out, there are still so many living Wen.’

‘And they will remain living,’ Wei Wuxian says, voice hard.

‘What would you know about the living?’ Zixun asks. ‘Aren’t you more acquainted with the dead?’

This is getting them nowhere – nowhere good – and still Zixuan’s father lets Zixun carry on. The faint remnant of hope he misjudged his father’s conversation with Meng Yao is fast fading to nothing: his father must be using Zixun to stir up feeling against Wei Wuxian. If this went against his father’s wishes, it would not be happening in front of him.

Zixuan would dearly like to have remained oblivious.

But more than that, he wants Jiang Yanli to be kept from losing another person she loves. He wants, and he feels selfish for it, to have her look at him and see someone worthy of her love.

‘Zixun,’ he says, in his war voice, the one his father has not heard before because his father was not in battle with them. His father has not witnessed Zixuan commanding troops. ‘Enough.’

In the war, Zixun could be quelled by such a tone. Some of the time. Here, now, he isn’t.

‘It will be enough when all those who practice such heretical methods, all who support them, are dealt with,’ Zixun states.

Is he really so sure of his uncle’s support, even over the man’s son? Another thing Zixuan would like: to think his cousin foolish in that.

‘You suggest my sect-brother is a danger?’ Jiang Wanyin asks, speaking for the first time. He, too, speaks in a tone he learnt in war. He isn’t looking at Zixun, but at Zixuan’s father. ‘Wei Wuxian has harmed no one who doesn’t deserve it.’

Including Zixuan, presumably. But he knew this would be coming should his father stir up such trouble. He agreed to it, encouraged it, albeit at Jiang Yanli’s behest, even going so far as to help her convince Jiang Wanyin he must show Yunmeng Jiang stands behind Wei Wuxian.

He still hoped it wouldn’t come to this.

‘Wei Wuxian threatened me, and my men, just today!’

Zixun sounds genuinely enraged, now. What the fuck has Wei Wuxian done this morning? Zixuan and the Jiang siblings haven’t been able to plan for whatever it is.

‘Yes, I heard about that,’ a cultivator in grey says to the person next to him, but loudly enough to echo through the hall in the silence following Zixun’s claim.

‘You see?’ Zixun grabs this without pause. ‘Everyone has heard how your so-called sect-brother threatened decent cultivators. Killing so many in the war has not been enough for him. Even mutilating Wen Rouhan’s body was not enough for him!’

At that, noise erupts around the hall. It’s deafening.

As people from all sides denounce Wei Wuxian for such treatment of a body, whilst others bemoan not having seen evidence of Wen Rouhan’s death for themselves, Zixuan tries to hold himself steady. His fist is so tight his fingernails must be leaving marks, but he holds steady.

Yunmeng Jiang must stand together. Jiang Yanli was clear on that. Zixuan is not to speak over Jiang Wanyin.

Jiang Wanyin, who is on his feet now, glaring at Zixun with near-open hostility.

‘Body?’ he demands. ‘Wei Wuxian did not mutilate a dead body, Jin Zixun. He made sure Wen Rouhan died. My sect-brother ended this war and you try to turn our allies against him?’

This is not the plan. They agreed how they should handle this. Calm, unwavering unity. Strength, but not aggression. Jiang Yanli insisted! And now both Jiang Wanyin and Wei Wuxian seem determined to match Zixun’s level, which can only push things away from peace.

Zixuan will not be able to offer marriage to Jiang Yanli if his sect is at war with hers. Not the sort of offer he yearns to make.

The lady is question rises to her feet and takes hold of her brother’s forearm, speaking urgently but quietly enough Zixuan can’t hear her words. Whatever she says, Jiang Wanyin both tilts his head to bring his ear closer to her and continues to glare at Zixun. The tension in his shoulders is not promising.

‘Ended the war?’ Zixuan’s father cuts through the noise with ease, sounding somewhat bemused, even indulgent. ‘Come now, Jiang Wanyin. I had long heard your father favoured Wei Wuxian and praised his abilities above all others, but to claim he ended the entire war is going a bit far, is it not?’

Jiang Yanli’s fingers dig divots into the fabric over her brother’s arm, though her expression barely shifts. Jiang Wanyin’s lips thin, and it couldn’t be more obvious he’s struggling to keep unwise words from breaking free, but after a long pause he seems to win that particular battle with himself. Somewhat.

‘And what does Sect Leader Jin claim?’ Jiang Wanyin asks, visibly fighting himself into a less aggressive tone as his sister keeps her hold on him, and only partially succeeding. ‘Wei Wuxian struck the final blow. Zewu-Jun himself witnessed this. Meng Yao witnessed this.’

‘That’s true,’ Nie Mingjue says. His gaze moves to Lan Xichen and he pauses before going on. ‘However, Lan Wangji is the one who ran Wen Rouhan through with his sword. The man was already dying. We must not discard Wangji’s contribution.’

Lan Xichen is smiling again. Zixuan can’t say exactly why it makes him feel disquieted.

‘This is true,’ Lan Xichen says into the space Nie Mingjue has opened up for him. ‘Wangji and Wei Wuxian may each take credit for ending this war.’

‘That is most generous of you, Lan Xichen,’ Zixuan’s father says. He makes it sound more like he’s pointing out a silly error in a child’s work. ‘More generous than those of us without your Lan precepts would attempt, I’m sure. After all, didn’t Wei Wuxian arrive only once your Wangji’s sword had pierced Wen Rouhan’s heart? Didn’t Wei Wuxian unleash his evil tricks whilst your little brother lay bleeding?’

Such a direct attack takes Zixuan by surprise. His father must believe he has solid footing to do such a thing. Just how close did Wei Wuxian come to harming Lan Wangji?

This time, the shouting in the hall is harder to quell. It takes Nie Mingjue himself barking the order for silence before any single person can make their words heard.

‘We are not here to fight amongst ourselves,’ Nie Mingjue states, and his war-commander voice is much more effective than Zixuan’s. ‘Nobody here is the enemy. Do not continue Wen Rouhan’s work.’

‘Nobody here is the enemy?’ Zixun calls out. ‘Chifeng-Zun must explain what he means. I already reminded you all there are still close relatives of Wen Rouhan in this very palace, being protected by Zewu-Jun! Wei Wuxian attacked me to allow some Wen bitch to escape justice, her and her spawn. And now we hear Wei Wuxian almost killed Hanguang-Jun? How much are we expected to accept?’

‘Do you mean to make yourself my enemy, you Jin?’

Wei Wuxian is only stopped from crossing the hall to where Zixun sits by his sect leader grabbing his arm, by his sister rushing to his other side, and it’s obvious he’s still straining to move forward.

‘Now he threatens me! Can we really let him get away with this? He’s a Wen sympathiser and a danger to all decent men.’

Zixun seems a little too triumphant at that, like he’s scented blood on his prey.

‘Enough!’

Heads whip around at Lan Xichen’s raised voice. The leader of the Lan Sect has made it through a war with his reputation for benevolence and gentleness intact, but his expression now is as hard as his single word. Even Nie Mingjue looks surprised.

Lan Xichen stands, demanding he be the focus of the hall, pulling that focus almost completely from where Jiang Wanyin and Jiang Yanli now stand on either side of Wei Wuxian, keeping him in place.

‘Jin Zixun, you will explain what you mean by a Wen and her spawn,’ Lan Xichen orders. ‘Do you mean to tell us you’ve been hunting down women and children?’

Zixun doesn’t answer. It’s Zixuan’s father who responds.

‘Now, Lan Xichen, we all know you have reason to be concerned about a Wen child, but my nephew has only rounded up those of the enemy who refused to surrender.’

‘Children are the enemy?’ Wei Wuxian asks. Wisps of hair drift about his head in a breeze that doesn’t exist. His voice no longer sounds angry. Now, his voice is distant, disbelieving, as though he’s mostly talking to himself. ‘And some of those people were in chains. Clearly, they had been captured already.’

‘Even someone as unorthodox as you can surely see an escaped prisoner must not simply be allowed to run free,’ Zixuan’s father says. ‘Wei Wuxian, you have a great deal of power with that path of yours, but you have little experience of how things must be done.’

‘I know what must be done with a tyrant,’ Wei Wuxian states, still almost to himself. His eyes seem glassy.

More than one person demands to know what he means by that. Through his own thread of panic, Zixuan also hopes Wei Wuxian doesn’t have tears in his eyes. Tears would be… Zixuan has never known how to deal with those.

Lan Xichen actually steps forward, putting himself between Wei Wuxian and Zixuan’s father, still looking fixedly at Zixun.

‘Which child did you hunt, Jin Zixun?’ he asks.

‘Not your little brother’s bastard, Sect Leader Lan,’ Zixun says, a sneer in his words. ‘You don’t have to worry about that Wen.’

From the gasps and exclamations around the hall, the news that the supposedly honourable Lan Wangji not only bedded a woman in secret, but a Wen woman, has been kept mostly secret. Until now.

Lan Xichen looks horrified.

Wei Wuxian tears himself free of his sect-siblings’ holds and lunges across the hall, and Zixuan is only barely quick enough to catch him.

Chapter Text

Wen Qing insists on checking Wangji twice more before she can be persuaded it’s safe to leave him.

‘I won’t be long,’ she says, hesitating partway to the door. ‘I’ll bring A-Yuan and A-Ning back. That’s all. Don’t do anything to make me regret this.’

The Lan Rules forbid lying, so Wangji doesn’t lie. He simply stares back at her until she sighs and turns to go.

He waits a little longer before sitting up, the muscles along his back lighting up with phantom pain and his head clouding. Pain used to be something transient, an unpleasant sensation to endure and let pass. Even after his punishment, he was told the physical pain would fade with time, even if it may never again leave him completely. Since he became…whatever he is now, pain and its attendants – nausea, exhaustion, frustration, boredom – have been an increasing weight. Soon, they will crush him.

He feels he’s wasted most of this time that has been given to him again, and that he’s been forced to allow too many to do his work for him. Lan Wangji should have been the one protecting Wei Ying in battle. Lan Wangji should have been the one caring for A-Yuan, showing him how to be a Lan. Lan Wangji should be able to tell people what he did to start this.

Pain and weakness are persistently stubborn, but a Lan can be more so.

Wei Ying experienced something, Wangji is sure. For himself, it was a brief burst of agony, searing and sharp, and then it was over, but he almost saw something. Almost. It can’t just have been him, not with how Wei Ying looked at him, with how he sounded.

But it’s clear Wei Ying isn’t willing to speak of it, whatever that memory appeared as to him, and Wangji won’t force him.

The branding iron waits where it was dropped.

It feels an age passes between leaving the bed and kneeling by the branding iron, an age in which he constantly expects Wen Qing to reappear and haul him back to uselessness, but he makes it. He kneels and he reaches out and he pauses with his palm almost touching the metal.

If this goes wrong, there’s a chance Wen Qing will return to find Wangji dead on the floor. If she comes back with A-Yuan…

But he needs to know. He has to see what he did, what he intended when he activated the array, so he can be sure the spell covers everyone he needs it to.

Wangji has very little time left – he is sure of it – and it’s better to die now, trying, than it is to pass lying in that bed doing nothing.

His hand shakes barely at all as he grasps the branding iron and falls.

Yanli stumbles as A-Xian pulls free, is kept upright only by A-Cheng’s hand on her upper arm, and by the time she’s sure she won’t fall, Zixuan has already blocked A-Xian’s route to Jin Zixun.

Her gratitude is almost as strong as her fear.

Around her, yet more words spill like so much wasted blood: more harmful out of the body than in it; difficult to clean up; staining what should not be stained.

A-Cheng’s fingers tremble, ever so faintly, around her arm. Anger, fear, the urge to strike out: it could be any of them. Perhaps it’s all and more.

Her little brothers have been through so much, and should be able to rest, now. They should be able to return home, to heal. Instead, A-Cheng is having to work out how to be a sect leader now that means more than training soldiers and tearing into their enemy, whilst the older men who should offer him guidance are either gone or…

Her mother’s words echo in her mind, all those scathing comments about Jin Guangshan. Words that took root in Yanli’s mind even as she was cautioned to be respectful to her future father-in-law, as she was taught to be refined and well-spoken and controlled. To think of her dignity and of decorum.

Jin Guangshan is not a man to be trusted. Jin Guangshan is a man who will take what he wants with no sense of honour or kindness, and no matter the cost to anyone else.

From the corner of her eye, she sees the purple sparks of Zidian, a reminder that both of her brothers are at risk of paying the price for Jin Guangshan’s greed. A-Cheng can’t afford to go much further than he has already, not without damage to his standing as a new sect leader. But neither can he afford to let the Jin Sect dictate to Yunmeng Jiang.

And A-Xian is not an acceptable sacrifice.

All this pulses in her mind during the long, hanging moment as people take in what’s just happened, as they witness her brother narrowly held back from an attack on an ally. An ally who has always made Yanli feel like she needs to wash after being near him, but technically an ally, all the same.

‘You dare attack my son!’ Jin Guangshan shouts. ‘Jiang Wanyin, control your disciple, or is the Jiang Sect no longer capable of that?’

‘A-Xian,’ Yanli says, low and urgent. ‘A-Xian, tell them you aren’t attacking him.’

She would put her hand on his arm again, but she doesn’t want to interfere with how Zixuan has him caught, his fingers curled around each of A-Xian’s shoulders as though he intends to pick the other man up and move him. Zixuan’s eyes are wide and worried, but he at least responds to her words.

‘Wei Wuxian is not attempting to attack me,’ he states, and anyone not looking at his eyes likely won’t know he’s shaken by this.

‘No,’ his cousin says, pushing forward until he’s glaring at A-Xian over Zixuan’s shoulder. ‘He was coming for me. You see how out of control he is? He would attack one of us before his last enemy is even buried!’

A-Xian is trembling. His eyes are no longer fixed on one point, but dart from side to side, worryingly glassy.

‘You are so determined to be my enemy,’ he mutters. ‘To make me the enemy. Is there no way out?’

‘A way out?’ Zixun exclaims, part turning towards the sect leaders at the front of the hall. ‘A way out, he asks. All he has to do is stop protecting Wen-dogs and stop attacking Yunmeng Jiang’s allies.’

A-Xian shakes his head, but Yanli isn’t sure it’s in response to those words. His lips are still moving, but no words are making it even as far as her ears, now.

‘Why does he not answer?’ Jin Guangshan demands. ‘Has he lost his senses?’

‘Of course, he hasn’t!’ A-Cheng snaps, but he doesn’t sound certain.

Meng Yao appears beside Zixuan, one hand lifted as though he wants to pull his half-brother to safety but knows it isn’t his place. His gaze darts from one of them to the other.

‘Resentful energy can disturb the mind and the qi,’ he says, hushed and urgent. ‘I saw it with…with Wen Rouhan. Perhaps we should-‘

‘If his mind is as disturbed as that tyrant’s, we should take his weapons and lock him away now,’ Jin Zixun says. ‘We’ve all heard what damage he can do. He’s already tried to attack me. Do we have to wait until he succeeds in mutilating one of our own before we do something about this threat?’

Meng Yao protests that he didn’t mean that, but it’s too late: the hall has once again become flooded with voices calling out.

Yanli finds herself meeting Zixuan’s worried gaze, and she has no idea what to do.

It’s A-Cheng who cuts through the noise, sharp and loud enough to shock some into silence.

‘He needs a healer, not a cell. Fetch a healer. Now!’

But Yanli has worked with many of the healers. She’s heard them speak of how near to impossible it is to treat an active qi deviation, has heard them share hushed concerns over Second Young Master Lan’s chances when he…

‘Lady Wen,’ she gasps, catching sight of Zixuan’s understanding as she steps away and turns to leave the hall.

He’ll have to tell A-Cheng where she’s going, if he hasn’t worked it out for himself. Surely, if anyone is skilled enough, determined enough, to help A-Xian, it will be the woman who’s been holding Second Young Master Lan together when every other healer had thought he was heading to his end.

She pays no mind to dignity or to decorum as she hikes her skirts up and runs. More important than anything is taking both her brothers home to Lotus Pier. Alive and free.

Wangji is in a storage room in the Cloud Recesses. The room itself makes that easy to see, though many of the contents do not. In the time between the war ending and his world ending, Wangji’s duties had little to do with the artifacts seized from the Wen Sect, but he recognises what these must be.

Dimly, he recalls Brother mentioning assigning people to the task of inventory and assessment, but he has no memory of stepping into this room before. Yet here he is, twice over.

He is both inside himself and not.

It’s strange, to see himself kneeling on the floor. Like this, he sees the way his body tilts and sways, sees how his gaze is unfocused. He sees the bloodied mess of his back, the way the wounds lick around his shoulders, around his upper arms, with one deep furrow all too close to his throat.

He sees how close he must have come to dying.

No wonder his brother had looked at him with such worried eyes, even once Wangji could move a little.

It’s nothing to the way he’s staring at Wangji now, in this memory from a future, as he crouches in sleeping robes just out of arm’s reach, begging Wangji to let go of the branding iron.

‘Please, Wangji,’ Brother says, low and striving for calm. ‘Please just put it down. This won’t help. It won’t bring him back.’

Wangji recognises the branding iron in his other self’s hand, but it isn’t the one he holds back in the waking world. It’s twin to the one that branded the Wen sun onto Wei Ying’s chest, back in the dark, fetid cave in which they’d both so nearly died. Does his kneeling-self intend to mark his own chest to match Wei Ying? The thought is…right, the shape of it settling into Wangji’s mind like a correct step in a sequence. A Wen brand to bind remembrance, to take on a wound he failed to take on before. As far as he can go without leaving A-Yuan an orphan again.

‘Put it down and let me get you back to your bed,’ Brother says.

As he speaks, he moves closer, so slowly and with far more grace than should be possible. Most likely, he’s hoping to reach Wangji and take the branding iron without startling his target. And Brother is skilled, enough so that his presence on any battlefield was akin to a small army, but he shouldn’t be able to avoid Wangji’s notice like this.

Drunk. The Wangji of this moment is drunk. He must be, to be so wavering and unobservant and strange. Does Brother know? Or does he think he’s speaking to a Wangji who’s capable of listening to him?

‘Please, Didi, don’t make me watch you take another wound for him. What good would it do?’

Wangji watches his own head tilt, some of his hair falling to the side, some sticking to the blood on his back. His other-self blinks and looks almost at Brother.

‘A scar for remembrance,’ he mumbles.

Brother has gone still, his reaching hand paused a blade’s width from Wangji’s arm. A complicated expression crosses his face.

‘Do you truly think you will forget him? That you need this to keep from forgetting?’ A jarring note of bitterness wells up in Brother’s voice. ‘If I could, Wangji, I would wipe him from your mind and from your heart rather than watch you keep suffering, even now, but I doubt any power in this world could banish him from your thoughts. You do not need to do this. Give me the brand.’

It’s at this point Xichen lunges, grabbing the branding iron and pulling sharply. The Wangji of this memory loses his grip on the metal, an incoherent sound of loss punching out of him as his brother hurls the thing into a far corner and turns back to take hold of Wangji’s arms.

But Brother is not prepared for the desperation that meets him and is knocked onto his back as the memory of Wangji throws himself after the branding iron.

The struggle that follows is brief and oddly brutal, nothing like the elegant bouts Wangji remembers with his brother over their years of training together. Brother is clearly trying not to harm Wangji, but he’s also intent on keeping that Wen iron from Lan skin, and using his full strength to do so.

But this Wangji is too far gone in grief and wine to care about his own injuries, and he is reckless with himself.

It ends with Brother pushing the original branding iron away as Wangji’s fingers graze it and close instead on the familiar twists of metal Wei Ying has been puzzling over for days. And there they stay, neither brother able to move because of the other, with Wangji stretched on his belly, one arm pinned to his side, the other clutching the branding iron at the end of his reach. Brother lies half on top of Wangji, pinning and reaching and apparently not sure how to shift them to safety without giving his younger brother an opening.

‘Move,’ Wangji’s other self pleads, though it sounds as though it was intended as a command.

‘Not until you let go,’ Brother says.

Both versions of Wangji wince.

There are no more words for a while, and the Wangji who knows where this leads circles the men on the floor, noting with discomfort the tears gathered in his brother’s eyes, tears Zewu-Jun does not let fall. He notes, also, the arc of destruction along one part of the room, where his drunk-self must have had some purpose beyond simply breaking Wen items.

Did he come here searching for the branding iron?

Not far from Brother’s left hip, a beautifully crafted white flute rests on the floor, the angle suggesting it was not set down with care. It’s definitely a Lan flute, and one Wangji recognises. It should sit on a stand in another room entirely, to be touched and played only by those of high standing in both status and musical ability. It was made, a long time ago, for a respected cultivator of the main family, and Wangji can think of no reason it would be here, on the floor, in the normal way of things.

Two other instruments, one a xiao and one a dizi, are a little way beyond, rolled almost under a low shelf, and a third flute looks to have been discarded on a small, gold-worked chest.

None of them are of Wen make.

Whatever his other self-came here for, Brother thought bringing him flutes was a solution.

Flinching away from where that thought leads, Wangji turns back to the near-frozen tableau on the ground before him. He already knows his memory-self will get free, at least enough to use the branding iron. He’s now almost certain he didn’t come here to find that branding iron, let alone to use its powers deliberately. This memory doesn’t hold what he hoped for.

Brother speaks again, close to the other Wangji’s ear.

‘This will do nothing. It won’t fix him in your memory. It won’t bring him back. All it will do is upset your son.’

The Wangji trapped against the floor makes no sound, but his hand flexes around the handle of the branding iron. The Wangji watching this sees the twisted end of the metal is beginning to glow.

‘Wangji, you can protect A-Yuan. That is what you can do, now. You can keep your son safe, and you can let yourself heal. Haven’t you already done enough for that man?

‘No,’ the Wangji of this moment says, low and pained. His hand spasms around metal again.

Brother makes an angry, frustrated noise in his throat, his own hands tightening their hold as though he wants to shake Wangji, or is terrified of letting go.

‘What more could you have done?

It’s a sob as much as a word that he gets in reply.

‘Anything,’ the other Wangji says. ‘Everything.’

And he heaves himself up in a surge Brother must not expect, turning the branding iron as he makes it to his knees. The metal glows hot.

Brother is just a shade too slow to prevent Wangji from pressing the now glowing metal to his chest, where it scorches and burns bright enough to blind.

And the Wangji of now opens his eyes to a room in Wen Rouhan’s palace to find the branding iron has fallen from his fingers, and to the sound of yelling outside.

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian hears the voices claiming he’s suffering a qi deviation, hears others calling out that he’s dangerous. Hears the ones saying both. He hears, but he can’t focus on them. Other voices hiss and snag at the edges of his mind, cold and slithering and inside him.

Rage fills him, so vast it feels his skin will burst to set it free.

He should not have come here, to this hall full of hypocrites. He should have stayed well away from murderers who claim to be more righteous than their victims, more righteous than the tyrant they just waged a war against.

Jin Zixun speaks of enemies and of allies, yet he throws Lan Zhan’s name into the mud and tramples it, tries to dirty the reputation of Lan Zhan’s entire sect, when his own uncle, his own sect leader, litters bastards around the country and leaves everyone to suffer but himself.

‘I am not the enemy,’ Wei Wuxian grates out, even as the resentful energy screams through him, calling him to punish those who displease him so. But he can’t. Won’t. Not when he can’t be sure who he’ll hurt: the image of Lan Zhan on the ground, caught up in the maelstrom of resentful energy directed at Wen Ruohan, brings bile up Wei Wuxian’s throat. His words grow harsh around it. ‘Why do they insist I become their enemy?’

He fought, if not for these people, then certainly to their benefit. Yet some of them turn on him and seem determined to back him into a corner until he lashes out.

Must he kill them, these ungrateful wretches? Must he kill every single one who voices such thoughts until there is nobody left to accuse him?

Is the only peace he will have the peace of being surrounded by the dead?

With a snarl, he shakes free, flailing backwards as Jin Zixuan falls away, and bolts for the door, the scene tipping and tilting around him as he tries to stay upright in a world that will not be stable.

Sounds chase him, Jiang Cheng’s yell the loudest single point, but he flees from them all. Out of the hall, a sharp turn down the corridor, another when he reaches the end, bouncing off the wall opposite when it’s not where he expects it to be. His shoulder knocks into the wall again further down, but he uses it to shove himself forward, barely slowing. He’s still fast, much faster than most, and they won’t catch him. He just has to get outside, just has to get out into the air and out from between walls, and they won’t be able to block him in. They won’t be able to grab him.

He's not freshly coreless, now. If he’s surrounded and trapped by these people who insist on being against him, he can’t promise he’ll leave anyone of them alive.

Jiang Yanli knows there are people behind her almost as soon as she leaves the hall, but she doesn’t realise they’re following her at first. It’s only when she’s turned into the third hallway on her route that she’s certain, and it makes little difference. She’s already running, and she can’t spare the breath to call for help, if help is even needed. Perhaps others have the same idea as her and are on the way to beg Wen Qing for help.

It's never been wise to provoke A-Xian, for all his old playfulness and charm. All too many people have been dealt that lesson, to one degree or another. Never for himself, no, but to protect someone he cares about? Yanli above all others knows her A-Xian won’t step back quietly, then.

Back before all of this horror, back when A-Xian was sunny and buoyant and steady in himself, he humiliated a merchant who insulted Yanli to the point the man never returned to Yunmeng. Now, A-Xian is…not himself, he clearly cares about what happens to the remaining Wens, and it’s been made into a matter of life and death.

Nobody can want A-Xian to lose control of himself.

So focused is she on reaching her goal that she is caught entirely by surprise when a hand closes around her upper arm, yanking her to a stop within sight of Second Master Lan’s room.

‘Let go!’ she commands, even as she’s swung about to face a man in robes the colour of spring grass.

Behind him stand three more men, one in the same green robes, one in blue, and another from the Jin Sect. For her not to know which sects the others are from at first glance is telling, but she places them soon enough. Both green and blue are from minor sects on the borders of Qishan Wen territory. Or they had been.

‘Let go,’ she says again, less stridently but no less firm, as the men continue to stand there. The grip around her arm is painful, but that’s inconsequential compared to the delay in getting help for A-Xian.

‘You shouldn’t be running to a Wen for help,’ the man in Jin robes says.

He’s someone who’s often hanging around near Jin Zixun, and therefore has often been somewhere in the gaggle of people around Zixuan, but Yanli doesn’t recall ever hearing him speak before, and she doesn’t know his name.

‘Go back to your brother, Lady Jiang,’ the one who holds her says. ‘Wens and their sympathisers aren’t people a Sect Leader’s sister should be around.’

‘As the sister of Yunmeng Jiang’s Sect Leader, I should not be accosted by disciples of other sects, no matter which sect that is. Unhand me.’

Anger flashes through the lead man’s eyes. Though it’s nothing to the heat of A-Cheng’s anger, an angry man is a wholly different beast when he’s not her little brother. Despite herself, she can’t help but wince when his fingers constrict, cutting into her arm enough to bruise, and she inhales sharply as the man drags her closer.

‘The Wens wiped out your sect,’ he says, each word hardened. ‘They killed your parents and destroyed your home, and I don’t believe your sect leader, brother or not, would approve of you consorting with filthy Wens or their degenerate lovers.’

The other men are an impassable wall behind him. Behind her, there’s too much distance left for her to make it to Second Master Lan’s room before these men can catch her, even if she somehow knocked them all down before running.

A new voice behind her gives her a third option.

‘Is there a problem, Lady Jiang?’

A female voice, unknown to her, but a quick glance back reveals a Lan cultivator, her hand already on her sword. The woman is closer to Yanli than she now is to Second Master Lan’s room. Much closer.

With a speed that may even have pleased her mother, Yanli kicks the man holding her in the shin. His grip slips only a little, likely out of shock as much as anything, but she only needs that opening to twist herself free and dash for the safety of the Lan cultivator’s back. The woman shifts to let her past and draws her sword in the same movement, becoming a shield between Yanli and these men who think they have a right to curtail her.

The man she kicked spits words at her that would mean his tongue ripped from his head, had her mother been still in this world. A-Xian, in his present state, may well do worse.

‘Mind your words,’ the Lan woman warns. It’s a faint echo of the warning Second Master Lan can put into his chastisements, but it’s more than Yanli can manage just now.

‘Mind my words? My words? When you’re precious Hanguang-Jun fucked a Wen and spawned another? When your sect leader is protecting Wen Ruohan’s own niece? Just what is your Lan Sect up to? Have you all been seduced by Wens?’

His fellow sect member takes his own turn at shouting, pointing past Jiang Yanli down the hallway.

‘There’s the Wen-dog!

Yanli risks a look, and finds Wen Qing standing with her back straight, her hands folded neatly at her waist, and an expression on her face that suggests nothing besides a mild irritation lies before her. Behind her, managing to seem smaller than his sister despite being highly visible, Wen Ning stands with wide, troubled eyes. He holds A-Yuan in his arms.

‘You will be safer in one of the rooms, Doctor Wen,’ the Lan woman says.

‘One of the…?’ The Jin cultivator scoffs. ‘Just how many rooms have you stuffed Wens into? Is your Lan Sect collecting them, now?’

Yanli spins back to face the men, stepping out from behind the Lan woman in bristling rage.

‘You go too far,’ she states, her own voice sounding like a stranger’s in her ears. No, not a stranger’s: her mother’s voice.

The Jin laughs.

‘I start to wonder what your sect considers ‘too far’.’ He throws out an arm, taking in Wen Qing, Yanli, the Lan woman and the rooms beyond. ‘It seems the Lan Sect has no idea of what that phrase means. One of their lauded young masters taking a Wen to his bed. The other sheltering Wens in the aftermath of the slaughter the Wen Sect caused.’ He pauses, his eyes sliding back to Wen Qing as his lips tug into a leer. ‘Or is it more than that?’

Yanli bites back the urge to demand what he means. From the way his gaze drags up and down Wen Qing, he doesn’t have to say the words. Being a Jin cast in the same mould as Jin Zixun, he does so anyway.

‘They say the Twin Jades are so alike they can barely be told apart. I wonder, does that extend to their habits with women? Is the venerated Lan Xichen so protective of this Wen girl because he’s-‘

‘Enough.’

Second Master Lan’s voice is cold and unyielding. He sounds almost as strong as he ever has. When Yanli turns again, she sees his control over his voice is more commendable than she realised.

No matter how strong he sounds, he looks to be on the brink of collapse.

‘Wangji!’ Wen Qing snaps, sharp enough her own brother winces behind her. ‘You should be in bed. Are you trying to undo all of my hard work?’

Mentioning a bed doesn’t douse the flames of this confrontation. One of the men now behind Yanli scoffs.

Before the scoff can birth yet more lewd accusations of what that bed could be used for, Yanli speaks up.

‘A-Xian is unwell, Lady Wen. He needs your expertise. Please!’

Wen Qing’s attention snaps to her, determination settling over her features, as expected of a doctor of her calibre, but Second Master Lan is the one who moves first. He’s by Yanli’s side, his eyes burning with intensity, before anyone else can react.

‘Wei Ying is unwell?’ he rasps.

This close, Yanli can see the boy is trembling, that his skin is clammy and his breath hitches with each breath, but she’ll take what she can get if it means A-Xian is safe. And Second Master Lan cares deeply for A-Xian. That much is still a gleaming truth, no matter the revelations of recent weeks.

‘Qi deviation,’ she near whispers, the words too terrifying to say at a normal volume. Even so, Second Master Lan’s eyes widen, and Wen Qing makes a shocked sound that does nothing to ease Yanli’s fears. ‘Please, he needs help.’

The four belligerent men who followed her stand no chance against Hanguang-Jun, even though he’s unarmed and looks near death. Yanli hurries back towards where she left A-Xian - two Lans, two Wens, and one who is both flanking her - and spares no more thought for the four people groaning on the ground.

Heat beats down on Wei Wuxian as he stumbles to a stop outside, his chest heaving. It shouldn’t be this difficult to run. Even with his core gone, he’s not become this weak, yet he has to brace his hands on his thighs, bowed like an old man weighed down by sacks, and suck in air that burns.

Faintly, he hears voices clamouring behind him, either far away or blanketed by the resentful energy he feels clustered in the space around him. The air is already thick with it, here where Wen Ruohan used Yin Iron for so long, where so many died. It’s thick enough in several parts of the palace to be cloying, but it’s mostly remained, for want of a better word, stagnant. Now, it gathers around him, pulled to him, and it near blinds him. There’s a large, open space around him, he knows, but he can’t see it. The voices are very close to deafening.

‘Wei Wuxian!’

Jiang Cheng’s voice. But is it real, or is it the Burial Mounds all over again, with the voices of his loved ones mingled in with the countless others, sounding almost to be shouting, moaning, whispering into his ears?

Another voice rises up, carrying but calm, with a cadence that has Wei Wuxian wanting to sway towards it. Almost. Almost wanting to. This voice isn’t quite right, isn’t the one he wants to nestle close to, to evoke, to hear in all its textures, but it is cut from the same rich, refined cloth. Zewu-Jun?

That’s new. He hasn’t heard Zewu-Jun’s voice in the storm of resentful energy before. Lan Zhan’s, yes, but not his older brother’s. How strange.

Except…he did, didn’t he? His thoughts grow thicker by the moment, but he did hear Zewu-Jun shouting, didn’t he, through a swirling torrent of rage and resentment? Something about Lan Zhan being hurt? About Wei Wuxian risking hurting him more? He can’t hurt Lan Zhan. He can’t. He won’t.

His hands find their way to his scalp, clutching and pulling, as though pulling out his hair by the roots will haul the morass in his mind with it. He can’t hurt Lan Zhan. He can’t. He has to get control of himself, but it’s been a precarious, surface level thing for months now, and he’s closer to breaking than he’s been since the Burial Mounds, his hard-earned control fractured, close to failing.

There’s the cliff. There’s an edge to this plateaux of dark rock someway to…which way? His left? Behind him? No. It doesn’t matter. Throwing himself over should kill him, should keep Lan Zhan safe from his resentful energy, but there’s the brand to consider: the brand, and the spell ignited by it.

If Wei Wuxian dies, Lan Zhan will suffer for it. Wei Wuxian cannot let more suffering come to Lan Zhan, but he can’t clear his mind. He can’t banish the resentful energy until he only holds his usual amount, that which sank into the meat of him and is a part of him now. He can’t kill himself and he can’t let anyone else kill him. He doesn’t want to kill others, not unless he must, and in this present moment the voices are hissing that everyone must die.

Trapped and desperate, Wei Wuxian gasps in air and screams.

Chapter Text

They make first for the hall where the sect leaders’ meeting is taking place, Maiden Jiang and Wen Qing in the lead, and Wangi supported by the surge of energy that washed into him when he heard of Wei Ying in danger.

The pain and exhaustion are still present but pushed back, a sunken pit beneath the swelling drive to reach Wei Ying and the conviction that, once he does, the spell will ensure Wangji saves him.

He wonders, quietly and at a distance, whether Wen Qing needed to intervene to keep him alive, after all. Perhaps it isn’t possible for him to die until he’s certain Wei Ying and A-Yuan are safe. Even without Wen Qing’s skills, Wangji may well have been pulled from his bed in The Unclean Realm and onto Bichen, only to collapse again once Wen Ruohan was dead.

Now, Wangji steps around both women and scans the space. No Wei Ying. No Jiang Wanyin. No Brother, or Nie Mingjue or Nie Huaisang, either.

He barely has to look around at his fellow Lan disciple before she’s striding towards a small cluster of their sect siblings, a determined look on her face. She returns swiftly, looking concerned.

‘Young Master Wei fled the hall. Zewu-Jun and others followed, but both Zewu-Jun and Chifeng-Zun forbade those still here from leaving, too.’

No doubt to avoid an already heated situated from becoming scalding. Brother has always sought to contain and to calm where he can, and Nie Mingjue has no patience for gossiping onlookers.

Maiden Jiang makes a low noise of distress, turning to grasp at Wen Qing’s sleeve with tears in her eyes. She doesn’t have to speak to show how worried she is: it’s written in every line of her. If she knew where to look for Wei Ying, she would likely already be moving. Maiden Jiang would rush to Wei Ying no matter what it took.

A memory blazes across Wangji’s mind, of black rock and dark smoke and screaming, of a woman all in mourning white and blooming red, of Wei Ying’s will to survive collapsing along with his sect sister.

Wangi hisses out a breath through his teeth, his right hand coming up to press against his chest. It hurts. It physically hurts to recall it, that awful stretch of time between Wei Ying putting his head through the noose and Wangji seeing him fall, and he desperately hopes he’s wrong, even as he needs to be right. A qi deviation is not something with which to take one’s time.

Without a word, he turns and heads along the hallway towards the main entrance, hoping and dreading in equal measure that he’ll find Wei Ying where he hoped he’d never see him again.

Wei Wuxian feels every one of the resentful voices in his ears could grow hands at any moment to tear at his flesh, and he would have no way of stopping it. He isn’t stopping it. Already, his throat is torn. The pain doesn’t reach him, but there’s a tang of blood on the back of his tongue, a mundane irritation small enough to make it through the screaming.

It’s just enough to have him choking to silence, to remind him that his own blood won’t be all that’s spilt if he doesn’t wrestle this storm of energy back into something contained. Contained enough to keep any damage inside him.

Wei Wuxian closes his eyes. Everything around him is a darkened, wavering mass, so what use is seeing to him? He did this in the Burial Mounds, back when he still felt the chill of his new cultivation sliding between the splinters of his bones. It worked then. It has to work now.

Sinking to the ground is a quicker process than expected, a mere sagging of the knees, and his kneecaps smart. He must have been most of the way there already, his body weakened and unbalanced by whatever is happening to him. No matter. It’s just one more blow for him to absorb, just one more adaptation he needs to make so he can keep on going. He is so tired of having to keep on going. Dragging his limbs into something close to a mediation pose, he sets his dizi across his thighs and settles his hands on top. He will drag himself back to some form of functioning, because he doesn’t have another choice

The screaming cuts off almost as soon as Wangji hears it, but he only needs a moment to recognise that sound.

He’s ahead of the others as he strides out into the harsh Qishan light, a lance of pain in his temple a needless reminder that he ought still to be in bed. Not slowing, he starts down the steps even as his eyes find Wei Ying, on his knees barely a body length from the sharp jut of rock that loomed in so many of Wangji’s fever dreams, his mind taking him back there again and again as his back burned and he couldn’t always be sure what was real and what was lost.

‘Wangji,’ Brother calls, his voice projecting clearly across the space, the note of concern loud to those few who know him well.

At a glance, Wangji sees both his brother’s desire to leap to Wangji’s side, and the reason he can’t. The great Zewu-Jun has achieved many things in his still short life, but setting himself as the barrier between Wei Ying and the rest of those present is impressive in its own right. The cluster of cultivators have their backs to Wangji, only a few turning to glance his way at his brother’s call, and at their head stands Jin Guangshan.

As he moves down the steps, Wangji takes in the positions of other important figures. Even when desperate, his training and experience tell him to survey the terrain before battle. Jiang Wanyin is at the back of the group, which would be more confusing if Wangji hadn’t seen the man leap further whilst fighting. The handful who could best him in speed and distance are unlikely to get in his way. Even so, his choice only makes sense to Wangji when he joins those glancing around and sees his sister. Rather than leaping to Wei Ying, he is at Maiden Jiang’s side in the space of two heartbeats.

Wangji adjusts to move around him but is jolted to a stop by a tight grip on his arm. From the corners of his eyes, Wangji notes Wen Qing and Maiden Jiang stop one on either side of him. Despite having a hand on Wangji, Jiang Wanyin fixes first his sister and then Wen Qing with a fierce look.

‘You helped Hanguang-Jun with his core,’ he says to Wen Qing, showing no sign he realises the man’s he’s referring to stands beside her, or that Jiang Wanyin is touching him. ‘Will you do the same for Wei Wuxian?’

Wen Qing’s back is already straight, her posture already one suited to facing criticism and threats with dignity, but she adjusts her shoulders as though bracing for a physical blow.

‘This situation is not the same,’ she says, her voice clear and firm. She must have had sufficient practice at speaking in the face of irrationality and anger. ‘Resentful energy-‘

‘I would not dare accuse Hanguang-Jun of corrupting his core,’ Jiang Wanyin says, perhaps not realising he’s cutting Wen Qing off. ‘Wei Wuxian’s case is different, yes, but both are qi deviations, and surely-‘

‘They are not.’

Wen Qing must know she’s sliced through Jiang Wanyin’s words and, by the look in the man’s eyes, through his patience.

Wangji speaks up before Jiang Wanyin does more direct harm to Wen Qing in this version of events than he managed in the first one.

‘His mind?’

After all, Wei Ying seemed erratic ever since returning from his disappearance, and that can hardly have changed. Wei Ying reappeared from those missing months with jagged fracture lines running through him, and only on that one day in Yiling did they seem somewhat worn down into something that no longer cut.

‘He was managing the effects,’ Wen Qing says, not quite answering Wangji’s question. ‘Something must have happened.’

Something that is not the deaths of Wen Qing and her brother, or of a small boy Wei Ying cared for and protected. Something that is not the death of Maiden Jiang. None of the blows that broke him before have happened this time, yet still Wei Ying is here.

‘He was arguing,’ Jiang Wanyin says, but he says it as though to dismiss it. ‘Jin Zixun was hurling insults, accusations. But it was more than that. It has to have been more.’

Wangji thinks back to Wei Ying threatening Jin Zixuan for insulting Maiden Jiang, in the war and after, but each time the woman herself was the one to pull him back from losing control. It was only with her loss that Wei Ying could not be reached. For once, he is forced to agree with Jiang Wanyin. It must be something else, something to have left Wei Ying off balance and vulnerable. Something that could not have happened the first time.

‘The branding iron,’ he says to Wen Qing.

‘Perhaps,’ she allows. ‘He was agitated, yes, but there was no sign he was losing control. I know those signs and they were not present when I checked him. I will need to examine him again.’

‘You-‘ Jiang Wanyin starts, but Wangji has heard all he needs to from this exchange.

Twisting his arm out of the other man’s hold, he wraps an arm around Wen Qing’s waist and leaps. She stiffens for a moment, but goes with the movement, leaving behind the cluster on the steps and sailing over the heads of those crowded between them and Wei Ying. More than one person calls out, but Wangji pays no mind to what they say. Neither they nor their opinions matter. He keeps his attention on Wei Ying, who has pulled himself into a meditation pose filled with tension.

He touches down close to his brother, exchanging one look with him and knowing he’s being told to be careful, that he’s being assured the crowd will be kept back. He dips his chin in return, a show of gratitude, and wishes he could promise caution.

Wen Qing doesn’t spare even the drop of time needed for a look. She is already striding across the remaining space between Brother and Wei Ying, a needle glinting in one hand and her head held high. Many people have gone into battle with less ferocity and determination. Wangji follows her.

‘Wei Wuxian, don’t you want to make them see?’ one particularly insistent voice whispers by his ear. ‘Shouldn’t they see their hypocrisy? Their lack of reason? Shouldn’t they…’

It fades, but another is already speaking over it, murmuring of revenge, and another layering in with it, whispering that they will all turn on him, all of them, no matter how trusted, how beloved, and how much do they expect him to take?

‘Wei Wuxian!’

That one is sharp. Demanding. It does nothing more than call his name, an order to pay attention.

‘Wei Wuxian, can you hear me?’

There’s a note of…concern? Something akin to it, at least. That’s different.

‘Wei Wuxian, open your eyes!’

His eyes snap open on their own, and there is Wen Qing, vibrant and solid and surrounded by the energy he’s trying to control.

‘Wen Qing, get back!’

But her hands are on his shoulders, are pressing on his chest, even as she scolds him for telling her what to do. If she sees the black smoke whipping around her, through her, she shows no sign of it, her eyes now closed and her lips pressed together as she works.

‘You can’t do anything,’ he tells her, urgent now as he feels the resentful energy swell around her, pulling at him the way the ground pulls someone falling from a height. It wants to lash at her, to spend itself upon her flesh, and then on to the next person, to-

‘Lan Zhan?’ A jolt of panic surges Wei Wuxian to his feet, glaring at the figure standing not far behind the healer. ‘What are you doing here? You aren’t even dressed!’

Why this detail shocks him, why it even registers against everything else, he doesn’t know. Perhaps it’s just because this is Lan Zhan, who resisted being less than properly dressed when they were trapped bleeding in a cave, and who is now out here before unfriendly eyes, wearing only the clothes from his sickbed. It’s jarring. It’s wrong.

‘It’s poison.’

‘What?’

Wen Qing focuses still on his chest, where one of her hands has managed to stay.

‘You’ve ingested poison,’ she says, her words clipped. ‘It wasn’t there when you left us.’

‘The antidote?’ Lan Zhan asks.

‘I don’t know which of several poisons this is.’ She pulls her hand away and looks him in the eye. ‘Did you eat or drink anything? Feel anything prick your skin?’

For all Wei Wuxian can gather his thoughts, she may as well be asking him to recall a past life. He remembers turmoil, anger, the need to get away. Little else.

‘He drank some wine. Could it be that? A-Cheng, where is the cup he drank from? Fetch it. Quickly!’

‘Shijie?’ he asks, but the dark smoke around him is thickening again.

Wen Qing is the only one mostly clear to him. Lan Zhan is a wavering line of hazed out light, and the shapes beside him could be Shijie and Jiang Cheng, but the whispers are growing back into wails and perhaps he imagined her voice.

‘I’ll go,’ Wen Qing says. He thinks she says. Her lips move mostly in time with the words. ‘You should stay back.’

Voices overlap, Lan Zhan and Shijie and Jiang Cheng, and maybe others. If they’re real, if people are really so close to him, they should move back. Wen Qing is right.

‘Get away,’ he orders. Mutters. He isn’t sure how it comes out, or if he really says it at all. A deep breath lets him try again, through the blood in his mouth and the pain in his throat. ‘Away!’

‘A-Xian-‘

The words warp, even those he’s almost sure are from the resentful energy, and he can’t summon any more of his own, but the wavering light moves between Wei Wuxian and the other shapes, blocking them. More sound, pleading or shouting or both, and he isn’t sure if he’s trying to move towards those shapes or away, but either way he’s stumbling. He’s stumbling and falling and-

He's caught.

Lan Zhan stands clear and real before him, his hands holding Wei Wuxian by the shoulders, holding him steady, and the look in his eyes is just the same as it has been since…

How long ago did Lan Zhan start to love him?

‘Lan Zhan,’ he manages, ‘how long?’

The only response he gets is a shifting of one of those hands from his shoulder, down to his sternum. To… There’s a reason he doesn’t want anyone doing that, if he could only think through the noise, but the whispers and screams are claws now, hooking into his brain, peeling it away in ribbons, and screaming was involved in the reason, wasn’t it? There was screaming. A long stretch of screaming. Then it stopped.

‘Wei Ying!’

Now, one hand is on his shoulder and the other holds his face, tilting it, and Lan Zhan is suddenly so much taller. How strange. Has so much time passed, somewhere away from where Wei Wuxian has been existing?

The voices tell him too much time has gone, that he should already be moving to…to do something, something vital, before it’s too late, but the ground is hard beneath his back and Lan Zhan has dissolved into the sky, and he’s too busy marvelling at the rightness of that to listen to talk of revenge.

Wei Ying collapses slowly, first sagging, then falling, and Wangji folds himself to follow. He seems unable to remove his hand from Wei Ying’s face, his fingers slipping from beneath the chin until they curve around a cheek. His other hand is braced against the ground by Wei Ying’s shoulder, whatever energy the spell grants him choosing this moment to pull back.

‘His core,’ he says, unable to tell whether he has spoken loudly enough to be heard, or so loudly he has spilled Wei Ying’s secret to all those watching.

Wen Qing kneels beside him, her expression taut and still. She doesn’t reach out a hand to check Wei Ying, her hands flat on her thighs, but she does keep her gaze on him as she speaks. Quietly.

‘He didn’t want anyone to know,’ she says. ‘He’s refused to let me tell anyone and would not thank you for spilling this secret.’

He must have spoken quietly enough not to have already done so, then. Even with his thoughts turning foggy around the edges, he knows that, at least, is good.

‘How?’

Wen Qing doesn’t answer.

‘Wen Zhuliu,’ Wangji offers, because the reports from Yiling are clear the man was there. But even as he says it, something about it sounds the wrong note. Jiang Wanyin doesn’t know, and how could he not, had Wen Zhuliu destroyed Wei Ying’s golden core during the burning of Lotus Pier? Both young men had been there, and Wen Zhuliu never hid his use of that skill. Wen Chao would have had the man flaunt it.

As his thoughts race, his hands remain where they are. It’s a fact he notes distantly as unusual for himself, but he makes no move to break the contact. That would be…wrong. It’s wrong that only one of his hands is touching Wei Ying.

Without meaning to, he forces enough stability into his body to lift his other hand from the ground and rest it on Wei Ying’s body instead, back over the spot where his golden core should be most strongly felt. That feels right. That is where his other hand should be.

He could not begin to explain why even if all the elders of the Lan Clan summoned him and demanded it.

‘Lady Wen, the cup.’

Jiang Wanyin’s voice is close, too close, and Wangji feels the urge to shift, to spin and face the intrusion with his sword. It’s an impulse he was already training himself to manage in that long year after the war ended the first time, but now it seems more that his body simply can’t react. It is right that he kneels here with his hands on Wei Ying, and nothing else can be done. He doesn’t even find it in himself to turn his head as an object is thrust into view between Wen Qing and him.

Reason tells him it must be the cup Wei Ying drank the poison from, of course, but it’s an unimportant conclusion.

As Wen Qing speaks again, her words smudged to sound alone, Wangji finds his focus on the sensation of skin under one set of fingertips, on the rougher texture of fabric under the other, and on the vital energies flowing through his own body and through Wei Ying’s.

The hollow where a golden core should sit is a gaping horror, but now the first shock of discovery is passing he finds that hollow is not a smooth cavern. Just as the Xuanwu’s cave had crevices and protrusions, so too the emptiness in Wei Ying has dips and jagged edges. It is not truly physical. Wangji is well aware that a golden core is not truly a thing of the flesh, not the way a heart or a lung is, but still there is a sense of roughness around the absence, as though a person could run a finger along them and cut their own skin. Leave a drop of themselves behind.

That thought is barely formed before he feels the same surge of power that carried him out of his sickbed and deposited him here rise again. It did not leave him as he thought, but pulled back the way the sea pulls back before a tidal wave, now racing up and beyond its bounds, carrying Wangji with it. Higher and farther and higher again, out of his own skin and into Wei Ying, spilling into that coreless cavern, crashing him against those walls.

It’s a little like meditation, that sense of an image summoned to sharpness until it is almost real, but it’s also something like a dream, a vision that happens around and to you, over which you have no control and which, as you wake, is both more solid than the bed beneath you and less substantial than memory.

Wen Qing’s voice is almost nothing, now, but he can hear her just enough to register the rise in volume, the increase in sharpness, just before he realises what he’s sensing caught along those cavern walls.

Scraps of spiritual energy. Shreds of Wei Ying’s golden core. Tiny, so tiny as to be almost not there, but with the energy of the spell carrying him, Wangji feels them. He reaches for them and he…gathers them. Somehow. In a way he thinks he will never be able to explain to someone else.

He gathers them and as he does so he feels his own surging, shattered core catch on the juts, leaving small pools of itself behind in the dips, taking those scraps of Wei Ying’s core and tumbling them in with the new shreds until there is more attached to Wei Ying than before.

It rises in Wangji’s throat, this wash of energy and horror and sudden, painful hope, because it seems the spell has found a way to work, that it’s taking action in light of this discovery that Wei Ying has been torn from the proper path, and even as he feels it rip chunks from his own being, Wangji is thankful.

He is thankful because this is what he wished for, as he held that brand. He knows that now. He came back here to save Wei Ying and brought A-Yuan along to keep him safe, and so it doesn’t matter if Wangji is torn apart here, so close to where Wei Ying died before. This can be how Wangji dies, how his life and his golden core are used up, and he will let his soul go gladly as the final price, so long as the spell finally, truly, works. So long as Wei Ying is saved.

Just as he feels the power, of the spell, of his own core, of the blood in his body – any of those or all – high up under his jaw, choking him, Wei Ying’s eyes open. For a long, suspended moment he meets Wangji’s eyes, shocked and confused and…despairing. That is wrong. Wei Ying should never feel despair.

‘Lan Zhan.’

Wei Ying’s lips barely move, but his name rings loud enough to drown out a battle.

‘Wei Ying,’ he offers in return. He has no idea what his voice sounds like. He can’t hear himself over the roaring.

And it doesn’t matter. At that moment, the spell stops, and so does Wangji.