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Chapter Text

It’s after sunset by the time Lan Wangji finishes writing out the instructions for his absence. He has tried not to be unnecessarily detailed or overbearing, not to reach too far, or make it sound as if he isn't coming back. As far as anyone here believes, he will be gone for two months at the most.

If he fails, they will most likely be right.

He sets the letter aside underneath a small jade paperweight. The Silent Room is cold with the onset of winter, and the edges of the paper shiver in a mild draft. He begins sorting through the texts spread out across his writing table. Not all of them will be necessary, and some would be missed if he takes them with him. He chooses only the most crucial three and places them inside a spirit pouch, fastening it to his belt. The others he leaves neatly arranged on one side of the desk, awaiting his return.

Then he picks up the small, handwritten diary. Rather than placing it in the pouch with the others, he tucks it into the pocket of his sleeve for safekeeping.

He casts a look around the Silent Room, trying to think if there’s anything else he might have forgotten, anything he might have missed. It looks mostly as it always does, orderly but lived in. There’s nothing strange, nothing out of place. No one will suspect.

He blows out the candle on the desk then, letting the darkness fall around him, and takes Bichen from its place on the rack. He closes the door quietly behind him and moves swiftly out into the night.

Sizhui is in the library, as expected. He doesn’t look up when Lan Wangji steps over the threshold, and for a moment Lan Wangji just watches him from a distance. The way his eyes flicker dark in the candlelight. The way he slumps a bit over his reading, forgetting his posture. The way the frown clears and his smile lights up when he finds what he’s looking for, turning back to the note paper beside him to write it down.

It’s only looking at Sizhui that makes his heart falter, want to stay a little longer. Wait a little more.

Lan Wangji steps into the light.

Sizhui looks up from his notes, back straightening slightly when he catches sight of Lan Wangji. “Hanguang-jun,” he says, with a small smile. He looks about to stand up, but Lan Wangji gestures for him to stay seated, and he settles again.

“Are you leaving already?” Sizhui asks.

Lan Wangji nods. He glances down at the paperwork spread out around Sizhui at the desk. He’s been having difficulty with his summoning lately, and Lan Wangji suggested a few instructional materials he could review to improve his technique. He had hoped to find time to practice with him some more before leaving.

There will be time, he reminds himself. There must be time.

And so many things will be better.

“There’s a storm coming in from the north,” Lan Wangji says, and Sizhui nods his understanding, his smile sweet and earnest. He’s such a warm, shining presence. It’s hard to imagine what these years would have been like without him.

“I hope you’ll take an extra cloak then,” Sizhui says. There’s that little flicker behind his eyes, a cloud across the sun. The look that says, don’t go. He’s too old to cling to Lan Wangji’s leg now, but the impulse doesn’t seem to have ever left him. “It’s already starting to snow.”

Lan Wangji nods again. “I promise to keep warm,” he says.

Sizhui smiles again, and nods. His fingers drift back towards the brush, and Lan Wangji shouldn’t stay any longer. Sizhui is a bright child. He knows Lan Wangji doesn’t linger over short goodbyes. “I will see you in a few weeks, then?"

A few weeks. Maybe less than that.

“Yes,” Lan Wangji says. And then he leaves Sizhui to his books, careful not to look back.

The snow is already starting to stick to the leaves and branches in the courtyard, lining them like silver in the moonlight. Lan Wangji nods in passing to a pair of junior disciples who bow to him on the pathway, heading for their quarters. It’s not long to curfew, and given the coming storm he supposes most have retired to their rooms for the night.

When he reaches the Frost Room, at the far end of the grounds, he sees the glow of a lamp shining in the window. Brother must still be awake.

He steps through the garden gate and approaches the open doorway, a gentle warmth from the brazier drifting over him as he crosses the threshold. Xichen is standing in a corner of the room, looking out through the slatted window at the snow falling outside, blanketing everything in shimmering white.

“I’ll be taking my leave now,” Lan Wangji says.

Xichen glances over at him, his hands folded in front of him. His eyes reflect concern, but he doesn’t protest. "I finished my letter to Ah Yao a short while ago," he says. "Will you be passing through Lanling?"

An errand, and a stop on the road that would let Xichen know he's safe. Lan Wangji shakes his head, with an apologetic dip. "I will not. Apologies."

Xichen gives a small shake of his head as well. "There is no urgency. I merely wondered." The weight of his worries sinks down on his shoulders again. Lan Wangji has always wished to not add to Xichen's burdens, but that desire cannot guide him now.

He reaches into his sleeve and pulls out the diary, taking a few steps forward and offering it to his brother. Xichen looks down at it with soft eyes. He takes it in both hands.

“I thought you should have this back,” Lan Wangji says. “For safekeeping.”

Xichen runs his fingers over the handwritten characters on the cover of the diary. The delicate yet rough-edged strokes they both know so well.

“I’m sorry,” Xichen says, with his warm, familiar sympathy. “I trust you saw why I said it was merely…” There’s a flicker of pain on his face, as if he feels disloyal to repeat it. “These incoherent ramblings.”

“I saw,” Lan Wangji says.

Xichen lets the diary sink, and sighs. “I wish so much that you could find what you’re looking for, Wangji," he says, with an unexpected urgency. "But I also wish you would find a way to let this go."

Lan Wangji holds his eyes, despite his instinct to let his gaze rest on nothing and just wait out the questions. Tonight, he doesn't want to shut his brother out. But he has no answer for him either.

"How many dead ends have there been?”

Lan Wangji takes a breath and lets it out slowly. He doesn’t argue with Xichen. Xichen doesn’t know—can’t know. He means well.

“I understand your feelings,” Lan Wangji says. “I appreciate your care. I have to keep trying.”

Xichen looks sad for him, and worried, wearing the same expression he had on his face the day Lan Wangji was released from his seclusion in the cold pool. The day he started searching.

“Please be safe, Wangji,” Xichen says. “Come back soon.”

Lan Wangji wants to add that he's always appreciated his care. Everything his brother has done for him, all these long years. To let him know, just in case. In case he doesn't only fail.

But instead he looks him in the eye, just nods. “I will.”

~      ~      ~

The snow grows deeper as he heads further north, then west. The wind whips him harshly, stinging his skin. For six days and five nights he rides under grey skies, passing travelers who cower beneath layers of wool and fur, past rivers edged with ice, past farms huddled up for the winter, past deserted fields of death in Qishan, into unclaimed territory. He sleeps in inns, then in barns, when his horse can go no further. His spare cloak doesn’t offer much protection, but the conditions don't slow him down much. He’s used to the cold.

When he reaches a small town at the base of the mountain, a day west of Nightless City, he stops by the local inn to have something to eat, warm his hands by the fire one last time. The horse won’t be able to make the journey up the path, so he sees to it that she is well fed and hands the reins over to the innkeeper with a handful of silver. The innkeeper will care for her for the next three days—if Lan Wangji hasn’t returned by then, the man is instructed to find her a good home.

There’s something wild about the place, a charge of spiritual energy in the air—mostly benevolent, he can tell, but so thick it seems almost impossible that the ordinary people who pass him on the street don’t notice it. Maybe they are simply so used to it that they don’t pay attention to it anymore. Or perhaps they have never traveled to other places and don’t know what it’s like to breathe air that doesn’t crackle inside their lungs, make the blood vibrate in their veins.

That said, from what he overheard in the inn, few people dare approach the mountain itself. Lan Wangji isn't afraid of wildness. He's ready for it.

His sword is not an option—the energy rolling off the mountain is too chaotic, too unpredictable, and in any case it would drain him too much, when he needs all the spiritual energy he has for what’s to come. He follows directions from the innkeeper to a small dirt track beyond the edge of town, and from there to where the ground slopes upward, into the darkness between the trees.

This path clearly hasn’t gotten much use in some time, and before long it becomes so overgrown that he loses the way. He carries on in the same general direction, raising Bichen in its sheath to push branches and brambles aside as he passes, stirred-up frost shivering down onto him, invisible on his white cloak. Eventually, the forest begins to thin, and the ground turns white beneath his feet, a wide stretch of untouched snow.

The wind pulls at his cloak and the snow buries him to the knee with each step, each hard-won inch of progress. It taxes even his strength. He can feel the thrum of spiritual energy growing stronger the higher he climbs, and he knows he must be getting close. The power is in the air and the ground, and while it doesn’t feel dark and rotten, to any cultivator the sheer force of it would be like a shriek of danger, reverberating in the bones.

Finally, when the snow and mist are so thick he can hardly see the sky, much less any sign of the town below, and the air is freezing in his lungs as sharp as broken ice, he spots a flicker of firelight in the distance. He tries to speed up, pushing further, his muscles burning from the cold, until the flicker takes shape within the front of a house, built right into the sheer stone of a high cliff that disappears into the mist above.

He pauses just outside to catch his breath, Bichen still held tight in his fist. He pushes the hood of the cloak down off his hair ornament and stares upwards, towards where the cliff disappears into the mist above, and then down again, where the firelight flickers against papered windows. It’s a strange sort of place, an inkdrop of civilization in the middle of the wild. But this. This must be it.

It takes all his discipline, more than three decades of it, to keep himself calm, as the days and years suddenly press in on him, each nightmare of red and blood, each silence after a question into the dark.

There’s a clatter of wood, and he glances toward the door again. It’s open.

There’s no one there.

Lan Wangji steps forward, carefully moving up the wooden steps onto the porch. The doorway opens into a small sitting room with stone walls—a low table at one end, and a tidy stack of bedding at the other. Beyond that is a passageway leading deeper into the rock—and there, at the center of a rounded space carved out at the end, is the fire.

A dark silhouette steps between him and the fire at the far end of the passageway.

“I was wondering when you’d turn up,” she says.

Lan Wangji frowns, steps forward into the passageway. As he gets closer, the reflected firelight illuminates the woman’s dark green robes. The fabric is fine, but practical, no adornments apart from the dark purple and gold edging, and the gold-detailed wrappings at her wrists. The colors match no sect he has ever encountered, but then he supposes that would only make sense.

Her eyes are sharp, her hair dark and pinned into a thick braid wound at the back of her head. Her smile is appraising, but not unkind.

“You know why I’m here?” Lan Wangji asks.

She ignores him, sweeping her eyes over him, as if she is confirming something. “Everyone says you take after your father, though few of them seem to know what they’re talking about. By the looks of things, you have more of your mother in you.”

Lan Wangji feels his fingers pressing against Bichen’s sheath. He doesn’t like it when people speak of his mother in such a casual manner. Though he supposes that if anyone has the right, it would be the Rogue Cultivator Li Huizhong.

She takes a few steps toward him, her shadow playing over the rough stone walls as the fire flickers in the breeze. “Do you have what you need?”

Lan Wangji’s heartrate quickens—he had expected more resistance, more barter, a need to justify himself. He’d been ready for a fight. It’s uncomfortable to look into this woman’s eyes and feel that she can read his every thought, even ones he has never put words to for himself, or the answers to questions he hasn't found yet.

“I believe so,” he says.

She nods thoughtfully, still looking him over, her eyes very far away. “And you understand the price?”

Lan Wangji blinks at her. “I… whatever you ask is yours. If what I have with me is not enough, I can send for more.”

“Not that kind of price, Second Young Master Lan,” she says, with a chuckle. “The sacrifice.”

Oh, Lan Wangji thinks, his heart growing cold in his chest. Of course.

“Yes,” he says, nodding. “I understand.”

She stares at him a moment longer, searching his face for any sign of doubt, any lingering questions. He has resolved that she will not find any, but he has to focus to make sure.

“Show me your hand, then,” she says.

He lifts his right hand and extends it forward, palm up. She pulls a small dagger from her belt and reaches forward, draws it swiftly across, nicking the tip of his middle finger. His hands are still so cold that he barely feels the sting. Then she squeezes a few drops of blood into a small leather pouch and draws it shut, releasing his hand again.

Her nod is quite businesslike. “I’ll need an hour, maybe two. You should meditate to prepare yourself—it won’t be pleasant.”

~      ~      ~

The thick scent of herbs and smoke in the air makes it difficult to concentrate, center his energy, but Lan Wangji tries nonetheless. He knows there’s still a chance that this won’t work—that his brother is right, he’s on a fool’s errand. But thinking such thoughts will not improve his chance of success, so he tries to put them out of his mind and practice calm, serenity. He thinks of the damp earth beneath his feet, the slick mud shifting under his steps, the chill of the starless night. He thinks of the water soaking into his robes, pressing heavy against his skin. The words he said. The words he didn’t say.

“It’s ready,” Li Huizhong says, and he opens his eyes to the firelight. It flickers with shapes. Ghosts, perhaps. Perhaps just his imagination, his frantic heartbeat. What does he know of these things? His education was always so clean, so tidy.

He glances over at her, where she sits near the back of the cave, on the other side of the fire pit. She motions toward a small cushion laid out directly opposite her. The idea of having any concern for his physical comfort is so mundane, it shifts strangely in his mind. “Kneel, as close as you can to the fire.”

He gets to his feet and follows her instructions, smoothing his robes beneath his calves as he kneels down, watching her across the fire. It's out of line with the idea of sacrifice, the cushion. Not what the Lan Clan would do. But that could also be nerves, his focus catching on the wrong details.

She has several bowls of herbs and mixtures spread out in front of her, and her hands are folded neatly on her lap.

“You are certain you want to do this?” she asks, fixing him with serious eyes. “In a minute or two, it will be too late to change your mind. If any part of you is uncertain, you should leave now. I'll keep the payment of course, but I'll let you go. The results aren't pretty if you try to back out too late.”

Lan Wangji swallows, tries to calm his racing heart. Backing out is not an option. He has followed every lead, tried every technique that orthodoxy has to offer. Orthodoxy had nothing for him.

This is the only thing left.

“I am certain,” he says. “Please continue.”

She nods, accepting his decision. “Close your eyes then.”

He takes a breath and lets it out slowly, eyes falling closed.

There’s a crackle of herbs falling into the fire, a blast of heat and a strong scent, and he can feel the charge in the air become suddenly focused, clinging to his skin. Another burst of scent, sharper and heavier this time, so hot he thinks he can't breathe. But the burn is in his lungs, mingles with his spiritual energy, and he knows that is precisely the point. He breathes deeper, through the pain. Lets it envelop him. Pain has never been a deterrent.

The third burst flashes so bright he can see it through his closed eyelids. It rings in his ears and seems to suck all the air out of the room, pull it inwards to the center. Everything is heat now, searing his skin, radiating through his veins, and he tries to keep his mind on the path, the dark, the rain.

Wei Ying…

He’s not sure if he’s breathing anymore, can’t hear anything but the roar of the flames, the heat consuming him from the inside out. It covers his body, every inch of skin and hair and clothing, and for a moment it feels like he’s dying, dead, cold, cold that burns, and then…

Nothing.

He opens his eyes.

And there’s rain.

Chapter Text

Rain and screaming and thunder. His own heartbeat loudest of all.

The mud under his feet feels treacherous and right at the same time. He made it. He remembers this. One hand clenched around the umbrella, one around his sword. Panicked figures are appearing in the gloom, stumbling up the incline. Wen prisoners running for their lives, the Jin guards fleeing a righteous anger.

One of the Jin guards slips on the wet ground in front of him and Lan Wangji catches him by instinct. The man stares at him in wide-eyed terror. Lan Wangji is too wrapped up in having made it here to remember his own words, what he's supposed to say. "He resurrected him," the man gasps. "He's killing everyone."

Lan Wangji's pulse jumps faster.

He props the man up to stand, grips him by the collar, hard, the rush in his blood taking over. "Don't lie about what happened here," he says, even if nothing will come from it.

Then he lets go. The man takes one more stumble and then breaks into a desperate run. The noise of his steps in the mud blur with the rain, and soon the last of the escaped prisoners and guards are out of earshot.

Lan Wangji steps out into the muddy dark clearing. He made it back. He's here.

Somewhere behind the rain is Wei Ying, alive.

The moments feel like a second eternity, ten years stretching between every heartbeat. He doesn't know how long he waits. He knows it's cold and wet around him but he doesn't feel the rain. Everything about him is hot with tension. There's thunder in the sky, killings in the distance, and the world with Wei Ying alive in it.

A flash of lightning illuminates a grassy slope, jolting him. But he sees nothing in the darkness behind it. Then, far back in the darkness, he hears the thumping and splashing of horses being driven through the rain. His breath stops when the riders come down the path.

He was the one out in front—Lan Wangji remembers, can see it in his mind, three steps ahead. And there it is again right before him, the way he breaks out from the pack, getting closer, taking shape in the rain. His horse whinnies when he pulls it to a stop, his hair wet and dripping under his hat, his eyes wild with shock.

Wei Ying.

Lan Wangji’s breath catches in his chest.

He remembers every line of his face, a thousand expressions he'd committed to memory, from the outrageous and infatuating, to the thoughtful kindness springing up in the strangest moments, to this. His fierce determination.

"Lan Zhan," Wei Ying says. Through the years and the rain it almost sounds like a whisper. Lan Wangji locks his knees and grips his sword tightly against an all-body weakness.

Lan Zhan. Let go.

He never thought he'd hear that voice again.

There is sadness in Wei Ying's expression, but no retreat. "Did you come to stop me?"

Yes, he was always supposed to say. It beats in his ears, like yesterday. Like the rain on his face, the sheath tight between his fingers, the ground underneath his feet. He couldn't say it even then. But Wei Ying knew anyway.

"No."

Wei Ying looks more stunned at that than at finding him here. His horse moves back nervously and Wei Ying tries to calm it while keeping his eyes on Lan Wangji. 

How would he have said this, if he'd been ready? If he'd understood all the choices he had?

The wetness on Wei Ying's face is not just rain. He's gripping his flute tight, a grimace twisting his features. He knows that Lan Wangji, the Lan Wangji standing here, doesn't understand.

"If I have to face them in battle one day, I would rather it were a fight to the death with you."

It is sharp in his mind, as hard as the glint of Wei Ying's flute.

"I have to take them somewhere safe," Wei Ying says. "I don't know where yet." There's something desperate in his stare, gearing up for goodbye.

"I know," Lan Wangji says.

Wei Ying blinks against the rain, as if he's waiting for harsher words, his horse shifting with the tension. He expects nothing. He will think Lan Wangji doing as little as stepping aside is the act of a friend.

Lan Wangji's heart beats hard but sure, the steady reminder of what he came for, what every thought and theory of his past three years have coalesced around. He folds up his umbrella.

Wei Ying's eyes go wider. Staring at the umbrella, then again at him—understanding, but not.

"Take me with you," Lan Wangji says, raising his face against the rain.

"Lan Zhan," Wei Ying says in a shaky voice.

"You don't have much time," he presses. "They do think I will stop you."

"But, where we're going…" For a moment Wei Ying looks lost, like none of his fury and determination accounted for this. "Lan Zhan, you…"

"You don't have much time," Lan Wangji repeats, taking a step closer. In that moment, he realises he'd never once considered the possibility that Wei Ying might refuse him. The fear spikes so high in him, it makes him tremble inside. He'd always thought he'd been the only one too foolish to see the third path. What would he do? What would happen? He takes another step, and the horse whinnies again, shuffling back. "Please. Let me come with you."

He sees the conflict play out on Wei Ying's face, but the pressure is rising, streaming rain and slick ground a promise that they can't stay here like this forever. The horses shift and shiver in the wet, and the huddled figures of their riders are weak from captivity, already soaked to the bone. Wei Ying glances out toward the ridge behind Lan Wangji, where Jin soldiers could be gathering any moment, unseen.

Then his eyes meet Lan Wangji’s again. Stay with him, dark and shining with tears, and a strange desperation.

"All right," Wei Ying says, in a suddenly hard voice, a command voice. Only his eyes show his anxiety. He twists around, waving his arm for one of the riders. "You! Who got hit in the head!" One of the dripping dark shapes nudges his horse forward. He's one of the few who isn't already two-to-a-horse. Wei Ying turns back to Lan Wangji. "He's injured and light, you can ride with him. Help him."

Lan Wangji nods. Wei Ying's stormy gaze is on him for another searing moment, but Lan Wangji tears himself away, takes the steps towards the injured Wen rider and his horse. This isn't a dream, where he'll wake up and it'll be gone. He's here, and it's real, and that means there are things to be done.

The man is young, almost a youth, and as fearful as the rest of them, taking Wei Ying's instructions without objecting and scooting back behind the saddle. He moves with a hint of disorientation, and it's hard to tell in the rain but his hair looks matted with blood. Lan Wangji hands him the umbrella, then swings himself up into the saddle. He’s just getting settled when he feels the injured man shifting behind him awkwardly, the umbrella wedged between them. There’s a tug on his sleeve, and Lan Wangji glances back over his shoulder. The man looks nervous, like he’s trying to find something to hold onto without getting dirt on Lan Wangji’s robes.

“Hold on however you need to,” Lan Wangji says. It's enough, and the man settles gratefully against him then, clinging to his waist like Sizhui when he was young.

Sizhui.

Lan Wangji glances out over the faces, their slumped shapes on the horses, but he can’t see Sizhui anywhere in the dim. He must be with one of them, somewhere. He must be safe, but, still. It would ease Lan Wangji's mind to see him.

“Ride out!” Wei Ying calls through the rain. Lan Wangji gathers his focus, and spurs his horse to follow.

~      ~      ~

Lan Zhan.

Lan Zhan is here.

It races through Wei Wuxian in twisted, guilty waves, even when his legs get tired and his arms feel frozen from the wind and the rain, his muscles sore and jittery in the wake of his fury.

They ride hard. Wei Wuxian skitters to a slower pace now and then, makes sure they haven't lost anyone. Every time he sees the ragged figures behind him, holding on to the horses and each other for dear life, it makes the righteous rage inside him flicker, but then it hits him like a boulder that they are with him now, that he's responsible for them, he's on the run from the rest of the world with thirty people who can barely hold themselves upright.

And Lan Zhan.

But he won't let them die. He knows that.

The rain stops a little while before dawn. He's dry by the time the hills come into view, his robes stiff and tight on his disoriented body. He's still on the lookout, ready to fight anyone who tries to stop them, but there's been nobody, they must have gotten far enough, fast enough that nobody could catch up with them. His plan may be crazy, but there's also a clarity underneath he hasn't felt in a while, a sense of purpose that hasn't been this sharp since Wen Chao gurgled up his last pathetic breath.

His hair whips around his face when he looks over his shoulder. The brightness of Lan Zhan's robes stands out in the line of dirty drenched figures. Lan Zhan is strong. Shining in the dark.

Somewhere in the pit of his stomach, Wei Wuxian thought Lan Zhan might fight him. Now he's here, riding with them, who the fuck knows why, and Wei Wuxian doesn't know if he's feeling ashamed that he braced himself for a battle or guilty that he didn't leave him behind, where he'd be safe.

Wei Wuxian turns his gaze forward, squinting from the bite of the wind, ignoring the lump in his throat.

There's no way back now. Not for Wei Wuxian. He feels it, deep in his bones. He doesn't need to have a meeting or discuss propriety or weigh the politics. He's out, on the run, with the Wens.

Part of him wants to fall back and ride next to Lan Zhan, take in the comfort of his presence while he can. But on top of all the unanswerable questions Lan Zhan has been asking him for months, he now has his own, like why the hell Hanguang-jun is riding behind him with an injured Wen prisoner holding on to his waist, and what Lan Zhan is going to do once he figures out where Wei Wuxian is going.

The misty hills feel like an old, ill-tempered friend. This part at least, he’s got under control. He knows how to handle the powers lurking here, how to wrap them around his fingers and bend them to his will, better than anyone else. Better than he ever told anyone.

He casts another glance back. Lan Zhan is so easy to spot.

His horse slows down nervously and Wei Wuxian feels its anxious tension a moment before he senses the swirls of darkness, welcoming him back.

He tries to soothe his horse into a gentler trot, but behind him there is some commotion and whinnying. "Young Master!" someone's voice calls out. "The horses won't go!"

Wei Wuxian brings his horse to a stop, pats it on the neck. He doesn't remember there being any good place to keep horses in there anyway. It's just that with half of these people injured and all of them exhausted, he'd have liked to take them a little farther.

He dismounts with a stagger. He's still ready to beat people up if he has to, but his legs fucking hurt. "We'll have to leave the horses," he says. "Come on, everyone down."

The Wens all move like they've been stunned, as one by one they dismount. One woman falls over, barely able to catch herself with her hands. One of the men totters off to the side before he leans over to retch. Wei Wuxian takes a step towards Wen Qing's horse, then finds Lan Zhan looking at him, one hand steadying the horse beside him and a strange open stare on his face, like he's seeing a ghost. Wei Wuxian looks away, flushing despite the cold and his usually unimpressionable ways, when he imagines what Lan Zhan must think—that this is Wei Wuxian's great plan.

"Here, I'll take her," he says to the man sitting in front of Wen Qing. Wen Qing's eyes are open but sluggish. She's clearly trying to be in charge of her arms and legs, but slumps into Wei Wuxian's arms as he helps her off the horse. She’d been so focused on Wen Ning, she never even told him how long she’d been stumbling around, living on the streets and starving. Finding Wen Ning dead, then watching him kill the guards, must have knocked out the last of her strength.

He needs to find her a place to rest.

"Where are we?" she says, her voice wobbly as she's trying to stand. "Where have you taken us?"

"Somewhere we can hide," he says. The older guy slips off the horse, then takes her arm to support her, and Wei Wuxian looks back at the end of their little troop.

Lan Zhan is helping another injured prisoner get down from his horse. Wei Wuxian's heart beats a little faster, watching how strong and competent Lan Zhan is. You'd think he's always been helping escaped prisoners ride through the night. He even looks clean.

Wei Wuxian throws a glance at where the trees get thicker and the light gets that dark filter of menace that'll make any people in their right mind think twice about entering, making it the perfect hiding place. Then he looks back at Lan Zhan, whose face is calm, as if he's instructing disciples in the Cloud Recesses.

He should have said no.

But, he couldn’t just leave him there. Lan Zhan said he wanted to come, right?

He hasn't actually done anything yet. Hasn't killed anyone. They don't even know Lan Zhan is here. Really, he can leave any time. Maybe it's okay to let him help get all these tired people to shelter.

Wei Wuxian goes to help Wen Ning next, who's dead weight as he slumps from the horse. Wen Qing is at Wei Wuxian's shoulder reaching out for him, trying to pat him even though she can barely stand.

Help Wen Ning. That’s what he went there to do. It feels hollow when he props up Wen Ning's lifeless form. Wei Wuxian has no regrets for himself. When he thinks back on those cowards and what they did to Wen Ning and the others, the rage that stirs back up inside him could evaporate the lingering damp in his clothes and hair and set the Burial Mounds on fire. But Wen Ning, the real Wen Ning, if he could ever wake up again, would maybe not want to know what he's done.

Two of the Wen men help prop up Wen Ning, who shows no sign of life. There's a little sob from Wen Qing when she tries to brush his hair out of his face. Wei Wuxian thinks of his sister and he wants to burn that place down, punish those murderers, and then punish the people who let it happen.

"Wei Ying," Lan Zhan says. He's walked up along the line of huddled figures, and just like that all the cold nervousness comes rushing back. The bottom of Lan Zhan's robes still looks waterlogged, but not dirty. His hair has dried from the wind, messier than usual. The way he looks at Wei Wuxian is weird and soft and kind of intense, which Wei Wuxian knows how to handle, normally, either with some teasing and charm or by getting on Lan Zhan's nerves until he huffs and lets up with the staring. But here outside the Burial Mounds, after he's unleashed what's left of Wen Ning on a bunch of Jin clan disciples, it throws him.

But he was sure of himself. He knows why he's doing this. He knows this is right.

"Are you all right, Wei Ying?"

"I'm fine!" he says. Of course he's fine. He wasn't the one stuck in a prison camp, being tortured by guards for sport. "It was just a bit of rain. We can all take a rest soon." It sounds not quite right even to himself, but he can't argue with Lan Zhan about vengeance now or about the dark path or… or whatever.

Lan Zhan doesn't look like he wants to argue. He just keeps looking at Wei Wuxian, and it's not even the judgy stare where he'll whip out his guqin next and worry about the state of Wei Wuxian's soul. He's just standing there, looking noble and a bit dazed.

Wei Wuxian turns away, a weak shiver under his skin. The Wens are waiting, looking to him, cold and exhausted, next to a bunch of twitchy horses. Someone had better know where they're going. And Wei Wuxian did. Still does, when he's not getting stuck on how he's about to introduce Hanguang-jun to the Burial Mounds.

He takes a deep breath, past his jittering pulse.

"The horses won't go in there," he says, and he's actually quite relieved to hear that what came out is sensible and something he'd agree with if he'd thought about it. "We have to leave them. We should scatter them."

"You'll need money," Lan Zhan says.

Wei Wuxian is thrown by the statement. "What?"

"Money," Lan Zhan says evenly. "You should come back to sell the horses, not just leave them."

"They're Jin clan horses," Wei Wuxian says. He doesn't give the gentlest fuck about them being Jin horses but Lan Zhan making practical suggestions like that while they're hovering outside Wei Wuxian's old wicked hiding place does something weird to his brain.

"Who would know that?" Lan Zhan says.

"I don't…" I don't care, he wants to say. He blinks at Lan Zhan, who has at least lost that weird intensity, and is now grabbing the reins of the horse Wei Wuxian rode.

"Let's take them off the road," Lan Zhan says. "If nobody has followed us, we can decide what to do about them later."

We. Lan Zhan is planning to stay?

He sounds like… he sounds…

Lan Zhan gets two of the more mobile escapees to help him. They just do what he says, don't even ask. Wei Wuxian doesn't exactly blame them because most people do that. Sometimes even Wei Wuxian does that.

He stares at all of this a little too long, given that he’s supposed to be the one who knows what to do here, but everyone else is so busy not falling over that they probably don’t notice.

Lan Zhan is planning to stay. He sounds like it, and he's acting like it. He's hiding the horses Wei Wuxian stole on a prison camp raid.

What is Wei Wuxian supposed to do with that?

The men tie up the horses as close to the entrance to the woods as the horses will go, in easy reach of the rain-watered grass. Wei Wuxian eventually stops staring and takes over supporting Wen Qing, whose eyes keep fluttering shut. The way her weight falls against him brings some of his certainty back. After the horses interlude, he finds everyone looking at him in question.

Lan Zhan, surprising him again, takes Wen Ning off the hands of the two people struggling with his dead weight. He slings Wen Ning's arm around his shoulder and lifts him up beneath the knees, holding him close to his body.

Wei Wuxian swallows against a sudden lump in his throat. It's been a long night. Of course Lan Zhan would help the weak, and he's the strongest and healthiest here, of course he'll take the heaviest burden.

"Let's go," Wei Wuxian says, with a jerk of his head.

They hesitate.

"In there, Young Master?" the older guy says. "Is it safe?"

Wei Wuxian holds his head high, finds his confidence. "This place is an old friend," he says.

They all look at him as if to say, Strange friends. Lan Zhan's gaze is cloudy, like he's looking at something deeper than Wei Wuxian's words. But nobody voices any objection out loud. Lan Zhan never speaks much, and the prisoners are frightened, so there’s silence apart from the whispers in the trees as they all follow him into the dark.

~      ~      ~

They get to the ruins after an hour's walk through thick forest. They’re moving slowly, despite Wei Wuxian doing his best to show them he knows where he's going. People keep stumbling, one guy has a broken leg, and the path is often unclear with disuse and snaking branches that catch on their clothes. Wei Wuxian hides how fucking relieved he is when the underbrush finally lifts and there is the little clearing—or courtyard, or execution field, however the hell a Grandmaster of Yin Madness would spend his free afternoons—and behind it the ruins of a structure built into the side of the cliff.

He remembers everything about finding his way out. His blood boiled black with rage then, and he was as determined as he is now. His early stumbles after Wen Chao had dropped him in here are more of a haze, and his terror not something he ever likes to dwell on. He honestly doesn't remember if he knew about Xue Chonghai's hideout and went looking for it, or if he fell over it driven by some bloodthirsty whispers of revenge.

A greenish hue hangs over the place. The light gets in, but it's warped by the haze of dark energy swirling between the trees, rustling in the air. It's a welcome home song he'd never thought he'd hear again, a twisted familiarity that makes him defiant and flushed at the same time. Every time he looks at Lan Zhan, he half expects Bichen to glow in anger, shake in outrage at being dragged through such darkness and degradation.

Lan Zhan is still carrying Wen Ning, and his bright robes and steady bearing make him such a point of light, it feels almost too much to Wei Wuxian's eyes. It makes everything around them look even more like a hole of darkness.

Half his Wen charges are too out of it to feel much except general dread, but the ones who know where they are are terrified, and Wei Wuxian feels the place yearn for them, hungry for their fear.

He'll have to do something about that.

It's fine, though. He's told them it's fine, because he's been fine here before. He twirls his flute between his fingers as he steps into the courtyard, like it's easy, like all of this is easy. His heart is still pumping whenever he thinks of tomorrow and what they're going to do but for now he's going to get them safe, and then he'll figure out the rest.

"Stop," he says. Unnecessarily, because it's pretty obvious this was their destination. One of the more exhausted Wens is already lowering the man he’s been supporting to sit on the ground. "We can take shelter here. I think we could all do with some sleep."

Wen Qing looks more with it now than she did after the horse ride. She and the old woman are holding on to each other in support, though her movements are slow and she blinks at the structures like it's all hard to take in. Wei Wuxian pulls on a smile and bounces up next to her, pats her on the arm, though what her bleary eyes are focusing on now is Wen Ning's lifeless form, still cradled in Lan Zhan’s arms.

"I'm afraid the kitchen's going to be cold, staff must all have quit since my last stay," Wei Wuxian says, trying for a laugh. "But we'll be safe here, figure out everything else when you guys have had some rest."

"Ah Ning…" she says, still not paying Wei Wuxian any attention.

"He needs a good night's sleep," Wei Wuxian says firmly. He can't look at Lan Zhan right now. He only hopes Lan Zhan won't contradict him until he's had more of a chance to think through what he can tell Wen Qing. "And so do you. Then we can figure out what sort of treatment is best. I'm counting on your amazing skills here, Doctor."

"Hanguang-jun," Wen Qing says, with a slow blink when she seems to realize who is carrying Wen Ning. "He's still here? He came with us?"

Yeah. She's noticed the strangest turn of events, too.

"Hanguang-jun was ready to go on a little adventure trip," Wei Wuxian declares. At least Wen Qing doesn't sound afraid of him. Wei Wuxian hasn't felt his knees turn so wobbly staring at Lan Zhan since their confrontation at the Yiling Supervisory Office, when he didn't know if they'd ever be all right again. "You know how boring it gets in the Cloud Recesses. Nothing like great company, a comfortable inn, a beautiful night vista…" So, okay, it's morning and this is just the gloom of evil, but you work with what you have. He catches the eyes of the older Wen uncle, who looks at him as if he's insane.

"Is it habitable?" Lan Zhan says. His face is blank. He doesn’t seem even a little bit pissy that Wei Wuxian would bring them here. Somehow his ongoing serenity does nothing to calm Wei Wuxian's nerves.

"What?" he says. It doesn't come out with quite the same confidence as his holiday pitch.

"The hall. In there. You've been here before. Is it habitable, or do we need to carry out repairs first?"

We. There it is again. Wei Wuxian's ears are buzzing and he's losing his grip, not sure he can keep his nervousness from showing. He knows on some level that he has no idea how to carry on from here, and Lan Zhan shocking him like that keeps bringing that knowledge to the front of his mind, where it's not doing any good. He has no time to feel helpless and confused, he has people to protect and he wants to make them feel safe, at least safe enough that they know they're not going to get grabbed and imprisoned or murdered in the middle of the night.

"There's some bedding in the cave next to the hall," he says, finally catching on with what Lan Zhan is doing: actually taking steps to get these people safe. "It might be pretty rank. But there should be room enough in the hall for everyone, and last time I was here the gates still closed."

Lan Zhan nods. He draws up to Wei Wuxian. Wen Ning was so starved before they killed him, he seems to weigh almost nothing to him.

Almost killed him, Wei Wuxian reminds himself hotly. He isn't gone yet. That's what he told Wen Qing, and for now, that's going to be the truth.

Lan Zhan is giving him that intense stare again. The last few times he looked at Wei Wuxian this relentlessly, he kept offering to play music and help him with discipline. But this is softer than that, and Wei Wuxian can't place it.

"Light the place," Lan Zhan says after a moment. "It will make them less afraid."

~      ~      ~

The stone floors of the great hall are covered in dirt and debris, and the dry grass and brambles that have blown in since his absence have a rotten smell to them. Lan Zhan gently puts Wen Ning on the floor towards the back of the hall, and Wen Qing folds her damp cloak up and puts it under his head for a pillow.

Those who can move better clear some space on the floor, for the injured to lie down. Now and then Wei Wuxian hears a stifled sob, whether from pain or from fear. They'll need food, and maybe blankets…

Wei Wuxian heads out and dips into the cave where he set up house for those three months. It's gloomy and smells of abandonment, the straw on the stone slab he used for a bed darkened and moldy. At the foot of the bed are the rags he cobbled together for bedding, in a pile. It all looks exactly like he left it.

Wei Wuxian takes a deep breath, and carefully doesn't think of anything back then, not his state of mind, not those first days when the place still tested him, checked him for grit and whether his soul would make a good snack. He grabs the pile of rags, and heads back to the great hall.

When he enters again, Lan Zhan is clearing debris from the cooking stove and lighting the fire. Kind of pathetic how after five minutes' wandering, Wei Wuxian is glad to see him.

"Hey," Wei Wuxian says, gentle enough so nobody startles, to the older Wen uncle, who seems to have some authority about him, and at least isn't scared to approach him. "What's the count?"

"There's thirty-one of us," the man says. Wei Wuxian thinks he looks a little familiar but he can't place him now and it doesn't really matter. "Not counting the Young Master and Lady Qing."

Thirty-one. Wei Wuxian's first thought is that that's a lot of people to feed in a dead forest. His next thought is that he's never had to think about how thirty-one people are fed, period.

"We have one broken arm, one bad ankle, Wen Fang's still feeling sick from the head injury, a couple of stab wounds." The Wen Uncle looks pale and a little fearful, running down the list. "Wen Zian had his leg broken by one of the overseers, he's in a bad state. I think three of the others might be running a fever."

Right. That's…

"Lady Qing will look at them," the man says, and Wei Wuxian can’t tell if he knows Wei Wuxian is out of his depth. "Once the Young Master is settled."

"Good," Wei Wuxian says. "Thanks. Here." He hands over the pile of old clothes. "They can use these for blankets. They stink pretty bad, but." He shrugs.

The man doesn't seem to be picky, either, and if he can guess that Wei Wuxian made his Burial Mounds bedding from the clothes of desiccated corpses, he doesn't care.

He also thinks he has a bucket of some sort in the cave, and maybe a second load of rags he hoarded just in case. He goes to find that, then also finds two rusty knives and some dead man's belt he used to carry firewood. When he comes back into the great hall, he sees that Wen Qing has let go of Wen Ning and is crouched over someone's injured leg. A small child is sitting on the steps near her. The kid is crying quietly, everyone around him too wrapped up in their tasks or their own exhaustion. Wei Wuxian hands his loot over to a tall Wen woman who has a dried gash on her forehead but seems otherwise okay, and starts across the room—but then the bright blue of Lan Zhan’s robes catches his eye.

Lan Zhan is carrying an armful of dry grass, presumably to use for bedding, but he passes it on to the man following him and turns towards the child, bends to pick him up. He looks at the child’s face for a long, intense moment. Maybe making sure the kid's unharmed? There's something very gentle, and surprisingly assured, as he wipes the kid's tears with a thumb. Then he settles him on his hip, with a protective arm around his back, keeping him close. He even bounces slightly a couple of times, murmurs words Wei Wuxian can’t hear into the child’s hair.

Lan Zhan?

“Sorry, Young Master,” someone says, and Wei Wuxian steps quickly aside, letting a young woman help an older woman down to sit on the clean bit of step behind him. When he looks up again, Lan Zhan is handing the child off to the older Wen uncle, nodding at something the older man is saying. When he tucks the child’s collar a little closer to his neck, his gaze seems to linger, a small rare smile on his face.

Wei Wuxian can’t stop staring. He never would have guessed that Hanguang-jun would be so at ease with children. He just… never seemed the type.

When the older Wen uncle steps away, Lan Zhan watches him for a moment. Then he turns back towards the center of the room, and—whoops. Caught.

Wei Wuxian breathes a small laugh, smiling sheepishly. Lan Zhan steps down from the upper level into the sunken center of the hall, coming to stand in front of him.

“You’re better with kids than I would have expected,” Wei Wuxian says, nodding over towards where the Wen uncle is settling the child into a corner, spreading one of Wei Wuxian's dead people rags over him like a blanket.

Lan Zhan follows his gaze. He seems to hesitate. Maybe he feels caught too. Lan Zhan is sometimes weird when people catch him smiling. “I have some experience,” he says eventually.

It only makes Wei Wuxian more curious. The Lan clan must have their share of young disciples, but he has a hard time imagining Lan Zhan doing a lot of childcare. But Lan Zhan doesn’t elaborate, and even Wei Wuxian has other priorities right now than to quiz Lan Zhan in a way he’d probably find annoying.

It feels slightly surreal to him, standing here in the middle of this place he spent those dark months, with Lan Zhan standing beside him and the murmur of voices around them. Human voices this time—real, live ones. Exhausted and fearful, but not vengeful spirits. Not Lan Zhan’s ghostly voice either, whispering his name inside his head.

Why is Lan Zhan here?

The voices are still out there though, even if for the moment they’re drowned out by the humans, held at bay by the remnants of Wei Wuxian’s protective spells.

“I need to shore up the defenses,” Wei Wuxian says, half to himself, glancing towards the open doorway. “I think the array in here is still okay, but the courtyard—the talismans won’t have lasted this long.”

Lan Zhan gives him a thoughtful look. He's probably never thought about the mechanics of living in a place like this before. Shouldn't have to, really. He probably shouldn't be here.

"It'll be okay," Wei Wuxian says. "I got pretty good at keeping even the nasty ones out, I just have to make sure I do it early." 

Lan Zhan nods. “I’ll inspect the perimeter,” he says, and starts to turn away, but Wei Wuxian catches him by the elbow.

“No, no,” he says, shaking his head. “You don’t have to—don’t worry about it, I can take—”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, and it’s that steady look again. Like he can hear Wei Wuxian’s objections before he even gets them all the way out. How is he so… calm? Not that he isn’t always calm, but it’s also not every day he throws out every rule on that stone tablet to come live in a haunted burial mound with a bunch of convicted criminals, and he just…

What is he doing here?

“Let me help,” Lan Zhan says. It’s steady as always, but quiet. A plea.

Wei Wuxian doesn’t know how to say no to that. He swallows. “Okay,” he nods. “It’s better if I handle the talismans though, I had… there was a certain combination that worked, and it’s just easier if I do it. But outside, around the corner past the cave entrance, there’s a well—a deep one. Check if the water is still okay, but if it is we should stock up, make sure there’s enough to drink and clean wounds and… and everything.”

Damn, food. They’ll need to eat something, soon. He lived on wild plants and rats and other things he doesn't care to remember that first time, after he got his head together enough not to starve, but there’ll be nothing he might have left behind, and feeding thirty people on wild plants…

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says again, and it pulls him back to the moment. To this place, again. “Are you all right?”

For a moment, Wei Wuxian isn’t sure how to answer that. But then he takes a breath and nods, trying for a smile. One thing at a time. He needs to take care of the talismans, everything else can come after that. “I’m okay,” he says. “I’ll just—I need to go reinforce the protections.”

Lan Zhan nods, and steps aside.

~      ~      ~

By the time it starts getting dark again for real, even the more mobile of the Wens look dead on their feet. Wen Ning hasn’t stirred since they arrived, and if he didn’t know the reality of the situation, Wei Wuxian would almost think he was sleeping peacefully. Wen Qing has seen to most of the injuries and is now curled up on the floor next to Wen Ning, on a little pile of grass and reeds, her head resting against his arm.

The Wens are all terrified of going into the woods, but Lan Zhan took one of the healthy men and the tall woman with the forehead scab with him to check on water and food, and his presence seems to reassure them. They filled the bucket and a couple of waterskins that must have come from the Jin horses with drinking water, and found some root vegetables and a couple of ugly, withered wild apples, which, hey, better than rats.

Now most of them are sleeping, or resting quietly. The old grandma is holding the little child, one of the younger women is crying quietly against an older woman's shoulder, and another young woman and the older uncle are sitting by the cooking fire. They don't have a pot yet, so they are trying to roast the roots over the embers.

Wei Wuxian steps out into the quiet courtyard, breathing in the familiar scent of grave soil. He moves away from the gate, putting some distance between himself and the murmurs inside. It feels strange, the way he can sense their fear and uncertainty through the Yin Tiger Seal, when everything is heightened by the powers of this place. Not bad though. At least they are alive and not screaming in his head for murder. He's got to keep them safe.

Leaning his head back, he digs his fingers into his hair, runs his hands down over his face. His clothes feel clammy everywhere, and his body aches from the ride, the lack of sleep. But in a strange way it feels like he can breathe here. Not like back home, where there are eyes on him all the time. Judging him, finding him wanting. Disappointed. Where he's always brushing up against a mold he no longer fits.

Maybe this isn't so bad. Maybe it's better this way, for everyone.

Something moves between the trees, off to the right—a flicker of brightness in the growing dim, and Wei Wuxian’s hand moves to the flute in his belt as he turns, peering out at it. As it gets closer, the dark fog thinner, he catches the glimmer of metal against dark—Lan Zhan’s head piece. Lan Zhan.

He’s carrying their one bucket, and it looks heavy with edible plants. The powerful Hanguang-jun, who excels even at foraging. It puts an odd twist in his heart, and he doesn't even know why.

Lan Zhan is heading up towards the great hall, and he doesn’t seem to notice Wei Wuxian watching him at first—almost carries on past him. But then he pauses a few steps on and glances back, giving Wei Wuxian a questioning look.

He’s still here.

It’s been—all night through the countryside, and the trek into the burial mounds, he kept expecting… he doesn’t know what. Some point of no return, when Lan Zhan would finally realize what kind of crazy expedition he’s joined, all the dark magic he’d be mixing himself up with, and give Wei Wuxian that look. Disappointed.

Lan Zhan sets down the bucket and turns to Wei Wuxian fully, moving toward him.

“You don’t have to stay,” Wei Wuxian blurts out. Lan Zhan’s steps falter, and his brows twitch inwards. Only for a moment, and then his face is smooth again. Cool as ever. Wei Wuxian's pulse is fast and sharp.

“Neither do you,” Lan Zhan points out.

Wei Wuxian frowns at him, exasperation rising up in his chest. “That’s not—of course I have to stay. I brought them here, I can’t just leave them. I’m the one who knows how this place works. And Wen Ning… You want me to just abandon them?”

“I didn’t say that,” Lan Zhan says. And it catches him off guard again. Confuses him, again, because… didn’t he?

What the hell is going on here? When did Lan Zhan become so agreeable? It’s weird.

“What are you doing here?” It bursts out of him, sending a surge through his veins, all the anxiety that’s been building up inside him. He feels like he's standing at the edge of a cliff—he just wants to fall already. “I don’t—why are you doing this? Why are you still… why?”

Lan Zhan looks slightly startled by his outburst, to the extent he ever looks startled. But then his expression settles again, and he looks back at Wei Wuxian with something in his eyes, like there’s a long answer to that question and he’s not sure how to put it into words. Or if he even should.

“Because you’re here,” Lan Zhan says.

Wei Wuxian’s throat feels tight. He doesn’t know what to say to that.

Lan Zhan takes a step closer, and there’s something imploring in his eyes, even in the dim light. “You said you’d let me help you.”

“I know, but,” Wei Wuxian starts. It’s hard to speak. Hard to think. He’s so tired, this is all so strange. “I didn’t mean this." Music, sure. Lan Zhan hovering over him, fretting over his crafty methods. Helping him meditate. "Lan Zhan, you can’t stay here. This whole—what we’re doing here flies in the face of all the clans’ orders, there’s no way they’ll let you get away with this. You’re rebelling against orthodoxy!”

Lan Zhan doesn’t seem troubled, just looks back at him quietly. For a moment, Wei Wuxian thinks he sees the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. “Whose orthodoxy?” he murmurs.

Wei Wuxian lets out a harsh breath, staring back at him. That’s not… what?

It’s hard to think straight when Lan Zhan looks at him like that, the calm in the middle of this storm. He’s always known Lan Zhan had a good heart, but… this isn’t rational. He needs to make him understand. The world has enough outcasts, and Lan Zhan was never meant to be one. Lan Zhan doesn't have to be one. Wei Wuxian can deal with a couple of ghosts and scrounge up some mushrooms. He's done it before.

He closes his eyes, squeezing them shut. The world tilts slightly, and he has to blink them open again quickly to stay on his feet, keep track of which direction the ground is.

He needs a breather.

“You should rest,” Lan Zhan says, like some kind echo. “Everyone is safe. I’ll keep watch, in case there’s trouble.”

“But you need sleep too,” Wei Wuxian protests.

“I’ll be fine for a few more hours,” Lan Zhan says, and the sound of his voice just makes Wei Wuxian want to curl up right here. He doesn’t even need to sleep, just close his eyes for a while. Not think for a while. “I’ll wake you if anything happens.”

Wei Wuxian is still not done with this conversation—but Lan Zhan is right, his brain is muddled, and there will be a lot to do in the morning. He won’t be any good to any of them if he’s falling over, or paranoid with exhaustion. “If you’re sure,” he says, looking Lan Zhan in the eyes again.

But Lan Zhan only nods, calm and steady as ever. “There’s a blanket and some bedding set out for you in the cave,” he says. When Wei Wuxian opens his mouth to say that’s ridiculous, it should have gone to one of the others, Lan Zhan speaks first. “They insisted.”

Wei Wuxian closes his mouth again. Just nods, and turns toward where sleep is.

~      ~      ~

There are no stars.

The darkness of the Burial Mounds is noisy, but thorough. Lan Wangji feels the echoes of hate and desolation that wind around trees and make the air sing with menace, but there isn't a star in the sky he can see from here, just the murky fading of the light talismans that Wei Ying put up in the cave.

It makes him think of the Cloud Recesses—how clear it is there, even at night.

He is sitting cross-legged on the floor of the courtyard, between the entrance to the cave and the entrance to the great hall.  Everyone else is asleep by now, though he hears the occasional mumbled stirring from the great hall.

Food. They’ll need more of it.

The older Wen woman got Sizhui to eat enough of the wild vegetables Lan Wangji and the others collected that he should be able to sleep through the night and not fuss with hunger. The adults can persevere for a few days on growling stomachs, but none of them are in good physical condition.

Lan Wangji has money on him that they wouldn’t have had the first time. That will help. And clearly they didn’t starve—it will be all right. They built a vegetable garden. He remembers Sizhui playing in the dirt.

It will be all right.

He should take the horses into Yiling tomorrow, sell them. Everything they can get their hands on will help. They’ll also have to strengthen the perimeter further if they want to be able to grow enough edible food to feed all these people. He doesn't know how many ghosts Wei Ying had to fight to make the fields safe and able to flourish, but Lan Wangji knows that he managed.

If he could have chosen his point of arrival more finely, he would have chosen a day, or even some hours in advance. Taken whatever coin he could find, and taken Wei Ying's sword with him too. But that wasn't open to him.

One pillar in the stream that breaks the current, is what he was told.

A yes or a no. You went, or you didn't. You spoke, or you stayed silent. 

They should search the horses for valuables in the saddles, before they destroy any signs that link them to the Jin guards. The leather itself might be useful.

But as all of that is better left until sunlight, he’s been trying to meditate. The Lan Clan teaches a kind of meditation that focuses the mind inward, conserves power, while leaving your instincts attuned to an impending threat. But the dark energy in the air makes it difficult. His silent vigil reminds him of some nights of the Sunshot Campaign, after a battle, though after so many years, and after Wei Ying's death, he isn't certain he still remembers all his feelings of that time correctly.

Somewhere underneath it all there’s an uneasy thrum in his veins. It makes it difficult to keep still, focus his mind, compose his body.

He’s here.

Wei Ying is here.

He still can’t quite get used to that. He told Wei Ying that he would stay up to keep watch, but the truth is that a part of him doesn't want to go to sleep. He wants to feel this reality, breathe this air, and not lose his hold on where he is and when, and with whom. Not even for a moment.

His brother and uncle will be worried.

It will be a shock to them, of course. He was still… he is the way he was, to them. Obedient. Strong-willed, but not beyond the boundaries of expectation. Of propriety.

Uncle was stunned that he let Wei Ying go, last time. Lan Wangji takes no satisfaction from how deeply disturbed he must feel by Lan Wangji's actions now, but he knows there was no way to avoid that, and, well.

He wonders if, back where he came from, the uncle who's seen him bring Sizhui home, seen him fight the Great Sects' cultivators over the dead bones of this place, would be as shocked at his transgression. He thinks not.

In this time, he didn’t tell them where he was going when he left, so they won't know about the Burial Mounds for a while. He can’t be in contact now. It’s better for everyone if this location remains a secret for as long as possible. He’s not sure exactly how long it will take for them to figure out what happened, but he expects that they will hear from them sooner or later.

He glances over his shoulder, towards the mouth of the cave, where Wei Ying is sleeping.

He knows it will take time before Wei Ying understands. Wei Ying doesn’t know what he knows—he hasn’t gone through it all yet, and if Lan Wangji has anything to do with it, he will never have to. Wei Ying thinks Lan Wangji, the Lan Wangji he knows, would never have chosen him over the rest of the world and his own standing in it.

And he’s right. Even now, it makes Lan Wangji feel shame to remember how many regrets it can take.

Wei Ying probably thinks Lan Wangji has lost his mind.

Lan Wangji will try not to push too hard this time. He has to let Wei Ying take the lead. Pushing too hard got them nowhere and led them all to disaster.

No, Lan Wangji will be patient. This time will be different.

He will be patient, and he will be careful. He should perhaps try a little more to be… himself. His old self, the way he was then. Wei Ying is already starting to look at him with suspicion and confusion, and Lan Wangji should not add new mistakes to his old ones. Back then, he never would have even considered this course of action.

He’s here now and he’s not going to make the same mistakes, but he also doesn’t want Wei Ying asking him questions that, if answered truthfully, would only bring pain and confusion. It’s best if Wei Ying never has to know the truth.

A gust of wind sweeps in from the dark forest, a kind of cold creeping through his robes that cuts to the bone. He casts a look over his shoulder at the cave, then the great hall, but there is no change to the quiet in there.

Wei Ying tamed this place once. He had no help, just stubborn determination and a spirit that still takes Lan Wangji's breath away. This time, he'll have someone by his side to make it easier.

Lan Wangji settles back in his watchful pose. No one knows where they are yet, and nobody will come for them. There are tasks tomorrow. Plans.

His eyes out over the darkness, he allows himself the quiet thought, brimming warm inside his heart, that in a few hours, he will go wake Wei Ying, and Wei Ying will open his eyes, alive in the world.

~      ~      ~

Chapter Text

The shriek that jerks Wei Wuxian out of sleep is shrill and unearthly, like the whole world is shaking with it. An old nightmare, spiteful claws tearing into his brain while he stumbles around the Burial Mounds.

The pale morning light falls across a cave wall. That cave wall. He is in the Burial Mounds, they rode through the night, he’s got thirty escaped prisoners with just the clothes on their backs to look after, and something is screeching like a demonic pig being held over the fire. 

He untangles himself from the blanket, grabs his flute, and tries to figure out where the shrieking is coming from, which isn’t easy with the whole cave throwing echoes back at him. After a moment, the sound shifts around him and he hears it, attention snapping to the cave entrance. It’s coming from outside.

Lan Zhan is outside.

He stumbles towards the mouth of the cave, his balance shot from the ringing in his ears, heart pounding, the noise like the roar of a wounded animal with a high shriek of magic wound around it, reverberating through him. For whatever reason the Second Young Master Lan is out there keeping watch over them and now some monster or…

He remembers then, right before he sees Wen Qing slumped on the ground, holding her left arm, and Wen Ning’s poor abused body hovering upright in the middle of the courtyard. Wen Ning’s head is thrown back and his eyes are black, gone, his body shivering with the wild sounds of murder and his arms and legs bound by two sparkling lines of bright white cords.

Lan Zhan is standing with his guqin a few feet from Wen Ning, keeping those cords in the air with a frantic-looking repetition of notes.

“Lan Zhan!” he calls out. How long can Lan Zhan even keep this up? What if he becomes the target?

“Don’t kill him,” Wen Qing pleads, and for a moment Wei Wuxian isn’t sure who she’s talking to. A few of the others are huddling at the entrance to the great hall and Wei Wuxian wants to yell at them to find some fucking cover—but he doesn’t know, where would they even be safe with Wen Ning’s body in a vengeful rage—

When he brings up his flute, the Yin Tiger Seal responds with a glow through the layers of his clothing, the darkness of this place pulling together and welcoming them both home. It’s never felt as strong outside as it does here. He hasn’t felt that call cut so deep, so blunt and so raw, do you want vengeance, Wei Wuxian,  in forever…

But he’s got this under control. He keeps his eyes on Wen Ning’s body as it fights against Lan Zhan’s restraints, and the first few notes feel like stepping into murky but warm waters.

He plays, not for vengeance. What’s left of Wen Ning reacts with a jerk, caught between Lan Zhan’s guqin strings and Wei Wuxian’s melody. He plays too forcefully at first in his attempt to relieve Lan Zhan’s efforts, and Wen Ning’s figure seems to want to tear itself apart— but then he adjusts, playing strongly enough to control Wen Ning, but softly enough that it doesn’t seem to register like an attack, and Wen Ning becomes more pliant.

The white gleaming strings start to dim. It registers that Lan Zhan has shifted to a soothing melody. Wei Wuxian glances over at him, recognizing the spirit-calming tones of Clarity—the one Lan Zhan taught him, hoping it would keep the Yin Tiger Seal from harming his spirit. The Tiger Seal ripples and pouts with the shift in tone, but Wen Ning seems to be responding, eyes still dark, but less urgent.

Lan Zhan nods at him, and Wei Wuxian realizes he’s forgotten to play— he raises the flute to his lips again and picks up the melody where they left off.

As Wen Ning’s struggles slow and cease, the cords lower him gently, tilting until his limp form is safely on the ground. The last few notes trail off onto the breeze. Wei Wuxian glances over at Lan Zhan again, and sees him release the cords. They snap home to him at a flick of his hand.

“Ah Ning!” Wen Qing calls out, and he turns his head to find her struggling to her feet. He hurries over to her and drops to his knees, a hand on her shoulder to keep her from rushing at Wen Ning. They can’t have anyone getting too close just yet, not until they’re sure what triggered this in the first place.

“He’s okay,” Wei Wuxian says, but she isn’t paying much attention, tries to shrug him off. “He’s just sleeping. We didn’t hurt him, I promise.”

That gets through to her, and she looks at him with wide, fierce eyes for a moment—eyes he recognizes, full of too many days and nights standing between a loved one and disaster. But then she seems to see him. Believe him. She nods, calming herself. The fear is still clear on her face as she looks back at Wen Ning, but she’s stopped struggling against him, slumping towards him a little, as if yesterday’s exhaustion is catching up with her again.

Wei Wuxian follows her gaze back over his shoulder to where Lan Zhan is kneeling, eyes closed, a stream of healing light passing between the tips of his outstretched fingers and Wen Ning’s forehead. Wei Wuxian’s breath catches when Lan Zhan opens his eyes again and looks at him. It takes him a moment to pull himself together enough to give a nod of thanks.

Lan Zhan’s answering smile is soft, and unexpected. Wei Wuxian keeps his arm around Wen Qing, his mind spinning with relief that they calmed Wen Ning down without any further injuries, and with Lan Zhan’s steadfast and gentle handling of him. He’s not sure which one takes him more by surprise.

~      ~      ~

Lan Wangji can feel the emptiness still raging inside Wen Ning’s body. At least he has gone still on the outside, no longer a danger. Lan Wangji keeps sending the calming energy for as long as he can, though he feels his own power flicker with fatigue and the intensity of this intervention. It is more of a struggle than he’s used to to keep his focus, keep his body upright.

He doesn’t notice Wei Ying’s approach until a foot appears in his line of vision. He glances up and finds Wei Ying’s eyes full of worry, checking Wen Ning over once more for injuries, then taking in Lan Wangji again like he isn’t sure what happened. He has a rumpled look about him, as if he was dragged bodily out of bed before he was ready.

“Is he okay?” he asks roughly.

Lan Wangji nods. “I’m trying to keep him calm. We will need to seal him, somehow, to ensure this doesn’t happen again.”

Wei Ying nods back at him, jerky with remnants of disorientation. “I was hoping we wouldn’t have to, but… yeah. We can’t have him going off like that again. Do you know what started it?”

Lan Wangji shakes his head. “Not precisely. I heard a commotion inside the great hall, but by then he was already out of control. I had to restrain him, get him away from the others. I apologize, I might have frightened Lady Wen.”

“No, it’s okay, you did the right thing,” Wei Ying says, with insistent reassurance. “I know you wouldn’t hurt him, she’s just… you know.” There’s something frail in Wei Ying’s voice, and he shrugs helplessly. “She’s been through a lot.”

They both turn back to Wen Ning, lying pale and lifeless on the ground. For Lan Wangji, the sight leaves him with a strange combination of sadness and dread. He never knew the boy well, though he remembers him as sweet and kind, the farthest thing from a monster any human could be. But he also knows better than Wei Ying—better than anyone—precisely how dangerous he will become.

He’s asked himself a hundred times if it was worth it, if even Wei Ying would have thought it worth it, had he known the outcome. To have this boy live as a shadow of a person for a few months and then commit the murders that sealed everyone’s fate, including his own.

Lan Wangji looks at him now, at this sad, dangerous shell, and suddenly the question is there, no longer a hypothetical. If the surest way to avert tragedy is right in front of him. To extinguish Wen Ning before he can ever cause such harm.

If that might be the wiser choice.

It clings to him like resentment, gnawing its way into his bones, for a terrible moment. A pillar in the stream of time. Is this one of them?

No. It’s... no. He could not... would not make such a choice. Wei Ying would never be swayed by such cold reasoning, Wei Ying will fight the world with his last breath to protect the defenseless, and even if Lan Wangji were to take matters into his own hands, it would cut a wound so deep between them that it would never heal.

Besides, looking at the boy now, like this, Lan Wangji isn’t sure even he could make his heart cold enough to do it. Not when there’s another way.

Wei Ying found another way. Lan Wangji is here to do the same.

They took that vow together, once. To protect the weak.

He hears Wei Ying’s voice in his mind, through the rain at Qiongqi Path, in the other past. Lan Wangji failed him then. When he looks at Wen Ning, the aftershocks of the clash still racing under his skin, the tendrils of demonic energy just barely laid to rest, he feels suddenly weak from the weight of his own doubts. Unsteady. He’s so tired and he’s been desperate for so long, it’s hard to know if he’s even thinking straight.

“What shall we do with him?” he asks, looking up at Wei Ying, because he needs Wei Ying for guidance. Lan Wangji’s training has prepared him to restrain and suppress, but he is no use when it comes to returning a stolen spirit to a corrupted body. He needs to follow Wei Ying’s lead.

Wei Ying blinks at him, as though surprised to hear him asking for instructions. Then he looks back at Wen Ning, brows drawing together in thought. “There’s another slab of rock near the back of the cave,” he says. “Pretty flat—I used to use it as a table. We can put him there for now. We’ll have to build some sort of restraints for him, maybe a net or something. And I have an idea for a talisman, but I haven’t… it’s new. I don’t know if it’ll work.”

He shoots Lan Wangji a sideways glance, like he worries Lan Wangji will scold him for relying on dark magic and unconventional techniques again. But Lan Wangji just nods, turning back to Wen Ning.

Sometimes unconventional techniques are required. He understands that now.

He folds Wen Ning’s arms across his chest and slides an arm underneath his shoulders, another underneath his knees.

“Wait, are you okay?” Wei Ying asks, stepping aside as Lan Wangji lifts Wen Ning up off the ground. “I can do that—you’ve been up all night.”

“It’s no trouble,” Lan Wangji says. “Please lead the way.”

Wei Ying still looks conflicted—but then he nods and turns away, heading back toward the cave entrance. Wen Qing is still sitting on the ground over near the steps to the great hall, looking shaken, watching them both as one of the older women tends to her injured arm.

“Is he all right?” Wen Qing calls out, looking back and forth between the two of them as they pass.

Wei Ying puts a finger to his lips, signaling for quiet, and nods. “He’s fine,” he murmurs to her. “We’re just taking him to rest, you can come see him when they’re done with you.”

Wen Qing almost gets up anyway, that panicked look still on her, but then she sinks back down, nodding.

It’s much darker inside the cave, apart from a shaft of sunlight bending down through the roof vent. Lan Wangji follows Wei Ying over to the stone bed at the front, where Wei Ying scoops up some of the new straw the Wens found him for bedding last night. Then Wei Ying leads them past the cooking fire beneath the vent, and over to a small, rounded alcove at the back, where, as promised, there’s a flat slab of stone just long enough for a man to lie on.

“It’s not very comfy like this,” Wei Ying says, spreading the straw over the surface. “But I guess he won’t mind too much.”

The care he takes for a man who is more dead than alive, and whose unconscious rage could have torn half the mountain to shreds, seems to cut into Lan Wangji’s soul. His arms are burning from the long night and his spiritual depletion, but for a moment he just watches with an aching joy in his heart that he gets to be here again, with Wei Ying.

When the straw is spread out, with a little mound for a pillow, Wei Ying moves out of the way, and Lan Wangji steps closer, carefully lowering Wen Ning’s limp frame onto the makeshift bed. Then they both just stare at him again, the enormity of the emptiness in that body sinking down on both of them.

It’s hard to imagine that Wei Ying ever managed to bring this husk of a man back to some semblance of life.

There are quick footsteps behind them, and a breathless Wen Qing appears at Wei Ying’s shoulder. She has one injured arm tucked in protectively, and is supporting herself against the stone wall with the other. Her eyes flicker from Wen Ning’s body to the both of them and back, a frantic sheen in them. “Can I speak to him?”

Wei Ying shakes his head, looking apologetic. “He won’t hear you.”

Her face crumples a little, and she takes a ragged breath.

Distress flickers over Wei Ying’s face. “I could be wrong, though. You can try if you like.”

If it makes you feel better, Lan Wangji hears.

Wen Qing nods. She probably heard it as well, she is a doctor after all. But she still walks over to the side of the bed and kneels down, taking one of Wen Ning’s hands in hers. Holding it gently, as though warming it from being out on a cold night.

“I don’t know what to do for him,” Wen Qing says, sounding helpless. Lan Wangji knows how she feels. Her traditional medical techniques would have little more effect than his methods of suppression in this case. Just as Lan Wangji could only bring peace and rest to his soul, Wen Qing would only be able to bring peace and rest to his body. Neither of those things are what she wants, or what Wen Ning needs. “Will he get better?” She looks up at Wei Wuxian with a plea in her gaze, like she knows Wei Ying’s skills are the only path open to them.

Wei Ying’s eyes widen a fraction at the sudden focus, and the smile comes half a second too late, lacking a shade of confidence. Wen Qing seems too dazed to see it, thankfully. “I have a few ideas I can try,” Wei Ying says, with a little push toward optimism that rings thin in Lan Wangji’s ears.

“I know he’s still in there,” she says, turning back to Wen Ning. “I know it.”

Wei Ying nods quickly. “Yeah. It might… it might take a while. And we’ll have to restrain him while I’m working out the details, but I think it’s going to work.”

It has to work, Lan Wangji hears.

Wen Qing turns back to him, a desperate hope in her eyes. “You’ll bring him back?” For a moment Lan Wangji imagines what he would say and what figments of faith he’d cling to if it was his brother lying there, dead but not dead. What wild outrageous methods he might turn to for someone he loves so fiercely.

You have more of your mother in you.

“I have a plan,” Wei Ying says. Lan Wangji can hear the conviction he’s putting into it. It’s a lot more than he had when he spoke to Lan Wangji outside a few moments ago. “I’ll bring him back. I promise.”

Lan Wangji gives him a sharp look. He even knows, with his peculiar foresight, that Wei Ying will succeed, but it still shocks him to hear Wei Ying promise the impossible so freely.

As Wen Qing’s eyes turn back to Wen Ning, her gentle fingers brushing some hair out of his face, Wei Ying gives Lan Wangji an apologetic smile and raises his shoulders. Lan Wangji says nothing.

With Wen Qing’s focus entirely on Wen Ning for now, Wei Ying looks at Lan Wangji and tilts his head toward the other end of the cave.

When they get to the shadows on the other side of the cookfire, Wei Ying turns around to face him. “I can get some of the Wens started on building a net,” he says, in a lowered voice. “There’s stuff around in the forest. I think that’s all we’ll need— I’ll infuse with a spell, and it’ll keep him from moving around too much and disturbing the talismans.”

Lan Wangji nods in agreement. His shoulders feel heavy when he breathes, the weariness seeping into his bones. But there’s still a lot of work to do to make this place habitable. He recalls built structures that aren’t here yet, things they must have made from scratch. The cave seems really only designed for one person to live in. One stone bed, one stone desk, one table-turned-medical quarters. They can’t have all these people sleeping on the floor of the great hall forever.

“We should have some of them start working on sleeping quarters as well,” Lan Wangji says. “It might take a while to gather the materials.”

Wei Ying nods thoughtfully—then blinks, looks up at him again. “Oh wait, you’ve been—Lan Zhan, did you get any sleep?”

Lan Wangji glances away, just past his shoulder. If he were a better liar he might claim to have dozed in the small hours, and Wei Ying would probably not chastise him over the fact that he was supposed to be on watch. But that has never been in his nature. He shakes his head.

Wei Ying frowns critically. “You’ve been awake for two days straight? Lan Zhan, you need to sleep.”

“I will,” Lan Wangji assures him, and he takes a breath, trying to straighten his shoulders, let Wei Ying know he’s really all right. He’s gone longer than this without sleep. It isn’t like kneeling, not like days and months and years in confinement in the cold pool. A couple of days without sleep, he can manage that. “But I need to bring the horses to town.”

Wei Ying shakes his head quickly. “Lan Zhan, you don’t have to worry about that. Just get some rest. I can take—”

“No,” Lan Wangji says, heart lurching in his chest. The sudden fear that gripped him at the thought of letting Wei Ying out of his sight, letting him walk into a populated area now, when everyone is on the alert, by himself… Maybe Wei Ying is right. Maybe the lack of sleep is getting to him. But, still, he would not get a moment’s rest with Wei Ying out among strangers. He doesn’t even remember for certain if the Jin clan sent search parties. “No, I should be the one to go. It’s not safe for you yet.”

“Not safe?” Wei Ying says, raising his eyebrows and crossing his arms over his chest. He looks slightly offended. “I can take care of myself, Lan Zhan—I’m not completely helpless, you know.”

Lan Wangji shakes his head. “I didn’t mean that. I just meant they’ll be looking for you. No one is looking for me.”

That seems to take the wind out of his sails somewhat, like he was gearing up for another round of argument over the state of his soul. Perhaps Lan Wangji should have taken him up on it, if only to avoid suspicion. But it’s too late for that now.

“How can you be sure?” Wei Ying asks, looking curious, and a bit wrong-footed.

“I can’t,” Lan Wangji admits. It’s only the truth. “But it seems likely. No one knows that I came to find you. And they would have no reason to believe that I would…”

It trails off there, and Wei Ying lifts his chin slightly, like he’s remembering it too. How strange this is. How strange that Lan Wangji didn’t just step aside and let them ride away. Let him ride away.

“It’s safest if I go,” Lan Wangji says, in a tone that usually brooks no argument. Wei Ying nods slowly, still looking at Lan Wangji like he’s waiting for the catch, the correction.

“If you’re sure,” Wei Ying says. And then there’s that stubborn little wrinkle between his brows. “But you should get some sleep first. I know it’s not your usual time, but you’re going to have to make an exception.”

Lan Wangji smiles slightly, another deep wave of missing him washing over him. His eyes and his voice, and his infuriating, beautiful, irrepressible spirit. So many years of missing him, alone in the cold.

Indeed. Sometimes exceptions must be made.

Wei Ying gestures over his shoulder at the other side of the cave. “The bed is free, if you want to grab that. Though, crap, I just stole all the soft stuff for Wen Ning...”

“I won’t mind,” Lan Wangji says.

Wei Ying looks like he has the urge to argue, but then he seems to shake it off. “I’ll ask everyone to keep things quiet in here while we get Wen Ning settled. You should sleep for as long as you can.”

Lan Wangji nods, swallows. A small, childish part of him still doesn’t want to—doesn’t want to close his eyes, afraid he’ll open them to find Wei Ying gone again. Find himself back in the Silent Room.

But he knows that’s silly of him. The spell that brought him here would not be so easily undone.

“I will sleep if you promise that you will wake me,” he says. “In two hours.”

Wei Ying frowns at him like he’s just been asked to write the Lan rules again, three hundred times. It makes Lan Wangji’s insides twist with helpless warmth.

He is perhaps too tired to be around Wei Ying.

“All right, deal,” Wei Ying says, then points a stern finger at him. “But now, off you go.” His face flickers with a smile as he drops his hand, a tiny shake of his head, like the absurdity of scolding Lan Wangji to go to bed in a cave in the Burial Mounds has just caught up with him again.

With a confirming nod, Wei Ying turns away, and Lan Wangji watches him go—sees through the cave entrance as he stops a Wen woman who is carrying firewood, and though Lan Wangji cannot hear his words, there is a gentleness in the way he talks to her, describing something with his hands, perhaps the net he needs for Wen Ning. It’s a while longer before Lan Wangji realizes he’s just standing here watching him. Being useless.

If he’s not going to do anything more useful than stare at Wei Ying, he should indeed get some rest.

He moves across to the stone bed where Wei Ying slept the night before, sits down at the edge of it and takes off his boots. Just in front of him, against the cave wall, is a makeshift rack with a couple of wooden scrolls sitting on it. They look dusty and worn, like they’ve been exposed to the elements, and he knows they must have been left  from when Wei Ying was here the last time. When he lived here, survived here, on his own, for three months. Accomplished the impossible feat of taming this place, coming out alive.

Lan Wangji’s hand tightens around his sword. It didn’t work the second time.

He won’t let that happen. If there’s a breath left in Lan Wangji’s body, he will not let Wei Ying slip away from him this time. Wei Ying proved that the impossible was in reach, and Lan Wangji will never give up on him. Not again.

He reaches out and lays his sword across the lower shelf, the hilt resting on one of Wei Ying’s wooden scrolls that’s perched at one end.

Then he turns and stretches out on the almost bare stone, folding his hands over his chest. Even with the sunlight drifting in, it’s easy to close his eyes, the sound of Wei Ying’s voice on the breeze just barely reaching his ears.

~      ~      ~

Lan Zhan.

The darkness is heavier on him than usual, a thick weight on his chest, a sharp burn in his lungs as he’s pulled through molten stone and rain—

Lan Zhan, let go.

His shoulder jolts and he snaps his eyes open, his heart beating fast as he sees damp rock, smells straw and rot and smoke.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying is leaning back where he stands over him, his hand dropping from Lan Wangji’s shoulder, his smile as bright and as crushing as in every happy memory of him. Lan Wangji feels something crumple, it feels so—

It. It is real.

He’s here. Wei Ying is with him, breathing and smiling and… waking him up. There’s a little smudge of ash, or maybe dirt on his cheek.

“I wanted to let you sleep longer, you were totally out of it, but, you made me promise,” Wei Ying says with a regretful shrug, and Lan Wangji still needs a moment to get his bearings, to not grab him by his shoulders and pull him close, just to feel him alive as much as he can.

He should wake up properly. Remember himself.

“Yes,” he says, buying himself another moment. Not reaching out, not even clinging to the folds of Wei Ying’s robes, easily within reach. He remembers the rain. The ride. Wen Ning. The horses at the edge of the forest. People needing food. He pushes himself up to sit on the almost bare stone bed, his body still heavy and his head light, drifting, begging to lie back down again. “How is Wen Ning?”

Wei Ying tilts his head towards the back of the cave. “All good, for now,” Wei Ying says. “One of the Wens is really good at making stuff out of reeds and whatever so we’ve already got the net set up, and I’ve calmed him down with talismans. It’s looking a little creepy so don’t freak out when you see him, but he should be fine for now.” There’s something anxiously optimistic about the look he casts towards the back of the cave.

“I’m glad,” Lan Wangji says. “It should give you some time to look into his treatment.”

Wei Ying gives him a startled blink, as if, again, that’s not the answer he expected. But it seems to ease the tension in him regardless.

Lan Wangji brings his legs around and gets up from the bed, only wobbling a little as he finds his feet. Wei Ying does not seem to see. “I should deal with the horses,” he says. He doesn’t think anyone will find them so fast that the horses might be claimed back, but he’d rather be safe than sorry.

“If you’re sure,” Wei Ying says. Lan Wangji nods, and is glad when Wei Ying doesn’t revisit their argument.

He smooths out his robes briefly, then follows Wei Ying out of the cave.

There is a hazy tinge to the courtyard, like Lan Wangji is gazing through the distorting mists of a dream after all. It’s only the solid weight of the earth beneath his feet that convinces him it’s no such thing.

He stood here. He stood here for hours, blood soaking his sleeve, his arms shaking from the hundredth assault, the hardest and most pointless battle he ever fought. Over ruins and ravaged fields and dead lotuses. It was so quiet. Like even the forest held its breath at Wei Ying’s passing.

So long ago. It hasn’t happened yet.

“Hey,” Wei Ying says, a frown crossing his face. “Are you okay?”

Lan Wangji draws in a shaky breath, glancing over at him. Remembering the sunlight everyone else can see, not the shadows in his mind. “I’m well, thank you,” he says. Even to him it sounds raspy, and he can see Wei Ying’s brow twitch in concern. “I feel the resentful energy out there. It is unusual.”

Wei Ying makes a face, shifting a little as if the reminder makes him aware of some itch. But at least he doesn’t seem worried anymore. “Yeah, I’ve beefed up the defenses, but you can still sense it out there. You do get used to it, though.” He pauses, as if he caught himself at something. Then he lifts his chin towards the courtyard. “They’ll be all right. They’re all still a little wibbly but I think they’ll be okay.”

Lan Wangji gives him a small nod, then takes in what is actually happening here. The courtyard is far from empty, and while the Wens seem to be speaking in low voices, it isn’t silent either.

Three of the men are standing around a pile of branches and twigs—firewood, Lan Wangji realizes—and they seem to be speaking quietly while examining two rusty knives. A pile of reeds has been gathered at the foot of one of the stone statues, one of the older Wen women kneeling on the floor and making what looks like more rope. Wen Yunlan, the tall man who helped Lan Wangji gather food yesterday, and two of the women are stretching a piece of rope between two trees, and Lan Wangji sees that there is another clothes line already set up where the Wens have hung up Wei Ying’s scavenged rags to air them out. The man with the infection in his broken leg is sitting on a flat stone, his leg now properly set, his skin a better color, and his eyes focused as he whittles away at a skinned tree branch.

It wasn’t entirely a lie that Lan Wangji can feel the threats swirling in the forest. It shocked him, even, how much stronger the resentment energy feels to him, until he realizes it’s the remaining exhaustion that weakens his defenses. He directs some of his spiritual energy to quenching his hunger and making his mind more alert, and the itching sense of wrongness fades more into the background.

Movement at the great hall catches his eye. A young Wen woman in an ill-fitting robe is coming out, carrying Sizhui. Sizhui’s short arms are looped around her neck and he’s shaking his head at something, burying his face against her shoulder. He looks sleepy, a little fussy, though no longer crying the way he was yesterday, when his little hiccups tore at Lan Wangji’s heart. The woman’s hand is gentle on his back, and Lan Wangji knows he shouldn’t go and interrupt them. Sizhui doesn’t even know him yet.

He’s already been through so much. Lan Wangji always knew, but being here, right after what must have been a terrifying journey for such a small child, makes the knowledge harsh and visceral, and stokes an angry fire inside him at the people who made that happen.

They will keep him safe here. Wei Ying’s clear-eyed sense of justice saved him, and Lan Wangji will protect them both. They will build a life here, so that Sizhui can be the bright and energetic child he was when Lan Wangji first met him.

He then notices Wen Qing and the man he’s been reminded is Fourth Uncle coming towards them from the great hall. Wen Qing is wearing her cloak again and carrying an improvised pouch.

“Wei Wuxian,” Wen Qing says when they stop. She looks tired, her eyes red-rimmed from all her worry. “I thought I would go and check if any medicinal herbs we could use are growing in these woods.” There is something stiff about her posture, and Lan Wangji thinks she might still be reluctant to leave Wen Ning’s side.

Fourth Uncle’s face betrays his unease at the thought of her venturing into the forest. “I worry about Lady Qing,” he says. “But with the fevers…”

“I’ll be fine,” Wen Qing says, blinking fast against fatigue, squaring her shoulders.

Wei Ying puts a hand on her shoulder, nods at Fourth Uncle. “Wen Qing will be okay,” he says, and to her, “Just don’t go out too far, stick to the sides of the path if you can.” He’s looking resolute, projecting strength and comfort for them, Lan Wangji realizes. It’s good to see him like that.

“Wen Guang is just continuing with the ropes here,” Fourth Uncle says, gesturing at the reed-weaving woman. “We figure more rope can’t hurt. And we’re trying to get those tools you had hidden here back into workable condition.”

“Good.” Wei Ying nods. “It’s good we’re getting started making something of this place.” He has a demonstrative look at the edge of the treeline. “We’ll be planting crops soon, then we won’t have to dig around in the forest for food. And better shelter. We’ll build houses for everyone.”

Fourth Uncle is showing some hesitation as he is taking in Wei Ying’s plans, his eyes flickering toward the dark menace of the treeline as well, but he nods cautiously.

Wei Ying’s face is raised in confidence. “There should be plenty of timber here after all. An axe would help, but I can have another look in the forest and see who else might have d—” He swallows the word. Corrects course. “—dropped something.” He’s smiling. It’s only when he glances at Lan Wangji that there seems to be uncertainty in his expression, as if he expects a contradiction.

“Shelter will be good,” Lan Wangji says. “We will have to clear more fields for planting, but we can use the wood for building.”

Wei Ying’s eyes widen briefly, but then he turns back to Fourth Uncle. “Totally right,” he says. “So, Lan Zhan wants to go sell the horses. There’s a couple of things only I can do, we should see what you guys need from me first.” His mouth draws into a thoughtful pout. “I was going to go out a little further and look for more food or lucky axes, but, I’d be gone for a bit… oh, can any of you fish?”

Fourth Uncle’s face turns less worried when he’s given a concrete task to consider. “I think so, yes,” he says. “Wen Shu is quite good at it, and I’m sure others can learn.”

“Okay!” Wei Ying says brightly. “There’s a little stream slightly west of here—it looks pretty muddy, but it would give us water for washing so we can save the well water for drinking, and we might even be able to catch some dinner. I’ll see about securing a path that you guys can walk safely.”

“We should build some water barrels,” Fourth Uncle says. Lan Wangji can see the productive spark in him as the tasks line up. “And bigger buckets, for carrying. And Wen Zian still can’t move much—” He nods at the man with the broken leg doing woodwork. “—but he knows his stuff about how to build a house.”

“Great idea,” Wei Ying smiles. “Let’s get to it.”

The woman carrying Sizhui has walked a half circle along the courtyard, and stopped in front of the man whittling the pole—Wen Zian. She scoops up some of the wood shavings off the floor and throws them in the air in front of Sizhui, whose hands are patting at the fluffy wooden shower excitedly.

Lan Wangji cannot see Sizhui’s face, but he can picture his smile. He has to avert his gaze so his own face does not give away how much he already cares for him. There are things to do, water barrels to build and fish to catch. Lan Wangji has horses to sell.

~      ~      ~

He borrows a cloak from one of the Wen men—one of few they managed to hold onto during their captivity. It’s stiff with mud at the bottom, but covers Lan Wangji’s robes well enough, the hood pulled low over his forehead. He keeps his sword strapped to his back underneath it, leaving his hands free to manage the horses. He hopes he won’t have to use it. The average villager is unlikely to recognize him by sword alone, but if there happened to be another cultivator passing, it would surely give him away.

He’s removed everything from the horses that could identify them as belonging to the Jin clan. The saddles are hidden from view and he’ll carry them back to the Burial Mounds later, as the leather might come in useful. He found three more knives, another waterskin and a few blankets tied to the saddles that the Wens didn’t take the first time, and hid them away until he can carry them into the forest, too.

It takes him more than two hours to lead all the horses down the mountain path to the village, taking them in groups, but at last he has them all in a small clearing on the outskirts. He makes sure they have enough grass to nibble on, and then he goes to look for the nearest horse trader.

It’s more crowded than he remembers. He has to move slowly through the town to avoid bumping into anyone, and the shadow of the cloak hood makes it difficult to see. He catches a few mildly disgusted or fearful looks at the state of his cloak, but people don’t get out of his path the way he realizes he expects them to. Someone bumps into his shoulder and he stumbles, finding his footing again just in time to avoid knocking into an older woman with a basket on her shoulder. The stranger doesn’t even apologize.

He finds a large stable on the other end of town, with a big paddock just a little down the road. There’s no one outside, but the door into the stable is unlocked, creaks on its hinges as he pulls it open. The smell of animals and grain is strong, musky, and Lan Wangji parts his lips to avoid breathing through his nose, casting his gaze over the stalls. About half of them are full, and Lan Wangji reaches out a hand to stroke the nose of a brown mare, peeking over the gate of the stall on his left.

“We’re not selling today,” a gruff voice says, and Lan Wangji turns to see a man in rough but tidy robes looking at him suspiciously from halfway along. He’s got a hoof trimmer in one hand, and he seems to have taken one look at Lan Wangji’s cloak and decided he’s a bad bet at best, trouble at worst. The man gestures to the stalls behind him. “These are all reserved. You can move right along.”

“I’m not buying,” Lan Wangji says, slipping his hand beneath his cloak again and turning to face the man. “I’ve got eighteen mares, well fed and in good condition. Suitable for battle, or for distance travel. I’d like to sell them.”

The man barks a laugh. “You have, have you?” He looks very skeptical, but gives Lan Wangji another considering look. “Hiding them under your cloak?”

Lan Wangji breathes, summons patience. His left hand itches for his sword. “They’re waiting on the outskirts of town. I can bring you to them if you like.”

“Where’d you get eighteen horses from?”

“That’s not your concern,” Lan Wangji says. Anywhere he’s ever been, that would end the questioning. The man just raises his eyebrows. “I don’t need them anymore.”

“Hm,” the man says, making a broadly thoughtful face. But he’s putting down his tools, which is a good sign. “You know, I have a reputation. I run a good business. You can end up with a lot of hassle over stolen horses…”

The word makes him uncomfortable, in this cloak, under the man’s shrewd stare. It’s foolish, when he knew exactly why he removed everything that could tie the horses to the Jin clan. It’s foolish, too, that he wants to insist that they took the horses to get away and save lives.

“They’re very good horses,” he says.

A brief flinty grin flickers over the man’s face. “What do you want for them?” the man says. “Assuming I was theoretically interested.”

“What are you offering?”

He’s bought horses before while on the road. The number the man quotes him for one of the Jin horses is about half of what he paid that time he bought someone’s old decrepit farm horse to bring two injured disciples home.

“You should look at them first,” he says. He should perhaps have had a better strategy for this. But he’s never traded under duress before, and never with the knowledge that the money he has on him is the only funds he’ll have for a long time, the certainty that he can’t afford to go elsewhere. Can’t afford trouble.

The man follows him through town to where the horses are waiting. There, he makes a big show out of checking the horses over. They are in exactly as perfect a condition as advertised, but the trader is critical of the teeth of two of them and claims a third one is too starved, which is ludicrous. Lan Wangji would like nothing better than to fix him with a glare and remind him who he’s talking to.

Instead he accepts the new price, lower even than the first offer, reminding himself that it’s still more than Wei Ying had last time. Wei Ying wanted to scatter the horses at the edge of the forest. He’s still bringing home something useful.

He puts the coins in his purse, warming himself on that thought, then looks up at the trader. Who has gone still, his eyes slightly wide.

For a frenzied moment Lan Wangji expects the clatter of hooves and shouts as a squad of Jin cultivators descend on them. Then he sees where the man is staring, somewhere near Lan Wangji’s knees.

The dirty battered robe has parted slightly, the jade ornament hanging from his belt visible through the gap. He tugs the edge of his cloak over it again and keeps his face still.

It should be gratifying to see the man cowed, perhaps wondering if his dishonorable barter will come back to haunt him. But all that is pulsing through Lan Wangji’s mind suddenly is whether the man would know enough to identify the crest of the Lan clan, and whether he knows he has seen a member of the Lan clan hiding himself under a cloak, dealing horses like a common thief.

“Thanks,” the man says, his voice slightly unsteady. “I’ll take them from here.”

Lan Wangji nods curtly.

It doesn’t matter. The man probably doesn’t even recognize the pendant.

He leaves the trader to sort out how he’s going to get the horses to his stable, and starts on his way back into town. He’s fine, he’d do the same thing again, because Wei Ying has precious little resources to begin with and Lan Wangji has a mission to complete. But he doesn’t care to spend more time with this man than necessary.

As he moves through the streets, he makes note of where the various stalls and shops are set up. They won’t have any use for seeds until the ground is tilled, but he sees where they’re being sold, alongside a stall full of fresh produce. He buys a sack of apples to bring back with him, to supplement what they’ve been able to gather so far, and some simple bread.

A few stalls further along, he finds what he’s looking for—a small, freestanding shop displaying brushes and ink, inkwells and paper. None are as fine as those he’s used to, but elegance is not the point. He steps inside and runs his eyes across the wares, finding the most basic and least expensive supplies they carry. Ink and brush, a small writing set. Only for the paper does he spend a little extra, purchasing a small stack of cheaper pages for everyday use, and a larger stack of more durable material, for himself.

The woman at the counter is round and bright, and she accepts his payment without comment on his appearance, out loud or otherwise. It’s strange to feel a flush of gratitude for her friendly, polite openness. He nods his thanks and tucks the supplies away into his carrying pouch, concealing them beneath the cloak again as he leaves the shop.

His last stop is the postal exchange, though he pauses just around the corner from the inn that hosts it, taking a seat on the stone steps leading up to a small terrace to pluck one small sheet of the everyday paper from his stock and flatten it across his knees. It’s not how he likes to work, and a conjured message would be easier, faster, but he can’t afford the risk of it being detected. He’s hoping an ordinary message, sent like a letter from a distant relative, will have a better chance of making it through.

He hopes it reaches her in time.

Luo Qingyang,

I am writing to you because I believe that you are sympathetic to Wei Wuxian’s situation. I also know that you care deeply for the welfare of the Jin clan. My request and the form it takes might come as a surprise to you, but I have reason to believe that there are forces at work that put members of several clans in unnecessary danger, and that these forces are acting against the best interests of the Jin clan as well as against Wei Wuxian.

If my assumptions about your position are correct, I would ask you to observe your clan’s leadership for any strange behavior or occurrences in the coming days and weeks. I am not asking you to betray confidences, but to act on the loyalties that you hold in your heart, for the welfare of the people you care about.

If you cannot comply, I ask at least that you do not mention to anyone that I have contacted you, and that you destroy this message, on the strength of our previous acquaintance and my hope that you will believe my motives to be honorable, even if you cannot lend me your support. I can be reached via post at Yiling, under the name Xiao Xiang.

Lan Wangji

It isn’t as good as he wishes it was. He feels self-conscious at making such a profound request in such rushed language. But he cannot divulge too much, nor sit here on these steps forever.

Glancing at his surroundings to ensure that he’s not being observed, he presses a small amount of spiritual energy into the paper. It won’t protect the contents against the eyes of a skilled cultivator if he is determined to retrieve them, but at least he can ensure that ordinary humans and lesser cultivators will not be able to make out the words, if they should happen to intercept this message before it reaches its intended recipient.

He seals the letter the ordinary way, making it look as nondescript and unremarkable as possible, and then he brings it to the counter at the inn, handing the letter and the fee to a young woman. He only hopes that his assessment of Mian Mian’s principles and character will prove correct.

~      ~      ~

The courtyard is busy when Lan Wangji returns. A small cluster of Wens conversing near the edge of the forest startle as they catch his arrival, though they turn back to their wood cutting when they see he is not an intruder. It’s been several hours since he left, his journey slowed by the saddles and blankets he is carrying, and he must make a strange sight, loaded up like a donkey. Despite the shadows of resentment energy, the afternoon sun casts a gentle brightness over the place, and he can feel sweat gathering between his shoulder blades.

Whatever tools Wei Ying has found, they seem in good enough condition to have produced a small stack of felled trees by the side of the courtyard, where three men are currently taking down another. More clothes lines have been stretched between the trees on the other side, and some of the rags hanging from them look wet. The woman weaving the ropes has two assistants now, and they seem to be making mats of some kind.

There’s a campfire in the center. Grandmother Wen and the tall woman who ventured out with him yesterday to find food, Wen Liu, seem to be arranging fish on a hastily built wooden rack.

It’s strange to see it all in motion, at the beginning.

“Lan Zhan!”

It still gives him a shudder, an echo of coldness chased from his bones at the brightness of Wei Ying’s smile.

Wei Ying waves him over with an effusively inviting gesture. He’s standing next to the man with the broken leg, who is still sitting on the slab of rock, and another young man that Lan Wangji recognizes as the one who rode with him on their journey.

Lan Wangji joins them, nodding in greeting at the men, who both lower their heads briefly. They don’t seem fearful of his presence, but they’re not quite accustomed to it either.

“How did it go?” Wei Ying wants to know, his eyes big and his expression enthusiastic.

“I sold the horses,” Lan Wangji says, suddenly hoping fervently that Wei Ying will not ask what price he managed to get. “There were more blankets with them, and I’ve brought three of the saddles. I will fetch the others later, or tomorrow.” He gently lowers his load to the ground.

“Oh!” Wei Ying says. “That’s great. We can use some real blankets.” He indicates a stack of carved wooden pieces with his foot. “We’re building beds here, so, perfect.”

Lan Wangji is fairly sure Wei Ying is not doing any of the building, but with this context he can see how the pieces might fit together as a simple bed frame. It makes sense. There are a lot of people here, and they will be here for some time. Sleeping crowded together on the stone floor of the great hall will become uncomfortable for even the most hardy of them before long.

For a moment, he thinks of the stone bed. Even bare and cold as it was, it filled him with warmth, because Wei Ying had slept there.

But other arrangements are to be expected.

He takes off the borrowed cloak and folds it on top of the stack of blankets, not quite neatly, but respectfully enough. “I bought more apples and some bread,” he says, indicating the bag at his feet. “Where should they go?”

“Oh—let’s give them to Granny Wen and Wen Liu,” Wei Wuxian says, barely letting him pick up the bag before taking him easily by the elbow and tugging him in the direction of the cook fire. The warmth of his hand nearly makes him shiver, even through three layers of clothing.

Lan Wangji gathers himself and hands the additional supplies to Wen Liu, who also dips her head respectfully.

“Have you eaten anything, Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying asks suddenly. His hand falls away from Lan Wangji’s arm again, as easily as it came.

“I’m not very hungry,” Lan Wangji replies. He is practiced at ignoring the needs of his body, and he is in better condition than anyone else here. The food should go to them.

Wei Ying frowns at him, apparently taking his answer as an admission. “Any of the fish done yet?” he asks Grandmother Wen. “Lan Zhan missed lunch.”

“In a moment, Young Master Wei,” the old woman says. She still seems nervous around Wei Ying, but that might just be lingering fearfulness from the experience of the prison camp.

As they wait, Wei Ying tells him that the path to the stream is cleared, and the Wen woman with the fishing experience has already brought home three fish. They are still trying to work out how to make a water barrel to store more water close to the camp. The healthiest and strongest of the Wens have started working on clearing fields and cutting timber, while those still struggling with injuries are making things like the beds and cutlery and little wooden bowls. Wen Qing is back with Wen Ning, now that she’s seen to the truly sick among them, and she’s found an herb that is at least helping to soothe his spirit, though her search didn’t turn up any remedies for the fevers two of the women are still experiencing.

At some point in all this, Wei Ying shouts to Fourth Uncle, loudly enough it startles the three weavers sitting on the steps nearby, that Lan Wangji brought back the saddles from the horses. Fourth Uncle signals he’ll be over to deal with them in a minute, his arms full of firewood.

Wei Ying’s own excursion into the forest to scavenge for things left behind by the dead yielded no great finds. “I should have asked you to buy a pot or something,” he says, with a guilty scrunching of his nose. “Granny is doing her best with the campfire cooking but it would be nice if we could boil some stuff.”

“I can go down the mountain again tomorrow,” Lan Wangji says. He still has more saddles to pick up, after all.

Wei Ying shrugs a little uncomfortably. “You’ve just been, though. I don’t want you to do like, all the errand things.”

“I’m here to help, Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says. He would rather do all the errands to the village himself than have Wei Ying go wandering without him, though he knows Wei Ying will take that the wrong way if he admits it. And none of the others are equipped to pass the woods without escort. Their options are limited. “It is no hardship.”

Wei Ying gives him a glance that his half relieved, half guilty. “Okay,” he says. “Then we can make a little shopping list for tomorrow.”

Lan Wangji nods decisively.

Grandmother Wen soon finds one of the fish gently cooked through. She is shy and deferential as she gives it to Lan Wangji, nestled in a large leaf, and it feels hot against his palms. She also offers him a pair of makeshift chopsticks, freshly whittled, and Lan Wangji adjusts his hold on the fish to free up his right hand for eating. Under Wei Ying’s watchful eye, he carefully pries the fish apart and takes a bite.

It’s quite bland, and perfectly fine. He eats methodically, while Wei Ying and Grandmother Wen talk about the wild roots and vegetables and which ones are safe for sure, which ones might be risky.

Just as he’s folding away the empty leaf—perhaps it can be used again—he hears a sudden, brief commotion, and then a little bundle of person careens around from behind Grandmother Wen and attaches himself to Wei Ying’s leg. Wei Ying sways on his feet from the force of the impact.

“Ah Yuan!” Wei Ying says grinning down at him, a bit of laughter bubbling up.

The sight makes something catch in Lan Wangji’s throat.

Wei Ying bends down to unstick Sizhui from his leg, and picks him up with a bounce. “I think you two have met already,” Wei Ying says, eyes sparkling as they flick from the boy’s face to Lan Wangji. “Lan Zhan, this is Ah Yuan.”

“Yes,” Lan Wangji says, his voice a bit unsteady. “We have met.”

“He always seems to want to hug people’s thighs,” Wei Ying says, with a small bemused smile. “I don’t know what it is, maybe he’s playing catch.”

“He doesn’t want you to leave,” Lan Wangji says, before he can think better of it.

Wei Ying gives him a wondering look, and for a moment Lan Wangji fears he’s about to ask him something that will be difficult to answer. But Wei Ying’s faces softens, his smile a bit warmer, more understanding. “Well,” he says in a lowered voice, “I guess that wouldn’t be too surprising, considering.”

Sizhui isn’t paying the slightest bit of attention to the grownup conversation, his fingers tugging at a loose thread on the collar of Wei Ying’s robes. It looks easy and familiar, the way Wei Ying holds Sizhui, swaying slightly as if to an unheard song, and Lan Wangji’s heart constricts the same way it did back then, those many years ago, during that first meeting in Yiling. He felt protective toward both of them even then, but now, knowing everything they lost, and what a light in the darkness Sizhui became for him afterwards, the feeling is almost unbearable.

Sizhui tires of fiddling with the string and starts squirming in Wei Ying’s arms, not to get free, but to bend towards Lan Wangji. Lan Wangji feels the urge to reach out and offer to take him off Wei Ying, but he knows he would not have done that so easily back then. Now. Yet. Instead he holds out his hand tentatively. Sizhui grabs onto his first two fingers like he’s snatching a fly from midair, and holds on, a stubborn pout around his lips. There’s a little giggle underneath it, and his eyes flick up to Lan Wangji’s face again to see what he’ll do.

Lan Wangji looks back at him, raising one eyebrow, just barely. Immediately Sizhui lets go and buries his face in Wei Ying’s shoulder, his shyness catching up with him. He twists around enough to peek over at him though, and Lan Wangji can see that he’s smiling. His shoulders shake with another giggle.

“Are you teasing Hanguang-jun, you little monster?” Wei Ying says, his fingers squeezing at Sizhui’s side ticklishly, making him laugh and squirm. “Hmm,” Wei Ying says, shooting Lan Wangji a grin over Sizhui’s head. “I guess I can’t blame you, he’s pretty fun to tease.” There’s a gleam in his eye that flares so brightly out of nowhere it takes Lan Wangji’s breath away.

He is saved from having to find some way to respond by the appearance of Fourth Uncle, who is wiping soil smudged hands on a corner of his shirt. “You said someone brought up the saddles?” he asks, glancing from Wei Ying to Lan Wangji. For Lan Wangji there’s a lowering of the eyes, a tiny, deferential nod.

“Oh, yeah,” Wei Ying says, glancing around toward where Lan Wangji left his cargo, a few yards away. “Sorry, my hands are full,” he says, indicating Sizhui, “but Lan Zhan can show you what’s there. I think there are a few more at the base of the mountain, we’ll bring them up in shifts.”

Fourth Uncle nods his understanding, turning toward Lan Wangji. They meet eyes a bit awkwardly, and Lan Wangji gets the feeling that Fourth Uncle is uncertain he ought to be ordering around a cultivator of his stature. Though of course, that’s ridiculous—Fourth Uncle clearly knows better what is being done and what needs doing around here than Lan Wangji does.

Lan Wangji gives a small bow, hoping Fourth Uncle will understand his intentions. “Please. Let me know how I can help.” 

~      ~      ~

As dusk creeps over the camp and the Wens become fidgety and nervous, the shadows in the forest appearing more sinister, Wei Ying officially calls it a day. He spreads his arms a little and waves invitingly towards the great hall. “All right, everybody! Let’s get some food! Anyone who’s starving for apples, get them while they’re hot!”

Lan Wangji straightens up from the last tree they took down. He isn’t too tired to keep working, but he can feel the short night and unaccustomed tasks in the odd soreness of his muscles. The three men he’s been working with are looking to him, as if waiting for instructions. He hands one of them the bit of rope he’s been in charge of and asks him to take care of the tools until the morning.

When he turns around again, he finds Wei Ying’s eyes on him from across the courtyard, a little smile on his face. It feels only natural to go over to him.

“Turns out, the mushrooms were poisonous,” Wei Ying says with a little wrinkle of his nose, as though picking up a conversation they’d been having just moments ago. Lan Wangji heard the latest news about the mushroom harvest from Wen Liu, a few hours ago—a shame. That would have padded out their evening meal quite nicely. “The wild turnips are okay though.” Lan Wangji falls into step beside him as he heads toward the cave, meandering from the distribution of turnips to the architectural plans for the houses and how their builder expert hopes to get them the best evening view.

The stack of paper Lan Wangji bought earlier is sitting on the stone workbench, and there are candles arranged on a few strategic ledges around the walls, making the space brighter and more inviting than it seemed the night before. The stone bed has a fresh covering of straw, one of the rolled-up horse blankets waiting on top of it. Wei Ying is going on about how he plans to work on more warming spells as he hunts around for something on one of the shelves. Lan Wangji is too tired to follow everything he’s saying, and just lets Wei Ying’s voice wash over him like a warm breeze. Like sunlight after a storm.

Wen Qing is moving around somewhere in the back of the cave where Wen Ning is still constrained. He hasn’t seen her all afternoon, so he suspects she’s been in here for a while. Sounds of dinner are drifting in from the great hall through the connecting passageway at the far end, past where Wen Ning lies. Every once in a while he can hear the bright burble of Sizhui’s voice above the low murmur.

“This one is yours, by the way,” Wei Ying says.

Lan Wangji blinks, focusing again, following Wei Ying’s vague gesture toward the back wall of the cave’s main room. There in the corner, on the opposite side of the workbench from the stone bed, is a small, sturdy cot.

“I told them to put it here.” Wei Ying is fidgeting, his hands curling around one of the wooden scrolls from the shelf as if to keep them busy. “Wen Qing’s is in the back,” he says, nodding toward the alcove around the corner, “so she can be close to Wen Ning. I hope that was okay.” He seems to be trying to keep his voice casual, but his eyes flicker toward Lan Wangji uncertainly.

Lan Wangji swallows. It’s… practical. It makes sense, on some fundamental level, that he would share space with Wei Ying rather than with strangers. It’s natural that Wei Ying assumed so, too.

“Of course,” he says.

“Like, it’ll take a while to get the houses set up,” Wei Ying goes on, one hand making a fluttering gesture toward the outside, “and I figured we don’t have the kind of space where Hanguang-jun can have his own room at the moment, but, I’ll try not to be too noisy when you’re trying to sleep, and Wen Qing can’t leave Wen Ning, and once it gets cold it’ll be warmer in here with more people anyway—”

“Yes, I understand,” Lan Wangji says, calming the tremor in his chest. “This is very fine. Thank you.”

For a moment Wei Ying’s eyes linger with some question, like he’s puzzling over something he still doesn’t understand. Then he shakes it off with a brisk nod. “Right. I’ll go find us our dinner, okay?”

Lan Wangji watches him walk into the back of the cave, stop briefly to speak to Wen Qing, a comforting hand on her shoulder.

Then, because he doesn’t know what else to do and where else to be, he sits down gingerly on the edge of the cot, folding his hands on his knees as he looks across the surface of the worktable to where Wei Ying will be sleeping.

With the four of them in here, this is no great intimacy, not some precious gift he needs to hide away in his heart.

But he hadn’t thought of it.

Lan Wangji did not come here unprepared. He knows he has to avert the murders committed by Wen Ning. He knows that Jin Guangshan craves the power of the Yin Tiger Seal, and so he must be on the lookout for any danger from the Jin leader’s desires. He must keep Wei Ying alive.

He knew he would make a different, better choice at Qiongqi Path, make time curve another way around this pillar in its stream. He knew that he would contact Mian Mian, as the one outside ally he thought he might sway to his cause, and he has done so. He knew there would be a lot of waiting.

But beyond that, he is beginning to realize, he knows very little.

Now he’s felled trees with the help of his sword and cleared them of branches. He’d never done that kind of work before. He’s sold stolen horses. He came here ready to live in the Burial Mounds with no concern for hardship, and while he had never contemplated what kind of farm work might be most suitable to his skills, it doesn’t feel strange to do what’s necessary.

But in all his time thinking through his plans, he was always… careful. Careful of dreams. Careful not to imagine too much beyond the concrete actions he could take to save Wei Ying, and not to hang his heart on a vain hope of Wei Ying laughing over dinner or frowning over mushrooms or conspiring with Sizhui. Of being near him as he sleeps, just across a room.

It hurt too much. Every time he let his mind shape his loneliness and yearning into something real, something more to miss, it made him feel small and crushed, when he needed his strength to travel and search and plan.

He was ready to live here. But he never let himself think about what it would be like to live here, with him. It’s almost more feelings than fit into Lan Wangji’s chest, and he’s glad nobody sees him, glad nobody hears his thumping, heaving heart as he holds this joy inside him, as Wei Ying barters for apples next door.

~      ~      ~

The houses are coming along nicely, Wei Wuxian thinks. It’s only been three days, but already they have a frame built along the western side of the cliff, next to the cave entrance, and they’re starting to pull the mats across it to create shelter and shade. Everyone is still worn and ragged and half of them are wearing dead people’s clothes, but they’ve built a water barrel that—second attempt there—actually holds water. The guy with the broken leg seems to know a thing or two about carpentry, and the fish are coming regular now. They’ve got mats for most of the beds, which Wei Wuxian thinks is nice for not waking up itchy and with straw everywhere, and the tilling is going pretty well too. After Wen Qing scolded him for trying to bury Ah Yuan in the dirt, Fourth Uncle even crouched down to let Ah Yuan try to use the hoe for a bit. “He’s already dirty,” he reasoned. “Might as well let him help.”

They kept looking at him a bit funny when he insisted they could totally farm their own food, but now he can tell they’re actually getting excited about the idea. Lan Zhan is the one who really surprised him. He honestly expected Lan Zhan to have all sorts of right-minded qualms about eating food grown in evil soil, but Lan Zhan just rolled with it. Offered opinions on where to clear more fields.

Wei Wuxian is currently perched on a rock a few feet away from Fourth Uncle, watching Ah Yuan struggle to control the tool even though it’s twice as tall as he is. Fourth Uncle keeps a discreet hand on the end of the handle to help with the weight and keep it from swinging too dangerously. He gives Ah Yuan a little nudge at the shoulder, scooting him further up with his grip, and finally Ah Yuan manages to pick the head up a few inches and drop it into the dirt again. His giggle rings out across the courtyard, and he looks up at Fourth Uncle with the brightest smile, waiting for praise. Wei Wuxian grins to himself.

A little further on, Lan Zhan is working with some of the other men on the porch of the half-built house, where they’re organizing poles into stacks and taking turns pounding them into the ground to support the railing. Lan Zhan has taken twice as many turns as any of the others, and it honestly makes Wei Wuxian feel a bit sheepish watching him carry little tree trunks and lift and chop while Wei Wuxian is spending his days mostly cooped up in the cave, trying out new spells and tweaking talismans.

Wen Ning can hear things now. He’s still trapped under the net, awash in dark energy and covered in experimental talismans of all kinds, but he can hear what’s going on around him. He seems to be actually improving.

Lan Zhan’s headpiece glints in the sun as he mops the sweat from his brow with the back of his wrist and takes hold of the mallet again, stepping forward to pound in the next pole. His movements are so swift and sure, you’d think he’d been building houses all his life instead of studying swordsmanship and music and calligraphy. His hands are steady, and he pays close attention to what he’s doing, just as he would if he were studying a piece of music or practicing a new move. Wei Wuxian isn’t sure why it takes him by surprise, that he would bring this same… Lan Zhan-ness to something as menial as working in the dirt, but it somehow makes him feel warm and weird inside, like meeting someone familiar in a room full of strangers.

“If you’re not going to help, you should at least get back to your own work,” Wen Qing says, coming up beside him. She’s got her arms crossed in front of her, and a stern expression on her face.

Wen Ning’s improvement has brought her back to her resolute self, which Wei Wuxian considers a good thing, except half the time when she’s looking like this he expects to be smacked on the ear.

He looks up at her guiltily, though he’s not exactly sure why—he feels a bit caught. At something. But she doesn’t seem to particularly care what he’s been staring at, just that he’s sitting around not doing anything.

“I was just getting some fresh air,” he says, with a little pout, making space on the rock as she takes a seat beside him. “I thought I might go down to the village and buy some potatoes for seeding—looks like the tilling is almost finished. We’re ready. We need something to plant.”

“Who said we were planting potatoes?” she asks, giving him an incredulous look. “We’ll plant radishes—they’re much easier to grow.”

Wei Wuxian makes a face. “But radishes are disgusting. You can’t eat radishes every day—we should plant potatoes.”

“Radishes,” she insists. “That’s final.”

“But—”

“Young Master Wei!” one of the men calls out from near the forest’s edge. “Hanguang-jun!”

Wei Wuxian turns, seeing one of the younger Wen men—Wen Fang, maybe?—hurry towards them. He exchanges a glance with Lan Zhan, who has put down the mallet and is crossing the courtyard to join them. Alarm is written on his face.

“The Sect Leader,” the man says when he’s closer, mildly out of breath. The Wens don’t venture far into the forest, but he was out gathering more wild turnips from the edges of the path.

Wei Wuxian stands, apprehension pulling tight in his stomach. It’s not quite unexpected. He hasn’t had much time to think about all the fits Jiang Cheng must have been throwing these past few days, but he assumes there were a lot. Lan Zhan is standing next to him, jaw set and half blocking Wei Wuxian, which, okay, maybe a little over the top?

At the edge of the trees where the path opens out into the courtyard, a tall, familiar figure in blue is stepping into sight.

Zewu-jun.

He pauses there at the edge of the camp, staring out across the courtyard, looking mildly stunned by all the tilled earth, the growing structures next to the cliff, the women weaving mats on the stone steps. And then his eyes fall on Lan Zhan, who has gone absolutely still next to Wei Wuxian as he looks back at his brother. Words seem to pass silently between them. For a moment, Wei Wuxian can see a faint ripple of emotion, maybe guilt, maybe worry, on Lan Zhan’s face—but then Lan Zhan’s face goes blank and polite.

Zewu-jun comes closer with his measured, graceful steps. There’s a caution to him, a practiced serenity to his face. Wei Wuxian isn’t sure what to say. What to do. What he can do, with what’s likely to happen. He can’t breathe.  

“Wangji,” Zewu-jun says quietly, stopping in front of them. “I would like to speak with you.”

Chapter Text

He’d hoped he’d have more time. Lan Wangji’s skin tingles, with fear, with the numbness of not being ready. He’d hoped it wouldn’t be Brother they’d send, though he knew that was very likely. Of all people, he is the most difficult for Lan Wangji to say no to.

No use thinking about that now, though. Xichen is here now. He can’t avoid this confrontation any longer.

There’s a hush all around them, whispers of Sect Leader Lan, Zewu-jun as he steps up in front of his brother. He lifts his eyes slowly, meeting his gaze.

It is disorienting to see him, this younger version of him. With everyone else here, it’s been such a long time that they are exactly as Lan Wangji remembers them, no distortions of years and life lived to color his perceptions. His own body is different than he’s used to, in subtle ways he notices when he does physical labor, but it’s stranger somehow to see the difference on a face he knows almost better than his own, when he saw his brother little more than a week ago. Ten years in the future, when he said goodbye.

Xichen looks caught between relief and bewilderment, and it gives him a deep pang of guilt all over again. This was necessary, he knows that. But his brother doesn’t deserve the hurt.

“Are you all right?” Xichen asks, a concerned frown between his brows.

Lan Wangji nods, intentionally calm. “I’m quite well,” he says, though suddenly he’s self-conscious about the way he must be sweating through his clothes, down to only the bottom and top layers, with the middle one collected to be washed from the previous day. His hands are dirty, and his sword is nowhere in sight, still on the rack inside the cave. He always carries it, always has it within reach. Has Xichen ever seen him without it? It gets in the way of this kind of work.

He can feel Xichen taking in each of these details in turn, and he stands still, weathering the scrutiny. For a moment he wonders what Xichen would think if he knew about his little brother, a member of the inner Lan Clan, going around in a cloak selling other people’s horses, and it makes the day’s warmth worse.

“But he won’t be for long if you make any trouble,” Wei Ying’s voice calls out, and both of them look over to see him coming up beside them, stepping just in front of Lan Wangji. He crosses his arms over his chest and squares off with Xichen, lifting his chin stubbornly the way he used to do when Lan Wangji tried to admonish him to follow the rules. “He’s my hostage, and I won’t hesitate to—”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji murmurs. “Don’t speak nonsense.”

“What nonsense!” Wei Ying draws himself up to his full height, not a hint of slouch and sway about him. Under other circumstances, Lan Wangji would find it impressive.

“I am here of my own volition,” he says, past Wei Ying to Xichen.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying turns toward him with an exasperated glare, about to argue, but Lan Wangji silences him with a look.

“My brother will not cause us any trouble,” he says—to Wei Ying, still, but he hopes very much that the message reaches Xichen as well.

Wei Ying still glowers like he disagrees with Lan Wangji’s approach, but he does relent. A breath, and a little nod.

Xichen is glancing between the two of them, still adrift in his surroundings, in finding Lan Wangji here, like this.

Maybe he really did expect to find Lan Wangji tied up in a cave somewhere, a hostage of the rogue cultivator—the Yiling Patriarch, though no one yet calls him by that name—who turned his back on the great clans.

How strange to contemplate that Xichen might have found that possible. It makes Lan Wangji ashamed all over again at how he was, then. At this time, but before.

Xichen meets Lan Wangji’s eyes again, in that serious way he has. Kind but authoritative. He is so much the same, underneath it all. The brother he left behind had more years on him, more battles, but also peace. Ten years of building calm and strength.

“Is there somewhere we could speak?” Xichen asks. And then, with the briefest glance toward Wei Ying, “Privately?”

Lan Wangji nods again. “The cave will not be occupied at this time.”

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says again, like he wants to stomp his foot and insist on being invited.

Lan Wangji lays a hand on his elbow and looks him in the eye.

“I’ll be back in a moment. Please see that we are not disturbed.”

Wei Ying stares back at him, and his eyes are hard to turn away from, saying don’t go, don’t let him talk you into going. It warms him, somehow, though he knows it’s selfish. Wei Ying has been so determined not to trap him here through obligation, it comes as a relief to think that he is in some way helpful. In some way needed. Lan Wangji tries to reassure him silently as best he can, but he’s not sure he succeeds.

Then he lets his hand fall from Wei Ying’s arm and leads the way.

~      ~      ~

The cave is something of a disaster. It’s cramped to start with, between all the beds, Wei Ying’s worktable, and Wen Qing’s space where the Wens built her a table and a bench. More notably, there are talismans scattered everywhere, some of them performing protective functions or helping to soothe Wen Ning’s spirit, others just discarded half-attempts at something new and daring. Random finds from the forest, like broken tools and discarded armor, as well as the start of some kind of wood carving, are piling up on the worktable. Wei Ying is the one who’s in here most of the day, poring over his scrolls and trying out new techniques, new combinations of materials, seeing if he can conjure up anything useful for curing Wen Ning or making the area safer and more habitable. Lan Wangji barely understands half of it. Apparently some involve pots of water, and there’s a net full of broken-up leaves hanging from the corner of a shelf.

Wei Ying really is very diligent when he has something to work on that he’s interested in. Lan Wangji has found himself hovering in the shade of the doorway as he recovers from a morning’s work, watching Wei Ying hunched over at the stone desk, one hand on a piece of writing and the other on his brush. Hard to believe this is the same man who wasted an entire month drawing pictures and playing pranks on Lan Wangji in the library when he was supposed to be copying lines.

He still isn’t very tidy, though.

“My apologies for the mess,” Lan Wangji says, bending to pick up a few talismans from the floor and place them on the worktable, so that Xichen can walk without stepping on things. There’s not much room there between the pile of scrolls and what looks like a broken bucket, and he is tempted to put those back on the shelves as well so they don’t topple over, but he doesn’t know if Wei Ying has some particular system for organizing them.

Xichen is staring around the room with a slightly dazed look on his face, taking in the candles tucked into every spare hole in the rock, the cookfire, the dirt floor, the shelves full of scrolls. Bichen, resting on the middle shelf of the rack near the door. He can’t see Wen Ning’s pale body held under an enchanted net and a pile of talismans from here, which is definitely a good thing, and Lan Wangji won’t take him further inside.

Lan Wangji stands with shoulders straight, one hand resting in the small of his back, and meeting his brother’s eyes. It isn’t much to look at, but then it’s hardly the rustic nature of the place that will be Xichen’s main concern.

“We don’t have any tea,” Lan Wangji says, keeping his tone polite, unapologetic. “I can offer you water, if you would like.”

Xichen lifts a hand in kind refusal, taking in the open vent in the roof above the cookfire. “Please, don’t trouble yourself,” he says. “I’m fine.” He brings his gaze back to Lan Wangji, and his worry is clear as day, no pretense or cover. “What happened, Wangji? Why are you here in this… in this place?”

Lan Wangji takes a breath. That’s a much longer story than Lan Wangji can possibly tell him. “I’m here because I am needed here,” he says. It’s not precisely a lie, though he knows that Xichen cannot interpret it the way he means it.

Xichen looks back at him, confused. “By whom?”

“By Wei Ying,” he says.

Xichen’s gaze darkens slightly, his face falling. “Wangji… I know you’ve been very concerned for him, but if he… if he has convinced you—if he has coerced you in any way…”

“He has not,” Lan Wangji says.

It trembles inside him. Right to the end, Wei Ying never asked him for…

Lan Zhan, let go.

He closes his mind to the memory, makes himself firm. Now is not the time. “He has not asked me for anything,” he says, keeping his voice steady. “The decision to come here was mine alone.”

Xichen’s shoulders fall slightly, and he stares back at Lan Wangji as if trying to solve a complex riddle. “I don’t understand, Wangji. This isn’t like you.”

Lan Wangji can’t argue with that. The fact that this is not like him, was not like him at that time, is precisely why he’s here. It’s why he failed. He was too much like himself.

“Think, please, about what you’re doing,” Xichen urges him. “The clans still believe you may have been kidnapped or coerced somehow—you can come back with me now, and no one will question you. The situation among the sect leaders is becoming increasingly precarious. The Jin clan accuses Wei Wuxian of having killed their people indiscriminately—”

“He did not,” Lan Wangji says.

“Do you have any proof of that?” Xichen says.

“My word,” Lan Wangji says. “The word of the Wens.”

Xichen meets his eyes. He doesn’t say that that would not be enough, but he doesn’t have to. For Xichen, perhaps, but not for the others. Not for the Jins and those prone to believe the tales of the powerful. They both know that.

“Wangji,” Xichen says, and it comes out almost pleading. Begging him to see sense. Think rationally. Lan Wangji knows the sound, has heard it in his own voice. “If what you want is to help the Wens—to help Young Master Wei—surely you can see that you can do more for all of them if you come back with me. Prove to everyone that they have not corrupted you, and that you remain on the righteous path of cultivation. Speak calmly on their behalf, and encourage others to be more lenient in their opinions. That’s how you can win this battle. Not like… “ He gestures, not with derision but exasperation, at the mess.

Lan Wangji remembers the sunlight streaming through the doors and windows of Unicorn Tower, the tilt and bend of angry voices speaking righteous words in unrighteous ways, twisting and darkening everything Wei Ying had ever said, ever done. They even turned his actions in the Sunshot Campaign against him, where half of them would have been slaughtered without his help.

Lan Wangji tried to speak for him. Correct the most obvious lies. But he has never found it easy to argue in the face of obstinacy, he isn’t good enough with words to make a complicated point in the abstract, and he was too well brought up to let his anger speak for him.

Too much himself. 

Regret runs cold beneath his skin now, remembering.

He also reasoned with Wei Ying, coaxed him to meditate, to learn music that would calm the powers inside him. Knelt before his uncle in quiet penitence, for speaking out. For going to Yiling. For associating with evil. Tried to do it all the proper way. Spoke reason to Wei Ying on the roof, when everything was spiraling out of control, and failed to bring it all back down to earth. Held onto him with bloodstained fingers, with everything he had, until Wei Ying slipped away.

“I used to believe that too,” Lan Wangji says. He tries to keep his breath steady and calm, but he can hardly see Xichen through the memories, through the years. Everything he had and everything he lost. The malice and callousness of others, and his own failures worst of all.

He won’t allow that to happen again, no matter what the cost.

Xichen sighs. “Wangji…”

“If you believe that they are wrong,” Lan Wangji says, clear and present, “then I hope that you will speak for us yourself. In fact, I would be most grateful if you did. You are a sect leader, after all, and surely your word will carry more weight than mine.”

Xichen looks almost caught at that. Uncomfortable. It makes Lan Wangji’s skin flush warmer, as he didn’t mean it to shame or pressure. But he meant it nonetheless. “Wangji. You know what battles we’ve had to fight. You know that our resources are depleted. We can’t afford division now. The Lan Clan cannot stand against the Jin clan at this time.”

“Then there would be little point in my returning, as I am also a member of the Lan Clan,” Lan Wangji says.

Xichen sighs, brow pinching inward with resigned disappointment. Like it used to when Lan Wangji would ignore his entreaties to leave the library before dinner, to spend more time with the other young disciples.

He casts his eyes over the walls of the cave again, as though assessing a prison that Lan Wangji is choosing to confine himself to. Lan Wangji allows him to look. He understands his brother’s feelings, and he looked at this place in much the same way when Wei Ying first brought him here, all those years ago. He simply knows better now.

For him, no place where Wei Ying is can ever be a prison.

“So you’ll remain here, building houses,” Xichen says. “Is that your plan, Wangji?”

“I will remain here and do what is needed,” Lan Wangji says. “Yes.”

Xichen looks at him again, though it’s clear the fight has gone out of him now. He knows that Lan Wangji will not be moved once he has made up his mind. Not by anyone.

He nods slowly. “I know I cannot change your mind,” he says. “I hope you won’t regret your decision.”

Lan Wangji glances toward the floor. It would be easier, he feels, if he were only speaking to the Sect Leader at this moment. But Xichen has been his constant, his ally and protector all his life. The one person who understood how he felt the day his mother was no longer in the Silent Room, who didn’t ask him to put his grief aside and turn away. Xichen spoke for him when his uncle confined him to the cold pool cave, and treated his wounds when he was punished for trying to defend this place, empty as it was then. Xichen took in Sizhui at Lan Wangji’s pleading, nursed him through that terrible fever, and made sure he knew affection and had a home. Lan Wangji knows that this is right, this is what must be done—but it is easier to turn away from his Sect Leader than from his brother.

“Thank you,” Lan Wangji says, and his gaze does falter for a moment. “Please know that I am truly sorry for any trouble I may cause you.”

Xichen acknowledges this with another nod, short and sad. “Please contact me if you should change your mind,” he says. “And regardless… please let me know that you are well?”

“I will,” Lan Wangji promises.

There’s nothing else left to say. Xichen seems to realize this. The heat of the day is cooling, the sun tilting low through the cave entrance, the shadows shifting around them and the night approaching. Xichen must leave soon to be clear of the Burial Mounds before twilight.

Reluctantly, he turns away, steps out into the broken sunlight. Lan Wangji follows him as far as the cave entrance and watches him make his way across the courtyard, between the scattered patches of tilled earth and broken paving stones, the Wens shifting skittishly out of his way as if he is a threat, and not the kindest brother Lan Wangji could have had. When he reaches the edge of the forest, the dark mists close quickly around him, fading him from view.

He hears quick footsteps then. As Lan Wangji turns away from the forest, he sees Wei Ying hurrying up to him from where they left him, dusting off his hands as he ducks into the shadows of the cave entrance.

“What happened?” Wei Ying asks, looking anxious. “Is everything okay?”

Lan Wangji nods, smiling slightly. It warms him to have Wei Ying so near, see him slouch into the wall. He instantly makes everything he touches seem softer somehow. More familiar. “He wanted me to return to the Cloud Recesses with him,” Lan Wangji says. “I refused.”

Wei Ying looks at him with a strange expression on his face. “You did?”

“Of course,” Lan Wangji says. He isn’t sure why Wei Ying still seems to think he doesn’t plan to stay. Then again, Wei Ying can’t know just what is ahead of them in the coming months.

“Why?”

Lan Wangji looks him in the eye, and it unsettles him just how troubled Wei Ying seems over this. The self-interested part of him wants to ignore it, carry on as if he hasn’t seen. Leave it to Wei Ying to ask for what he wants, if that is what he wants. But Lan Wangji knows he can’t do that. It will eat at him from the inside, every time he catches Wei Ying in a sigh, or a strange look across the courtyard.

Still, it’s difficult to make himself speak the words.

“Did you… would you want me to go? Would that make things easier here?” he says, quietly.

Wei Ying’s eyes widen, and he shakes his head quickly. “No! No, Lan Zhan, that’s not… I didn’t mean that.”

The relief is sharp, cool like water on a parched throat. He didn’t think so, but he also knows that judgment can be clouded by wanting something to be true. And this, he wants.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, swaying forward and grabbing onto Lan Wangji’s arm with both hands and a little smile. “I’m… I’m really glad you’re here, you have no idea. I don’t want to be selfish, but I think I’d be going crazy by now if you weren’t here.”

You underestimate yourself, Lan Wangji thinks, still dizzy with relief, with Wei Ying’s closeness. With the warmth of Wei Ying’s palms through his sleeve. Wei Ying has always been freer and easier with touch than he is, and Lan Wangji knows it never means as much to Wei Ying as it does to him, when he’s close like this. It draws his focus tight to that one point of contact, reminding him. Why he’s here.

He can protect Wei Ying and see him smile.

It’s worth the cost.

~      ~      ~

“Try it,” Wei Wuxian says, his hands on his hips, giving Wen Song an encouraging nod. She still hasn’t lost the shy hunch she’s had since they left the main camp, and she’s short to begin with. Her cultivation isn’t amazing or anything, but she’s one of the few of them who’s at least got some, and she’s been holding up okay despite being afraid of the woods.

The redrawn barrier shines bright and solid between the trees, the fierce demon face with the wild beard and glowering eyes giving the whole thing a bit of extra spice. Wei Wuxian thinks it looks pretty cool.

Lan Zhan is watching carefully, just two steps away from Wen Song, Bichen drawn to catch any backlash she might suffer. She takes a deep breath, focusing her spiritual energy, then touches the barrier. The red pulses where her palm is and she yanks her hand back.

“It kind of tickles,” she says, giving Wei Wuxian a slightly embarrassed look. “But I also felt a threat.”

Wei Wuxian nods in satisfaction. “That’s perfect,” he says. “I don’t need a bunch of Jin cultivators turned into onions or moaning and crying on our doorstep, but they should know there’s trouble lurking.”

“Do you want me to try harder, Young Master Wei?” she asks.

“Would be good,” Wei Wuxian says. He scrunches up his face in advance apology. “But it could sting a bit.”

“If the Jin clan get in here with an army of disciples, it’ll do more than sting, so.” She shrugs tensely.

“All right,” Wei Wuxian says, nodding at Lan Zhan to be ready. A breeze goes through the eternally half-dying tree branches, a rustle that could be a ghost’s moan. Wei Wuxian has his flute tucked close to his side, but so far nothing has tried to get at them.

She centers herself for a longer moment, then lays into the barrier with a hard punch, all the spiritual power she has.

Lan Zhan catches her when the barrier throws her back. She’s blinking, slightly dazed. Wei Wuxian steps forward and takes her hand. “You okay?” he asks.

She’s still blinking, but then also seems to become acutely uncomfortable when she realizes it’s Hanguang-jun holding her up, so she gets to her feet quickly. “Fine,” she says, rubbing her palms together. “It hurts enough I wouldn’t want to do that ten times in a row, but, uh, guess it didn’t turn me into an onion.”

“Great,” Wei Wuxian says. “Thank you so much, you’ve been a real help. Have Wen Qing look at your hands just in case?”

“Yes, Young Master Wei,” she says, looking over her shoulder again at the trees and the threatening whispers in them.

Wei Wuxian unseals the barrier for her and lets her through, then closes it again as she walks up the path leading back to the camp.

“Maybe I should get to work on tokens of passage,” he muses as she disappears around a grey bend. Not that the Wens would use it much. They’re getting more comfortable inside the camp itself, but they still don’t seem to want to venture far into the woods.

“Perhaps,” Lan Zhan says, though there’s a small tilt of his head that suggests he’s thinking the same thing about the immediate usefulness of tokens. “What shall we do now?”

“Well, there’s really no point having you test it, you’d just destroy the whole thing,” Wei Wuxian says. “I should be grateful it’s withstanding your formidable Lan stare!” He quirks a grin at Lan Zhan and kind of expects him to be annoyed, because they’re still busy doing important stuff, but the look Lan Zhan turns on him is calm. Maybe even a bit fond.

Huh.

The truth is, he still feels weird seeing Lan Zhan in these surroundings. Bichen’s shine just highlights how murky and muddled everything is here. But it also feels good to have Lan Zhan by his side, bounce ideas off him, and just… get to talk to him.

“It should still offer us protection,” Lan Zhan says. Us. Wei Wuxian is being selfish, but it feels good.

Sometimes he gets a cold knot in his stomach and expects to turn and find… but, no. He’s here, Lan Zhan’s here, the Wens are all doing better. They even own pots now, and it’s all going great.

“Yeah, it wouldn’t keep out your brother if he came back,” he says, then wants to bite his lip when he sees the tiny flicker on Lan Zhan’s face that says he’s trying not to have a reaction. “Or mine. But they can’t just send a bunch of disciples to surprise us, either.”

“We should set up the warning talismans,” Lan Zhan says.

Wei Wuxian nods, and pulls out the stack of talismans he’s prepared. Even if they get visited by a cultivator as strong as Zewu-jun, they won’t be entirely taken off guard. He unseals the barrier again so they can both slip through, and then they get to work.

~      ~      ~

“The problem is the sun,” Fourth Uncle says, squinting up into the misty sky.

Wei Wuxian rubs his nose. He’s still sore about the radishes, and now he’s getting complaints that there’s not enough direct sunlight for the stupid things, so maybe this isn’t his problem to solve. “Should have gone with potatoes,” he shrugs. 

“Do you have any idea how much sunlight potatoes need?” Wen Qing asks him with a raised eyebrow. Wen Ning has started grasping her hand back recently, and she’s being quite annoyingly perky.

He looks to Lan Zhan, who has steadfastly refused to back him up so far. “Lan Zhan! Shouldn’t we grow something that’s actually tasty?” Okay, so he is kind of barking up the wrong tree when it comes to tasty food, with a Lan, but Lan Zhan should definitely care about Wei Wuxian’s culinary well-being.

“Farming has not been a focus of my family’s teachings,” Lan Zhan says with a tolerant expression. “I believe it makes sense to trust in the judgment of those with experience.”

Wei Wuxian makes a frustrated noise and rolls his eyes. “Fine.” At least Wen Qing has the courtesy not to gloat at Lan Zhan’s betrayal.

It gets warm enough here all right. Wei Wuxian is feeling damp in his layered robes, and Lan Zhan, who has been helping dig out some trees for another stretch of land they want to use for fields, has some sweaty strands of hair curling against his neck. According to those in their group who have some experience with growing stuff in their own gardens, even if the clan’s focus is medicine, they should still have enough time to get in perhaps two crops of radishes before the winter starts.

The problem is the layer of resentful fog that envelopes the Burial Mounds like low-hanging clouds, making even daylight look gloomy and broken.

“Lan Zhan,” he says. “Do you know any songs that chase clouds away?”

Lan Zhan leans his head back to examine the sky. Despite the sweat and some dirt on his robes, he still looks elegant, like the place should be paying him tribute. “Controlling the weather has not been a focus of my family’s teachings,” he says then to Wei Wuxian, who blinks. Is Lan Zhan making a joke? “But there are some music pieces I could try.”

Wei Wuxian feels his face break into a smile. There’s just something about Lan Zhan being all practical and dealing with things that makes him feel warm inside. “Okay! You see what you can do, and if it doesn’t work, I’ll see if I can come up with something. Okay?”

Lan Zhan gives him a wordless, but sincere nod.

With Lan Zhan on the cloud problem, Wen Qing gives instructions to start planting the seeds, while Wei Wuxian goes off to deal with the stuff that’s best left to him.

~      ~      ~

They left the pile of bones from clearing the trees as respectfully as you can leave a pile of bones. The spirits are subdued within the camp, so Wei Wuxian plays a while, gently and quietly, until they’re willing to come talk to him.

These are the bones of four people, three men and one woman. You never know what you get when you start engaging with them. The last time he was here, he had the ghost of a raving mad murderer haunting the well. He’d drowned his own brother. Wei Wuxian spent a night without sleep until he could finally put him to rest.

These four are tired, though. They are ready to go as soon as someone shows them, and their pain, some respect. He promises them a proper burial in a clean place, even if it will be the same place, and they are ready to move on.

He’s a bit tired when it’s done, but it’s okay. You just have to take these things one bone and one spirit at a time.

He asks two of the Wens to help him deal with burying the bones again, in a part of the forest that is protected and tamed by his talismans. They are skittish, but he stays with them and keeps directing them, and it’s not the first time they’ve had to do this.

Everywhere you dig here is bones.

He hears Lan Zhan’s music as they walk back. It’s nice. The clouds of resentment are still there, obviously unimpressed, so Wei Wuxian will have to think of something else to try on them. But it’s still nice to hear the soft string notes drift through the camp as people plant, wash clothes, finish off the siding on the most advanced house.

It may be weird and full of ghosts, but he thinks this is working.

~      ~      ~

“See, it isn’t all that scary!” Wei Ying is gesturing at the dark tree line, past the now planted fields, as he leans back against moss-covered stone. The sky is dark, the stars still hidden behind the gloom and resentment of this place, but also obscured by the campfire lighting the courtyard.

Lan Wangji and Wei Ying have settled at the foot of the stone statue, Lan Wangji upright, Wei Ying sprawling as if the hard ground were piled with cushions.

Only a few of the Wens have joined them outside. Wen Song has braved the night, sitting a few steps removed with two other women. Lan Wangji has learned that they are her mother and sister. The older woman occasionally startles at the crackle of the fire, and Wen Song then touches her soothingly on the back. They are one of the few close family connections. Most of the Wens here are more distantly related. All of them have lost people dear to them.

Wen Yunlan is sitting by himself, staring into the fire. He was with Lan Wangji today as they were digging up the trees. Lan Wangji finds him diligent, good to work with. He’s Lan Wangji’s age—his real age. Most of the men are either barely out of their teens or significantly older. Two of those older men, and an older woman, are sitting closer to the great hall, as if they wish pay respect to Wei Ying’s invitation to see that the night here won’t harm them now, but also be closer to shelter.

“I wish I had a drink,” Wei Ying sighs at the fire. “That would just make it perfect.”

Lan Wangji acknowledges what he said with a brief glance, but doesn’t comment. They roasted fish over the outside fire for dinner, Wei Ying making faces at the blandness, and boiled turnips. Lan Wangji found the meal simple and adequate. Perhaps, once their farming makes them less dependent on their limited funds, they could buy some spices.

Wen Qing is inside with Wen Ning. She likes to tell him about their day, and it’s been a busy one, full of progress. Her love for her brother is so strong she will do anything to bring him back from death, or from wherever he is hovering, one step short of it.

It’s impossible not to think of his own brother, although their situation, their choices, were never like that. Lan Wangji has decided that he will write to Xichen faithfully. He is where he needs to be, but he will not be cold in the face of Xichen’s concern.

“I’ve been thinking,” Wei Ying says.

Lan Wangji feels himself smiling. Wei Ying has many thoughts.

“I could work on some protective spells for them. Maybe something they can carry around. So they won’t feel too bad if I’m not around for a little while.” He glances over. “Or you.”

“It’s mostly you who has power over this place,” Lan Wangji says, then frowns, a small curl of fear twisting in his stomach. “Where would you be?”

“Oh!” Wei Ying says dismissively. “I just meant, when I go down the mountain to buy stuff. I’m not going anywhere.”

No, Lan Wangji hadn’t thought so. Wei Ying has committed himself to these people, to saving them. He nods again, as the cold lick of worry unravels. “I believe it could help them feel at ease.”

Wei Ying smiles at him, pleased at having found approval. He looks so unbelievably soft in the firelight that for a moment, everything else fades, just this breathless feeling of… I missed you. 

“I’ll get on it,” Wei Ying declares. “Once I’ve solved the sun problem.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help,” Lan Wangji says, remembering his guqin playing earlier. He can fight and defeat spirits, but the ephemeral anger and sadness the mountain draws to itself like incense wouldn’t budge at the sound of his strings. “I’m sure you’ll find a way.”

“Well, I have a lot more experience here,” Wei Ying says, his smile turning crooked and fleeting as he looks back out into the darkness. “It was nice hearing you play.”

Lan Wangji accepts the gentle compliment in silence.

“Before, it was always just me, no one else to worry about,” Wei Ying says quietly. “I really don’t know how I’d do it this time around without you.”

You already did, runs through him like an urgent whisper. Not saying it feels like stealing credit.

“Do not claim other’s accomplishments for your own.”

But anything he can do to ease Wei Ying’s burden, he will, and perhaps it isn’t wrong to let himself feel the small joy of thinking of moments where he might have succeeded.

“I’m glad whenever I can help you,” he says. The smile is still playing around Wei Ying’s mouth, and Lan Wangji lets himself look a moment longer.

Then Wei Ying startles him, turning towards him quickly. “Lan Zhan,” he says, putting both hands on the cuff of Lan Wangji’s right arm and looking at him with wide eyes, bright and mesmerizing in the firelight. “You know what would really help me?”

Lan Wangji swallows against the sudden dryness in his throat. It’s been days now, more than a week, yet somehow the warm flutter he feels in the pit of his stomach when Wei Ying reaches for him, holds onto him, never seems to lessen.

“It would really mean a lot,” Wei Ying says. “If you could support me with the potatoes.”

Lan Wangji stares at him with his treacherously fast pulse. Then Wei Ying breaks into a terrible, beautiful laugh, his hands squeezing and patting Lan Wangji’s forearm.

It used to make Lan Wangji feel mocked, the victim of a wit he could never match or defend himself against without betraying his inherent clumsiness. But it doesn’t anymore. Wei Ying is just Wei Ying, and he’s letting Lan Wangji be part of his brightness. Lan Wangji feels himself sinking into that touch, warmth and memory focusing where Wei Ying is tugging at him, almost petting him, shaking years and years of loneliness and being left behind off him like cobwebs.

“I will consider it,” he says, the best he can do as part of this joke, in this moment. It’s so good to see Wei Ying this lively. So good to feel him alive.

He lifts his free hand to cover Wei Ying’s where it rests over his forearm, feeling the warm rough skin underneath his palm. It’s an impulse, but it doesn’t feel wrong. Wei Ying’s eyelashes flutter on a blink, but he doesn’t pull away.

It quickens Lan Wangji’s pulse. Wei Ying is looking him in the eyes, but now he can’t quite look back, it’s too bright—his face is too beautiful, too him. He doesn’t know… this, how things like this are done. The rest of it—his determination, the Burial Mounds—he’s had ages to think through, to study, to prepare, but this part, this side of things… on this, Lan Wangji is as helpless as he ever was. He had thought about it sometimes, fleetingly, before Wei Ying died. When it was still impossible, but only in the usual ways. But nothing in his floundering thoughts from then is likely to be useful in practice.

Lan Wangji shifts his hand just slightly toward Wei Ying’s arm, where his loosened and dirtied sleeve wrappings have slipped and the skin is exposed, his heartbeat high and hot beneath the skin. Wei Ying just looks at him as Lan Wangji stills every shiver inside him, his fingers curling around Wei Ying’s wrist.

Wei Ying draws a sharp breath through his nose and pulls back suddenly, as if from coals, clutching his wrist to his chest.

The warmth is gone, and Lan Wangji blinks, startled. His hand still hovers in midair, empty.

“I’m sorry,” Lan Wangji says. “I didn’t mean—”

“No,” Wei Ying says, and he gives a sheepish laugh that only sounds a little forced. “Sorry, you didn’t, I just… burned it, earlier. On a thing.” He tugs his sleeve back into place, takes the trouble to fix the sleeve wrappings, then leans back against the rock again. “It’s fine, Wen Qing already looked at it, so, you know.” His hands are slightly hidden under his thighs.

Lan Wangji nods as if he understands, but... a burn. Wei Ying has had burns and wounds of many kinds. Lan Wangji has never seen him jump like that to protect them.

But maybe he was wrong.

Maybe he was being… forward.

He feels an uncomfortable warmth under his robes that is in contradiction of the night air, despite the fire.

No. He’s overreacting, overly conscious. It will be all right. He got carried away on a moment of wanting to commit to his mind that Wei Ying is with him, here, alive. His heart is still beating fast but he thinks, Wei Ying being as generous and kind as he is, he won’t hold it against Lan Wangji.

“I’m glad it’s nothing serious,” he says, his voice only a little rough.

Wei Ying gives him a smile, one of those quick ones that flit over his face and dart away, like a rabbit. “Yeah,” he says. “All good.”

It is, Lan Wangji thinks, turning back towards the fire. It’s enough.

~      ~      ~

Building houses is hard work. Lan Wangji hasn’t felt his arms ache this much since the time he was given Bichen and would train at all hours of the day to prove he was fit for such a weapon and to strengthen their bond.

He sits on an upturned bucket with a drink of water that Grandmother Wen and Wen Liu, who are now regularly in charge of the cooking, handed out. The water tastes stale, but Wei Ying’s skills keep it drinkable and free from resentment energy, and it feels good down his throat. He remembers how his shoulder felt like it might be made from burning stone the day he finally had the perfect form and his sword fell in harmony with him. It was a proud moment. Even Uncle praised him. 

It’s been nine days since his brother’s visit, and they have the outer walls of three cabins standing. The Wens work hard, and Lan Wangji thinks, much like he saw in Fourth Uncle the first day, that the focus of building something is helping them with their anxieties, cutting through the nightmares of the prison camp. But they are all still in some way injured or at least malnourished, so Lan Wangji’s strength and endurance have been helpful.

“Stay here! Ah Yuan, stay away from the tools!”

He looks up to see Sizhui run on his short legs from Grandmother Wen towards the building site, making swooshing sounds as his arms trail behind him, wings or a tail or perhaps a veil of some kind.

A dragon. It comes back to him suddenly. He likes playing a dragon. A very helpful one. The dragon is always rescuing his dolls from floods. Xichen’s voice, his fond smile, echoing in the icy cave.

By the time Lan Wangji came out of seclusion, the dragon game had fallen out of favor.

Sizhui wobbles a half circle around a collection of shovels and saws two steps away from Lan Wangji, and Lan Wangji gives in to impulse, puts his water down and lifts him up.

He fits easily onto Lan Wangi’s hip, weighing almost nothing, and looks at Lan Wangji with big eyes. “You should be careful with the tools of the adults,” he says calmly even as his heart is beating with affection. “They could fall on you and then you’d get hurt.”

“I will fly,” Sizhui informs him happily, clapping his plump hands together. His bright and slightly sticky grin makes Lan Wangji’s chest tight, wistfulness weighing heavy on each breath.

“Young Master, I’m sorry—” Grandmother Wen is  coming their way faster than she should. She and Wen Liu are busy keeping the workers supplied, and they are both not quick enough on their feet to always keep up with Sizhui’s energy.

“Please don’t trouble yourself,” Lan Wangji says. “Why don’t you let me watch him while I am on a break and you are doing your work, so you will not have to worry?”

She looks at him like she doesn’t quite believe that Second Young Master Lan is capable of watching a toddler. But in the last few days, while all the Wens still treat him with palpable respect, and sometimes confusion, the awe has stopped getting in the way of getting things done.

Finally, she nods. “Please call me if you need me to take him off your hands, Young Master,” she says with a small bow of her head, before going back to her cauldron.

Sizhui is tugging at Lan Wangji’s collar, interested in the silky fabric of his middle robe. His small weight is both familiar in its warmth, and a distant echo of something long gone. Lan Wangji gently unwinds his grip and settles down with him, putting him on his knee.

“Where do you want to fly to?” he asks, before Sizhui can get bored and squirmy. He feels rusty and a little awkward, but Sizhui has always made it easy to take care of him. It’s a good sort of nervousness as he watches Sizhui frown in very deep thought, pondering his travel wishes.

“Over the trees,” Sizhui decides. “To the lake.”

“What’s at the lake?” Lan Wangji asks. “Do you live there?”

Sizhui makes a thoughtful face that looks crushingly familiar, just younger and rounder and more occupied with dragons than with serious matters of cultivation. “I bathe at the lake,” he says. “My mouth doesn’t burn from the fireworks when I drink in the lake.”

Lan Wangji doesn’t know what lake this might be, if it’s from a memory or a story. He hadn’t properly appreciated, until he got here—with almost everyone still healing from some form of injury, with how frightened the adults are when they think someone is coming, and with how utterly they rely on Wei Ying to keep them safe—what a horrible experience Sizhui lived through these last few months, when they were prisoners of the Jin clan. And yet he grew into the sunniest, most gentle child Lan Wangji could imagine. 

“Why is your mouth burning from fireworks?” he asks, his arm safely tucked around Sizhui’s back as Sizhui’s little legs swing.

“I shoot them,” Sizhui informs him. He wriggles his fingers in front of his mouth and makes hissing and sputtering noises, looking earnest all the while. It seems to squeeze Lan Wangji’s heart only tighter. “From my mouth.”

“Are you a vengeful dragon then?” Lan Wangji asks, keeping his voice light.

“No,” Sizhui says. “I’m a nice dragon.” He seems not very concerned with the inconsistency of his narrative, and doesn’t elaborate on the fireworks.

Looking at Sizhui, bouncing him lightly out of instinct, he suddenly understands that wistfulness is wrong. He knew he wanted Sizhui to know Wei Ying, get to grow up with his example and his protection, the way he never got to in that other future. But if Lan Wangji does it right, if he does well, he, too, will see more of Sizhui growing up than he ever did before.

His arm tightens around Sizhui’s middle, just barely, holding him a little closer as he breathes through the warmth of his realization. Sizhui laughs, and it fills him with light.

~      ~      ~

The cultivator’s death had shaken me. I did not know him personally, but the unexplained circumstances suggested that something dark and unnatural was afoot, and, worse, that whatever force had committed the crime was not cowed by the stature and capabilities of the Gusu Lan sect. I did not think of the Gusu Lan sect in terms of military might, but I had only ever experienced deference to our learnedness and respect for our moral fortitude and discipline. The thought of a bold attack on a Lan cultivator was disturbing. Despite thinking of myself as an adult, I still lived in the unexamined confidence that no force in the world could defeat Uncle or Brother.

My first glimpse of Wei Ying was in passing. I felt tense under the scrutiny of strangers as I walked past the new arrivals at the gates of the Cloud Recesses. It was perhaps the only time I was in a place with Wei Ying and my eyes did not find him first. He drew my attention instead with an intelligent, but unusual observation on the cultivator’s body, suggesting dark sorcery had been at work, a diagnosis that only took him a glance. It disconcerted me.

I looked at the young stranger who had, ostensibly, come to the Cloud Recesses to study, like so many other young strangers, and I felt breathless and threatened at the same time. His beauty was sharp and obvious and his smile unrestrained. I felt a danger coming from him that I could not explain to myself. I would soon understand myself better, but at the time, his friendly greeting and languid confidence felt like an insult.

Until then, what I had thought handsome in a cultivator was poise and graceful conduct. Wei Ying pouted and fidgeted and changed the shape of the space around me, inserting himself into a previously calm and orderly world, entirely without my consent or permission.

“Don’t you think it’s time to pack it in for the night?”

Wen Qing is standing at the foot of Lan Wangji’s cot, between the main room and the alcove where she sleeps. She leans a shoulder against the cave wall, regarding Wei Ying with a fond, mildly tired expression.

She wasn’t talking to Lan Wangji, but he puts his brush away nonetheless. It is late.

Wei Ying looks up from the device he is trying to manipulate with a small iron stick. He has a black smudge on his cheek from a previous mishap, his hair tied back in an entirely unusual knot to keep it out of the way. His eyes look tired and slow from squinting at small objects in the candlelit cave.

“You’ll scare everyone if you make things go bang in the middle of the night,” she adds.

“I always save those for daytime!” Wei Ying protests, but it’s not a real fight. “Yeah, sure. I’m kind of beat.” He raises his arms and stretches them, yawning widely.

Lan Wangji discreetly tenses and untenses his neck. He is writing on a board he holds over his knees as he sits on his cot. Wei Ying needs the stone table for his work and Lan Wangji prefers the privacy this arrangement offers him.

“Lan Zhan, what time is it?” Wei Ying says to him, because apparently Lan Wangji’s sleep rhythm is currently the clock Wei Ying likes to check in with,  then ignore.

Lan Wangji’s body has been calling for sleep for about an hour, years of habit still running strong, but after the first couple of days, he decided that as cut off as the Burial Mounds is from society and from the normal rhythms of nature, insisting on this particular rule will do nobody any good. Next to his other offenses, it will hardly count against him.

“I agree with Lady Wen,” he says. “It’s time to go to sleep. We have more work tomorrow.”

“All right, all right,” Wei Ying says, and grins. “If Hanguang-jun says I must go to bed, I will.”

“Maybe Hanguang-jun could say that you should reorganize your shelves so we don’t keep stepping on pointy things that fall off the ends?” Wen Qing suggests from her spot of observation.

“Don’t push it,” Wei Ying grumbles.

They tease each other easily, Lan Wangji has noticed. It isn’t as noisy or as harsh as he remembers the scuffles between Wei Ying and Jiang Wanyin, but occasionally Lan Wangji wonders if she scolds him the way she might scold Wen Ning, were he conscious.

“Good night, both of you,” she says, and they both wish her a good night too.

Their arrangement, and the illusion of privacy it provides, still feels a little strange, but they are all getting used to it.

Wei Ying gives Lan Wangji’s writing set and the stack of papers that he keeps next to his bed a curious look, but then his eyes flicker briefly towards Wen Qing’s alcove and he doesn’t ask any questions. Instead he settles on the stone bed, leaving Lan Wangji in charge of blowing out the candles.

Wei Ying will toss and turn a little, pushing the straw into an ever different pillow, never quite satisfied with yesterday’s shape. Then, eventually, he’ll settle, and his breathing will even out quickly as if he, too, is trained for a consistent bedtime.

With the cool shadows of night settling in the cave, Lan Wangji lies down on his bed, the boards cushioned by a layer of woven mats now, and pulls the horse blanket over himself. There’s a dim flicker of light across the ceiling near his feet from Wen Qing’s area, where she leaves one candle lit for Wen Ning, in case he should wake. The tossing and pillow-shaping over on the stone bed is still going on, and Lan Wangji catches himself smiling with his eyes closed.

“Good night, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying mumbles, just before it goes quiet.

“Good night, Wei Ying,” he replies.

He turns on his side. What he can see from here, past the end of the stone table, is not Wei Ying’s face smoothed out with sleep, or his body in beautiful, secretive outline, but a lump of curled-in Wei Ying covered by two blankets, bits of straw sticking to one arm and random strands of hair.

When the wind doesn’t howl and Lan Wangji is very quiet, he can hear him breathe even at this distance.

Wei Ying’s alive. If Lan Wangji never gets closer to him than this, it will be enough.

~      ~      ~

The cloud chasing seems to be going more smoothly now. Wei Wuxian thinks it’s a shame that it’s in the service of radishes, but when the two senior Wen guys who are most familiar with farming nod to each other while three of his papermen blow the grey mists aside and everyone watching has to squint against the sky, he knows they’ve probably got it.

“Well done,” Lan Zhan says to him. Wei Wuxian feels proud, but he tilts his head in thought.

“I’ll want to think of a way to get this done without me standing here giving directions,” he says. “But it’s a start!”

Suddenly, his right side twinges. It’s not the Yin Tiger Seal.

Lan Zhan takes an immediate step towards him, and Wen Qing’s eyes have snapped in his direction. “Are you all right?” Lan Zhan asks.

“We’ll see,” Wei Wuxian says, drawing a deep breath. “Someone’s coming.”

Someone strong enough to break the barrier. Zewu-jun back for another talking to?

“Everyone,” Wei Wuxian says brightly. “It’s just some visitors. Just keep working.” Not that he blames them for getting a firmer grip on whatever tools they’ve got. But if things come to a head, it’s really down to him, the Yin Tiger Seal, and Lan Zhan to defend them.

He can tell from a tiny ripple on Lan Zhan’s face when Lan Zhan sees something. When Wei Wuxian follows his gaze, he still sees nothing but the forest—but then he catches movement in the distance, through the trees, and the muted glint of light against a hair ornament, dull blue robes made sickly by the black mists. It can’t be just Zewu-jun—there are at least five or six of them this time… seven… more. His stomach drops.

He turns back to Lan Zhan, who is still staring out at the woods, eyes sharp and his face impassive. “Go inside,” Wei Wuxian says, grabbing him by the elbow and trying to turn him toward the great hall. But Lan Zhan doesn’t budge. “Just—hide, or whatever, I’ll handle them. I’ll tell them you’re not here.”

Lan Zhan shakes his head slightly. “They would come back.”

Wei Wuxian just stares at him, still holding onto his elbow. He wishes Lan Zhan would look at him. He wishes Lan Zhan would do something, not just stand here like a doomed man waiting for the executioner. He’s not even going for his fucking sword. “Lan Zhan,” he says, shaking him weakly, but Lan Zhan’s gaze only darkens, and Wei Wuxian follows his eyes to see the Lan delegation emerging fully from the mists at the edge of the courtyard. His first count wasn’t even close, there’s at least fifteen or twenty. And they’re led by Lan Qiren.

Lan Qiren does not look interested in a quiet chat.

His eyes are stern, and focus on Lan Zhan with cold fire as he comes to stand before him, just a few steps away. Zewu-jun is at his shoulder looking subdued, and behind them, taking up the middle of the courtyard now, is the vanguard of five cultivators in white, senior clan members by the looks of it. They are also not giving off friendly chat vibes.

Wei Wuxian finds himself reaching for the flute at his belt and checks their surroundings to see if anyone might be in the line of fire, wishing Lan Zhan’s sword were closer at hand—it must be inside. He meets Wen Qing’s eyes—Wen Qing was sitting with Granny Wen near the cave entrance, but now she’s up, on alert—and tries to ask her to get it with a small lift of his chin, glad when she nods once and dips inside.

The courtyard feels pretty close and small all of a sudden.

Wen Qing re-emerges from the cave, hurrying up to them and offering Bichen to Lan Zhan.

“No,” Lan Zhan says, fixing her with a steady look, everything about him signaling for her to stay back. “There’s no need.”

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says, grip tightening on Lan Zhan’s elbow. What the fuck does he think he’s going to do, fight them off bare-handed?

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, trying to tell him something with his eyes, but Wei Wuxian doesn’t understand. “It will be all right.”

Zewu-jun seems to notice the tension in Wei Wuxian, the hand resting on his flute, and gives a polite bow, stepping forward to address him. “Please, forgive the intrusion, Young Master Wei. We are not here to cause trouble, I assure you.”

Wei Wuxian takes a breath and lets it out slowly. Okay… okay, it— sounds sincere, and this is Zewu-jun, and he wouldn’t lie to trick them. Probably.

Still, he doesn’t let go of Lan Zhan, or his flute. Out of the corner of his eye, he can still see Wen Qing holding Bichen, the white stark against her robes.

“In fact,” Zewu-jun continues, reaching for the spiritual pouch at his belt, “I have brought you a peace offering.” He reaches inside the pouch and draws out a long, thin object, taking those few steps towards them and presenting it to Wei Wuxian with both hands. “Please take it as a gesture of our good will, and proof that we mean you no harm.”

Suibian.

Ah, fuck. It twists inside him bittersweet, the sight of his sword. He’d almost forgotten about it—he must have left it in his room at Unicorn Tower the day he went to find Wen Ning.

But Zewu-jun’s gesture seems heartfelt, with no weight of judgment, and Wei Wuxian eases his grip on the flute to take hold of the sword, accepting it with a small nod. “Thank you,” he says. He still doesn’t let go of Lan Zhan.

Zewu-jun presses his lips together and returns a small bow, then returns to his place at Lan Qiren’s side. Lan Qiren’s eyes remain fixed on Lan Zhan.

“We’ve come to take you home, Wangji,” he says grimly, his tone brooking no argument. No discussion.

Lan Zhan seems calm as a statue, as firmly blank as Wei Wuxian has ever seen him. “I will not go,” he says.

Lan Qiren narrows his eyes at him. He looks infuriated, though not as shocked as Wei Wuxian would have expected. He wonders suddenly exactly what Lan Zhan said to Zewu-jun when he was here the last time.

“You are a highly respected and decorated member of the inner circle of the Lan Clan, Wangji. You have been given a direct order by your Sect Leader and your elder, and you will obey it.”

Something in the way he says that fills Wei Wuxian with a creeping sense of dread. A respected clan member, an order. There’s a warning in there. A threat.

Wei Wuxian peers over at Lan Zhan. Does he hear it? Does he know what he’s up against?

But Lan Zhan isn’t looking at him. His face gives almost nothing away.

“I will not,” Lan Zhan says.

The glare in Lan Qiren’s eyes makes Wei Wuxian’s blood run cold.

No. No, Lan Zhan can’t— he can’t know what he’s saying, there’s no fucking way he would… not on purpose. Would he? Does he know what he’s risking? Even in the Jiang clan they don’t just let people get away with disobeying direct orders, and there’s no way in hell the Lan Clan would be more flexible on something like this.

Wei Wuxian can’t let him do this. The Wens will be safe enough here with just one of them, it’s not worth… he can’t let Lan Zhan do this. Lan Zhan will never forgive him.

“Lan Zhan,” he says urgently. “It’s okay. I know what I said before, but—”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan hushes him, still not taking his eyes off Lan Qiren.

Wei Wuxian shakes his arm slightly, willing him to look at him, understand what he’s saying. “But we’ll be fine, Lan Zhan, you really don’t have to—”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says again, still not looking at him. “Do not interfere.”

“But Lan Zha—!”

His voice catches in his throat—stops, swallowed up as his mouth snaps shut, and he finds he can’t open it again. He stares at Lan Zhan, too freaked out to be pissed off they’re back at silencing charms, now. Finally Lan Zhan looks back at him, briefly and terrifyingly frank. An apology, and a plea.

No. No, he can’t…

Wei Wuxian’s heart is in his throat, his fingers going numb as Lan Zhan gently pulls his arm free and takes a couple of steps forward to face Lan Qiren. Wei Wuxian can see the slight tremor in his fingers, but the rest of him is steady as he bows his head. His hands lift to the crown of his head and pull loose the sacred ribbon, letting it slide out from between the layers of his hair. It folds lifeless in his palm, and he closes his fingers around it briefly, tightly, before extending his hand toward Lan Qiren.

No, Wei Wuxian whispers, shaking his head sharply, but even the strangled sound doesn’t make it all the way out.

“If the Lan Elders order me as a member of the Lan Clan to return with you to the Cloud Recesses, then I can no longer be a member of the Lan Clan.” His voice is quiet but firm, his arm straight and sure. Wei Wuxian wants to reach out and tear the headband out of his grip, put it back on his head and tell him to just leave, just go, this has gone way too far. He can’t be the reason Lan Zhan loses his family.

Zewu-jun looks stricken, and even Lan Qiren stares like he didn’t see this coming. The cultivators behind them are stealing glances at each other, wondering what now. This is clearly not the way this was meant to go.

Hanguang-jun is renouncing the Lan Clan. For a man who’s turned his back on righteous cultivation, and a half-starved group of refugees.

“Wangji,” Zewu-jun breathes, and Wei Wuxian thinks there might be tears in his eyes. He looks afraid. “Please, don’t do this. Please consider the consequences.”

“I have considered,” Lan Zhan says, and there’s only the slightest hitch, the slightest roughness. He keeps his eyes on Lan Qiren, doesn’t look at his brother.

Lan Qiren lifts his chin slightly, still making no move to accept Lan Zhan’s offering. “This is not a decision to be taken lightly,” he says. “If you do this, you are rejecting the path of righteous cultivation. You will no longer have a place in society among the great clans. Your titles and protections will be forfeit. All ties to your clan of origin will cease to exist. You will never be allowed to enter the Cloud Recesses again.”

“Uncle,” Zewu-jun says urgently, his face full of horror, but Lan Qiren lifts a hand to silence him. Zewu-jun stays put, his shaken gaze turning to Lan Zhan and silently urging him to stand down, obey their uncle’s orders. Then he looks to Wei Wuxian for help, and Wei Wuxian would fucking help if he could, but short of grabbing the forehead ribbon out of Lan Zhan’s hand and forcibly tying it back where it belongs, he doesn’t know what he can do.

Lan Zhan.

“I understand,” Lan Zhan says, very quietly. It scrapes out like a rusty nail that breaks the skin, cutting through him and into Wei Wuxian.

This can’t be happening.

Lan Qiren nods slowly, his breath coming out on a sharp huff. Then, at last, he lifts a hand to cover Lan Zhan’s, accepting the forehead ribbon. As the tail of it slips through his fingers, Lan Zhan drops his hand back to his side, and Wei Wuxian can see now that it’s shaking. He can’t help it, steps forward and reaches out to take it, and he’s surprised when he feels Lan Zhan’s hand close tightly around his, an iron grip as though on a sword hilt, as though clinging to life from the edge of an abyss. There’s a flare of outrage in Lan Qiren’s eyes as they catch on Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan’s joined hands. It burns down the back of Wei Wuxian’s neck, and he doesn’t even know if it’s anger at this guy for reading shit into things, or guilt that he himself put Lan Zhan in this position in the first place.

Lan Qiren turns a hard stare back at Lan Zhan. “If that is your choice, then you have no more right to this, either,” he says, his eyes indicating the jade pendant hanging from Lan Zhan’s sash.

Wei Wuxian feels a small flinch in the press of Lan Zhan’s hand, sees the swallow in his throat, as if his control might only hold so long. But then the ripple in the calm is gone. He doesn’t let go of Wei Wuxian, using his other hand to pull the pendant of passage free. It takes a moment, it’s tricky with one hand, but then it’s done. When he holds it out, dangling from its string, there’s nothing in his face. Nothing at all.

“It seems,” Lan Qiren says, eyes flickering down as he takes the pendant in his hand, “that we have nothing left to say to each other.” It sends a dull echo of satisfaction through Wei Wuxian to hear his voice break slightly, like maybe some part of him actually hurts, isn’t just trying to bend Lan Zhan to his will for its own sake. He should hurt.

Then Lan Qiren turns away, and the dazed men behind him step hastily to the sides to clear a path for him. Zewu-jun seems frozen, keeps staring at Lan Zhan for a moment longer, his mouth half-open like he’s searching for a way to reel it back still, undo everything, make it right again.

Lan Zhan meets Zewu-jun’s eyes steadily as Lan Qiren is disappearing in the forest beyond, the Lan cultivators trailing after him, and Wei Wuxian feels Lan Zhan’s hand go tight around his for a moment, as though drawing strength from him. But he says nothing more.

Zewu-jun presses his lips together in an unsteady line and gives a small nod, acceptance flickering in his eyes. Then he, too, turns away.

Wei Wuxian feels the silencing charm release him as soon as Zewu-jun is gone in the mist, and the words tumble out of him on the next breath. “Lan Zhan.”

Lan Zhan lowers his eyes to the courtyard floor, his shoulders sinking slowly under all his poise, smaller suddenly. He takes a moment before he turns to face Wei Wuxian again. He looks as broken and unmoored as Wei Wuxian has ever seen him. But there’s something fierce in his eyes as well, bright and hard and boring into him. He says nothing.

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian doesn’t let go of Lan Zhan until he has him safely inside the cave, away from prying eyes and ears.

Once they’re out of view, he strides to the other side of the main room, his legs restless as he tries to get his thoughts in order. This can’t happen. This is nuts.

He whips back around. “Why did you do that?” he demands.

Lan Zhan is still hovering near the doorway, looking a bit dazed. Like he really shouldn’t be standing right now.

“I had no choice,” Lan Zhan says, quietly.

“Bullshit,” Wei Wuxian bursts out, pacing another long oval towards Lan Zhan, then away again. “They just—they weren’t even threatening us, Lan Zhan, all they wanted was for you to go back with them. You didn’t have to…”

“I did.”

Wei Wuxian shakes his head hard, scrubbing his hands over his face. If Lan Zhan isn’t going to fucking… somebody has to start thinking straight here. “Look, you know what, we should just go after them—they won’t even be out of the forest yet, you can explain to them that you were just angry, or whatever, and they’ll give you another chance—Zewu-jun definitely didn’t want you to go, he can talk to your uncle and—”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says. “I’m not going back.”

It stops him, like he walked into some spell, his body vibrating on undirected energy.

“But you have to,” he says. Why doesn’t Lan Zhan see this? This is much too high a price.

Lan Zhan stares back at him, and something flickers in his eyes. Uncertainty again, and maybe… hurt?

“But,” Lan Zhan says quietly, his voice slightly halting. “You said you didn’t want me to go.”

Oh. Oh, that.

“I don’t,” Wei Wuxian says, all the steam leaving him in a breath, and he takes a couple of steps toward Lan Zhan—because okay, he definitely thinks this is crazy, but he doesn’t want Lan Zhan thinking he actually wants him gone now. “I don’t want you to go. But I don’t want you to lose everything either.”

Lan Zhan meets his eyes then fiercely, and it does something strange to Wei Wuxian’s insides when Lan Zhan looks at him that way. Like he’s trying to tell him something in a language Wei Wuxian doesn’t speak, one only half understood.

“I haven’t lost everything,” Lan Zhan says.

It’s there, too, underneath the words. A pull that makes Wei Wuxian want to lean forward and put his arms around Lan Zhan, hold him close and tell him it’s going to be okay, he’ll get them through this somehow. He doesn’t know why the hell Lan Zhan is still here, why he seems so determined to burn all his bridges in favor of this narrow, dark, single-plank one heading off into the middle of nowhere, but he wants to tell him—show him—it will be okay.

Wei Wuxian gets a grip, lets that dizzy spin pass, and keeps his hands to himself.

The last thing Lan Zhan needs is for Wei Wuxian to get all touchy-feely on him right now, making him uncomfortable. He’s waiting for Wei Wuxian to say something, show him the way forward. Lan Zhan isn’t turning back. He’s made that very clear.

But Wei Wuxian means it. He’s going to do his fucking best to make sure that it will be okay. If Lan Zhan is sticking it out with them here, Wei Wuxian will do everything in his power to see that he won’t regret it.

“If you’re sure,” he says, and it comes out like thank you.

Lan Zhan nods slowly, not taking his eyes off Wei Wuxian’s. “I am.”

~      ~      ~

Their crops are proceeding, and it becomes time to thin out the seedlings, as Wen Xiaobo instructs them, for the radishes to grow properly. He’s one of the younger Wen men, but he has experience with farming, and even less cultivation than the rest of the Wens. Lan Wangji feels like a beginner in these things, but it’s easy enough to learn, and he takes care with it, focusing on keeping the right distance between the seedlings, collecting the greens in a roughly sewn bag.

It’s slow work in a crouched position. Today is not too hot, though they get clearer sunshine thanks to Wei Ying’s work on the resentment clouds, and Lan Wangji is conscious of his robes dragging in the loose, dark earth. He’s barely halfway down his row when most of the Wens have already finished theirs. He feels like they are watching him, the way he felt watched in his youth, when he was both admired for his cultivator skills and thought too stiff and unfriendly to have a simple conversation.

But nobody says anything, and if he doesn’t look, he also won’t see their sympathy. He finishes his row methodically, and tries not to make a noise when he straightens his back at the end of it, stretching unobtrusively.

Wen Qing is still at the end of the field, collecting the greens into a single bag. “It’s roughly a hand’s length, Hanguang-jun,” Wen Qing says to him in a gentle tone. “It’s farming, not medicine.”

He hands her his collected greens, breathing past the self-conscious flush. They must find him awkward and fussy with how slowly he works. “It will keep us fed,” he says. “It should be done right.”

She gives him a small smile. “I understand.”  Her eyes catch on his robe as he tries to brush off the dirt. He’s felt aware all morning of where the passage token used to be, and he feels exposed where the headband no longer is. There was a moment when he wiped sweat from his brow and startled when his hand didn’t brush the cloud emblem. 

He’ll get used to it. Other people work and retain discipline without a headband.

Wen Qing gives him a look as if she’s considering saying something, a conflict of sorts in her expression, before her features smooth out and she nods encouragingly. He goes back to his work.

~      ~      ~

“They’re perfectly edible,” Wen Qing says, planting the bowl of rinsed radish sprouts in front of Wei Ying. “Wasn’t it you who was complaining about the bland fish?”

“And now I’m supposed to eat bland weeds?” Wei Ying counters. He has Sizhui hanging off his shoulder, winding Wei Ying’s hair ribbon around his hands and occasionally leaving spit marks on it. “I’m not a cow.”

Wen Liu and Grandmother Wen, who are distributing the salad made from the radish greens, smile at each other. The Wens have always respected Wei Ying and his leadership, but by now their nervousness around him has faded, and nobody seems to take Wei Ying’s complaints about the food seriously at all, though only Wen Qing will scold him.

“It’s there, and it’s free,” she says with finality. “I’ll have your portion if you don’t want it.”

Wei Ying snatches up the wooden bowl and holds it to his chest. He glowers at her, his lips pursed in protest. It’s both childish and endearing, and Lan Wangji finds himself feeling far too weak, watching him.

He accepts his own bowl of greens, and finds them oddly spicy. Wei Ying might not hate them after all once he tries them, but Lan Wangji doesn’t want to disrupt this ritual exchange with reasoned compromise. They also all get an apple each.

“Ah Yuan, what do you make of this?” Wei Ying asks, holding one of the sprouts in front of Sizhui’s mouth. Sizhui makes big eyes and takes a bite, then shakes his head slowly without releasing the sprout.

It feels like the nonsensical, spit-heavy high point of Lan Wangji’s day, and for a moment he just watches the two of them, that off-center tilt he has walked with all day slightly righting itself.  

Grandmother Wen and Wen Liu move on to the next group, leaving the four of them in the corner by the cave entrance. Once Wei Ying has abandoned complaining, he eats his dinner peacefully, letting Sizhui nibble on one of their last, fairly dry bits of bread.

“It isn’t enough,” Wen Qing says in a quiet voice, looking at both of them with a serious expression. “We’re doing okay when there’s some fish to be had, but I think we need to buy some more supplies to get us through to the first crop.” Today, the fishing wasn’t successful.

“Sure, I can go into town,” Wei Ying says. “Tomorrow. I’ll pick us out something tasty.” He winks at Sizhui, who finds that wonderful.

It has Lan Wangji instantly on edge. So far he’s been able to stop Wei Ying from venturing out, but he knows eventually that won’t work anymore. He also knows, in theory, that Wei Ying often went into the town in the past, in the other past, and was fine. 

It puts Lan Wangji at a disadvantage that so much of the planning happens during meals. He has taken meals outside the Cloud Recesses, of course, and knows that not everyone adheres to the Lan standard of not speaking while eating. He wouldn’t try to impose his own way of doing things on people so different.

Still, it is difficult to break years of habit. But he really doesn’t want Wei Ying to go down the mountain on his own.

“Let me go,” he says, his voice sticking slightly, uncooperative. “I can bring back supplies. Nobody bothered me last time. We should go with the tried method.”

Wei Ying doesn’t even seem to notice how unusual it is that Lan Wangji is speaking, with food still in his bowl. He just gives Lan Wangji a frank look, not at all like the light-hearted teasing with which he usually conducts these negotiations. “I think this time I’ll go,” he says, casual but firm.

“You are still a wanted man,” Lan Wangji points out.

“You had an armed escort here trying to take you home yesterday,” Wei Ying says. Then he stops—blinks, averting his gaze. Wipes a few crumbs off Sizhui’s cheek.

It hits Lan Wangji in a sickly place to think of Uncle or other members of his clan hiding, lying in wait for him, trying to snatch him. As if even the thought is disloyal. They wouldn’t. Jin Guangshan and the other clans might seek revenge, or have designs on the power of the Yin Tiger Seal, but his clan would not succumb to such pressures. These are not their methods.

His former clan. They’re his former clan.

The reminder runs through him cold and lonely.

No. He made his choice, and it’s all right. Lan Wangji still knows the ways of his former clan better than anyone here, and Wei Ying is simply wrong, even though he means well. “I’m not in danger from them,” he says, looking down at his food.

Wei Ying doesn’t reply. He’d all but told Lan Wangji to accept his uncle’s order and go with them, he’d been angry at Lan Wangji’s choice. It must have been the visit itself that’s left him with this fear reaction.  For a little while it’s quiet.

Quiet like a Lan meal, after all.

He can learn, break that habit for good. Not now, but soon. It’ll do him good not to hold on to things that don’t make sense out here. He can learn to eat his meals like an outsider.

“Why don’t you both go,” Wen Qing says. “We can take care of ourselves here for a few hours. To be honest, I’ll feel a bit better knowing you’re watching each other’s backs. We don’t really know what stories people are telling yet.”

Lan Wangji looks at her, finds her calm and conciliatory.

He nods.

“All right,” Wei Ying says.

It’s settled.

~      ~      ~

The cloak still looks like a bad disguise. There’s no one in the whole wide world who would look at Lan Zhan with his beautiful face and noble posture and go, sure, peasant trader farmer guy. But Wei Wuxian doesn’t tell him that, because Lan Zhan seems to assign some importance to his disguise, even has the hood up, covering his headpiece and casting a shadow over his eyes.

They’re already past the barrier, where the forest is lighter but also untamed. The Tiger Seal is purring at his side, awake with the sense of spirits around them, but he keeps it peaceful and gentle. His stomach is growling slightly but that’s just his baseline condition these days. Maybe while they’re out with Lan Zhan’s purse they can sneak-buy some food that doesn’t taste of fish and nothing and isn’t an apple.

He blinks when they clear the forest. It’s an overcast day, but the light still has a different sharpness to it. He keeps that thought to himself, though.

When the path widens, he takes two skipping steps and falls in with Lan Zhan, his absolutely authentic peasant trader farmer guy, and sneaks him a smile. “It’s nice to see some different scenery for a change, right?”

Lan Zhan, as usual, seems to be weighing his answer. “I’m glad you enjoy it,” he ends up saying, which has even less substance than Wei Wuxian expected. A simple grump would have at least confirmed that Lan Zhan’s still on edge.

He gets that Lan Zhan worries for him. He’ll even admit that he’s got more of a target on his back than Lan Zhan at this point, who is after all the formidable Hanguang-jun and at least isn’t associated with the killings at the prison camp. But…

Lan Zhan giving up his clan and his position is still eating away at him, a guilty churn in the pit of his stomach whenever Wei Wuxian looks at him and sees his bare forehead, no headband making him all proper and cutely weird. As if someone stole something from him. As if maybe Wei Wuxian did.

As much as Wei Wuxian didn’t like Lan Qiren showing up with an entourage to strong-arm Lan Zhan into coming home, he doesn’t actually think the guy is lurking in the bushes, waiting to pounce on Lan Zhan while he’s out shopping. He doesn’t even really think any of them could take Lan Zhan. Most of all, he doesn’t think being back at the Cloud Recesses, respected and honored like he should be, would be the worst place for Lan Zhan.

Still, it spooked him. If they caught Lan Zhan alone, and took him by surprise…

Wei Wuxian surreptitiously keeps an eye on the bushes and bends of the road, anyway. Just in case.

“If you are worried about attacks, you should carry your sword,” Lan Zhan says, peering over at him knowingly from the shadows of his hood.

Damn.

It sends up a flare of defensiveness inside him, that low fighty growl that makes him want to say something dumb and rude to make the fucking questions go away. He thought they were done with this. They’ve been so preoccupied setting up shelter and keeping people from starving that he only realizes now how long it’s been since Lan Zhan got on his case about his crafty methods of cultivation. He’s let down his guard.

Then again, he didn’t actually have his sword until now. Maybe Lan Zhan has been the one lying in wait, ready to pounce, and then Zewu-jun’s gesture of fucking good will…

His blood stutters to a halt inside him, and the indignation sours into guilt. He thinks of Lan Zhan’s shaking hand as he gave them the headband in return. Lan Zhan definitely wasn’t waiting for that.

He feels like an asshole. At least he kept all the asshole inside this time though, that’s something. Progress, or whatever.

But, still, there’s nothing he can do about the sword and he’s got no better story lined up, just has to stubborn it out. He just… he wants Lan Zhan to let it go. The thought of arguing with Lan Zhan makes him feel queasy and unsettled. He was ready for that once, and he’s used to blustering his way to a win in any argument, but now… the thought kind of sucks.

“In these parts?” he replies, for once trying to sound as unobnoxious as possible. “My flute’s much more effective, and I really need both hands for it, so.”

He sees the disapproval flicker over Lan Zhan’s face in profile, but it’s quickly gone again. Maybe Lan Zhan is learning to pick his battles too.

“I’m sorry about the other day,” Wei Wuxian says in a conciliatory tone. “I mean, about saying what I said. I don’t really think your uncle would kidnap you.”

“It would be against our principles,” Lan Zhan says, not a hitch in his voice. Wei Wuxian hears the ‘our’, and he wonders if Lan Zhan does, too. “I’ve severed ties. It wouldn’t be right to force me back to the Cloud Recesses.”

Wei Wuxian looks at him sideways, trying to get a read on how Lan Zhan feels about that, what he’s really thinking. But his tone is even flatter than usual, as if he’s only stating facts, and his eyes are partly in shadow, looking straight ahead.

“I no longer have a place there.”

~      ~      ~

He’s in a strange mood by the time they reach the town. He feels like he should enjoy it more, given it’s his first outing. Maybe it’s because he had to argue about it that he’s not feeling as cheerful as he expected despite the change of pace and the kind of bustle that he usually enjoys, the food stalls and the people milling about.

“Hey, watch it,” he snaps at some guy whose shoulder bumped right into Lan Zhan. The guy swears at them but doesn’t stop to actually have an argument. What a loser.

You have to look really close at Lan Zhan to see that he’s keeping his face intentionally calm. He must be so annoyed. “Are you okay?” Wei Wuxian asks.

“Yes,” Lan Zhan says, and keeps walking.

Wei Wuxian feels even guiltier here among people, seeing Lan Zhan with his hand at his back as always, his shoulders straight, all that poise covered by a ratty cloak.

How on earth anyone takes him as someone you can bump into is still a puzzle, though, even if Wei Wuxian is the only one here who knows he’s got one of the most powerful swords of the cultivation world strapped to his back.

They head for the traders’ stalls first. Wei Wuxian’s spirits rise somewhat when he manages to haggle down the price for a bag of slightly marred apples to supplement what they manage to find in the Burial Mounds, and then he uses the money saved to buy some cucumbers for variety. They also buy two sacks of rice, which Lan Zhan carries easily and without complaint.

Wen Qing has also told them to buy some sturdy fabrics, as it’s getting colder. Most of the Wens are alternating between what they had the day they escaped from the prison camp and the dead people rags from the forest, and they trade cloaks around as weather and work tasks require. So they head for the local textile merchant, which is one of the bigger shops on the street.

One of the beautiful fabrics they have hanging outside to attract customers is a pale, shimmering lilac. It reminds him of Shijie, and for a moment he misses her terribly. It’s only been a few weeks, and he’s been busy and focused on the positive, the houses and the planting and Lan Zhan and their success at taming the forest, the Wens becoming less afraid. He’s tried not to dwell on the thought that he knows it’s pretty unrealistic he’ll see Shijie again any time soon.

He shakes his head, turns away from the pretty fabric. Better not to get caught up in these things. He just hopes she’s not too worried, and that Jiang Cheng isn’t driving her crazy with his tantrums. 

He turns when he realizes Lan Zhan hasn’t followed him.

Lan Zhan is standing in front of a stall selling… toys?

Wei Wuxian takes a couple of steps back in his direction, glancing from the stall to the strangely entranced expression on Lan Zhan’s face.

“Looking for presents?” he asks. There are toy horses and some carved wooden animals, a couple of colorful kites. Much fancier than they could make in the Burial Mounds.

Lan Zhan almost startles. He looks at Wei Wuxian, caught, as if Wei Wuxian had found him perusing a book of dark magic instead of a pile of playthings. The way he flounders for an explanation is a little unsettling.

“What’s wrong?” Wei Wuxian asks, glancing at the toys again briefly, to see if he’s missed something.

That seems to pull Lan Zhan out of whatever panic he was in. “Nothing,” he says evenly. “It was just a passing thought.”

Wei Wuxian frowns. “What thought?”

“I just thought…” He gives the toys one last look, and for a moment there’s something almost like longing in his eyes. Wei Wuxian has a funny feeling he gets it now—Lan Zhan seems pretty enamored of Ah Yuan, it’s not strange he would think of him when passing a toy stall. But there’s a wistfulness underneath it that he still finds confusing.

“Never mind,” Lan Zhan decides, after a moment’s hesitation. “It would be frivolous. Unwise.”

Wei Wuxian wishes he could disagree—he’d like to buy the kid a present too, if he could, just to see him light up—but it’s hard to justify spending money on that when they’ve still got everybody else wearing bits of the clothes left behind by bodies in the forest. In any case, Lan Zhan seems decided. He turns to continue on his way to the fabric store, and Wei Wuxian follows after him. They have a list, and Wen Qing will be much more agreeable if they actually remember it.

~      ~      ~

Once he has shaken off the memory of Sizhui and the toys, Lan Wangji nods to a few fabrics Wei Ying is showing him that seem to meet Wen Qing’s instructions. The third one, a very practical, durable weave died a deep black, sets the merchant off on a tale of how he once travelled to trade in Dongying, and Wei Ying becomes fascinated, letting the end of the bolt of fabric slip through his fingers.

Lan Wangji doesn’t mind the pleasantries. He is a little restless, however, having one more important errand to run.

With how much work there is to do in the Burial Mounds, he doesn’t manage to visit the postal exchange every day, but he’s tried to make it every three days at the least. Once or twice, when he didn’t have other reason to go down to the village, he’s slipped away briefly only for that, hoping no one would ask him any questions on his return.

Thus far, there have been no messages addressed to Xiao Xiang.

When the story of Dongying slides seamlessly into a discussion of fabric-based talismans and how different materials impact the strength of the symbols, he excuses himself, telling Wei Ying discreetly that he wants to check the prices of the shop next door and make sure they’re not overpaying. Then he falls in step with the crowd, glancing over his shoulder to make sure that Wei Ying is still engrossed in the conversation, while he follows the flow of pedestrians a little further down, to the postal exchange.

Today, there’s a slightly hunched older man running the postal counter. The floor just inside the inn is dusty, a lot of feet carrying the dirt in and out with them between the doorway and the counter. The man is speaking to a woman in plain clothes, handing over a small stack of letters to her. She bows to him, and steps aside.

“May I help you?” the old man says then, turning to Lan Wangji as he approaches.

Lan Wangji nods briefly. “I wondered if—”

“Ah!” the old man interrupts, sudden recognition dawning on his face, and for a moment Lan Wangji feels the pit of his stomach drop. The cloak has worked until now, other than the horse trader no one has even suspected, and that was only because of the pendant…

But then the man is turning away, hands raised in front of him, hovering over the wall of cubbyholes behind him as he seems to be looking for something, muttering to himself. Another “ah!” sound, and he reaches into one of the cubbies off to the left and retrieves a small, plain envelope, placing it on the counter.

Lan Wangji blinks at it. There’s no writing on the front, and it doesn’t look like Lan stationary. But if the letter was enough to give him away, there must be something…

“Xiao Xiang, I presume?” the man says, looking up at him with a smile. “Ah Yan said you’d likely be in again today. I take it you’ve been waiting for this letter for some while.”

Lan Wangji’s breath catches in his chest. Xiao Xiang. Of course. Of course he wouldn’t know—he wouldn’t have recognized… No. This makes much more sense.

“Yes,” he says, nodding and reaching for the envelope. “Xiao Xiang. I am… this is the letter I’ve been waiting for.”

He hopes so, anyway.

Thinking back over the exchange, he wants to cringe at his ineptitude. Secrets and subterfuge have never been in line with his strengths, and here he is.

When the man behind the counter nods and turns his attention to the next customer, Lan Wangji turns away and slips outside again, walking around to the steps at the back, where he’s shielded from the traffic on the main road. Then, keeping the letter close to his chest, he flicks it open with a finger and turns the paper right side up, unsealing the small protection that Mian Mian in turn has placed on her letter.

Lan Wangji,

I apologize for my delayed response. The truth is, I wasn’t sure what to say. I am sympathetic to Wei Wuxian’s cause, and I owe him a personal debt of gratitude. I don’t believe in the rumors that are currently spreading among the clans, but I also don’t want to take any actions to undermine my own clan or endanger my sect brothers and sisters.

I appreciate your trust in me and so I will be honest with you. I have recently been present at certain discussions that have brought me to the verge of leaving the Jin Clan. I didn’t want to be associated with the outright lies being spread about Wei Wuxian, and I was shocked that my own sect leader would slander Wei Wuxian’s part in winning the Sunshot Campaign. I still hope that Sect Leader Jin means well and is merely misguided by all these rumors and the worry over the Yin Tiger Seal, but I am no longer certain that that’s the case. And if Hanguang-jun also feels there is reason to be concerned, then I trust Hanguang-jun’s judgment. So I’ve chosen to stay, for now, and keep an eye on the developments in Unicorn Tower.

I’m not sure exactly what you want me to look for, but I promise you that I will not reveal our correspondence to anyone, and I will do my best to observe the leadership and inform you of anything strange or worrisome. I would ask only that you, in return, inform me of any developments you observe that might place me or my clan in harm’s way.

Luo Qingyang 

Lan Wangji closes his eyes, folding the paper against his chest. He had been starting to worry that he had misjudged her, or that she might have been disconcerted by the sudden contact. Perhaps even that he had been too late. It was not long after Wei Wuxian left the first time, the last time, that she abandoned the Jin Clan. It was only that incident itself that had convinced him she would be a useful ally, and he knows that his reaching out to her preemptively must have seemed strange without that context. They don’t know each other well, and if she is observant, she might even have had reason to believe he disliked her. He did once, childishly.

But he’d had to try. Without her, without some outside contact, he would be blind to changes in the situation outside the Burial Mounds. That would be a very dangerous position for him to be in, knowing what’s to come.

But no, he wasn’t wrong. This is good. His gamble paid off, and he caught her in time.

It’s a weight off his shoulders to know that he has a lifeline to the outside world, someone he can reach out to for perspective on how things are progressing. What has changed, and what remains the same.

But he mustn’t leave Wei Ying alone for too long. He’s done now, he needs to get back.

Curling his fingers around the edge of the letter, he sends a burst of spiritual energy into his hand and lets the paper combust in a flash of blue, until nothing is left but a few flakes of ash.

~      ~      ~

Lan Zhan hands the food items to Granny Wen, who is a bit hampered by Ah Yuan tugging at her skirt and demanding her attention, and Wei Wuxian goes to unload the rest of their purchases in the cave. It’s mostly the fabric, but also some herbs Wen Qing requested to treat exhaustion and disinfect wounds, a couple of tools and a bag of nails, a set of sewing needles, some talisman paper, and some other stuff Lan Zhan bought.

Wen Qing looks through the folded fabrics, mostly greys and browns but there’s also some blue and some red, and nods. “That’s good,” she says. “Did you get a good price?”

“Well, we took the cheapest we could get that wasn’t literally cut up rice sacks,” Wei Wuxian says, shrugging. “I let him talk my ear off but in the end he wouldn’t go any lower on those.”

Lan Zhan is just walking in, relieved from his burdens, that ugly cloak still hanging from his shoulders. He stops at the table where Wei Wuxian has dumped the stuff, his face unreadable.

“It’s fine,” Wen Qing says. “Everyone’s going to be glad when we can wear an extra layer and do a bit more laundry.” She sorts through the piles, nodding occasionally to herself. When she picks up the herbs, she sniffs them, nods again. “Yes, that’s good.”

“And we didn’t even buy a treat!” Wei Wuxian complain-brags for the record.

She just shakes her head, much colder than Shijie would be. “You’ll get a treat when the radishes are grown.”

Wei Wuxian sighs. He scoops up his talisman paper, which makes a crinkling noise. It’s very cheap and somewhat fragile, and it’s good he could replenish his stock given how much the cloud management has eaten up. He moves it to the other side of the table and secures it with the flat stone he uses as a paperweight.

“No trouble, then?” Wen Qing asks, with a serious look at both of them.

“Nope,” Wei Wuxian says. “Though that thing Lan Zhan heard going around the other day about me supposedly being the Yiling Patriarch seems to still be a thing. The guy at the fabric store had heard it too. I mean, he didn’t know it was me, but it came up when we were talking about talismans. Pretty weird.” He’s not really sure what to make of it yet, to be honest. Given that he gets scolded when he buys the wrong apples and he lost the battle over what to plant pretty decisively, he doesn’t feel all that patriarch-ish. But it’s got a ring to it that might discourage people from bothering them, so that might not be a bad thing.

He catches Lan Zhan looking at him pensively. But when he returns a questioning look, Lan Zhan blinks away, as if he hadn’t seen.

Wen Qing’s gaze has fallen on the sheets of paper that were under his talisman supplies. “What’s that?” she asks. 

That’s Lan Zhan’s stuff. Lan Zhan is staring at the paper stack looking a bit frozen, and when he doesn’t seem to want to answer, Wei Wuxian says, “Just some more paper.” Lan Zhan was a little particular about it, but he was also just his normal, not very chatty self. Wei Wuxian didn’t bug him about it.

Wen Qing touches the edge of the stack. “It’s very elegant,” she says in a thoughtful tone. She doesn’t mean it in the ‘it’s so pretty’ sense.

“We might need it,” Lan Zhan says. “For communication. Letters.”

Letters. To… who?

The thought flits through his mind, but Wei Wuxian sits on himself before it slips out.

Lan Zhan’s voice sounds dry, like he’s embarrassed by the scrutiny. Standing there in the ugly cloak and with his strangely naked forehead. Suddenly Wei Wuxian is annoyed.

“Leave him alone, okay?” he says, waving a hand at the stack. “He can buy some paper if he wants.” 

Wen Qing looks at him, and for a second he thinks she’ll argue. But when she looks at Lan Zhan, something cautious and conflicted shows on her face. “Of course,” she says in a conciliatory tone. “It is Hanguang-jun’s money. I wouldn’t want to presume.”

That brings Lan Zhan’s eyes up. He takes a moment before he speaks, as if he’s weighing the words, and Wei Wuxian can’t even tell if he’s upset or offended or what. “The money that’s left is for everyone’s benefit,” he says eventually. “I apologize. I should have discussed these purchases.”

“Please.” Wen Qing holds up a hand briefly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it. We’re just…” She raises her shoulders.

Wei Wuxian’s annoyance mellows out when he sees the flush in her cheeks. Yeah. They’re just trying to get them all through the winter on whatever Lan Zhan had in his pockets, a couple of stolen horses, and a fuckton of radishes.

He takes the sheets of paper and hands them to Lan Zhan, giving him a smile. “Here you go, you put them away so I don’t accidentally enchant them,” he says.

Lan Zhan accepts the papers with a little nod, still looking contrite.

Wei Wuxian pats his arm encouragingly. They’re going to be all right.

~      ~      ~

There is a rhythm to the days here. It isn’t the rhythm Lan Wangji is used to, but it’s a rhythm nonetheless. People wake with the sunlight, or at least enough of them do to wake the rest. Then there is work. There’s fishing, and bringing water for washing, and combing the woods inside Wei Ying’s protective wards for more edible plants. Some make sure that the radishes are not overtaken with weeds or insects. Lan Wangji is working in a group to clear trees and cut timber for more housing.

It’s good work. They can see the results, solidifying by the hour, the way a learning mind advances through the pages of a book and can take satisfaction from that. There is more sweat and muscle soreness, but Lan Wangji knew from the start that he was choosing a different life than the one he had always known.

A gust of wind blows through the camp, showering the housing crew with prickles of sand and dead leaves. Lan Wangji brushes his hair out of his face, plucks a twig from the folds of his robes, and looks around himself. Fourth Uncle is rubbing one eye, but everyone else seems ready to continue. He nods at Wen Yunlan, and they move the saw again.

“Sorry!” Wei Ying calls out to them. He’s sitting on one of the rocks on the other side of the courtyard, tidily enough that Lan Wangji can tell he’s very focused. “Guess that made it worse, huh?” Sizhui is making dragon noises, running circles around Wei Ying and letting his arms trail like dragon whiskers behind him.

Wei Ying has been fighting the weather. There are rain clouds descending on Yiling, and they had hoped to finish another stretch of roof before it would start to come down, so Wei Ying has been applying his techniques for the resentment clouds to the regular kind, with mixed success.

Lan Wangji watches an exhausted paperman flutter down and fall into Wei Ying’s hand, before focusing on his task again.

“Okay, enough now!” Wen Qing’s voice makes them pause. She’s standing behind Wei Ying and has lifted Sizhui onto her hip. “Just get everybody inside. You’ll never hold it off until the next house is finished. The radishes can use the water anyway. Let’s hole up.”

Wei Ying looks up at her, and Lan Wangji can’t tell if he wants to argue. But then Wei Ying pushes himself up with his hands on his knees and scoops up his remaining talismans. “All right, all right.” He turns towards Lan Wangji and waves. “Did you catch that, Lan Zhan?”

Lan Wangji nods. He and the men pack up the tools while the sky darkens. The ones who sleep in the two finished houses split off and head toward their accommodations, while the rest move toward the great hall with the others. Wen Qing is handing Sizhui off to Fourth Uncle, and for a moment Lan Wangji wants to say he can take him, he knows Sizhui might be afraid of the storm.

But he refrains, doesn’t want to confuse them. The first droplets start to fall while they are still tidying, and Lan Wangji sees Wen Liu hold Lan Wangji’s umbrella over Grandmother Wen as they rescue the fish they were preparing. Then the courtyard clears quickly, Wen Shu and Wen Tao placing their four water barrels in useful positions to catch the rain as Lan Wangji ducks into the cave.

He finds Wei Ying half-sitting on his stone bed. Outside, the first howl of a real storm rings through the cave entrance. Wen Qing is just coming back from checking on Wen Ning, and from her demeanor Lan Wangji can tell the change in the weather is not affecting him negatively.

“How is he?” Wei Ying asks.

“The same,” she says, with that small smile she always wears when she’s speaking about Wen Ning and it isn’t bad news. “His fingers moved when I talked to him. He doesn’t seem distressed.”

“Good,” Wei Ying nods. That’s when Lan Wangji notices that he’s holding on to his left side and breathing a little hard.

“Wei Ying, are you all right?” he asks, stepping closer.

“Fine, fine!” Wei Ying says, waving him off. “I’m a bit tired, that’s all. Overdid it with the cloud fighting.”

Wen Qing isn’t deterred by his gesture and steps right in front of him. “Just because you can control the ghosts of the Burial Mounds doesn’t mean you have power over the weather, Wei Wuxian,” she says fondly. She looks him over with appraising eyes, and he straightens up, releasing the clutch on his side. “No injuries?” she asks.

He shakes his head. “Just exhaustion.”

Wen Qing lifts Wei Ying’s arm and takes his pulse. A look passes between them while she has her hand around Wei Ying’s wrist, for a long, measuring moment. He doesn’t even fidget, just sits tamely, letting her hold onto him.

Lan Wangji stands still, watching, as the echoes of shock, of embarrassment chase down his back.

The memory of his own hapless brush over Wei Ying’s wrist, a spur of the moment need to touch him somehow, feel that he’s alive, and how Wei Ying jumped away from him.

Maybe the burn was real. Maybe it’s healed now. Maybe it’s different when it’s a doctor, checking on a patient.

Maybe it’s another man’s touch that Wei Ying is uncomfortable with. Maybe it’s his.

“You’re okay,” Wen Qing says, her quiet voice startling Lan Wangji like a gust of rain in the face. She squeezes Wei Ying’s forearm gently and he nods again, as if to himself. “Maybe take it easy on the inventing tonight, get a good night’s rest.”

It’s good. Good that Wei Ying is well, of course.

Good that he has a doctor to take care of him. A skilled, kind doctor. A kind woman.

Lan Wangji turns towards his own cot and takes a seat on the edge of it, a heaviness in his bones that wasn’t there before. He can hear Wei Ying moving around again, sorting through the stack of unused talismans he had tucked into his robes.  Lan Wangji can’t bear to look at him. Outside, the thunder rolls beneath the rain.

~      ~      ~

He invited me to Yunmeng, wanted to show me how beautiful it was and how much better the food was than that of Gusu. He wanted to introduce me to all the beautiful women as well, and much as I had felt unsettled when I saw him flirting with the young women of Caiyi, I felt aggrieved by this invitation and the lighthearted way in which he offered it, with no awareness of what it stirred in me. I did not want that. The thought of meeting many beautiful women in Yunmeng held no appeal to me, and the thought of his attentions being lavished on these women, of watching him do as young men do, filled me with dread. Even the thought that it might bother me to know that he had desires for some hypothetical woman in Yunmeng made me afraid. I knew I should not care about such things. I felt helpless in the face of him.

I tried not to notice the brightness of his smile as he asked to be my friend. I had never had a friend before, apart from Brother, and I did not have any idea what to do with one. Particularly this man, who made me feel so many contradictory things. So many things I didn’t understand. I wanted him closer, and I wanted him as far away as possible. His voice drilled into me, infuriating, obnoxious, entitled, and yet I could not block it out. I tried not to notice the way his robes clung to his skin as they leeched up water from the pool, or the way he held himself close, shivering in the cold. I tried not to ask myself, if I were one of these women from Yunmeng, how I would feel to have his attentions lavished upon me.

I was not very comfortable with touch, finding it distracting to my focus, too personal for who I was meant to be. I preferred the safety of distance, the comfort of solitude. The overwhelming desire I felt now to reach out to him, find out what his skin felt like, run my fingers through his hair or spread my hand out at his waist, was mortifying, and I knew I must suppress it at all costs.

Whatever this strangeness was inside me could never be expressed. Not by a member of the Lan Clan, regardless of the liberties some outsiders might take for themselves, and surely not by me. And in any case he most certainly would not welcome it.

With how early the storm forced them inside, the evening gets long. Wei Ying is, of course, not resting, but working on his inventions. Lan Wangji uses the time to write, sitting in a meditative pose on his cot and filling three more pages of the paper that Wen Qing thought frivolous.

It’s not her fault. She doesn’t know.

Wei Ying winding his hand out of Lan Wangji’s touch is also not her fault, despite the ugly curl of resentment in the pit of Lan Wangji’s stomach.

He catches the prickle of attention, and looks up. Across the work table, Wei Ying is watching him, his head slightly tilted, his mouth quirking curiously. “What are you writing, Lan Zhan?” he asks.

Lan Wangji keeps his face even. It’s not an unexpected question. “Letters,” he says. It isn’t even a lie. His reply to Mian Mian is tucked under the stack of his other writings. “My brother asked me to write to him.” This, too, is not a lie.

A shadow crosses over Wei Ying’s face. Lan Wangji didn’t mean to dampen his mood. But it is the best, most straightforward answer he can give. “That’s good,” Wei Ying says, encouragement in his voice as his smile twists at the edges. “You should totally do that.”

Lan Wangji nods, and turns back to the paper. Wei Ying doesn’t prod any further.

He adds a little more, but soon he finds himself too tired to concentrate, his mind wandering.

There’s no point using the good, lasting paper when he isn’t focused enough to be accurate in the details.

He puts his writings in the small box that Wen Zian built for him at his request, and pushes it under his bed. Then he stands to stretch his back.

His robes unfurl, but they stay crumpled, sticking to the back of his knees until he takes a step. It’s been hard to keep them clean. It’s been…

Foolish. Impractical fineries of a life Lan Wangji no longer has a claim to, and—he thinks in the darker corners of his mind, when he fails to suppress those fears—an insult to a heritage that is no longer his. Mucking around in the dirt with his Lan robes, wearing a piece of silver on his head while worrying about rice rations and eating the greens of radishes.

Foolish.

Wei Ying doesn’t notice him moving, he’s absorbed in a scroll of his old notes and chewing on the end of a brush. His face in concentration is beautiful.

Lan Wangji heads to the back of the cave, past Wen Qing’s cot, to where Wen Ning is resting under his net. Wen Qing likes to do her evening work here, and she’s set up with some of the fabrics, sewing a line into one of the blues.

“Hanguang-jun,” she says, her needlework sinking. She looks soft here, in the candlelight. She’s a beautiful woman, as far as Lan Wangji can tell these things. “Is everything all right?”

Everything is as he wanted it. Everything is as he chose.

“My robes,” he says. “They are not very practical.”

She looks him up and down, just briefly, but there’s a sadness in her gaze that makes him feel self-conscious.

“I can see that,” she says, with a small, cautious smile.

He finds it… not embarrassing, but strange to speak to her like this. About mundane things. He’s used to speaking with Wei Ying, and he and Sizhui talked about whatever Sizhui had on his mind, and he knows how to explain and teach. But he doesn’t often speak to strangers. He doesn’t often need things from strangers.

And yet, she collects the greens he picks from the gardens, eats the same stew he receives from Wen Liu and Grandmother Wen at mealtimes, sleeps just around the corner from where he sleeps. Perhaps he should not think of her as a stranger anymore.

“I would also like… to put them away.” Keep them safe, even if that is also foolish.

She is still for just a second, then nods in understanding.

“Sewing has not been a focus of my—” He blinks. Breathes. Adjusts. “My education.”

Her face is contained, and he can’t even tell if she recalls the banter about his family’s teachings.  “I understand,” she says. She looks him over cautiously and he can see the question in it, the offer. She makes demands of Wei Ying, cajoles him to do laundry and other chores, but her approach to Lan Wangji has always been different, more distant. He wonders briefly if she pities him for what happened with his clan.

But even if she does, he can’t let that matter. They’re all in this together and he won’t allow either his pettiness or any self-conscious unease to make their lives difficult. He won’t be childish. “Would you teach me?” he says.

“Of course,” she says, quite quickly. “Anything I can do to help.” There’s a wavering smile on her face now, and she glances over through the screen of branches toward where Wei Ying is working. Her gaze turns soft, and something in him braces against it, though he knows it shouldn’t.

“I’m very grateful to him,” she says, quietly so it won’t carry. “But I’m sorry it takes him away from his family. And now you…” She looks back at him, and it’s odd to see that glimmer of softness directed at himself. “I didn’t expect to have your protection. But I’m grateful for it. I’m very sorry it’s cost you so much.”

In the past, in his past, she laid down her life in an effort to keep Wei Ying safe. When his feelings run hot and selfish, he mustn’t forget that.

“There is no need for an apology,” he says.

She nods, curtly, and he can see she is collecting herself. With a practical gesture, she extends her arm to the selection of fabric she has brought back with her. “What color do you want?”

They spend a few minutes poring over the selection, and she explains to him about thicknesses and grain, how they can impact the elasticity of a stitch and make a garment more comfortable to wear. Eventually he settles on one of the greys and a deep blue that she said would suit him.

Wei Ying is still hunched over the worktable when he returns to his cot. He knows Wei Ying will stay awake a good while longer, but his own body still feels the pull of sleep at this hour, despite his resolve not to hold himself to such rules anymore.

He unfastens his belt and removes the top layer of his robes, folding them and setting them aside carefully for the morning. As he sits down on the edge of his cot, he reaches up to slide the pins from his hair one by one, until the headpiece comes free. He feels a knot of hair fall down his back as he lifts it away, bringing it down and holding it between his hands, running the pad of his thumb along the smooth, winding metal.

There will be no need to wear the cloak anymore. He won’t have to worry about bringing unnecessary harm and disgrace to his— to the clan. He can show his face in the sunlight, be seen for what he is, no more and no less. It will be better that way.

He will get used to it, in time.

“Everything okay?” Wei Ying says, and Lan Wangji looks up to find him watching Lan Wangji with a small line of worry between his brows. His eyes flick down at the headpiece, but don’t linger on it, trying to stay casual.

Lan Wangji nods. “Everything is fine,” he says, wrapping the headpiece in its small swatch of sackcloth and setting it on the low shelf beside his bed, just as he does every night. If he doesn’t put it on the next morning, hopefully Wei Ying will believe he just forgot. The next day too, and in a week or so, perhaps it won’t feel strange.

It will be better this way.

~      ~      ~

It’s raining when Lan Wangji awakes, and early yet, just before dawn. The light is dim and blue, filtering in through the roof vent and the cave entrance, casting pale shadows across the floor. From his bed on the other side of the worktable he can hear Wei Ying’s breath huffing quietly against the straw and stone, and when he glances over he sees Wei Ying shift, nuzzling his face into the crook of his elbow. The gentle warmth of the banked cookfire rolls over them with each shift in the air.

He dreamed of the Cloud Recesses.

It’s been more than two weeks since his uncle came to bring him home. Two weeks since he’s had no home, no ties to the outside world. No family to go back to, if he had any intention of doing so.

He should still be sleeping. But his body seems awake, unsorted, old disciplines showing cracks along an ill fit.

It’s not that he wasn’t prepared to make this sacrifice. He knew it was possible, that it might be necessary at some point down the line. Wei Ying didn’t have a choice, last time, was cast out against his will to stand alone, and at least Lan Wangji was spared that. He knows where his priorities lie. He decided that years ago.

But he had hoped that it wouldn’t be necessary.

He sits up from his cot, pushing back the thin blanket and finding his middle robe where it’s folded on the low shelf near his bedside. He pulls it on over the thin underlayer, binds it around his waist, and gets to his feet, moving across to the cave entrance, where he can look out at the rain watering their patchwork vegetable garden, the little buds of green beginning to spread and flourish here and there from the soil.

Death and bones and sorrow. Even from that, new life grows.

Time will make it easier, he thinks. It doesn’t in all things, but in this, time will help. Those years he spent in the Cold Pool Cave, dreaming of Wei Ying whether he wanted to or not. Remembering all too well, the end of everything. The feeling of Wei Ying’s fingers slick with blood, not just losing strength but letting go. Slipping away. Nothing can be worse than that.

He will learn to live with this. As time passes, it will get easier, and he will forget. Even the pain.

Maybe there are some advantages to letting things fade. Maybe that’s why Wei Ying forgets things so easily—because his life has given him too many things that hurt to remember.

The umbrella he brought with him is still perched on one of the racks, beside his sword, but he leaves it there. He steps out from under cover as he is, letting the chill spread over him, soak into his hair and slip underneath his collar. The dim is turning lighter, slowly, gradually, darkest near the earth where the forest and the ghosts cast the air into shadow, but brighter up above, where the cloud cover is thin and full of breath, raining down on the dead earth and bringing it back to life. He lets it rain down on him too, feels his feet planted firmly on the broken stones of the courtyard and his hands empty and calloused, his hair unbound, his face uncovered.

This is his path now. This is home now, here, following where Wei Ying leads. Being of service to him in any way he can. Any way Wei Ying will allow. The others are not his to respect or to follow anymore, only here, this, now.

You have more of your mother in you.

It sends a chill down his spine.

He loved her so much, and a part of him felt forever lost when she passed away, when he sat out in the cold by himself and waited for her to return. She never did. But he never actually wanted to be like her—a rogue cultivator, wandering the earth with no clan and no purpose, no rules of conduct or structured sense of what it means to live a good life. To be a good person.

He doesn’t know if she was happy marrying into the clan. He always wanted to think so. But he almost never saw his parents together, and everything he was told about her, everything he knew about her as an adult until recently, made it harder to believe. That someone who was happy wandering the earth like a leaf in the wind could also be happy being anchored to rules and traditions.

He always hoped so.

Now he has to hope that the opposite can also be true.

The water clings to him, cold and heavy, slick on his back. He’d gotten used to how it ached sometimes, when he felt the scars not stretch along with a twist or bend. Mostly in the winter. His back is smooth now, that mark of his too-late fealty washed away in the stream of time.

He remembers the diary he left in his brother’s hands—a rewritten history, a shadow of a fork in time, the road not taken. The road once traveled, and traveled back again. Xichen thought it was nonsense, and it makes sense that he believed that—he would have to, because he knows what is. He knows he didn’t die in childhood, and that good cultivators like his mother, like his father, don’t have the means to rewrite the past, so how could any of what was written there be true. You cannot be murdered as a child and still live to become sect leader. You cannot step aside, let Wei Ying fall, and go with him at the same time.

Good cultivators can’t unravel time and reweave it to their liking. Good cultivators, those who walk the wide and well-lit path, and observe the rules of society, turn away from evil cultivation. They don’t seek it out. Not even for love.

Maybe it was inevitable that he would have to renounce the clan. If any of them had ever found out what he’d done, there would have been no choice to make. Even his mother spent the rest of her life in isolation for the charge of murder. If they had known the truth, he probably never would have known her at all.

A life in isolation was the price she paid to save her son.

That, and…

Lan Wangji swallows, closes his eyes and turns his face up to the rain, letting it wash away everything, all of it, until only what matters remains.

He must remember.

He will hold on with all the strength he has, and this time, he will not let Wei Ying slip away.

Chapter Text

Lan Wangji sits on a low stool near the cookfire, trying to keep as much light on his work as possible. The needle goes through the linen more easily than it did the fabric of his outer robe. He feels a full day’s work on the houses in his shoulders, but he’s practiced at keeping focus through exhaustion.

His stitches are still uneven, but he is getting them smaller, closer together as he works. Grandmother Wen gave him advice after Wen Qing taught him the fundamentals, how to cut the pieces without wasting too much fabric, how to hold it all together as he handles the needle, when to choose a rougher, stronger thread. In this, holding firm to instructions works in his favor. His new outer robe, a cool grey cinched together by a belt of sturdy blue sackcloth, has held through a few days of farming work now.

He’s almost used to how it feels when he moves, both much coarser whenever he touches it, and much more durable than the delicate silks and brocades that make up a robe befitting a member of the Lan family. 

Wei Ying is still outside. Now and then Lan Wangji can hear his voice, in what he thinks is a languid and rambling discussion about potatoes. Lan Wangji retreated right after dinner, with the first inklings of twilight settling over the camp, wanting to work on these under robes, of which he still needs two or three.

He isn’t very fast, but the progress is steady. He washed the pale blue robe he arrived in, got it as clean as he could make it, and then folded it up neatly and put it away.

This, too, is arriving. Settling into his choices.

The long lines of stitches, rearranging the fabric, keeping the lines neat, it all takes time. But Lan Wangji has a great deal of patience. It reminds him strangely of quiet afternoons in the library, left to his thoughts and his own devices. Perhaps a little harder on his fingers. The needle is fiddly.

Wen Qing is in the alcove with Wen Ning, checking on his restraints and his pulse, dabbing at his forehead with a clean cloth. The wind is coming from an unfortunate direction, and the smoke from the fire doesn’t seem to be filtering out through the vent as well as usual. The air is thick, a bit unpleasant to breathe in.

He feels the thrum first—like a low sound he can’t actually hear, but can feel moving against his eardrums. He looks up from his work, glancing toward the cave door, but it’s impossible to tell what direction it might be coming from.

“Lan Wangji!” Wen Qing yells, and it draws his attention to the alcove instead, where the black smoke that hovers around Wen Ning’s form seems to be thickening, rising.

He dumps the fabric off his lap, grabs Bichen as he runs for the alcove. Wen Qing is still perched on the edge of Wen Ning’s bed, but she’s holding him down by the shoulders, trying to keep him from struggling hard enough to dislodge the net. She looks up at Lan Wangji, alarmed.

He rakes his eyes over the talismans, trying to see if any of them have been damaged or dislodged—but nothing seems amiss. He can’t see any reason why Wen Ning would suddenly be acting up like this. It’s not even— it’s still earlier than he remembers, too soon—

A scream pierces the air. Not Wen Ning. Not Wen Qing, not…

It’s outside.

Lan Wangji and Wen Qing look toward the door. It’s much darker outside all of a sudden, and as they watch, a trail of black smoke darts past and there’s another scream, a clatter of bones against wood.

Lan Wangji meets Wen Qing’s eyes again briefly, but she nods quickly. “I’ve got him—go!”

He’s heading for the door before she’s even finished, running out into the courtyard and staring around at the chaos, bolts of black heading every which way and the Wens struggling to fight them off with farm implements, anything they can find. His heart is in his throat until he finds Wei Ying—there, in the middle of all of it, closer to the forest where the highest concentration of black seems to be seeping in. He’s got one hand on his flute and the other drawing signs in the air, punching them toward a gaping hole in their defenses, beyond the treeline, a jagged slash of bright red against the clouded sky, black streaming through like blood from a wound. He’s trying to seal it, Lan Wangji realizes.

He swipes at the first two ghostly attacks with his sword, but all it seems to do is divide the smoke around him, not even slowing it down as it races toward the next person. He sheathes Bichen and summons his guqin instead, bringing it before him and sending waves of spiritual energy out in front of him, relieved when at least that seems to have an effect. He knocks away three ghosts that are setting upon Wen Song, sends off a charm to freeze another three in their tracks—not for long, but long enough to let him get off two more volleys, pushing back the attack.

Wei Ying has brought the flute to his lips now, plays barely audibly into the wind, trying in vain to tame the chaos. The breach has narrowed slightly, but not enough to stem the tide, and even with Lan Wangji fighting from the rear, he can see plumes of dark smoke winding around Wei Ying’s waist, greedy for the Yin Tiger Seal tucked into his shirt. A few of them swoop high overhead only to duck low and slip into the cave entrance, drawn by the dark void that is Wen Ning.

It’s not the breach that’s driving this. The breach is just a way in. It’s them.

“Wei Ying!” he calls out, sending another volley to chase away the ghosts pooling at Wei Ying’s feet.

Wei Ying opens his eyes and turns to him, lips still poised against the flute, fingers working, though Lan Wangji can barely hear him over the rush of resentful energy thickening the air.

“I’ll take the breach,” Lan Wangji insists, pressing forward to take his place. “The Yin Tiger Seal—Wen Ning—you’re needed inside.”

Wei Ying’s eyes widen slightly, like he’s got it—realized what Lan Wangji has realized, that if they cut off access to what’s attracting the ghosts then it may be easier to disperse them and close the hole in their defenses.

Wei Ying takes one more look at the breach, still far from mended—then nods, turning and running back toward the cave, leaving Lan Wangji to hold the front line.

Once the sound of Wei Ying’s flute has dissipated, the flood seems to grow even stronger, ghosts attacking from all sides, people cowering on the ground, being dragged across the courtyard and the fields in every direction. Lan Wangji tries to keep his mind focused on the task in front of him, sending out energy to knock the spirits back with one hand while forming talismans to stitch the breach back together inch by inch with the other. He’s never been as skilled with them as Wei Ying, but it gets easier with repetition, and soon he feels the tide beginning to turn.

The flood is easing up, the shouts and screams from behind him fewer and farther between as the Wens are able to find their feet, work together to fend off the attacks, while Lan Wangji suppresses the last few ghosts. When at last the final stretch of the breach has sealed, the wind dies down around him, tugging at the strands of his hair and dragging a few leaves across the courtyard. But all that’s left to be heard now is panting and exhaustion, a few groans of injury, and relief.

Lan Wangji sweeps his arm in front of him to send the guqin back into its pouch, catching his breath. As he straightens from his battle stance, he glances around at the scene of destruction behind him—a fallen statue in the corner, a couple of mats torn off the roof. People lying in the gardens and across broken paving stones, leaning against the doors of the great hall, or slumped over on the steps. Some of the young radish plants have been unearthed, too unripe to eat—hard to tell if they’ll be salvageable. A lump of rags in the dirt two plots over, still, not moving.

Small.

It cuts him like a knife.

“Sizhui,” he gasps out, and tears across the courtyard, falling to his knees beside the bundle, half buried in grave soil, Sizhui’s cheek pressed into the mud. There’s blood on his face. On his face.

Lan Wangji brushes the dirt from him, wipes away blood with the hem of his robes until he can see the cut—his cheek, not his throat, he’s still breathing, oh thank goodness he’s breathing. He doesn’t stir when Lan Wangji turns him onto his back with shaking hands, his vision going blurry, buzzing at the edges with so much panic, so much fear.

Sizhui. Sizhui, oh no, oh god, Sizhui…

There’s a pulse too. A pulse and breath, and he can’t think what else he should do, what else he should check for. He feels the boy’s shoulders, his limbs, but nothing else seems broken except for his head, and there only the skin. But he’s so small and there’s long gash, from somewhere behind the hairline across his forehead, a bloody parallel to his left eyebrow.

“Ah Yuan!”

Grandmother Wen is trying to crawl over to them, her face twisting in pain and fear, her left leg seemingly useless.

“He’s all right,” Lan Wangji says, though his words still seem to carry away, not take hold, his fingers trailing over the strands of Sizhui’s hair where it sticks to the blood. “He’s all right.”

Someone— Wen Liu has Grandmother Wen by the shoulders, holding her steady. Wen Yunlan kneels down on Sizhui’s other side, tries to pick him up, but Lan Wangji holds tighter to Sizhui’s wrist and shoots him a look, stand back. Wen Yunlan stares at him in confusion, worried, but then a voice says, “Help me with Granny, she can’t walk,” and he turns to do that instead.

Lan Wangji bundles Sizhui up in his own arms, pulling him close to his chest and staggering to his feet. It helps that he can feel Sizhui’s heartbeat like this, helps to calm him, keep him anchored. He glances around in a daze, but even the other injured seem focused on him—on Sizhui, and there’s nothing he can do out here— why is he still here, he needs Wen Qing, Wen Qing needs to see Sizhui. Make sure he’s all right.

When he reaches the cave, he moves straight to Wei Ying’s bed, sets Sizhui down on top of the mat.

“Lan Zhan, l—” Wei Ying is across the room, but by the time Lan Wangji looks for him Wei Ying has already seen the blood, the limp bundle Lan Wangji is arranging on the bed. “Ah Yuan!”

He’s there in a rush, which somehow both soothes Lan Wangji and makes him more jittery at the same time.

“It isn’t bad,” Lan Wangji chokes out, kneeling down by the bed, brushing the matted hair back from Sizhui’s injury. Just a cut, just a shallow cut…

“Wen Qing!” Wei Ying shouts. Wen Qing comes running and Wei Ying makes space for her at the bedside, hurries around to the other side of the bed.

“Did you see what happened?” Wen Qing says. Her voice is calm, sounds strong. She’s never reminded him of his brother before, but her authority almost feels familiar, shaking something loose inside him.

“No,” he says. “He must have gotten swept up in one of the ghost attacks. I think it’s merely a cut.”

Wen Qing runs her hands over Sizhui to check him and Lan Wangji pulls back to let her work, but once she’s checked Sizhui’s arms for injuries, he takes one tiny hand in his.

The guilt is rattling in his chest, and he’s not even sure why, how. How he could have let this happen. How Sizhui…

“He’s okay, right?” Wei Ying asks.

Wen Qing is focusing, taking Sizhui’s pulse on his other wrist. Wei Ying looks terrified when Lan Wangji looks up at him, but nods shakily, like he can see his own ghostly pale reflection in Lan Wangji’s face.

“He’ll be okay,” Wen Qing says, a firm kindness that lets the air flow back into Lan Wangji’s chest. “Hanguang-jun’s medical assessment was entirely accurate, it’s just a cut. Even minor head injuries tend to bleed a lot.” She gives them both a small, reassuring smile in turn. Lan Wangji has never been so grateful to her.

She starts sorting through her medical bag. “I can stop the bleeding,” she says. “There was enough dark energy in the attack that it might scar, but that will fade over time. Wei Wuxian, get me some water.”

For a moment, Lan Wangji wonders if she will send him away too, but she allows him to stay crouched by Sizhui’s bedside. Wei Wuxian obeys her instructions and she dissolves a powder in the water before she starts cleaning up the wound. As the blood disappears, it’s as if she is wiping away some of Lan Wangji’s helplessness along with it.

When Wen Qing applies a mixture of ground herbs to the cut, Sizhui seems to twitch from the contact. Lan Wangji holds his breath and leans forward.

“Is he waking up?” Wei Ying asks.

“Sizhui,” Lan Wangji says softly, gently rubbing his hand. He doesn’t want Sizhui to feel any sting from the medicine but he’s frighteningly glad to see a reaction. Even if Wen Qing already told him, it’s just good to see for himself—

“Who?”

Lan Wangji looks up without thinking, finds Wei Ying frowning at him, puzzled.

No.

He needs… he needs to get his bearings. That was unwise. He got… lost. Swept up in panic.

“Nothing,” he says, calm enough. It isn’t as if Wei Ying has reason to suspect him. “I misspoke.”

Wei Ying’s brows draw together, but then he shakes his head as if to shake off the confusion.

“It might take him a bit to wake up,” Wen Qing says, still in that steadfast voice, as if she missed or does not care about their odd exchange. “But he’s fine. You don’t have to worry.”

Lan Wangji gratefully bows his head, not letting Wei Ying see his face as he waits for his heart to slow down.

~      ~      ~

He stays kneeling at Sizhui’s bedside long after Wen Qing has finished dressing the wound. She tells him a few more times that it’s nothing serious, everything will be fine, and he believes her. He does. He knows she’s right, knows she’s telling him the truth, she wouldn’t lie about something like this. But he can’t tear himself away.

He covers Sizhui’s small hand with one of his, his fingertips resting against the pulse, and watches him sleep.

A month from now. Maybe less.

That was when he met them—met Wei Ying, down in the village, and Sizhui clung to his leg and called him Rich Brother. Lan Wangji has remembered that day so many times, the way Sizhui’s smile lit up when Lan Wangji gifted him with small toys that had seemed out of reach, the way he nodded respectfully when Lan Wangji admonished him not to talk with his mouth full. He remembers Sizhui, the child of his heart, his one light in the darkness of so many years afterwards.

Sizhui never had a scar.

If Lan Wangji hadn’t ordered him to go into the cave, Wei Ying would have stayed out there. Kept trying to tame the darkness, seal the breach. It hadn’t looked like it was working, any way he looks at it his decision was right, it was the correct tactical choice, but…

Lan Wangji wasn’t here the first time. If he hadn’t been here, Wei Ying would have stayed at the breach. Whatever he did then must have worked eventually, must have protected them. Must have protected Sizhui, not let him end up like… like this.

But that’s not how it went this time.

This time, there’s no Rich Brother. There’s no meeting in the village.

There’s no day when Sizhui will be granted the headband of the Lan Clan, taught the ways of traditional swordsmanship and the rules for proper conduct. There will be no nights poring over texts in the library, no days sparring in the chill sunlight, or playing duets together on the guqin.

There will be no Sizhui.

And Ah Yuan will have a scar.

His chest feels heavy at the thought, his knees as though they’re sinking through the dirt floor. He knew there would be sacrifice. He prepared himself for that, for how much he might lose and all that he stood to gain. He knew that it would be difficult, that there would be moments of despair, and that he might not succeed.

But it never really occurred to him that the things he was risking did not belong only to him. He thought of all the things Sizhui might gain by his actions, but he never thought…

Ah Yuan. He must remember. Ah Yuan.

He bows his head, pressing his bare forehead against the back of his hand where it rests over Ah Yuan’s, and closing his eyes tight. Trying to swallow past the lump in his throat.

He came back to make sure that Wei Ying lives. That is the heart of it, of everything. If Wei Ying lives, Sizhui… Ah Yuan will have the best man, the best brother, to guide him and protect him, the way he should have had. And it isn’t as if the Lan way of life is the only path to becoming a strong and righteous cultivator. Wei Ying is the best proof of that. Ah Yuan had to lose so much to end up with Lan Wangji in the Cloud Recesses. They both did. So much that neither of them would ever willingly have traded away. He came here to spare them that.

If Wei Ying lives.

It has never been so clear to him that his presence here has the power to change everything. Not only for the better.

It’s just a scar, this time.

He can’t be careless. He can’t just follow his instincts as though this were a clean slate. There’s writing on it, even if only he can see it. He knows so many things that will go wrong, but he also knows that some things will go right. They survived here, for so many months, before everything came crashing down. Wei Ying kept them safe and alive, and he knows this place, has tamed this place, in a way that Lan Wangji could never have accomplished on his own. Lan Wangji can help, and he will help in any way he can. But he must accept and remember from now on that when it comes to survival in the Burial Mounds, Wei Ying knows far better than he.

Wei Ying can keep them safe. Lan Wangji cannot.

Lan Wangji lifts his head again, staring down at Ah Yuan’s gentle face, even softer in sleep. The medicine spread over his forehead gives it a slightly green tinge, and Lan Wangji wants to stroke his hand along it. Cover the wound, place himself between Ah Yuan and the world, see that no further harm comes to him. It will be more difficult than he expected, but he knows now, understands now, that he can do that only by promising himself that from now on, when it comes to the Burial Mounds, he will follow Wei Ying’s lead.

~      ~      ~

The Tiger Seal purrs against Wei Wuxian’s side as he stands up close to the inner barrier, near the edge of the forest. He reaches out with his hand and presses his palm against it, where the air thickens and pushes back with a little crackle of power, but nothing gives way. The mists churn and swim just beyond, darting like minnows toward the place where the Tiger Seal sits inside his robes, out of their reach, but the barrier doesn’t flicker, doesn’t give way again.

He should maybe think about putting up a third layer, just in case. They’d only need to be maybe a foot apart, like a sort of flood chamber to trap any ghosts that manage to push through, and at least give them enough warning to shore up their defenses and make sure everyone is safe.

Ah Yuan didn’t even get the worst of it. Granny Wen’s hip is broken, she’ll be off her feet for a month or two at least, even with Wen Qing’s help, and she’s currently staying in the great hall. Two more of them ended up with broken arms, and the holes in the roof on the western side will take a while to fix. Hopefully it won’t rain for a few days.

He’ll need more talismans. He also needs to do some calculations to see exactly how much power he can put into the new innermost barrier without it sparking against the existing one. If he just ends up halving the power of each, that won’t do any good.

He glances out over the courtyard as he walks back up the slope towards the hall. A couple of men have already started on fixing the roof, and others are working on re-planting the upturned radishes, at least those that could be salvaged. The crumbled statue remains where it fell—it’s a little in the way of the door to the hall, but if they shift a few stones it can just be another seating area soon.

Lan Zhan is nowhere around.

Honestly, Wei Wuxian is a little bit worried about him. For some reason he seems to be taking Ah Yuan’s injury really hard. He’s barely left the kid’s bedside in twenty-four hours, keeps insisting on bringing him water and assisting Wen Qing in caring for him. It’s sweet, but it’s strange too—Ah Yuan is a little banged up, and he’s been sleeping and fussing a lot, and it gave them all a scare in the moment. But his injuries turned out hardly worse than half the ones Wei Wuxian had falling out of trees and things as a kid. Lan Zhan is hovering over him like he’s on his deathbed.

Then again, maybe Lan Zhan wasn’t so much the falling-out-of-trees type. Maybe he’s just not used to the idea of scraped knees and tumbles. The Lans all learn swordsmanship from textbooks and grow to adulthood without so much as a splinter.

He breathes a laugh to himself. And then, with a hollow drop, remembers.

Lan Zhan isn’t a Lan anymore.

Someone bumps into him from behind, murmuring flustered apologies, and Wei Wuxian realizes he’s completely in the way, standing here in the middle of the courtyard where they’re trying to fix the gardens, get everything cleaned up. He bows his apology and weaves around another group of workers to find his way into the cave.

Fourth Uncle is sitting on a stool by the cave entrance, doing leather work with one of the remaining saddles that Lan Zhan scavenged off the Jin horses, his leg stretched out gingerly. He hit his knee in the attack, and while thankfully nothing is broken, Wen Qing doesn’t want him moving about in the fields for a couple of days. He looks up at Wei Wuxian in what Wei Wuxian thinks is a greeting, but there’s a worried slant to his eyes.

“Is everything… everything all right, Young Master Wei?”

Wei Wuxian pats him on the shoulder. “Barrier’s holding,” he says. “I just tested it.”

But Fourth Uncle’s uncertainty doesn’t fade. “I meant… the little one. I know Wen Qing said he’s okay but…” He casts a glance at the cave entrance, an awkward hunch to him, like he’s hesitant to bother Wei Wuxian. “His granny’s been asking, you see.”

Ah. Yeah, he’s noticed some of the worried looks people have been sending towards the cave. “He’s fine, just sleeping a lot,” Wei Wuxian says. “I mean it. He’ll be underfoot in no time, so you better rest up well. Granny Wen, too.”

Fourth Uncle seems to weigh that for a moment, but then apparently chooses to believe him. He picks his knife up again with a relieved nod.

It’s dim and warm in the cave, a sweet smelling smoke permeating the air from the fire—herbs for healing, calming the spirit, promoting sleep. Wen Qing is with Wen Ning again in the back room, monitoring him for any changes, but there’s been nothing out of the ordinary since they sealed the breach. For a moment he thinks Lan Zhan isn’t even there, until he realizes he’s sitting on the floor next to the stone bed where Ah Yuan still sleeps. His back is to the door, and he seems to be staring unseeingly at the stone workbench in front of him, lost in thought. Or maybe just lost.

Wei Wuxian has never seen him like this.

Maybe it’s not just Ah Yuan?

Those first few days after fucking Lan Qiren and his fucking visit were pretty rough. He got that. But Lan Zhan seemed to be feeling better after that. Maybe a little quiet sometimes—like, more than normal Lan Zhan quiet—but not bad. But then maybe Wei Wuxian just hasn’t been paying enough attention, all caught up in stuff he’s working on for the camp. Maybe Lan Zhan has been like this all along, where Wei Wuxian couldn’t see.

It’s hard to imagine what this feels like for him. Being stuck here like this, an outcast, sleeping in a fucking cave, when he’s used to being… Lan Zhan. Lan Wangji, Second Young Master Lan. Hanguang-jun.

Wei Wuxian doesn’t know what to do about that. He doesn’t know how to help.

“Hey,” he says.

Lan Zhan gives a start. He doesn’t seem to have noticed that Wei Wuxian is there, which is strange in itself. Lan Zhan always notices.

“Wei Ying,” he says after a moment. “How is… how are…” His eyes are slightly glazed.

“I’m fine,” Wei Wuxian says. “The barrier’s fine.”

Lan Zhan shakes his head a bit, as if to wake up. “That’s good,” he says. “Thank you.”

Wei Wuxian isn’t even totally sure he was listening. “I think Ah Yuan’s fine, too,” he says.

“Yes,” Lan Zhan says, his gaze clearing more. “He’s asleep now. Wen Qing’s herbs are very good. He was drinking quite well earlier.”

Wei Wuxian sits down next to him, folding up his legs and leaning against the side of the bed. Lan Zhan tracks his movements but doesn’t comment. “I think you might be freaking people out a little,” he says gently, tipping his head towards the courtyard.

“What?” Lan Zhan asks, a frown flickering over his face. “How?” It still looks so wrong to see him frown without his headband, it makes Wei Wuxian feel all twisted up inside.

“They’re wondering if Ah Yuan’s worse than they thought,” Wei Wuxian says, quirking a smile. “Because you seem so worried.”

Lan Zhan takes that in, then blinks in understanding. “I see,” he says. “That wasn’t my intention.”

Wei Wuxian pats his arm too. He feels very conscious of the new, rougher fabric, so different from what he has in his mind whenever he thinks of Lan Zhan. “I set them straight,” Wei Wuxian says. “But you really do know he’s okay, yes?”

He sees Lan Zhan swallow, and Lan Zhan’s eyes go towards Ah Yuan, asleep on the bed. “Yes,” he says. “I know. I’m very glad for it. He is just…” Lan Zhan is obviously trying to control the long breath he lets out, but Wei Wuxian can see it anyway. “Very small.”

“Yeah, but,” Wei Wuxian says, nudging Lan Zhan. “He’ll grow into a big strong cultivator soon and he’ll have a tiny but very manly scar.”

Lan Zhan gives him a deep, conflicted look, and Wei Wuxian distantly remembers that Lan Zhan is kind of weird about scars. He should look at Wei Wuxian’s chest sometime and see how it’s totally not a big deal anymore, seriously. “Anyway, like Wen Qing said, it’ll probably fade,” he adds, just so Lan Zhan worries less.

Lan Zan lowers his eyes, letting out another long breath, before he gives a small nod. 

“Have you eaten anything?” Wei Wuxian asks.

Lan Zhan smooths out the edges of the blanket covering Ah Yuan that are hanging off the side of the bed. “I’m fine. I don’t need anything.”

Wei Wuxian frowns at that. “That’s not the question I asked,” he says, peering hard until Lan Zhan can’t ignore him anymore and gives him a sideways glance. There’s a tiny spark of annoyance in it, even, which Wei Wuxian counts as a victory.

“I ate an apple,” Lan Zhan says.

“When?”

“This morning.”

“Ahh,” Wei Wuxian says, bumping his shoulder against Lan Zhan’s. Lan Zhan sways slightly, but doesn’t react. “Then you’re due for another. And maybe some fish.”

Lan Zhan starts to shake his head again. “Please don’t trouble anyone, they’re busy and I’ve already worried them—”

“We all have to eat,” Wei Wuxian says, putting down his weak protests. “They’re already getting started on the cooking fire, and I saw Wen Shu coming back from the river with a pretty nice catch. I’ll make sure they save a big piece for you, okay?”

“Wei Ying…” Lan Zhan starts, drawing his gaze over to him, but still not seeming to see.

“No arguments,” Wei Wuxian says. “Rule number one of the Burial Mounds: Everybody eats.”

Lan Zhan blinks, eyes going slightly wider and more focused than they’ve been in days. Wei Wuxian quails a bit when Lan Zhan looks at him, wondering if maybe that was too far, maybe he shouldn’t joke about things like rules. Fresh wounds and all that.

But then Lan Zhan’s eyes go slightly soft, and something like a smile—a Lan Zhan smile—pulls at the corner of his mouth. It takes Wei Wuxian by surprise a little bit, how much of a relief that is to see.

Then Lan Zhan bows his head slightly, the smile flickering sweet and deep. “Understood,” he says. “I will obey.”

~      ~      ~

My brother was due for a discussion conference in Qishan when he was called upon to adjudicate a conflict in one of the outer Gusu towns. One of our outer disciples had, on the way home from visiting family, clashed with a wandering cultivator as they both tried to suppress a fierce corpse, and their warring techniques had hurt three townsfolk and destroyed the magistrate’s barn. My brother sent for me while I was in sword practice, with a request to see him afterwards. While I did not unduly hurry my practice along or neglect reassembling a proper appearance, I understood that this was no ordinary summons, and I felt a foreboding excitement. It was spring and the waters around the Cloud Recesses were rushing with melting snow. I was in my fifteenth year. My brother had been leading the clan for a few years, and I had grown into adolescence thinking that his steadfast leadership was the natural way, as born from the world as the grass on the slopes and the blossoms from the trees. I had only recently begun to understand what a burden had been laid on his shoulders when he was no older than fifteen himself, and how deeply he weighed every decision for the clan, carrying that weight alone and letting me and the disciples only see the balanced and dispassionate conclusion.

I was not eager to assume an official role in the leadership, as I was aware I did not possess his patience or his wisdom, but I wished to be ready to share in his burdens, pay back in whichever small way I could all the years he had protected and shielded me. So when he asked me to travel to address the conflict in his place, I was filled with nervous pride. “Wangji,” he said, “I wish I did not have to send you out when it is one of our own disciples who may have brought embarrassment to our clan, but it can’t be delayed, and I can’t miss the conference. Will you represent me in this matter?”

I felt the weight of it in that very moment, as if he had drawn respect around me like another layer of firm and spotless white robes, and a fierce determination to resolve the dispute in his stead and ease his worries.

Lan Wangji pauses the brush, remembering how proud he felt at his brother’s trust. It’s a good memory. Only a little more difficult now, and he’s tired enough that the reminder of his brother brings a weight to his chest, the sadness and confusion of Xichen’s face as Lan Wangji renounced his clan and his family fresh in his mind.

He’s sitting cross-legged on the floor beside the stone bed, the board he uses for writing in his lap. Ah Yuan is sleeping peacefully, the quivering light of candles filling the cave. With all his worrying, he skipped his diary two days in a row. He should continue, at least a little.

I travelled to the town in question. My arrival was welcome, as my brother had built an unimpeachable reputation for fairness and kindness, but there was animosity between the aggrieved parties and the two cultivators, both of whom claimed their technique had not been the one that set the magistrate’s barn on fire. I was not accustomed to unchecked emotions and blatantly self-serving claims, and I felt quite frightened and ill at ease as people presented me with their noisy arguments, the contents of which I do not consider worth preserving.

I was able to conclude the matter by relying on my status and borrowed authority, and I felt gratified at being able to return home with a resolution, but I also knew that chance had been on my side. The experience taught me that I had no talent or instinct for political maneuvering, and I quietly dreaded a future in which I might face a conflict that was beyond my limited abilities to solve. My admiration for my brother, and his patience for diplomacy and the complex ties of the outside world, had only grown.

Lan Wangji blinks down at the page. The brush isn’t flowing as smoothly as it usually does. There’s a burn in his eyes from the smoke and from lack of sleep, the calming herbs adding to his fatigue. He should finish that day, what it meant to him, later. He doesn’t want to make mistakes.

“Lan Zhan?”

Lan Wangji looks up.

Wei Ying is standing before him, a smudge of ink on his face from his own talisman writing. “You should go to bed,” he says. His voice is low, a pinched set to his eyes. Lan Wangji realizes with a foggy brain that Wen Qing has already retired, and that Wei Ying must be tired too.

Lan Wangji weighs today’s events. Ah Yuan is fine, he knows. But he finds the gentle breaths comforting, every time the heavy pull in his chest of what could have happened comes back. “I’d like to stay with him,” he says, seeing the worry flash through Wei Ying’s eyes, and adding, “I know that he’s fine. But I would prefer not to leave him.”

“You’re not leaving him, your bed is right there,” Wei Ying points out, though his tone is kind.

Lan Wangji knows that that is an accurate description. And perhaps it would be more responsible, to be properly rested for tomorrow’s work, and be less selfish.

“At least don’t sleep on the floor,” Wei Ying says with a sigh. “Get on the bed and at least get some rest, okay?”

It’s a strange thought, to sleep in Wei Ying’s bed. Then again, Wei Ying slept in Lan Wangji’s last night, and it was merely practical. Admittedly his bones will thank him. “I will,” Lan Wangji nods, and points out, “I did eat.”

“Well done, Hanguang-jun,” Wei Ying says, with a soft smiling headshake that makes Lan Wangji’s heart flutter and his face pull strangely.

Wei Ying is right, he needs to sleep. His writing has dried, so he collects the pages carefully. He’ll add them to the box under his bed tomorrow. The heavy paper feels strong, lasting. Comforting. But it reminds him of Wen Qing’s concern for their finances and the way she wanted to scold him, but didn’t dare to.

He was selfish about that, too. He has enough supplies to last him a while, and accepts that he wouldn’t undo his purchases. Long term, he’ll think of a different solution, one that doesn’t put his own needs before those of others.

Next, he steps around the bed to the empty side and lies down carefully on his side, watching Ah Yuan’s chest rise and fall for a little while, as Wei Ying blows out the candles, then gets settled on Lan Wangji’s bed. Lan Wangji hears him sigh once at the uncooperative pillow.

It’s peaceful, the medicinal green on Ah Yuan’s face barely visible, and Lan Wangji lets himself close his eyes, certain in his Lan discipline keeping him still and in place throughout the night.

~      ~      ~

Ah Yuan recovers, as promised.

Lan Wangji wakes up to a pull on his hair, and opens his eyes to Ah Yuan’s round and curious gaze right in front of him. He is chewing on one of Lan Wangji’s hair strands. It’s still quiet in the cave, so Lan Wangji carefully frees his hair from Ah Yuan’s little hands and keeps him quiet and occupied with finger games instead, letting him bend and twist Lan Wangji’s fingers until Ah Yuan’s giggling gets a little too loud and Lan Wangji picks him up before he wakes Wei Ying.

Outside, the morning is slowly starting, the dewy tinge to the air fading as sunlight breaks through. Lan Wangji stands for a moment at the edge of the courtyard, holding Ah Yuan close to him as he takes in the signs of life stirring across the camp. It all looks hazy in the morning mist but also oddly sharp, to the eyes of someone who hasn’t been properly outside in days.

Ah Yuan’s legs are swinging gently as he imitates a swooshing sound from one of his dreams, his mouth drawn in a pout of concentration. His little weight on Lan Wangji’s hip is as solid and warm as the relief that finally settles inside Lan Wangji’s heart.

He steps further outside the shadow of the cave, Ah Yuan narrating his dream about a radish sister by Lan Wangji’s shoulder.

The traces of the spirit attack are mostly gone, though the half-finished house has a few boards missing and the roofing mats that were ripped off the finished one are still on the ground, strong ropes gathered close by. The mats might have needed repairs. Maybe today they can raise them back up. They should hammer them in more strongly this time.

Lan Wangji greets Wen Yunlan, who is carrying drinking water from the well towards the great hall, and Wen Liu is just moving from the houses to the hall, too, presumably to deal with breakfast. She breaks into a smile when she sees Ah Yuan, and Ah Yuan stretches his arms out excitedly for her.

“It’s good to see you back, Ah Yuan,” she says, grasping his small fingers and wriggling them playfully. “We’ve missed you!” She looks at Lan Wangji with warm relief, almost entirely free of the shyness the Wens used to treat him with. “Shall I take him to see Granny in the great hall, Hanguang-jun?”

“Granny!” Ah Yuan says excitedly. “Please, yes, we see her!”

Grandmother Wen has been staying in the great hall with her broken hip ever since the attack, not mobile enough to visit Ah Yuan. Lan Wangji hopes his behavior didn’t add to her worries.

He still doesn’t quite want to let Ah Yuan go yet, but he has to return to his duties today, and he understands that they have all been worried, and missing Ah Yuan, his grandmother most of all. Ah Yuan doesn’t belong to him. So he hands him over, his heart squeezing once at seeing him kick his short legs in enthusiasm.

It’s clear as day that he’s fine. The marks on his skin will fade, perhaps quicker than the memory of these two nights of fretting will fade from Lan Wangji’s mind.

“Do you have berries?” Ah Yuan asks as he settles on Wen Liu’s hip. “I’m hungry.” 

“Well!” Wen Liu says, lowering her face conspiratorially. “I don’t know if we have berries, but shall we go and see what Granny saved for you while you were asleep? I know she’s missed you!” She gives Lan Wangji another smile, almost as if she’s glad to see him back out of the cave too.

Lan Wangji nods at her, a small flush at the back of his neck.

Then he watches them go, Ah Yuan now sharing his opinions about berries in a way that reminds him very much of Wei Ying.

The yard falls quiet for a moment, though inside the houses more people are waking up, and in the background there is the sound of the early risers in the great hall, pots being moved, a loud squeak from Ah Yuan at something happy.

This is the place Wei Ying made for them. He’s the one who knows it best. Lan Wangji has no headband anymore to remind him of himself, no clan to tell him who he is supposed to be, but he isn’t rudderless or aimless, he isn’t lost. He came to where he wanted to be, and if his purpose is to save Wei Ying, then serving what Wei Ying has built will be a part of that.

He crosses the yard to the parts of roof, returning to his duties. His duties now, the way he chose them.

~      ~      ~

They work on the roofs for most of the morning. They make better progress with Lan Wangji’s help, and he feels both a little guilty over his absence and pleased that his strength and perseverance bring a benefit to them.

When they break for lunch, Lan Wangji sits with Wei Ying, Wen Qing and Fourth Uncle, and eats his piece of roasted fish and some of the radishes that couldn’t be re-planted, while Wei Ying and Wen Qing squabble over potatoes. Ah Yuan is in the great hall, enjoying his reunion with his grandmother.

Everybody eats.

It’s very straightforward and sensible, and Lan Wangji catches himself drifting back to that moment of Wei Ying trying to talk him out of his isolated worries, a fond stirring in his chest. It deserves to be first.

There are other rules, too, emerging from the chaotic flow of kindness and improvisation, not written in stone and not policed, but Lan Wangji can feel them. Everybody helps. If your clothes are falling apart, you’re first in line for a replacement. Wei Ying is exempt from any work in the fields, as he’s experimenting with spells and writing talismans and occasionally making things explode in the cave, but when he roughhouses with Ah Yuan and gets him soaked in well water, he’s made to deal with the replacement clothes. Everybody looks after Ah Yuan. The injured have to rest. Complaints about eating radishes are only allowed in moderation.

“If you had your way, you’d buy potatoes and peanuts and chili oil, and in a month we’d be out of back-up if the harvest fails,” Wen Qing is saying as Wei Ying makes an innocently offended face. He is about to run up against that last rule, and he seems to know it, because after a moment’s glaring contest he lowers his head and eats his lunch.

Lan Wangji is breaking rules himself. Old ones, etched deep into his soul. Ones that seem right, even if he left the family that gave them to him behind. He envies Wen Qing for her easy interaction with Wei Ying, the way he would often envy Jiang Wanyin for being close to Wei Ying in a way the man didn’t even seem to particularly value. He remembers how Wen Qing is allowed to touch Wei Ying, and the burning knot in his stomach makes him feel small and selfish.

“Do not be jealous of someone else’s good fortune.”

Wen Qing is compassionate and hardworking. A leader to her people. Perhaps a better check on Wei Ying’s more exuberant and sometimes ill-advised notions than Lan Wangji could ever be. When she asked about the paper he’d bought, her only concern had been the welfare of the whole camp. His personal jealousies should not guide how he sees his role here, or hers.

That night, when Wen Qing is working on her medicines and Wei Ying is absorbed in his notes, Lan Wangji puts down his half-finished underrobe and picks up his money pouch from under his bed, and goes to find her in the alcove.

“Hanguang-jun,” she says, curious but friendly.

“Lady Wen,” he says, his hand closing more tightly around the money pouch. A small, childish part of him still wants to back out, for a moment. Not hand over anything else to her that could be his. But he knows that is ridiculous, and the feeling passes. “I’m sorry to interrupt you.”

“Not at all,” she says. She’s never exuberant like Wei Ying, but her gaze is open, a gentle concern in her voice. “Is something wrong?”

Lan Wangji shakes his head. “I came to give this to you,” he says, holding out the pouch with his remaining coins. It is significantly less than it was even a short while ago. But he meant what he said, that day she asked about the paper. He still does.

Wen Qing looks at it in puzzlement. “Your money?”

Not his. Most of it rightfully belonged to the Lans, and the rest should have gone to the Jins, for the horses. He has only been a caretaker. And a selfish one, at times.

“It’s the money for this. For this here,” he tries. It’s hard to put it right. “For all of us.”

“But…” She’s still frowning.

He doesn’t let his hand sink. He has thought about this, it makes sense. “You know what we need when we go out to buy things,” he says. “You make those decisions. You should have our funds, too. So you know what we have, and where it goes.”

There’s curiosity in her eyes, and wondering, but she doesn’t hesitate too long. “All right,” she says, reaching out for the pouch. “Thank you.”

Maybe she also knows that beyond buying paper, he would find it difficult to deny Wei Ying his potatoes.

He nods briefly, his hand lighter. The choice feels right.

~      ~      ~

He lies awake that night, years of habit tugging at his eyelids, the weight of the work day in his limbs. But his mind is on the distant howls of the forest, the dull flicker of Wen Ning’s candle on the cave ceiling, the rustle of straw as Wei Ying turns on his bed.

It’s long past sleeping time, and his heart still beats with the shiver of being out of bounds. Right now he can’t imagine that awareness ever fading. But then years ago, weeks ago, his younger self could never have imagined getting on a horse and riding off into forbidden territories with Wei Ying, and now here he is. Changing the past, changing himself.

There is no rule about sleeping here. You sleep when you’re tired. Sometimes also when Wen Qing gives you a doctor’s instructions. It isn’t very tidy and not always the most efficient system, but it works anyway. It suits Wei Ying.

When he casts his mind wide and makes himself vulnerable, Lan Wangji can feel just the faintest traces of darkness, barely a whisper of the vengeful seething that is storming in the wilder parts of the forest. Wei Ying has shielded them so well that if he doesn’t listen for it, he’d barely know he isn’t somewhere on a farm or on the grounds of a small, agricultural clan, planting for the future, battling the elements.

He hears Wei Ying twist again in his sleep, allows himself a glance over at the other bed. Wei Ying has curled up into a ball now, the light too dim for Lan Wangji to make out more than his outline and the fuzzy mess of his hair at the top. Lan Wangji’s heart beats softly and insistently against all the things he wants, every unclaimed and orphaned part of him, and the empty spaces where old certainties trembled and slipped away, leaving nothing to hold him fast.

But it can be all right. It can be all right like this, too.

~      ~      ~

Lan Wangji stops by the cave entrance, the high midday sun beating on his back. He’s warm from work, his new robes damp with sweat and his arms exhausted. A sense of accomplishment at covering the final house with a roof is filling the yard. Fourth Uncle, still assigned to sitting work, applauded them and wants to make plans to celebrate. Wen Zian, who is moving about and recovered, but whose leg may never quite heal from how long it was left untreated in the prison camp, walked with his slightly trudging gait to the house’s front door and hung a ring of plum blossoms on it in welcome.

Marking the moment. Saying that this is their new beginning.

It would be so right. It would fit in with everything. Lan Wangji has been very preoccupied with his own losses, and this is a good reminder of how much the people here with him have suffered, how much the safety brought by Wei Ying means to them. Maybe they, too, need to say it. What they are to each other, what they want to be.

Lan Wangji borrows a drying cloth on one of the racks and wipes his hands, wipes the sweat off his face and neck. He takes a slow breath as he heads inside.

Wei Ying is standing at his worktable, bent over what looks like a strip of fabric or leather and squinting at it in concentration, but he’s not so absorbed he doesn’t notice Lan Wangji enter.

“Lan Zhan!” he says, whirling around, his smile reaching inside Lan Wangji and smoothing over his nervousness, then stirring it back up, like a rabbit’s ruffled fur. “I might have a new spell to get those weird bugs out of the radishes.”

Lan Wangji nods at that. He generally supports getting weird bugs out of radishes. He comes to a stop in front of Wei Ying and the messy brilliance scattered out behind him in the shape of compasses and talismans and fabric strips and rusted nails, his red ribbon bright from beams of sunlight through the cave roof and soft from the shine of his work candles. His beautiful eyes dancing with success and determination.

“We finished the house,” Lan Wangji says, his voice a little thick with it.

Wei Ying’s smile turns brighter still, warm and approving. There is a tightness in Lan Wangji’s chest that he could welcome and wrap around himself forever, to keep him anchored.

“That’s great progress, Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying says. “That’s fantastic.”

“Some of the others think we should have a celebration,” Lan Wangji says.

Wei Ying’s face lights up with a spark. “We totally should,” he says. “You agree, right?”

Lan Wangji nods calmly, a shiver stealing under his skin at the prospect. It would probably be unruly and carefree, not at all like any Lan Clan ceremony would be.

“I think it would be fitting,” he says.

“Great!” Wei Ying says. “I’m going to finish this thing—” He motions at the leather fragments scattered on the desk. “—or at least get to a better stopping point, I’ll never find these small bits again if I stop right now, but we can discuss it over lunch—”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says, warmth rising in his face. He needs Wei Ying to understand before they discuss it over lunch, with other people. Wei Ying sometimes brushes past things.

But never callously, intentionally. Lan Wangji can see it right here too in the immediate flicker of concern, the slowing of his exuberant motions. He is so kind. “What is it, Lan Zhan?” 

“I think it would be fitting,” Lan Wangji says, feeling the weight of every word as he lifts it from the turmoil of his heart, and puts it in a careful order, “to mark this occasion, and confirm the way we live here, and will live here.”

Wei Ying looks at him with a slow, hesitant frown. “What do you mean?”

Lan Wangji’s throat is dry with tension. “I think it would be time…” He smooths down his robes, the new, rough ones, so they won’t look disorderly, and sinks down to his knees, then extends his arms in a circle. Kneeling straight and tall, he finds the words both harder, and clearer.

“Wei Ying,” he says, feeling the words throughout his body. “I wish to follow your guidance and your leadership in all things concerning our life in the Burial Mounds. I thank you for everything you have done, for me and others. I promise to you that my protection and my strength is at your service, and that I will support you in every possible way as the Yiling Patriarch, or whatever title you should choose.”

It’s quiet around them, the noises from outside cushioned by the sheen of focus in the air. Lan Wangji’s heart is brimming with nervousness and truth.

“What?” Wei Ying’s voice is thin with shock.

Lan Wangji doesn’t waver. He looks ahead, giving Wei Ying time to understand. Wei Ying is not one for formalities, Wei Ying’s idea of becoming the Yiling Patriarch would probably be to stretch out on a roof in one of his endearing and distractingly indelicate poses, swirl a jar of wine and salute them with his flute. They are all in uncharted lands. “Will you accept my promise?”

“I— Lan Zhan, what?”

Lan Wangji raises his gaze. Wei Ying is staring at him as if he dropped in through the hole in the roof, his face as bewildered as his hair is wayward. “You’re suggesting we should have a party where everyone kneels down and tells me I’m their new leader, bottoms up to the Yiling Patriarch?”

Lan Wangji shakes his head gently. “I am not.” He feels his mouth curve into a smile, like he can’t do anything about it. “It wouldn’t be like you.”

“So just you, then?”

“I believe that it would benefit everyone if we had a name,” Lan Wangji says. He feels sure of it. It would give them an anchor. A sense of belonging. Rebuilding, like the houses. “A clan.”

Wei Ying’s eyes go even bigger. “But— we’re not a clan, we just—” He gestures widely. “We just live here!”

For the first time, a trickle of something frail runs through his certainty. “You… were not planning to stay?” he asks. Surely not, says a hard beat of his heart. Surely.

“No, of course not, of course I’m going to stay, we have to stay, there’s nowhere else for us to go and also it all worked out pretty great!” Wei Ying’s stare is wide and a little wild. “Of course I’m staying. But you don’t need to make it all weird like that...”

Weird.

Lan Wangji looks up at him, waiting while it spreads like frost through his blood. He can’t find the words now. It all made so much sense to him. Seemed obvious. With all the sacrifices Wei Ying made, how would he not want to belong? How is he not their leader? How would he not want a name, something to call them that they own. Not the titles given by outsiders to whom they are a frightening story, a cautionary tale?

Wei Ying’s head moves in a tiny, stunned shake. “We don’t need to make it all…” He waves his hand again, takes one step away, then stops. “Official like that.” He looks uncomfortable, like Lan Wangji opened the door to a room full of ghosts or spiders. “I’m not a clan leader,” he says in a flat, rough voice. “I didn’t do this to be a clan leader. We don’t even know what the future brings. Right now they need us to keep them safe, not to come up with a new name or fancy titles for me.”

Lan Wangji’s breath comes shallow, burns in his chest. How could he get this so wrong? He should— he wants— It feels so right in his heart, and so shameful through the mirror of Wei Ying’s eyes, and he doesn’t understand.

“What about me then?” He didn’t even mean to say it. It’s done. Wei Ying doesn’t want this. But something roots him to the spot, the rock under his knees and the tension in his arms, his promise hanging helpless, homeless in the air, with no place to come down.

“Lan Zhan…” Wei Ying is looking upset now, and he takes that one step towards Lan Wangji, moves to reach for Lan Wangji’s folded hands, but then seems to stop himself, his hands hovering before he exhales hard and runs them through his own hair. “Look, you’re really great. You have no idea how grateful I am that you’re helping me. Helping them. But you don’t need— you don’t even know what you want in the future, and I’m not your clan leader, you don’t need to promise me anything about— god, can you please get up off the floor?”

For just a moment, Lan Wangji is frozen, every part of him heavy and slow. But he should do that. He should get up. He’s so embarrassed.

Wei Ying doesn’t want him. Not even like this.

He manages to stand in a smooth motion and keeps his eyes down, his ears rushing like his body wants to draw everything inside as far as possible.

“My apologies,” he says.

“Lan Zhan…”

“The houses are finished,” he says, pulling his hand to his back as he straightens. He’s never found it so hard, and Wei Ying’s kind, confused, apologetic face makes him turn as if from a slap. “You should come out for lunch.”

Chapter Text

Well, shit.

Wei Wuxian stares at the cave entrance, Lan Zhan gone from sight and the ground still reeling. Clan leader, what the fuck. He’s not a clan leader. They’re not a— the Wens, they’re— Wei Wuxian doesn’t even get to plant potatoes much less the right to—

Lan Zhan looked mortified.

Shit.

He needs to go, he needs to fix this, but he has no clue how. Lan Zhan must have hit his head to think that Wei Wuxian is the one he should declare his allegiance to or whatever the fuck, because— no.

He should find Lan Zhan.

He takes a step, his heart still hammering.

Fuck, what is he going to say?

Well, he’s going to figure it out, maybe make shit up in the moment because that’s his thing, not being a clan leader, but, now he needs to find Lan Zhan and grab him and make sure that he’s okay, make sure this is okay.

He darts out of the cave in a weird sprint, slowing down when the people sitting closest to the cave look up at him. Adjusts his pose to casual and gives them a little wave.

Right, so totally leadership material, here.

It’s lunch time. Everyone’s gathered around in little groups with bowls full of radishes. Even Granny Wen is out, carried on a makeshift stretcher and chatting with Wen Qing. All the Wens. All the people they’re protecting.

That’s all he can do. That’s all he’s supposed to do. Keep them safe here. Make the forest play nice and chase off the ghosts for them. He doesn’t make rules or give them headbands or… that stuff. It would be so weird.

He shakes himself out of his daze, starts scanning them. Lan Zhan isn’t with any of them. He’s not doing any of the construction—right, the houses are finished, nice job, there’s plum blossoms—and he’s not anywhere else visible from here, either. Wei Wuxian really shouldn’t even draw attention to the whole thing, his insides squirming hot when he imagines Lan Zhan feeling even more embarrassed, but he stops by Fourth Uncle and Wen Zian from the construction crew, asks if they’ve seen where Lan Zhan went, in an upbeat sort of voice that’s just regular business.

Apparently Lan Zhan mentioned something about going down to the village for something, though Fourth Uncle doesn’t know what he was going to buy or if he’s going at Wen Qing’s request.

Wei Wuxian nods and thanks him and thinks, okay, that’s probably all right. That was a big— a big something. Lan Zhan probably wants to be alone for a little while, and Wei Wuxian can let him have that. He can catch him when he comes back. Set him straight about… whatever that was.

It almost itches. Thinking of himself that way. Thinking that Lan Zhan—Lan Zhan, Hanguang-jun—wants him to put on some title and sit at the head of the table and have, like, disciples or whatever, looking to him for… for what clan leaders do.

He could probably have handled that better. He was just so thrown.

He paces at the edge of the courtyard, hovering, without anyone asking him what he’s up to. They’re used to him doing his own thing. Should he follow Lan Zhan, try to meet him outside the camp? So that whatever happens then happens away from here? Maybe Lan Zhan would be more comfortable that way.

But Lan Zhan also might not want that. He might want some time to get his head together.

Wei Wuxian could maybe use that too.

And then Wei Wuxian will be able to explain himself better, and also… also make sure he’s all right. That they’re all right.

It’s got to be the Lan stuff. Wei Wuxian wondered briefly if that was maybe eating away at Lan Zhan more than he’d realized, but he didn’t really see this coming. He should have paid better attention. Lan Zhan is always working, making himself useful and looking serene and a true pillar of their— of this place, and that probably makes it easy not to see how much he misses his family.

Lan Zhan’s a tidy sort of guy. It’s natural he’d look for some… some structure. And Wei Wuxian is the one who rode ahead into the dark and led them all to this graveyard radish farm, so. That’s probably it. Nobody else would look at Wei Wuxian, crafty methods guy, roof jumper and wine lover, and think, yes, that’s the one for leadership, that’s the one to stick with.

He turns away from the edge of the forest, rolling his shoulders, trying to settle his mind from the roil of that confrontation. He doesn’t quite know what to do with himself.

With the houses finished, it turns into a slow afternoon. Some people are taking the time to laze about a bit, while the remaining occupants of the great hall move their bedding and blankets into the final house. Only Granny will stay in the great hall while her hip is still healing, and Wei Wuxian catches something about Wen Liu and Ah Yuan making a flower crown out of weeds because Ah Yuan has decided Granny must be the Princess of the Great Hall.

Hours pass and Lan Zhan still doesn’t show. But there’s also not that much for him to do, so it’s okay if he’s taking a break, Lan Zhan does so much of the work, maybe he’s having an extended stroll as he sorts himself out. Wei Wuxian finally stops sneakily being on the lookout and retreats to the cave to do his own work, though of course he now totally can’t find the tiny leather strips he was going to work with and he has to search the entire table three times until he spots his latest work in progress crumpled up on the floor, and then it takes him forever to find his fucking focus.

If Lan Zhan were the kind who’d buy himself a treat, Wei Wuxian would hope he’d get himself some sweet cakes and tea in town. But admittedly, he finds that not very likely.

At some point while he’s trying to work, but really skittering from one project to the next, Wen Qing comes in, heads past him, and he hears her murmuring to Wen Ning in their usual evening conversation. He looks over his shoulder towards the cave entrance.

Almost fully dark now. Still no sign of Lan Zhan.

Wei Wuxian stares down at the paper in front of him, his half-scrawled notes trailing off, ink smearing on his fingers as they fiddle with the brush he’s not really using.

He just. He didn’t know what to say.

It just completely knocked him sideways, and even though he’s been distracting himself, it’s lingers at the back of his mind and chews up his concentration, just how… how wrong Lan Zhan got that.

He never would have imagined that Lan Zhan would expect anything like that. That Lan Zhan would think he expected… Like. This is just a temporary situation, they’re doing what they need to do to get by.

Does Lan Zhan think he planned this? Does Lan Zhan think he has a plan? Is that why he…?

He thinks of Lan Zhan’s fingers clutched around his headband, shakily letting go.

Shit. He feels almost sick with the thought, a heavy curl of dread in his stomach. If Lan Zhan only did that—only gave up his clan, everything he believed in—because he thought Wei Wuxian could take its place…

He can’t. He doesn’t know how he could ever make that up to Lan Zhan, but… he can’t do that. He can’t pretend that way. That’s not… that’s not his thing and it wasn’t the point and it doesn’t even make sense, why would Lan Zhan think that? They’re just a handful of people holed up in a giant graveyard and they’re not… they’re not a clan.

They’re not three thousand rules and scholarly lectures and stainless robes. They’re not archery lessons and perfect sword drills in the pink light reflected off Lotus ponds. They’re not… he’s not what Lan Zhan wants.

He drops the brush on the worktable and drops his face into his hands, rubs over his eyes. He needs to fix this somehow. He can’t just sit around here pretending nothing happened while Lan Zhan is all… wherever he is, and…

He pushes up from the worktable and grabs his flute off the shelf, sticking it in his belt. There’s basically only one road to the village anyway, and if Lan Zhan really went to the village, he should be able to find him somewhere on it.

If Lan Zhan didn’t go to the village…

No. He’s not going to think about that now. Can’t. Nope. Not now.

He steps out into the courtyard, nodding to Wen Liu as she passes on her way into one of the houses they just finished—one of the houses Lan Zhan helped them finish, fuck, he was so happy about it, and he seemed so certain, and then it all went to hell, the way his face just closed up and Wei Wuxian feels so, so shitty…

He’s about to enter into the darker shadows of the forest path when a movement flickers in the corner of his eye, and he glances off to the left, frowning into the dark.

There, sitting alone among the radish gardens, is Lan Zhan.

Wei Wuxian’s heart leaps into his throat, and he has to catch himself before he calls out to him. He doesn’t want to spook him and make him run off again. He presses his lips together and tries to gather himself, keep calm, not go over there and demand to know where the hell he’s been all afternoon and what the hell he thinks he’s doing worrying Wei Wuxian like that. Lan Zhan can have space when he needs space. Totally, all the space.

Wei Wuxian is so glad he came back.

Wei Wuxian sees Lan Zhan’s head twitch slightly as he makes his way toward him between the radish fields. Lan Zhan’s new grey robes aren’t as bright as they should be, but as he gets closer, there’s enough gloomy light reflected off them to make him stand out from his surroundings. He can tell Lan Zhan hears him coming, though Lan Zhan doesn’t turn toward him fully or acknowledge his approach. But he doesn’t run away either, so at least that’s something.

When he comes to a stop on the paving stones next to Lan Zhan, he pulls his flute out of his belt and drops himself down on the ground beside him, just close enough that if he shifted in his seat, their knees would be touching. Lan Zhan’s hands are on his knees in a meditative pose, and his eyes are closed, but Wei Wuxian can tell from his breathing and the wrinkle of his brow that if he’s actually trying to meditate, he’s not doing so great with it.

“I looked for you,” Wei Wuxian says, quietly, his voice a little rough. This kind of conversation isn’t quite his thing either, but. But. “I wanted to talk to you, but you disappeared.”

Lan Zhan doesn’t say anything. Still doesn’t look at him, and it surprises Wei Wuxian a little bit how much that suddenly hurts. There were years when Lan Zhan wouldn’t look at him and he never took it to heart, but somehow… it’s different now.

“Are you okay?” Wei Wuxian asks.

He sees Lan Zhan’s jaw tighten just a little bit. Sees him take a steadying breath. “I am quite well,” Lan Zhan says, his voice low and even, and it makes Wei Wuxian’s stomach drop with how much it sounds like back then, in the library, when Lan Zhan still hated him. “You don’t need to concern yourself with me. You are not my clan leader, after all.”

No. No. Fuck, that’s not—that’s not what he meant.

“Lan Zhan,” he starts, reaching out and putting a hand on Lan Zhan’s wrist without thinking, just needing to reach him somehow—but he freezes when he feels Lan Zhan’s arm tighten underneath his grip. Lan Zhan didn’t— doesn’t like to be touched. Apparently, still. At least not anymore. Not by Wei Wuxian.

He lets go, pulling his hand back into his lap.

From somewhere in his mess of emotions, a joke about getting a cozy evening out in the radish fields out of all this is rattling around his chest and wants out, wants to take him past this hotly uncomfortable moment, but he puts a lid on it and pushes it down. Lan Zhan looked so fragile, so shaken, kneeling to him, oh hell, and… he needs to say this right.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Wei Wuxian says. It’s fumbly because he doesn’t even really understand why—how—but it’s clear that he did. And that’s the last thing he would have wanted. “I’m really sorry, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Zhan’s eyes fall closed, and Wei Wuxian sees him take another couple of controlled breaths before he opens them again. “The error was mine,” he says. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

“I do, though,” Wei Wuxian says, and god, he wishes Lan Zhan would look at him. Just turn toward him and move closer, smile maybe, stop acting like… like they’re back at the beginning. Like everything is just gone, like that. He knows,  with a fierce and crushing certainty, that he can’t do this if Lan Zhan goes back to acting like strangers. “You just took me by surprise, and I didn’t— I don’t think I handled it very well. But I think I get… what you were looking for.”

Lan Zhan’s head turns toward him just slightly, his eyes still directed at the ground, but a little closer. He’s listening.

Wei Wuxian feels a rush of hope from that, he’s doing better. Maybe he can get it right this time.

“I’m…” Wei Wuxian starts, trying to find the right way to put it. “I get what you were saying—I get it, okay? And I… I’m really flattered that you think I would make a good clan leader and that you’d be willing to lend me your support. That means a lot to me, honestly. But I just… I can’t do that. That’s not me. It wouldn’t be— it wouldn’t be right.”

Lan Zhan’s eyes lower, and Wei Wuxian can feel that he’s slipping away again, closing off.

“Lan Zhan,” he rushes on. “I don’t even know why you’d think I’d be good at— I know there’s all that Yiling Patriarch stuff but that’s from outside, that’s people making stuff up because they think I’m scary.” He huffs out a breath, imagining what they’d say if they saw him lose arguments over potatoes, when they think what he’s doing is evil magic and rebelling against orthodoxy. And that’s it too, that’s…

“Just, think about what it would look like for a minute,” he urges, appealing to Lan Zhan’s reason. “The Jin Clan are already supposedly pushing the idea that I’m this dangerous rebel and talking up the Yiling Patriarch thing like I’ve been planning this all along. If I crown myself king of the Burial Mounds and start ordering people around, if I have you as my sworn right-hand man, they’ll send an army after us within a week.” He doesn’t quite know where that insight came from when he was distracted with feeling weird and uncomfortable all day but here it is, and it’s crystal clear in his mind. Feels right. Plausible. “We’re safer here without structure, without a plan. The weaker they think we are, the less likely they are to feel like they need to grind us down.”

Lan Zhan doesn’t say anything to that, but Wei Wuxian thinks that got his attention, that he’s thinking it over. Hopefully seeing that Wei Wuxian is totally right about this, drawing the same conclusions, never mind the other, messier stuff, this is totally solid, and Lan Zhan… Lan Zhan has to see that. Right?

He swallows. Wishes he could leave it there, because he can’t fuck this up again. He hopes it’s not wrong now—hopes it won’t make things worse somehow. But he has to say it.

“I know you’ve given up a lot,” Wei Wuxian says. “For this. To help us. And I know that’s been hard on you. If there’s anything I can do that would make it easier, please, tell me what that is. I just… this, I can’t. It wouldn’t feel right.”

Lan Zhan’s eyelashes flutter, and he lets out another breath, gives a small nod. “I understand,” he says, a bit roughly. It makes Wei Wuxian want to put his arms around him and tug him in close, but he knows Lan Zhan wouldn’t want that.

They sit in silence for a while, staring out over the radish gardens, the hazy moonlight reflecting on the little plops of leafy greens poking up in rows across the soil. Wei Wuxian really wishes he could reach for Lan Zhan again, even just for himself, to know that he’s still there. But whatever truce they’re making here feels too fragile for that. Lan Zhan is one of the most important people in his life, and the thought of losing him now, not having his steady, thoughtful presence to lean on and take comfort in makes Wei Wuxian unbearably sad.

But maybe he’s been selfish. Maybe what he needs isn’t the same as what Lan Zhan needs.

It takes two tries, but he finally manages to get the words out.

“They might still take you back,” Wei Wuxian says quietly.

Lan Zhan looks at him, finally, but Wei Wuxian can’t bring himself to look back.

“What?” Lan Zhan says.

Wei Wuxian swallows hard. Every weak part of him is saying no, don’t, shut up, don’t ruin it. He was so glad Lan Zhan didn’t take the out last time. But now he can’t not say it, can’t let Lan Zhan feel trapped here with him. Can’t let him stay here feeling like he made a choice under false pretenses, like Wei Wuxian was offering something he clearly can’t give him. “If you wanted to leave after all. You know, after this. I wouldn’t blame you. I know your Uncle said you were banished forever, or whatever, but if you go back now, I bet you could still make amends, I bet you could talk— I mean, everyone thinks you’re not a good talker but you can really hit the mark when you go all intense on someone, and your brother would definitely want to take you back.”

Lan Zhan is still staring at him, and it burns, Wei Wuxian wants to look him in the eye, but he’s not sure he’d be able to keep himself together if he did. The thought of the Burial Mounds without Lan Zhan makes him feel lonely already.

But he won’t be the reason Lan Zhan is miserable. That would be worse than loneliness.

“Do you want me to leave?” Lan Zhan asks. It’s barely a whisper, and Wei Wuxian thinks he can hear the loneliness there too.

“No,” he says, closing his eyes and shaking his head firmly. “Not at all.” He tries for a smile. It comes out sad too. Then he takes a breath and forces himself to look Lan Zhan in the eye. He needs Lan Zhan to know that it’s okay. Whatever he decides will be okay. “But I want you to be happy. I want you to be wherever you need to be to be happy.”

Lan Zhan looks back at him, his dark eyes swimming with so many thoughts, all the feelings that never seem to show through clearly in the light, and that Wei Wuxian can’t seem to sort out.

“Here, then,” Lan Zhan says, finally, and it sounds like a vow. “I need to be here.”

Wei Wuxian’s chest feels tight, and he bites the inside of his lip. He’s not sure if he should keep arguing with him, if Lan Zhan is just being noble again or whatever, or is still hoping Wei Wuxian is going to change his mind and let him plan some kind of a coronation—but he doesn’t want to. He wants to take Lan Zhan at his word. He wants to hug him so badly.

He looks at Lan Zhan for a moment longer. It’s kind of dumb and hard to say, but this time, it was his own damn fault that Lan Zhan got worried that Wei Wuxian doesn’t want him here, ridiculous as that thought is. His own stupid handling of Lan Zhan’s feelings about the clan business. So maybe… maybe he should just say…

“I wasn’t sure if you’d left, earlier,” he says quietly, feeling a flush. It’s weird, he’s usually really good at honesty. “Like. For good. Because I’d fucked that up.”

Lan Zhan only looks at him for a flicker of a beat. “I went down the mountain to the town and then back. I was only walking.”

“It felt really shitty,” Wei Wuxian says.

“That wasn’t my intention,” Lan Zhan says, still quiet.

“I know.” He sighs. “I just want you to know… I don’t want you to feel stuck here. Like, really not. But when I thought you were gone, I was pretty freaked out. Because I really don’t know how I’d do this without you. I thought you should know. I thought— I should be clear. So you know.”

In outline, Wei Wuxian sees Lan Zhan take a deep breath, and a little more of the tension seems to flow out of him when he lets it out again. “Thank you.” The stiffness in his shoulders remains, but Wei Wuxian is glad he said it, and everything feels a lot more okay.

When he sighs again, it comes out with a rush of relief, and he only keeps the sudden giggle in because he knows Lan Zhan probably needs a moment longer to recover his ability to deal with giggles. “You know, we should make another rule.”

Lan Zhan turns slightly, seems to ponder the suggestion. “What rule do you want to make?” He still sounds a little husky, but definitely no longer so beaten down.

“Anyone who runs off for good has to say goodbye,” Wei Wuxian says. He’s a bit giddy and really half joking, but it also sounds quite sensible to him. The way Lan Zhan’s eyes seem to suddenly stare deep, almost through him, is a little weird, but it’s been a heavy sort of day. Wei Wuxian softens his smile and explains, “That way I know that when I just don’t see you, you’ll still come back, because you didn’t say you’re leaving.”

Lan Zhan is quiet for another moment, then he says, “All right,” a bit flat, but like he doesn’t mind. “I agree to that rule.”

Wei Wuxian stretches his legs out in front of him, and tilts his head up from the radish fields to the cloudy, murky sky. They probably won’t need it, at least if they can stop themselves from stumbling into more awful arguments, but it’ll be good to know, to have that assurance at the back of his mind.

Lan Zhan is good with rules.

~      ~      ~

The sun is always brighter down in the village somehow. Even when it’s overcast, Wei Wuxian finds himself having to squint—the air is clearer, and the light reflecting off of every surface doesn’t have to swim through shadows before it reaches him.

He stops by the food stalls first—he’s here for some medical supplies Wen Qing needs and some nails Lan Zhan and Wen Zian need to shore up the roofs, not food , but now that the radishes are coming in he’s hoping to sneak in a couple of plots of potatoes in the next round. The field farthest from the cave entrance might be safe… or maybe he’ll have a stroll around the back of the mountain, find himself something really out of the way… Once they’ve grown a bit, even if he gets caught Wen Qing won’t have him dig up perfectly good food, surely.

The potato seller is not easily charmed, but Wei Wuxian manages to haggle him down a little bit for four gnarly, sprouted specimens. He tucks them into the pouch at his waist and wanders on, browsing the rest of the stalls at a leisurely pace, the piles of fresh fruits and displays of various spices making his mouth water.

Lan Zhan still gets twitchy whenever Wei Wuxian leaves the Burial Mounds, and Wei Wuxian always has to badger him so he can come along on the shopping. Today, though, Lan Zhan was helping to cut more trees for some furniture for the new houses and couldn’t just drop everything without putting a halt to everyone’s work, so he limited himself to a frown and a request that Wei Wuxian be careful.

Things feel pretty okay between them. After the whole clan leader fiasco, Wei Wuxian has been a little careful around him, making sure not to tease him too much, but being otherwise normal. Lan Zhan still seems a bit subdued, but he isn’t avoiding Wei Wuxian. They have lunch together, and the last few evenings in the cave have been companionable, Lan Zhan writing his letters while Wei Wuxian prepared more talismans. The other day, when Ah Yuan attached himself to Lan Zhan’s shoulder and waved two sticks tied together at him, wanting to play dragons, Lan Zhan even smiled.

It makes Wei Wuxian feel lighter when he thinks of that.

Would be nice if Lan Zhan were here though. Wandering with him down each narrow alley, looking at the displays of shops selling charms and hair ornaments and jewelry, all frivolous things they don’t need and can’t afford but that are pretty to look at.

He catches sight of an elegant silver pin with a wing-shaped ornament at the end and a couple of slivers of jade dangling from it. He could see Lan Zhan wearing that.

Though it’s been a while, actually, hasn’t it. His hairstyle is simple and pragmatic now, only half tied back with a strip of light blue cloth. It suits him. Wei Wuxian has secretly grown a little fond of Lan Zhan’s plain, practical look, like he’s getting to see a side of him that has been kept hidden under miles of formal layers for as long as Wei Wuxian has known him. But he also feels a little guilty thinking like that, especially now that he knows how much Lan Zhan misses the structure and the symbols of a clan.

He wanders away from the jewelry store, only vaguely aware of his surroundings as the store displays get fewer and farther between. It’s dimmer here too where the road narrows, barely wide enough for a cart to squeeze through, with a little overhang from the roofs on either side. He comes up short when he reaches the end of the alleyway, finding his path blocked by a couple of carts full of pickle barrels that seem to be stuck because of traffic on the main road beyond. He sighs, peering around the edge of the nearest cart, trying to see if there’s anywhere he can still pass.

“Well,” says a low, spiteful voice behind him. “If it isn’t the Yiling Patriarch.”

Wei Wuxian whips around—and there, standing about six feet away, blocking the narrow alley, is Jiang Cheng.

Wei Wuxian stares at him with a strange flutter in his chest. Took a while for Jiang Cheng to show his face.

His very pissy face. Something sticks in Wei Ying’s throat that under other circumstances would be a clever comeback to dispel Jiang Cheng’s hostility, take it down to normal levels of grump.

Jiang Cheng’s mouth has a bitter twist to it, his eyes stormier than the sky above the Burial Mounds.

“What are you doing here?” Wei Wuxian says. He keeps it calm, casual, one hand resting on his flute. If he doesn’t push back too hard, maybe he can keep this from escalating. But he knows that look. Jiang Cheng is spoiling for a fight, whether Wei Wuxian needs one or not.

“I’m here to take you home.”

Okay, that— despite his plan not to piss him off further, Wei Wuxian can’t quite keep in the laugh. “You are, are you?”

“Come on,” Jiang Cheng spits out, taking a step towards him, and Wei Wuxian tries not to shift back. He could try for the roof in a pinch, but it’s close in here, and he’s still not quite able to jump as high as he used to without a running start, certainly not as high and as fast as Jiang Cheng . The wagons, maybe, but with two of them next to each other… “This whole thing is getting out of hand. I know you think you can just do whatever you like, go wherever you wish and not give a fuck about what anyone else thinks, but it doesn’t work that way. Do you have any idea what you’re up against?”

“Hey, we’re doing pretty good so far,” Wei Wuxian counters, pushing back just enough to get Jiang Cheng to stop. Asshole. Maybe he can slip around him and run back the way he came?

“So far?” Jiang Cheng says, aghast. “So far, you’re holed up in the Burial Mounds with a bunch of criminals and a fucking target on your back.”

“Hey,” he snaps, a warning, and he can feel the thrum of the Tiger Seal against his side, where it’s tucked inside his robes. Feel the seep of resentment energy into the hand at his flute. It’s not good.

He doesn’t want to hurt Jiang Cheng.

Jiang Cheng seems to have noticed too. He glares down at the flute, at Wei Wuxian’s fingers clenched around it, and a mulish stubbornness makes his face all square and hard. Then his eyes lift to Wei Wuxian’s again. “Go ahead,” he says, hand tightening on his own sword. “I’ll fight you if I have to.”

Wei Wuxian huffs a breath, half incredulous, half trying to calm himself. Keep a lid on the Tiger Seal’s urge to take him up on the offer. They haven’t seen each other in fucking weeks and Jiang Cheng wants to fight him.

“You want to fight? Here?” he says, taking half a step back, and Jiang Cheng’s eyes narrow slightly at the distance he’s putting between them. “Come on, Jiang Cheng, there’s people here. Civilians.” He motions at the buildings on either side, the passersby on the street behind them. “The least we can do is take it outside.”

“You want to take it outside?” Jiang Cheng says. “Then fine, come back with me to Lotus Pier and I’ll kick your ass there.”

“Jiang Che—”

There’s a dusting of roof thatch and a flurry of grey and blue, and suddenly someone drops in between them, making them both jolt back. Wei Wuxian chokes on a mouthful of sawdust and blinks it out of his eyes, squinting to see who’s suddenly joined the party, and it’s…

“Lan Zhan,” he says. “Where did you…?”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says. He’s standing just in front of Wei Wuxian, but he’s facing Jiang Cheng, sword drawn and at the ready. “Are you all right?”

“I’m… fine,” Wei Wuxian says, blinking from Lan Zhan’s back to Jiang Cheng, who is looking at Lan Zhan like he wants to crush him with his bare hands. “But, how did you even—?”

“Ahh, I should have guessed Second Young Master Lan couldn’t be far away,” Jiang Cheng grits out. He’s held at bay by Lan Zhan’s sword, and he’s made no move to draw his own, but he looks like he’s thinking about it. “But no, that’s not right anymore, is it? Tell me, what is the proper mode of address for a defector?”

Oh fuck that.

“Jiang Cheng!” Wei Wuxian growls, trying to step around Lan Zhan so he can grab him by the collar—but Lan Zhan throws out his free arm to stop him.

“Stay back,” Lan Zhan says, in a voice more dangerously low than Wei Wuxian has ever heard from him.

Wei Wuxian clenches his jaw against the rumbling energy at his side, his hands on the rough fabric of Lan Zhan’s sleeve. But, no. He breathes, tries to calm his shuddering nerves. Calm everything, keep it at bay. He doesn’t really want to come at Jiang Cheng with the Tiger Seal, he doesn’t want to hurt Jiang Cheng. Just… punch him a bit.

“Stand aside, Lan Wangji,” Jiang Cheng says. “This does not concern you.”

“I disagree,” Lan Zhan says.

Jiang Cheng’s face twists in anger and frustration. “You arrogant son of a bitch. You stay out of this family’s business.”

Enough. “You shut the fuck up!” Wei Wuxian snarls, ducking under Lan Zhan’s arm before Lan Zhan can adjust and shoving Jiang Cheng in the chest. “You don’t show up here and ambush me and insult people!”

“Wei Ying!”

Jiang Cheng recovers his balance, shoves him back. “I am not letting you do this, I am not letting you stay here ruining our family’s name, you self-righteous ungrateful prick.” There’s a flash of purple at his wrist. “You’re coming home with me!”

“The fuck I am!” Wei Wuxian shouts, right in his face, and somewhere he can feel Lan Zhan’s tension rising, and suddenly Jiang Cheng’s right fist is up and Zidian is crackling and unfurling, lashing around Wei Wuxian’s arm, pulling—

He’s grabbed, flung backwards, his arm slipping free, a strength he can’t match knocking him hard into the side of the building. He blinks up to see Lan Zhan in front of him again, a grey and blue shield. Bichen swings in a wide arc, clashing against Zidian and knocking it back. Jiang Cheng pulls his sword with his left hand then, the sheath readied for defense in his right, and Wei Wuxian shouts, “Stop!”, panic beating behind his eyes—but Jiang Cheng doesn’t get far before Bichen’s sheath strikes him hard across the shoulder.

It stops him from finding his fighting stance, and he stumbles sideways, Zidian flashing in his defense, but Lan Zhan flings it back again. The power of Lan Zhan’s movement makes it feel like the whole alleyway is shaking. Bichen flies out of his hand and tangles with Zidian, spearing into the rooftop on the opposite side of the alley and trapping Jiang Cheng’s arm above him as Lan Zhan lunges forward and hits Jiang Cheng in the stomach with the sheath.

Jiang Cheng wasn’t ready. He might have had a chance even if he doesn’t know it, Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan always fought to a draw, but he wasn’t prepared and now he’s staggering, his arm still trapped, heaving in a breath as Lan Zhan’s backhanded strike throws him across the alleyway and into the wall below Bichen.

“Stop!” Wei Wuxian yells, the Tiger Seal burning excitement into his side, the rage wanting in, it’s all around him and pressing on his blood, weird and foreign when his heart is beating in fear, they might hurt each other, actually hurt each other, this is totally out of control.

Jiang Cheng manages to retract Zidian and gets a good block in with Sandu—but suddenly the alley glimmers with white, Lan Zhan’s fingers stroking over the guqin with deadly precision and in the tight space, Jiang Cheng is flung backwards and hits the ground.

Lan Zhan recalls Bichen to its sheath and follows him.

“Lan Zhan, stop!” Wei Wuxian says, running after Lan Zhan on a split second judgment, he doesn’t want to fuck with Lan Zhan’s aim or guard, but Lan Zhan’s going to kill Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian really really really doesn’t want him to.

“You fucking asshole,” Jiang Cheng spits out, along with some blood, straightening up and glaring at Lan Zhan like he doesn’t give a fuck Lan Zhan is going to rip his fucking limbs off, that idiot. “You goddamn traitor.”

“Jiang Cheng, shut up!” He pulls on the back of Lan Zhan’s robes, but his best strength is currently coursing through that asshole over there about to get himself killed, for fuck’s sake. “Lan Zhan, let’s all calm—”

“Fuck you, Wei Wuxian!” Jiang Cheng grinds out, pulling Sandu up in front of him. “Fuck both of you!”

Lan Zhan hits him with another set of strings and Sandu swipes them away, sends them into a wall that nearly buckles, but before he’s got himself rebalanced the next volley hits him, purple robes swirling as he flies through the air and back into the wall.

Wei Wuxian throws both arms around Lan Zhan from behind, his whole weight against him, his face ending up somewhere in Lan Zhan’s hair. “Please, stop,” he urges. “Don’t kill him.”

Lan Zhan seems to stagger under his pounce, and Wei Wuxian doesn’t have a good view of Jiang Cheng anymore but there’s movement in purple and that asshole not staying the fuck down and Lan Zhan’s fingers moving— “Lan Zhan, please.”

The bright white lines fly out, and past Lan Zhan’s shoulder Wei Wuxian sees Jiang Cheng meet them with fiery eyes as they snap around him, a little rocking motion but no slam of power, trapping his arms. Curling tight. Yanking him up into the air as he’s struggling, tightening more with each twist and pull of his arms. 

Lan Zhan stands still as a rock, but through their contact Wei Wuxian can feel the sharpness in his breath, how tight and angry his control is. His light touch on the guqin is keeping the strings and Jiang Cheng afloat.

Jiang Cheng’s stare is murderous, but when he glares at Wei Wuxian he also looks… betrayed.

Wei Wuxian lets go of Lan Zhan, resisting the urge to smooth down his robe at the back where Wei Wuxian threw himself at him. Lan Zhan’s hair got a little fluffed up and the blue ribbon is tangled up with it. Wei Wuxian sees another shiver in Lan Zhan, but the white cords hold steady. He steps up next to Lan Zhan, without taking his eyes off Jiang Cheng.

“Jiang Cheng, calm down, okay?” Wei Wuxian says to him, with a placating hand up. “This is already way more trouble than we wanted.” He puts a light touch on Lan Zhan’s forearm, careful not to throw off his control of the strings.

Jiang Cheng’s face twists in anger. “We?” he says. “Tell that to your fucking henchman.” He’s still struggling to get his sword arm free, but it’s no use, Lan Zhan is holding him fast. There’s blood on his chin from the force of Lan Zhan’s attacks, an ugly scrape on his cheek from hitting the wall, strands of hair loose from the topknot.

“If you calm down, he’s going to put you down, okay?” Wei Wuxian says. Hopes he’s right. “And we can talk like civilized people.”

“You tell him that,” Jiang Cheng snaps back, the bruise on his cheek already darkening, his lip still smeared with blood.

Honestly, Jiang Cheng looks like shit.

“He’ll talk like civilized people too,” Wei Wuxian promises, and turns to Lan Zhan.

Lan Zhan’s face is flushed, a bright rage etched into his entire stance, his eyes still burning into Jiang Cheng. A few strands of hair have come loose from the fight, and Wei Wuxian feels his stomach do a strange flip at the wildness in him, like that weird charge in him is catching, shivering under Wei Wuxian’s skin. What the fuck is going on?

“Lan Zhan,” he says more quietly, breathing through his own disorientation. He pats Lan Zhan’s arm a little, hoping that won’t make whatever this is worse somehow. “Let him down, okay? Let’s all just… talk.”

Lan Zhan keeps staring at Jiang Cheng, and for a moment Wei Wuxian worries that he actually won’t listen. Wei Wuxian has never seen him this angry or this deadly. Then a shadow of some kind draws over his face, dampening the fire. Finally he lowers Jiang Cheng back to the ground, to at least let him stand on his own two feet. He pockets the guqin with a wave of his hand, but the cords stay.

Jiang Cheng still struggles a bit, but he seems to have realized it’s no use, so he settles for glaring daggers at Lan Zhan.

“Look, let’s just go back to the Burial Mounds, okay?” Wei Wuxian says. “We can have a nice, long talk, and get all of this straightened out.” He takes another look at Jiang Cheng’s face and adds, “Maybe get you patched up a little too, so you won’t scare Shijie.”

Jiang Cheng’s eyes snap to him with outrage and disbelief, and Wei Wuxian swallows uncomfortably. Thinking of Shijie right now isn’t so great.

“Let’s just go, okay?” he repeats, looking back at Lan Zhan, who seems calmer now, but still ready to murder Jiang Cheng with a flick of his wrist. “We’ll all play nice.”

“Do I get a choice?” Jiang Cheng says, squirming in the bonds.

Good question, Wei Wuxian thinks. “If you want, Lan Zhan will let you go and you can just go home,” he ventures, making his voice sound calm. “Right, Lan Zhan?” He shoots Lan Zhan a little smile that goes ignored, then turns back to Jiang Cheng. “But you came all the way out here for something and if you didn’t just want to kidnap me, it might be nice to go and have a chat?”

Three or five more shades of offended flash over Jiang Cheng’s face, but eventually he snarls, “Fine. You can take me to your snake pit.”

Good, very good, good to have that settled! Wei Wuxian looks at Lan Zhan again, who appears to have downgraded his plans from murder to maiming, though on the other hand that might also be wishful thinking. “Lan Zhan?” This time he keeps his eyes on Lan Zhan until Lan Zhan actually looks back at him.

Lan Zhan’s expression seems to clear somewhat, like he’s pulling a leash tight around his anger. “If you wish to bring him back to the camp, we can go,” he says. 

Wei Wuxian waits. Nothing happens. “Don’t you think you should unwrap him?”

Lan Zhan glances over at Jiang Cheng. “He can walk,” he says.

“Fuck you!” Jiang Cheng shouts, Zidian’s energy crackling uselessly at his knuckles.

This is going to be great.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says calmly. “We can’t walk a tied-up sect leader through town, it’s going to look like we’re abducting him. We don’t need that kind of trouble.”

He sees in the small tightening of Lan Zhan’s jaw that his logic has hit home. “He still has weapons,” he says.

Wei Wuxian looks at Jiang Cheng again. Sandu is in his hand, the sheath lying on the ground. They might be able to take Sandu by force, but to get at Zidian, Jiang Cheng would have to surrender it. Jiang Cheng would never.

And Wei Wuxian wouldn’t blame him. No matter what got into Lan Zhan and no matter how stupid Jiang Cheng’s ambush, Wei Wuxian’s not going to ask him to put up with that humiliation.

“Yes, he does,” Wei Wuxian says. “But he’s not going to use them, he’ll promise. He’s not going to attack anybody. And you are going to promise that you’ll stop beating him up, okay?” He pats Lan Zhan’s shoulder encouragingly, which feels awkward with all the tension hanging in the air, then looks back at Jiang Cheng. “All right, Jiang Cheng?”

Jiang Cheng seems to consider for a moment whether he’s going to make a fuss, but then his jaw settles into sullen determination. “Fine,” he says. “If you take me to your hovel, I won’t draw my weapons unless he does first.”

It’s progress, Wei Wuxian will take it. “Lan Zhan?”

There’s a tiny purse to Lan Zhan’s mouth, but then finally he nods.

Okay. It’ll do.

“Great!” Wei Wuxian says, giving them both a smile. “Let’s go! You’re just in time to see the houses finished, and we might still have some dried apples left!”

~      ~      ~

The dark mists of the Burial Mounds have never so closely reflected the inside of his mind. Lan Wangji walks behind Wei Ying and his brother, his eye trained on Jiang Wanyin for any wrong movement, any flicker of purple lightning, the flames of his anger still burning bright under the restraint he put on it for Wei Ying’s sake.

How dare that man.

The force of it took him by surprise. He can still feel it, currents of outrage and loss spreading under his skin like dark spiderwebs. The sudden clarity of his fury, cutting right through everything dulled and muddled, as Jiang Wanyin tried to grab Wei Ying, disparage him again, hurt him again.

He doesn’t regret making his point to Jiang Wanyin perhaps a little excessively. But there was some damage done to the houses of that alleyway. He regrets making Wei Ying worried about their relation to the town.

“Lovely,” Jiang Wanyin says as they step through the protective barrier. “Cozy little fortress you have here.”

No threat. Lan Wangji reminds himself that Jiang Wanyin has made no threatening move, is merely making himself unpleasant. As usual.

“It works for us,” Wei Ying says, words light as a summer breeze.

The walk feels long. Wei Ying sometimes comments on the weather, not that they can see much of it through the gnarled angry trees. Then he runs through his shopping list, listing the things he bought and the things he missed because his visit was cut short, hoping that Wen Qing won’t scold him badly.

“You’ll have to back me up that it wasn’t my fault, Lan Zhan,” he says, as if they’re not dragging home the slightly bloodied proof of that.

Jiang Wanyin stops. Lan Wangji’s hand flies to his sword, all his anger rushing back, leashed by wariness.

“Wen Qing,” Jiang Wanyin says flatly. Did he not realize she would be here? Where else would she have gone?

Wei Ying turns around for him. “Yeah, she keeps track of the finances. I was mostly shopping for her.” He shakes a finger at Jiang Wanyin. “Until you interrupted me, so I’ll actually tell her that!”

Lan Wangji doesn’t see what is going on with Jiang Wanyin, sees only his stiff posture and the defensive set of his shoulders. Wei Ying’s face is curious as he tilts his head. Lan Wangji tenses with another flash of alarm as Jiang Wanyin takes a step towards Wei Ying.

But Jiang Wanyin has merely started walking again, the purple of his robe looking grey and sickly in the shade of the forest.

The mists begin to thin as they get closer to the settlement and the inner ring of protective charms. Sunlight filters through from the gardens, and Lan Wangji sees Jiang Wanyin begin to slow, drag his feet, as he takes in the sight becoming clear before them.

Lan Wangji doesn’t want him here. He knows it’s a sullen reflex, born from anger and a few raw wounds that Jiang Wanyin is not strictly responsible for, but the fact remains. Lan Wangji will not let Jiang Wanyin hurt anyone here, and so Jiang Wanyin’s presence cannot mar or threaten the camp, but it’s… it’s everything about him. That he cast Wei Ying out of the Jiang clan, instead of lending his support when Wei Ying needed it the most. That rage-twisted face of his, coming after Wei Ying with a sword when Wei Ying had already lost—when they were all going to lose so much. Every haughty stare of his in the years after, as if justice was served, as if he had a right—

He makes his hand uncurl from his sword. He made a promise. The walls of those houses in the alleyway were bad enough.

It doesn’t help that the sight of him reminds Lan Wangji of his own failures. He always told himself it was pointless to argue with rumors and shadows that were far out of his control—but on the rare occasions he came face to face with Jiang Wanyin at discussion conferences, knowing that they two were the only ones who knew the truth of what happened on that cliff, it became harder to justify. The defeat of the Yiling Patriarch was a popular topic of conversation at these gatherings for many years, and Jiang Wanyin’s casual endorsement of the lie was an ugly, sneering mirror of Lan Wangji’s own impotent silence.

There’s a sizeable crop of vegetables ripe for picking now. Three men are collecting radishes from the smallest garden on the eastern side, and he can see Wen Shu is starting to turn over the earth, getting it ready for the next crop as soon as possible. Grandmother Wen is showing Ah Yuan how to weave mats on the stone steps before the temple, though Ah Yuan’s fingers are not large or strong enough yet for him to do it on his own.

When they reach the edge of the courtyard, Wei Ying carries on across the paving stones between the gardens, heading toward the cave, but Jiang Wanyin comes to a stop. Just stands there, staring around at them. Lan Wangji stops as well, keeping him well in sight. Wen Qing is kneeling at the base of the fallen stone statue outside the main hall, patching up Wen Song’s scraped knee, and Jiang Wanyin’s attention seems to linger there, a stillness to him. Wen Qing looks up.

“Jiang Cheng! Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying is ahead across the courtyard, and he gives them a wave to come near.

He doesn’t know yet. He doesn’t know Jiang Wanyin will cut all ties with him. It feels sharper to Lan Wangji now, when in the past it was just this vague sense of cold judgment at Jiang Wanyin throwing something away that Lan Wangji would have given so much to have. Wei Ying’s loyalty, Wei Ying as… part of something.

It didn’t matter so much compared with the pain of Wei Ying’s death, and how everything spiraled out of control as he and Jiang Wanyin silently hated each other for all that happened at the end, and all that didn’t happen. But nothing about it feels cold anymore now that Lan Wangji knows what it feels like to turn away, understanding that you can never go back.

“Come on!” Wei Ying says. Lan Wangji sees the attention square Jiang Wanyin’s shoulders, and he starts to move again.

Wen Qing is getting to her feet. There’s a tension in her as she scans Jiang Wanyin, her eyes widening at his injuries.

Lan Wangji hopes it reassures her that Jiang Wanyin is not a threat. If he attempts to harm anyone within the camp, Lan Wangji is more than ready to stop him.

She moves across to where Wei Ying is standing, near the cave entrance. Jiang Wanyin’s approach seems to slow. He casts an sharp glance over his shoulder when Lan Wangji gets close, moves forward again like he wants to keep some distance and he’d rather have the rock than the hard place, but for some reason he doesn’t seem to want to look at Wen Qing when he comes to a stop.

“What the hell happened?” Wen Qing has no such qualms, staring at Jiang Wanyin’s bloodied face, then at Lan Wangji, and then, with a hint of suspicion, at Wei Ying.

“It wasn’t me!” Wei Ying says, holding up his hands. Then his eyes meet Lan Wangji’s briefly, and a guilty look crosses his face. “There was a little misunderstanding in town, and things got a bit out of hand. But it’s fine now, really. We’re all fine. We’re just going to talk.”

Wen Qing doesn’t look convinced. Her concerned doctor’s eyes sweep over Jiang Wanyin again, seeming to check for signs of hidden injuries. Jiang Wanyin does not appear to appreciate the attention, which pleases Lan Wangji in a small, selfish way.

“Let me check you over first,” Wen Qing says, in a calming, slightly careful tone. It reminds Lan Wangji oddly of the way she talked to him right at the start. “Just to make sure—you might have internal injuries.”

“No,” Jiang Wanyin says brusquely, jutting his bruised and scratched chin out firmly. Lan Wangji hopes it hurts. “No, that won’t be necessary. It’s just a few scratches. I’m fine.”

“You could let her have a look, Jiang Cheng,” Wei Ying is saying. “Might make your trip home nicer.”

“I said I’m fine,” Jiang Wanyin snaps at him. “I don’t need any help from any—” He catches himself, though the tension is ratcheting up, Wei Ying’s face turning dark with a frown, Wen Qing going alert. “I don’t need any help. It’s nothing.” Jiang Wanyin’s voice is rasping, and he’s ignoring Wen Qing now.

It is a little odd. Lan Wangji knows Jiang Wanyin, for all his unpleasant ways, does not hate the Wens without reason. But Lan Wangji remembers him speaking—timidly, ineffectually—for Wen Ning and Wen Qing as having saved them during the Sunshot Campaign.

Maybe he just doesn’t want any Wen to see him with bleeding signs of defeat.

“Suit yourself,” Wei Ying says, raising one shoulder. “Then let’s go talk.”

There’s a new alarm going through Wen Qing, as if her doctor’s composure has fallen off her. Her gaze flickers from Jiang Wanyin, to Jiang Wanyin’s sword, to the cave, and then she looks— at Lan Wangji.

There’s a plea in her eyes. A question. He feels caught when he realizes that she’s asking him to make sure that no more harm comes to Wen Ning. Trusting him to keep things calm.

His face heats a little as he remembers his burning rage.

“Everything okay?” Wei Ying asks her.

She has her calm back, facing him. “I think it will be.” Her gaze catches on Jiang Wanyin for just a flicker, before she nods quietly at Lan Wangji.

Lan Wangji lets her see the hand he has on Bichen’s hilt, and nods back at her. Regardless of his personal feelings, in this cave, in this place, he will see that nothing gets out of control. And if Jiang Wanyin insists on threats and blustering…

Well, he can be removed, and then Wen Ning will be safe as well.

Cautiously, Wen Qing steps back to let them pass, though Lan Wangji feels her watchfulness as he follows Jiang Wanyin and Wei Ying towards the cave entrance.

Wei Ying seems to have gotten over his irritation, and is back to being far too cheerful towards the man who will desert him, band together with his enemies. “Here we are,” he says in welcome, motioning them inside, his voice almost forcefully upbeat.

Despite Wei Ying’s efforts, there is a lurking feeling of discomfort as they step out of the sunlight and into the dim, all three of them stopping as if nobody knows where exactly to move.

Lan Wangji has grown accustomed to this rougher lifestyle by now, used to stepping around discarded talismans on the floor, hardly noticing the piles of half-finished devices and inventions that clutter up the shelves and the worktable. He wonders suddenly if Wei Ying was always this chaotic at home, if his room at Lotus Pier had wood planks full of test spells and plans lined up against the wall and broken talismans spilling out from under the mattress. He never visited Wei Ying’s home there, though Wei Ying once invited him to. Long ago, before everything.

The beautiful women of Yunmeng. It tugs at his heart how much it grated on him then.

Well. He still wouldn’t care to watch Wei Ying charm some girl. That still… grates. But he would see it in perspective.

In any case, he knows what is going to happen here. An invitation to Yunmeng is very unlikely.

Wei Ying is picking up an armload of rubble and mess from the bench in front of his worktable, dropping it on his bed instead, then dusts off the bench with his sleeve. “Come on, sit,” he says invitingly.

Jiang Wanyin gives the bench a cold look and remains standing.

“Oh, right!” Wei Ying says, glancing around like he’s looking for something. “We don’t have tea, but I can get you some water…”

“I don’t need your fucking water,” Jiang Wanyin says in a tight voice.

Lan Wangji’s hand tightens around Bichen’s sheath. Then he takes a breath and lets it out slowly. Not here. Not for just words, for ordinary rudeness.

“Does he still have to be here for this?” Jiang Wanyin says to Wei Ying, nodding toward Lan Wangji.

Wei Ying crosses his arms over his chest, giving Jiang Wanyin a pointed look. “He lives here. So, yes.”

Jiang Wanyin casts a glare in Lan Wangji’s direction. But he doesn’t seem to have a good argument to mount against this, and, with a brief glance at Bichen, perhaps he finds it not worth the effort.

Jiang Wanyin turns back to Wei Ying. “Where is Wen Ning?”

Wei Ying narrows his eyes at him. “What do you care?”

Jiang Wanyin makes an irritated noise. “I know you’ve been living in a cave for two months, but you can’t be that oblivious. Do you have any idea how much trouble that… that puppet is causing you?”

Wei Ying frowns, glancing over at Lan Wangji. Lan Wangji feels a brief pang of guilt for not having shared some of the information he’s received from Unicorn Tower with him earlier. He didn’t feel it was necessary to concern him, and he would have had difficulty explaining exactly how he’s been getting word from the outside world. But seeing Wei Ying blindsided by Jiang Wanyin, of all people, is not pleasant.

“What are you talking about?” Wei Ying says.

“The stories the Jin cultivators told from Qiongqi Path—they said you resurrected him and turned him into a monster, made him maim and kill indiscriminately.”

Lan Wangji’s feels the breath go out of him at the words, clear and familiar, and not Jiang Wanyin’s own. This, he remembers.

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” Wei Ying says, waving a hand at Wen Ning’s alcove. “You can see for yourself if you want, I’m trying to cure him.”

“Cure him?” Jiang Wanyin says, incredulously. “How do you cure a corpse?”

“He’s not a corpse,” Wei Ying says, a spring in his voice like he thinks this distinction might actually sway Jiang Wanyin. “He had some of his spiritual consciousness removed as a child, in an accident. So when those assholes from the Jin Clan tried to use him as bait to draw in evil spirits, the rest of his consciousness got… lost, or submerged or something, and he was nearly dead. He’s a sweet kid, always the type to keep his emotions bottled up inside, but without his spiritual consciousness to temper them, when I revived him all of those emotions came to the surface, and he just… got out of control.”

“Got out of control?” Jiang Wanyin says. “He murdered a bunch of cultivators.”

“They murdered him first!”

“I thought you said he wasn’t dead,” Jiang Wanyin points out.

“He wasn’t,” Wei Ying snaps, pacing away across the room and scratching his fingers through his hair. It’s agony to stand by and watch this, watch Wei Ying have to answer to this… this imbecile, when Lan Wangji knows he’s been doing everything in his power just to keep these people safe and make sure there is food to eat. He’s a clan leader in all but name, and no one should have a right to imply otherwise—especially Jiang Wanyin.

Wei Ying makes a frustrated noise and turns back, gets in Jiang Wanyin’s face again. “Look, yes, I fucked up, I went a little bit overboard and now he’s like this. Okay? That’s my fault. But Wen Ning didn’t do anything wrong, and if any of them think he would ever hurt anyone in his right mind, they’re fucking crazy. And I’m going to make damn sure I fix this.”

“Fix this how?” Jiang Wanyin says. There’s a brittle undertone that takes Lan Wangji by surprise. “You’re not all-powerful, Wei Wuxian—even you can’t bring someone back from the dead.”

“He’s not dead,” Wei Ying insists. “He’s not, okay? I just have to… reawaken his spiritual consciousness somehow.”

“Reawaken his consciousness? You have lost your damn mind, Wei Wuxian.” Suddenly Jiang Wanyin rounds on Lan Wangji. “Lan Wangji, surely you don’t believe in this nonsense.”

Lan Wangji’s jaw tightens. He wasn’t ready for this, and— the nerve of him, looking to Lan Wangji as an ally against Wei Ying.

It only makes it more galling to know that had he asked in another lifetime, Lan Wangji might have agreed. If not for his foreknowledge of events, Lan Wangji would be equally skeptical.

Wei Ying is looking at him like he’s not sure what Lan Wangji will say, not sure if he’ll back him up or not, and suddenly the precariousness of their understanding is in Lan Wangji’s head again, fresh and a bit fragile.

Wei Ying was afraid he had left, just a few days ago. That he wouldn’t come back. Wei Ying knows he has made sacrifices to be here, but he can’t possibly understand how far Lan Wangji would go. What this is to him, what it means. Of course Wei Ying would wonder in such a moment.

He looks at Jiang Wanyin, to whom he owes nothing. But it also feels self-serving to discard the truth of the past, of what he used to think. “I would not have, once,” he says. “But I trust in Wei Ying.”

Wei Ying’s skittering smile looks almost grateful.

Jiang Wanyin stares at him, aghast. “But it’s impossible! Don’t you see that? No one has ever come back from a state like that before. At best he’ll be a soulless shell forever, and at worst he’s dangerous, and either way the other clans won’t rest until they’re rid of the threat of him.” He turns to Wei Ying again. There’s a strange note in his voice, urgent but… not anger. “Do you realize that everyone thinks you and Lan Wangji are up here building an army? Do you realize they think you must have been hoarding yin metal for years, that you’re probably up here raising corpses left and right?”

A flash of alarm crosses Wei Ying’s face, and he meets Lan Wangji’s eyes again briefly, and Lan Wangji sees—knows. This is what he meant, what he was talking about then. Even Wei Ying hadn’t anticipated that the clans might consider them a threat merely based on Wen Ning.

“And you believe that?” Wei Ying says, and it sounds unsteady. A little hurt.

Jiang Wanyin’s fist tightens around his sword sheath, and Lan Wangji can see his jaw tensing as he stares back at Wei Ying, looking like he wants to fling every accusation back at him, throw his lot in with the rest.

And yet, something stops him.

“I didn’t say I believed it,” he scrapes out, finally. Something changes in his eyes, and he looks at Wei Ying almost pleadingly. “But, Wei Wuxian, don’t you understand? It doesn’t matter what I believe. If you insist on staying here—if you keep trying to revive Wen Ning, keep letting them believe that you’re a threat to them, I won’t be able to protect you.”

Lan Wangji’s breath catches in his throat. He stares at Jiang Wanyin. Did he mishear? Misunderstand? But everything he sees in both of their faces, the way Jiang Wanyin seems to be shaking, struggling to hold himself together, the way Wei Ying is drawing into himself, closing off, trying not to show how deep the cut goes, tells him he heard correctly.

What?

“You don’t need to protect me, Jiang Cheng,” Wei Ying says, quietly.

Jiang Wanyin thinks—he wants to—

For a moment, he remembers Jiang Wanyin, younger, earlier, not too far in time from here but half a lifetime ago for Lan Wangji. Jiang Wanyin by the fireside, when they’d made camp in Qishan, a few days before they burned down the Education Division together. Jiang Wanyin saying, over a cup of hot wine, “he’d be too stubborn to die,” using the word they never spoke between each other. He’d sounded scared and breakable.

That happened here, too. That stayed the same. And just the same, Jiang Wanyin grew up horrid and hateful and it doesn’t matter. It’s just a break of light through the ice that mustn’t distract him from being on guard.

“Oh no, of course not,” Jiang Wanyin growls. And then he nods roughly toward Lan Wangji. “You’ve got him to do that now, haven’t you.”

Wei Ying lets out a breath, closes his eyes.

“Just, come back with me, please,” Jiang Wanyin says, and it makes Lan Wangji feel strange and uncomfortable, suddenly like he’s intruding, to hear Jiang Wanyin sounding this vulnerable in front of him. Like maybe this isn’t what he thought it was—he doesn’t understand. Like maybe he should have left them alone to talk. “We can figure something out.”

But he couldn’t leave them alone. Jiang Wanyin is a danger. He’s always been a danger. Callous at best and murderous at worst. Hurtful, always.

Wei Ying is already shaking his head. “I can’t abandon them, Jiang Cheng—I got them into this mess. I have to see this through.”

Jiang Wanyin’s shoulders sink, as if under a great weight. Lan Wangji finds it unnerving to look at him and wonder if he’s… upset?

What is going on? Why isn’t he angry, why isn’t he expelling Wei Ying from the clan?

“If you can’t protect me,” Wei Wuxian says, quietly, “then let me go. I won’t be your responsibility anymore.”

“Wei Wuxian—” Jiang Wanyin looks distressed.

No. No, this isn’t how it went. This can’t be how it went.

But. Why would this be any different? Lan Wangji’s presence here has surely changed a lot of things, but he can’t imagine how his presence would have made Jiang Wanyin more lenient towards Wei Ying. If anything, he should be angrier after being thrown around like that.

“Let’s have a duel,” Wei Ying says. Lan Wangji feels a chill spreading over him, the hairs on the back of his neck pricking up as he realizes. Understands.

Wei Ying.

It’s not the same. This isn’t when it happened, it’s not the same timeframe, but it must be essentially…

It’s too much of a coincidence. He knew that Jiang Wanyin and Wei Ying dueled, knew that both were injured and that Wei Ying was expelled from the clan, but this is… it can’t be.

Jiang Wanyin never expelled Wei Ying from the clan. Wei Ying asked.

Wei Ying stood aside, to protect them. To protect his brother.

He feels warm and cold all over, and he hardly registers the rest of the conversation, the grim discussion of times and places, the pain in Jiang Wanyin’s eyes as he turns away. It unsettles him when he thinks of the day he himself turned away. Left Wei Ying here in this strange place to protect the Wens on his own. To follow the dark and narrow path.

It’s not the same. Lan Wangji failed Wei Ying, but Jiang Wanyin… 

They stand just outside the entrance to the cave and watch as Jiang Wanyin walks away into the forest. Lan Wangji takes in Wei Ying, who stands with arms crossed, staring after his brother. He has what would seem to anyone else a blank and careless expression on his face, but Lan Wangji can see the cut run deep. Lan Wangji thinks of the soft silk of his forehead ribbon, folded up in his hand for the last time. He wants… Would Jiang Wanyin not…

Wei Ying asked.

After a short while, Wei Ying notices him watching, and gives him a little half-smile and a shrug, like he thinks he can convince even Lan Wangji that he’s fine. No great matter. Just cutting ties with what is left of the only family he’s ever known.

Lan Wangji doesn’t know what to say. How to feel about any of it anymore.

Wei Wuxian claps him on the shoulder carelessly and turns to go inside, back to his work, or maybe to sit beside Wen Ning for a while and ponder the enormity of it all. Everything he’s giving up.

Everything he gave up, for the sake of his clan, and his brother.

Lan Wangji looks back toward the forest. He can’t see the purple anymore, Jiang Wanyin has disappeared between the trees, faded into the mist.

~      ~      ~

Lan Wangji looks up from his writing as the notes of the Heart Song drift into the cave. It’s bittersweet, nostalgic, and he finds himself lowering his brush. He’d been writing to his brother, feeling somehow a need to reconnect, but the benign words about harvests and turns of the weather slow as the familiar music winds through the air.

He knows it’s for Wen Ning. The music of the Lan Clan is the music of his childhood, of his past life, but it’s also a tool for healing and calm contemplation. And once the bittersweetness fades, it can be that for him too, a balm to the soul.

Lan Wangji puts away his writing. Then he steps out of the cave and into the night, following the sounds along the western wall to find Wei Ying there, perched on top of the last of the houses, resting against one of the support poles of the rooftop deck and playing quietly, eyes closed.

After listening for a few more lines, letting the melody sink into his skin, Lan Wangji makes an easy leap up, alighting beside him.

Wei Ying stops, opening his eyes again. They widen guiltily when he sees Lan Wangji standing beside him, but Lan Wangji shakes his head and settles himself on the deck next to Wei Ying. “I’m not bothered by it,” he says, before Wei Ying can apologize. “I like listening to you play.”

Wei Ying gives him a sideways smile like he suspects it’s only half true, but he lounges back against the support pole again, deciding to take Lan Wangji at his word.

They look out over the camp, and Wei Ying returns to his music. Wen Qing disappeared for a while after Jiang Wanyin had left, not saying where she went, but she seems to have returned now—Lan Wangji can see her across the courtyard, talking with Grandmother Wen where she’s perched on the steps of the great hall. She seems subdued, as if the day has shaken her. News of Wei Ying’s argument with Jiang Wanyin spread quickly, as it often does here—the others have talked of little else all afternoon.

But they are safe. Jiang Wanyin did not attack anybody.

Lan Wangji looks over at Wei Ying, who looks a little subdued himself. Lan Wangji has always been indignant on Wei Ying’s behalf, angry at Jiang Wanyin for casting him out. It’s different seeing up close what it costs him, his own choice, as he contemplates what he’s losing.

There was less bluster and no firm speeches about losing rights and privileges. Not like Uncle’s unforgiving stance. Perhaps it even means that there might be a way back for Wei Ying, a way to repair the bonds, when some wounds have had time to heal and this state of crisis is over.

Wei Ying never got to reach that point the first time. Perhaps, if Lan Wangji succeeds in averting disaster, it will turn out his ties to the Jiang Clan are not as permanently severed.

Lan Wangji has been angry at Jiang Wanyin for so long that it feels strange to mull over that thought, and find in it something to hope for, if only for Wei Ying’s sake.

Wei Ying has stopped playing. He’s twirling his flute, though not with any swagger of playfulness. Lan Wangji isn’t used to prying, but… “Wei Ying, are you all right?” he asks. It feels strange, not natural to him. But Wei Ying never seems hesitant to ask such things, and Lan Wangji wants to know.

Wei Ying blinks at him, looking surprised. But then he smiles, nods, glancing back out into the night. “Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry Jiang Cheng is such an asshole.”

Lan Wangji makes a noncommittal sound, not wishing to unduly disparage him after the events of the day, but also unable to disagree. Wei Ying laughs quietly, dropping his head back against the support beam.

Then he glances over at Lan Wangji again. “How about you, are you okay?”

Lan Wangji blinks at him. That’s… he’s not sure how to answer that. “Why should I not be?” he asks.

Wei Ying seems to hesitate over the words, looking like he’s second guessing the decision to bring it up. He shakes his head a little, his eyes a bit careful, and Lan Wangji wonders if some part of him is still worried that Lan Wangji would consider leaving. “No reason,” he says, with a half shrug. “You just seemed kind of worked up. In the village, I mean. With Jiang Cheng.”

Lan Wangji’s jaw tightens a bit, and he feels slightly caught.

“You went at him pretty hard,” Wei Ying says quietly.

Jiang Wanyin deserved it. It’s still curling up inside him like a hot, vengeful flame. But… “I’m sorry if I worried you,” he says.

“That’s not what I mean.” Wei Ying’s voice is mild, curious.

Lan Wangji lets that flame unfurl, measures it against the events of the day. What he’s learned. He exhales slowly into the night.

It felt right—justified—to him. But he can see, now, that he brought things to the encounter that haven’t happened yet.

And some… some happened differently.

“I was concerned,” he says, which sounds reasonable in his mind but a little inadequate out loud, given the amount of… damage. “I was scared for you. I thought he might hurt you.” That he might take you away from me. That I would lose you again. “I could not let that happen. I believe my concern got the better of me.”

“Jiang Cheng wouldn’t hurt me, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says.

So much faith.

Wei Ying believed it when Jiang Wanyin lunged for him with a sword. Wei Ying smiled into it.

Lan Wangji says nothing.

“He can be a real jerk, and it’s pissing me off that he keeps forgetting how much Wen Qing and Wen Ning helped us…” Wei Ying is frowning out over the camp. “That was shit, what he almost said about the Wens. But he’s got… he’s got his own stuff to worry about, too.” There’s a soft wistfulness in his voice, and Lan Wangji wonders if he’s thinking of his senior sister, or their shared childhood, or tomorrow’s duel, the performance of a rift.

Lan Wangji isn’t ready to forgive Jiang Wanyin. It’s been too much, it’s too messy. But he acknowledges Wei Ying is in turn concerned for the man. Remembers Wei Ying’s hasty, clutching embrace, Wei Ying’s sharp breath through his hair at the back of his neck.

The tightest Wei Ying has held on to him was when he feared for the life of Jiang Wanyin. Perhaps it would be amusing, to someone else.

Lan Wangji takes a deep breath, and looks over at Wei Ying, reminding himself that nobody took him away, that he’s right here, with a small frown pinching his brow.

“How did you even know I was there?” Wei Ying asks, sounding livelier, attentive.

Lan Wangji swallows. Blinks. “What?”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes narrow curiously, like he’s running the scene through his mind. “Jiang Cheng showed up and tried to pick a fight, and like thirty seconds later you dropped out of the sky. Last I’d seen you were cutting trees back at camp. How did you know I was in trouble?”

This, he had hoped to avoid. He’d nearly forgotten about it in the aftermath of the afternoon’s upheaval, but… no, of course. Wei Ying is very clever. Wei Ying would wonder.

It was his invention, after all.

“I have… a talisman,” he says, checking for Wei Ying’s reaction out of the corner of his eye.

Wei Ying just looks more curious. “A talisman?”

Lan Wangji nods, trying not to look too guilty. “It allows me to know when you’re… if there’s danger.”

Wei Ying gives him a shrewd look. “It tells you when I’m in danger,” he clarifies.

Lan Wangji nods again.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, with what Lan Wangji is pretty sure is mock offense. “Are you telling me you don’t trust me to be able to take care of myself?”

“Absolutely not,” Lan Wangji says, with a firm shake of his head. “You are very capable. I know that. It’s just, considering the circumstances, and that you prefer not to bring your sword with you…”

Something flickers a bit guardedly in Wei Ying’s eyes—but Lan Wangji hurries on, not interested in starting any new arguments. Or reviving old ones.

“I like to know. To be aware. If anyone means you harm.” He watches Wei Ying look back at him appraisingly, hoping he won’t find it too intrusive or overbearing. He feels it makes sense, though he also realizes there was a reason he never outright told Wei Ying he was going to be monitoring him with talismans. Just in case. Wei Ying can be stubborn.

But then Wei Ying smiles, dropping his gaze to the floorboards beneath them with a little chuckle. “I guess I do have a way of attracting trouble, huh.”

Lan Wangji isn’t certain if he’s supposed to agree with this, although it is entirely true. He settles for making another noncommittal sound, and is oddly pleased when his avoidance makes Wei Ying laugh.

“Ooh, hey, you know what that would be good for?” Wei Ying says, looking at him suddenly, with that spark in his eyes that says he’s had an inspiration. “We should use them for here, at the camp. That way if we’re ever both away in the village or something, we can get a warning if something happens, so they don’t have to come find us.”

Lan Wangji holds very still. Then remembers to nod. “Yes,” he says. “Yes, that sounds like a very good idea.”

“Where did you get them anyway? I’ve never heard of a thing like that.”

Lan Wangji blinks. Swallows. Half-truths are difficult, but the whole truth would be disastrous. “Someone I know used one once,” he says. “I borrowed the technique.”

Wei Ying nods approvingly. “That’s very crafty of you, Lan Zhan. I thought most of your spells and talismans came from books. All that traditional literature you’re so fond of.”

Lan Wangji’s eyes linger on Wei Ying’s profile as Wei Ying looks up at the handful of stars visible overhead. He gives a vague hum.

“Most do,” he says, “but not all.”

Chapter Text

Lan Wangji is close enough that he can see everything, his clothes rippling in the wind that ghosts over these cliffs, but distant enough that he can’t interfere, can’t help.

He had to promise he wouldn’t. It took some arguing before Wei Ying finally conceded to even let him come. “I can’t worry about you jumping in, Lan Zhan, and I don’t want you to get a reputation for attacking the Jiang sect leader,” Wei Ying had said. Lan Wangji would have no objections to a reputation for knocking Jiang Wanyin around, but it seemed a hard line to Wei Ying, so he relented.

Some distance away, Wei Ying and Jiang Wanyin are squaring off from one another, the air already crackling with resentment and unleashed power. It must be visible for miles.

Lan Wangji can feel the silver filigree of Bichen’s sheath pressing deep lines into his palm, his jaw set as he restrains himself from moving closer. Wei Ying assured him, again, that no harm would come to him, that Jiang Wanyin would not permanently damage him, and although every bone in Lan Wangji’s body resists Wei Ying’s certainty, he also knows rationally that in this case, it must be true. Even the last time, Wei Ying was not mortally wounded in this battle. And with more knowledge of the circumstances of this fight, this performance, unless Jiang Wanyin is far more duplicitous than even Lan Wangji believes him capable of being, it is unlikely that that will change.

Still, his heart skips a beat when he sees them pass each other on the last strike, the air loaded with aggression as both of them make contact. When he sees Wei Ying clutch a hand to his side, and bring it up to his face covered in blood.

Slippery in his hand, he couldn’t hold on, couldn’t pull him up, could only keep them balanced there for a few more breaths, just long enough to not say goodbye…

He swallows, blinking away the memory.

It’s not that. It won’t come to that, Lan Wangji will make certain. It’s just a scratch, and Wei Ying will heal. His spiritual energy has always been strong.

Jiang Wanyin sags, clutching his arm as he sputters up blood, but he, too, remains standing. With his bruised and healing face, no one will doubt the legitimacy of the Yiling Patriarch’s attack.

As Jiang Wanyin throws off his cloak, a futile gesture of anger that rings so true for everything Lan Wangji knows about the man, Lan Wangji has his voice back in his head. The pleading tone as Jiang Wanyin tried to convince Wei Ying to desist, let Wen Ning go, come home.

It grates on him like too-rough cloth. Knowing how, at one time, he might have made the same argument. All his own appeals to Wei Ying to come back to the true path…

It doesn’t change the rest, Lan Wangji thinks, irritation burning in his chest. It doesn’t change anything else that happened before and that Lan Wangji cannot let happen again. Jiang Wanyin cannot be trusted, and Wei Ying’s good opinion of the man is just the faded remnant of an old loyalty.

As he waits, as per his promise, for Wei Ying to call for him, he watches Jiang Wanyin hobble off the field. His arm broken to protect his clan and let Wei Ying stay in the Burial Mounds, his face bruised for being insufferable as he tried to take Wei Ying home, as well as for things he hasn’t done yet. And Lan Wangji finds he must allow for the shifting and scraping in his mind, and admit that not everything was exactly as he thought.

~      ~      ~

Wei Ying hisses as Wen Qing applies the ointment to the stab wound. She makes an impatient noise and is undeterred.

Lan Wangji was insistent that she look at Wei Ying, and all of Wei Ying’s rambling distractions about wanting to buy chili peppers for a treat and skillful evasiveness about how he was feeling as they made their slow way back from the canyon did not deter him. Jiang Wanyin might be too proud to accept care, or too prejudiced to accept it from a Wen, but Wei Ying would not have that option. Lan Wangji ignored his protestations and steered Wei Ying back to the camp, calling Wen Qing over from where she was doing laundry in the courtyard.

They’re in Wen Qing’s alcove now, light coming in through the vent and from the candles along the wall. Seeing the wound is at once horrifying and reassuring to Lan Wangji. Every wound to Wei Ying makes his throat feel tight and his heartbeat nervous, but this is a nuisance wound, the kind that burns and twinges and needs a few days of rest, but that any cultivator can recover from without difficulty.

“The sword missed any vital organs, and your meridians should heal fairly quickly,” Wen Qing says, impressing the information on Wei Ying with a slightly long stare. Then she turns to Lan Wangji. “He’ll be fine. If he goes on about needing chili peppers or potatoes or anything else like that, he’s making it up.”

“Wen Qing,” Wei Ying whines.

She pats him on the shoulder lightly, casually fond. “He can have some extra meat if he wants to, though.”

“That Jiang Cheng,” Wei Ying grumbles as she wraps the bandage around him, flinching as it goes over the wound. “What a jerk.” Then his eyes flicker up at Lan Wangji and he blinks, huffs in exasperation. “I mean, he had to make it look real, I guess… I invited him. He wasn’t really going for it.” He grimaces, then slants another look at Lan Wangji, who tries not to say anything with his face about Jiang Wanyin.

They had their long talk last night. Lan Wangji doesn’t need to hurt Wei Ying’s feelings with how much he still distrusts the man, and given that Wei Ying’s ties to the clan have been torn up for mutual protection, and Lan Wangji is determined to avert the future that was written… who knows when they will even see Jiang Wanyin again.

“We felt it here,” Wen Qing says, quietly.

Wei Ying’s eyes snap to her, his playacted offense forgotten. “The fight?”

She nods. “Wen Ning felt it. He got… restless.” There’s a mix of worry and hope in her expression, subtle, not pressing. Still waiting for Wei Ying to work his miracle.

Lan Wangji wonders if she heard some of yesterday’s discussion. There was no protective charm on the cave. Jiang Wanyin’s words echo around his head again. “Lan Wangji, surely you don’t believe in this nonsense.”

Jiang Wanyin is wrong to think that Wei Ying will fail. But he is also more right than he knows that Wen Ning is a danger. Wen Ning is a threat. He is asleep for now, but he will not remain so, balanced between life and death. Unable to rise or fall.

Eventually, the balance will tip.

“Well, I’m…” Wei Ying is blinking, as if his mind needs to change course. “That’s good. If you guys could feel it here, Jiang Cheng’s men must have seen the fight too. Good that it looked real.”

Wen Qing nods quietly, then steps back from her patient.

“I should go look at him,” Wei Ying says, a mildness in his voice like he, too, is speaking to a patient. “It could mean some progress, if he felt us that much.” He offers her a cautious smile, leaning into the table as he pushes to his feet.

~      ~      ~

There are roasted radishes after dinner, little slices seasoned with some herbs from the forest that make them almost peppery. Lan Wangji finds the crackling texture strange in his mouth, but he has picked up that Wen Qing has a special fondness for them. Wen Liu made them this afternoon, and now they are passed around in a bowl. Grandmother Wen, sitting up on her stretcher, is leaning close to Wen Qing and sometimes pats her shoulder while Wen Qing smiles and nods at the snack. Ah Yuan is hugging Wei Ying from behind around the neck, though when the radish bits come their way he lets go and tries to grab for them.

Wen Ning’s reaction to the duel turned out to have been just that—a reaction to a burst of power, but no real progress. It’s been two weeks since Jiang Wanyin’s sudden visit, and Wen Ning has been back to his stillness since then. Wen Qing is composed as always, but it has dampened her spirit.

They are spread out in groups under the setting sun. Wen Liu and Wen Yunlan are sitting a few steps over, talking quietly, and he seems to be smiling more than he usually does. Wen Song, her mother, and her sister are still in their own little group, though they’ve been joined by Wen Shu and the older woman who is their most skilled weaver, whose family connection to Wen Shu Lan Wangji hasn’t learned yet. Most of the younger men are clustered around the fallen statue, using the foot of it as a table.

Wei Ying is holding up one of the radish bits over Ah Yuan’s head, making him stretch and bounce for it. It is an endearing sight, even if not quite appropriate, in a very Wei Ying way.

“Wei Wuxian,” Wen Qing says in a gently amused tone. “He’s not a cat.”

Wei Ying looks at her with big eyes. It distracts him enough that Ah Yuan’s hands snatch around his wrist, and Ah Yuan hangs his weight off Wei Ying’s arm until he can grab the radish with his mouth.

Wen Qing and Grandmother Wen laugh, while Ah Yuan is beaming brightly.

“Oh, do you remember Ah Ning with the kittens,” Grandmother Wen says, her voice going very soft. “He’s always been such a sweet boy, too.” It surprises Lan Wangji that she would mention Wen Ning in their little gathering, given Wen Qing’s mood. But then Wen Qing also surprises him when she breaks into a shaky smile.

“Oh, he could be so sweet it would drive me to distraction,” she says, her eyes bright with memories.

“What are kittens?” Ah Yuan asks, making a dash for Grandmother Wen.

Wei Ying lunges after him to catch him, but stops with a wince. It puts Lan Wangji on instant alert, while Wen Qing deftly stops Ah Yuan from throwing himself too hard at his still-recuperating grandmother. “Wei Ying, are you all right?”

“Fine,” Wei Ying says with a short grimace. “Just moved the wrong way. It’s Ah Yuan’s fault!”

Ah Yuan giggles, held in check now by Wen Qing, though he probably doesn’t understand what he’s being blamed for. But Lan Wangji catches the look passing between Wei Ying and Wen Qing, her sentimental remembering interrupted by a flash of concern.

It can’t still be the stab wound. A clean injury like that in a strong cultivator, seen to by an experienced doctor, should not be painful this many days later.

“I’m really fine, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying tells him. “The stupid cut just itches sometimes and I get a false alarm.” Then he looks down, clearly not wanting to talk about it further.

Perhaps it is the forest. Perhaps there is some interaction with all this resentment energy that makes them all more vulnerable than he thinks.

He looks at Wen Qing almost to reassure himself, and finds her still watching Wei Ying, with something warm and wistful in her gaze.

It makes him self-conscious. Like he might be interrupting something.

“They’re baby cats, Ah Yuan,” Grandmother is explaining. “Your Brother Ning brought some home when he was a little older than you, and he kept asking all these questions about animal medicine. Nobody knew about them except my Jinhai.”

“Why did he bring them?” Ah Yuan asks, though he’s fidgeting and restless tonight and his attention is drifting. Wen Qing shares another radish bit with him.

“They’re very cute and fluffy,” Wen Qing says, gently poking his nose. “Like you.”

“But I’m not a cat!” Ah Yuan protests.

They eventually convince Ah Yuan that being cute as a kitten is a good thing, and when Ah Yuan asks if they can have a kitten at the Burial Mounds, Wei Ying says he’ll think about it.

“But I think Lan Zhan likes rabbits more,” he adds, and Lan Wangji doesn’t know if he’s flushing more from all eyes turning to him or from Wei Ying’s teasing smile. He feels, strangely, that Wei Ying is holding up a piece of seasoned radish above him, waiting for him to make up his mind if he wants to jump for it.

It isn’t a bad feeling, but Lan Wangji doesn’t have Ah Yuan’s irrepressible playfulness, not even in the abstract. He swallows against the dry feeling in his throat and blinks away. Nobody prods him further.

“My son was seventeen or so at the time,” Grandmother is saying, a faraway note in her voice. “Almost an adult. It was just a couple of years before he went away to fight…” She sighs slowly, a similar melancholy as he saw earlier in Wen Qing. “But he still helped Ah Ning hide the kittens.”

Wen Qing’s eyes widen in sudden amusement. “Remember how it made Aunt Su think the storage room was haunted?”

Fourth Uncle and Grandmother Wen both laugh. Ah Yuan is now half-wrestling with Wen Qing, undecided if he wants to sit in her lap or run more circles around her. Lan Wangji wonders if he should be put to bed soon.

“He’s tired,” Wei Ying is saying, his mouth quirking in another smile. “Maybe we overdid it with the dragon raid on the washing line.”

“Wei Wuxian!” she says, though it’s more ritual than real objection.

“Don’t scold me, he did it too.”

“You are the Yiling Patriarch and a grown adult.”

Wei Ying tilts his head at her. “I think I want to be a kitten instead.”

They look at each other, in some mixture of irritation and affection, and it hits Lan Wangji suddenly how well they would… fit.

He’d wondered, briefly, after his first visit to the Burial Mounds, that first time around when he did everything wrong. When he left. Wei Ying and Wen Qing, living together here for months, good friends, both loyal, strong, kind.

But after Wei Ying died, these petty fears and jealousies became unimportant. He hadn’t even thought of the possibility when he’d made his plans to come here.

Now he finds himself wondering, his heart in a squeeze, if when she took her brother to Unicorn Tower to die, she was protecting Wei Ying as her lover. Her companion.

If maybe part of Wei Ying’s rage on the roof of Nightless City was because the woman he loved had died.

For a moment, he can barely breathe. The stream of time. Which way did it go, for the two of them? Will it be the same this time?

“Lan Zhan?”

When he looks up, Wei Ying’s expression on him is soft, full of concern.

“Are you okay?”

Lan Wangji clamps his mouth shut around the question he wants to blurt out. Reminds himself not to overreact. It would be inappropriate in this company, at the very least. “Yes,” he says. “Of course.”

“I didn’t mean to tease you about the rabbits,” Wei Ying says, brows furrowed slightly.

Lan Wangji smiles, the pressure on his heart unclenching. He puts those thoughts and the fretting away, as it does no one any good. The warmth of Wei Ying’s concern is genuine, whatever else might be true.

There’s a pitiful whine from across the circle, where Ah Yuan seems to have taken a spill and Wen Qing is putting him back on his feet. Lan Wangji has the urge to go to him, but Wen Qing is there, already brushing the dirt from his knee and assuring him he’s quite all right.

“I should probably get this one to bed,” Grandmother Wen says, and her voice betrays some regret at the thought. She’s spent much of her time cooped up in the great hall these past few weeks, and Lan Wangji wonders suddenly if she wouldn’t rather stay up a little longer and enjoy the friendly talk of grownups.

“I can care for him, if you would prefer to stay,” he offers, before he’s really thought about it, and there’s a surprised blink from Grandmother Wen and Wen Qing, turning in his direction. Fourth Uncle seems surprised as well, though he hides it more discreetly.

Lan Wangji hasn’t ever offered to put Ah Yuan to bed here before, has he. Back then, in the future, he did so many times, until Ah Yuan was finally too old for such things. But not here. He feels rather awkward underneath their scrutiny, though at least Wei Ying doesn’t seem to find it strange.

“I don’t mind,” he adds, feeling his ears turning warm. “If it’s all right with you.”

Grandmother Wen gives him a warm smile. “Why thank you, Hanguang-jun. If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, I would be very grateful.”

Lan Wangji swallows, shakes his head. “No trouble at all. I am pleased to do it.”

He rises from his seat and crosses over to Wen Qing, bending to lift Ah Yuan up into his arms. Ah Yuan fusses and wriggles a bit, but he gets more compliant when he has Lan Wangji’s shoulder to rest on, and it’s easy to walk away from the circle, into the quiet night.

At least he will have this, he thinks. He’s always known there was no guarantee that Wei Ying would return his feelings, if he should ever have the chance to express them. And if time bends in that direction, if Wei Ying and Wen Qing find happiness in each other’s arms, that will still serve his purpose. To ensure that Wei Ying lives. That Wei Ying is content.

Lan Wangji will have Ah Yuan, perhaps not as before, but always near. And he will also have Wei Ying, his friend and confidant.

~      ~      ~

Lan Wangji can’t sleep.

At first he assumes it is still his thoughts pulling at him, though that would be unusual. This kind of restlessness is not something he’s accustomed to. Apart from the worst days in the cold pool cave, when everything felt like sleeping and waking at the same time, and there was never any rest no matter how long he slept, he has always had a good grip on his sleep discipline. When something preys on his mind, he is able to calm himself, clear his mind of any stray thoughts one by one, and fall asleep. They’re taught that.

Tonight the moon is high and ghostly over the ceiling vent, and the pulse of dark energy in the trees is stronger than usual. Long after Wen Qing and Wei Ying have fallen asleep, Lan Wangji still lies awake.

He gives in eventually, gives up and pushes himself up from his cot, laying his blanket aside. He moves quietly across the earth floor—not toward the cave entrance, but away, toward the dim glow of the nightly candle in the alcove at the back. He tries to be silent. Wen Qing is a light sleeper, sometimes wakes with a start at even the slightest noise, worried for Wen Ning.

Wen Qing doesn’t stir. Doesn’t make a sound as he walks past, ducking through the branch-ringed entryway that cordons off Wen Ning’s alcove from the rest of the room. The dark energy is still rolling off of him in waves, as always, but Lan Wangji gets the feeling it’s growing slightly stronger over time, like a drain sluicing away the last remnants of a heavy rain.

He perches himself on the edge of the bed and reaches out to cover one of Wen Ning’s hands. Curls his fingers around his wrist to check for a pulse, which has also grown stronger over the past few weeks.

It will happen soon.

He doesn’t know the day. Things have changed too much already, and he can’t remember precisely how long it was between the day Wei Ying left for the Burial Mounds and the day they met again, in Yiling. But it was soon—will be soon.

He still doesn’t know exactly what happened. He only saw the aftermath of whatever explosion had occurred when Wen Ning reached the tipping point, when he escaped his restraints and went on a rampage. He remembers how they worked together to subdue him, and how Wei Ying finally brought Wen Ning back to himself for good. He knows they can handle this.

But when?

Too much has changed, even if he knew the exact day. What if it happens when Lan Wangji is down in the village on his own, and Wei Ying tries to handle it by himself? Wei Ying is taking longer to heal from the stab wound than Lan Wangji expected, though he tries not to show it. He didn’t have that injury at this time before, and without knowing why it’s still bothering him, how something might have changed the course of time there, Lan Wangji can’t know if that will hamper his abilities. But he also can’t let this risk unspool forever. Maybe they have a few more weeks… maybe not.

And what if there’s some other factor they’re not aware of that played an important role in their success back then? What if Wei Ying is away, and doesn’t have a monitoring talisman with him, presuming that Lan Wangji can handle any disasters that might happen in his absence?

There is danger in taking action—he knows that very well by now—but there is also danger in taking none.

And once Wen Ning is awake…

A great deal of what’s to come will have been set in motion. The things he can change, the things he must change, all revolve around ensuring that Wen Ning is not in the wrong place at the wrong time. Ensuring that Wei Ying does not lose control of his powers, does not let the Yin Tiger Seal overcome him and cause him to take disastrous actions. That will be much more difficult to accomplish.

Bringing Wen Ning back to himself without causing any harm to anyone here—that’s only the beginning.

~      ~      ~

“Mango juice for everyone!” Wei Wuxian says, raising a fat jug into the air triumphantly as he steps out of the cave. Granny and Wen Liu look up from their food bowls curiously, and he bends down to tip a measure into each of their empty water bowls, then turns around to offer some to Wen Yunlan, who’s sitting on the stone steps with his lunch.

“This is water,” Wen Qing says, sniffing at the bowl she swiped from Wen Liu, one hand on her hip. “What are you on about?”

“But it tastes like mango juice,” Wei Wuxian says, waggling the bottle at her. “Go on, try it.”

“Please tell me you haven’t been experimenting with the toxic herbs again.”

“That was one time,” Wei Wuxian says, waving a hand at her. “And I drank half a liter of this myself yesterday, and I’m totally fine. It’s safe.”

Wen Qing still looks skeptical, but she hands the bowl back to Wen Liu reluctantly. When she catches up to Wei Wuxian in the middle of the courtyard, she politely declines his offer of the bottle with a raised hand.

“What are you doing making food experiments anyway?” she asks. “How exactly does this help, practically?”

“Water is boring,” Wei Wuxian says. “If you won’t let me buy wine, at least let me make juice.”

“But what about—” she starts, but then stops herself, pressing her lips together into a frustrated pout. Wei Wuxian feels the guilt settle over his shoulders again. She doesn’t want to say it, but he knows. He gets it.

Despite Wei Wuxian’s insistence to Jiang Cheng that reviving Wen Ning was totally possible, it’s been weeks since Wen Ning has made any particular improvements. Whatever she saw in Wen Ning while he and Jiang Cheng where whaling on each other, it must have been some errant reaction, and that flicker of hope coming to nothing seems to have put a few cracks in her composure.

If he’s honest, Wei Wuxian is starting to run out of ideas. It seems like he’s almost there, just hovering somewhere barely out of sight, inches above his body, but nothing Wei Wuxian does now seems to get him any closer. It’s like the body is there and the consciousness is there, but he can’t seem to get the two of them to fit together.

He tries to keep the guilt off his face, tries not to let her see. Just a little bit longer, he tells her, we’re so close. He’s almost there.

Each time he says it, it feels a bit more like a lie.

“I just… stumbled on it,” he says, with a little half shrug, offering the jug again. It’s not much, but it’s what he’s got. “I was messing around with some stuff, and it did a thing, and I tried it, and it was good. I’m still… I’m still working. I promise.”

He hates it when her eyes look all fragile like that, like she knows he’s got her brother’s life in his hands and there’s nothing she can do about it. Nothing either of them can do about it. She takes a breath and lets it out on a short sigh, the anxiety slipping away. Not gone, just hidden under the doctor face again. She doesn’t like to worry the others either. He knows that.

With a grim smile, she reaches out and takes the jug, pouring a little bit into her mouth. She wipes a stray drop of water from her chin with the back of her wrist and smiles only a little reluctantly as she hands the jug back to him.

“Thanks,” she says. “It does taste nice.”

Wei Wuxian’s smile feels a bit thin too, but he nods back.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan’s voice says from just behind him, and Wei Wuxian glances around to find him standing a few feet away near one of the vegetable gardens, looking like he doesn’t want to interrupt. He nods a bit awkwardly toward Wen Qing. “Lady Wen. May I have a word with the two of you?”

Wei Wuxian cocks his head to the side, crossing his arms over his chest. Since when does Lan Zhan think he needs to ask permission? “Sure, what’s up?”

Lan Zhan nods toward the cave entrance. “Inside,” he says. “Please.”

~      ~      ~

“We need to take him outside the barrier,” Lan Zhan says.

He’s standing at the other end of the cave, just outside of Wen Ning’s alcove, staring in at him through the nest of branches that surrounds him. Wei Wuxian has one elbow on the overflowing shelf of scrolls near the cookfire, and Wen Qing is hovering somewhere in the middle, glancing back and forth between the two of them.

“Are you crazy?” Wei Wuxian says. “That would be like throwing lamp oil on a fire.”

Lan Zhan nods slightly, glancing back over his shoulder. “I know. But I think that’s the only way.”

“The only way to what, exactly?” Wei Wuxian says. He’s doing the calculations in his head, trying to follow Lan Zhan’s train of thought, but he can’t for the life of him figure out how pitching Wen Ning into the wilderness of the Burial Mounds would do anybody any good.

“To bring Wen Ning’s situation to conclusion.”

Fear flits across Wen Qing’s face. “What kind of conclusion?” she asks.

Lan Zhan turns to her more directly, and Wei Wuxian can see the small apology in his eyes. “A good conclusion,” he clarifies, with a small, reassuring nod. “I believe I know how we can induce him to return to himself. Find his consciousness again. But it will be dangerous, and I don’t think we should do it here, where others might be at risk.”

Wei Wuxian still feels like his brain is catching up. Lan Zhan has ideas about how to revive Wen Ning? Lan Zhan? Yeah, sure, he’s one of the best cultivators of his generation and all, and he did seem to be doing a lot of research into resentment energy a few months ago when he was trying to talk Wei Wuxian into abandoning his evil ways and taking up the sword again. But this is not exactly a squeaky-clean, snow-white process. Even in the best-case scenario, Wen Ning’s body will still be running on resentment energy to some extent. Wei Wuxian has always figured Lan Zhan wanted to keep his hands out of that as much as possible. He’s never liked Wei Wuxian’s tricks, and he’s never liked the Tiger Seal.

Then again, Wei Wuxian wouldn’t have figured Lan Zhan would want to kneel down and name him his clan leader either, so. Lan Zhan is full of surprises lately.

He shakes himself out of it, trying not to let the stray thought show on his face. “What is it you want to do?”

“He’s very… close,” Lan Zhan says, and there’s something about his demeanor that seems a bit fidgety, like he’s choosing his words very carefully. “But his progress seems to have stalled. I’ve been observing him for a while, and I believe that what’s needed for him to get past the final barrier, to be reunited with his consciousness is… a flood of resentment energy.”

What?

Not only does that sound dangerous, it sounds like the last thing Lan Zhan would ever suggest.

Lan Zhan meets his eyes only briefly, and Wei Wuxian suspects his confusion must be written over his face, because soon enough Lan Zhan’s gaze darts away again.

“His system is primed to realign with his consciousness, but there’s still too much resentment churning through him. The only way I can think of to break the deadlock is to flood him with resentment energy, and then force it out of him again all at once, to create space for his consciousness to take hold and reawaken.”

How the hell does Lan Zhan know this? Lan Qiren once threw a scroll at Wei Wuxian for even suggesting the purposeful use of resentment energy. Lan Zhan definitely did not read about this in the library.

He opens his mouth to ask—but then he catches sight of Wen Qing, looking at Lan Zhan with the first real hope he’s seen on her face in days, and the question dies in his throat. He doesn’t want to shake her confidence now without reason. And anyway, Lan Zhan’s reasoning is sound. He might be right.

Worth a try.

“How do you want to do this?” he asks.

Lan Zhan seems to go still for a moment, his eyes a little wide, and Wei Wuxian wonders if he expected more disagreement, or if Lan Zhan is just getting caught up in his own new and wildly unusual ways. He can feel Wen Qing watching both of them, and he tries to silently send Lan Zhan the signal not to drop his confidence, not to let her see what they both know. It’s a gamble.

And if it doesn’t work, they could find themselves back at zero.

Lan Zhan’s face settles into his usual mask, and Wei Wuxian gives him a tiny smile, glad he got the message.

“I have a plan,” Lan Zhan says.

~      ~      ~

It’s not getting him out there that’s the problem. They’ve got a wagon now—Wen Zian just finished putting on the second wheel—so they’re pretty much able to just transfer him to that with the net and the talismans intact, and place an extra seal over the wagon itself, so he can’t leave the wagon bed if he manages to break the other restraints. The bigger problem is finding an appropriate place to go, but Lan Zhan seems to have figured that out too, leading the way confidently out through the forest and into the maze of rock outcroppings and standing stones that make up the eastern side of the Burial Mounds.

“When did you learn your way around this place so well?” Wei Wuxian asks, following alongside him. Wen Yunlan is pulling the wagon, leaving the cultivators’ hands free to defend the small party against any stray spirits that might try to jump them.

Wen Qing is bringing up the rear. Wei Wuxian tried to talk her into staying behind, but she threatened him with needles, and those things made his leg randomly fall asleep for a week afterwards the last time she lost her temper with him, so he backed down pretty damn quickly.

“I have done some… reconnaissance. Previously,” Lan Zhan says, keeping his eyes on the path in front of them.

“Reconnaissance?” Wei Wuxian says. “How long have you been planning this?”

Lan Zhan slants a look over at him, but only for a moment, turning quickly back to the path. “A while,” he says, and that seems to be the end of that.

When Lan Zhan finally signals for the wagon to stop, they’re in the middle of a long, narrow gorge, with craggy outcroppings high on either side. Wei Wuxian glances around them curiously, wondering why this particular spot. There doesn’t seem to be anything exceptional about it, other than the fact that it’s a safe distance away from camp. The cliffs might give them a good angle of attack if Wen Ning starts to get out of hand or something, but other than that he can’t think why Lan Zhan would have picked this place over any other.

“Why here?” he asks, giving Lan Zhan a curious look. Though he keeps his voice low, Wen Qing’s attention focused on Wen Ning.

Lan Zhan meets his eyes again briefly, mouth parting as though the answer is there, but he’s reluctant to give it. He glances away again. “I believe it will work, here.”

That’s… not really an answer, but. Okay.

Wen Qing is looking up expectantly now, she and Wen Yunlan working on unfastening the ties of the net from the frame of the wagon. Lan Zhan steps around to the foot of the wagon and reaches out to help, unpinning each point until all of them are loose, though the net remains in place. As soon as the last tie comes undone, Wen Ning’s body starts to tremble and twist, like some animating force inside of him has just realized how close it is to freedom and is trying to throw off the weight of the net.

They talked through it step by step the night before. Wen Qing and Wen Yunlan know to move back, hold themselves at a safe distance, though Wei Wuxian notices that Wen Yunlan has to take her firmly by the arm to get her to keep moving, and she never takes her eyes off the wagon.

Lan Zhan takes up a stance a few feet away from the wagon and summons his guqin, steadying it in front of him, one hand poised over the strings. Then he meets Wei Wuxian’s eyes where he’s still standing at the corner of the wagon, one hand on the net.

When Lan Zhan nods, Wei Wuxian breaks the charm protecting the bed of the wagon and tears the net away.

There’s a thunderous boom that rings out across the gorge, and then a rush of dark energy flooding in from all directions, converging on Wen Ning’s body and blasting him up into the air, his limbs splayed outwards and vibrating with the power of it. Another crack, and there’s strength in him again—he rakes his hands through the air and turns himself upright, a plume of black smoke following him back to earth.

His feet hit the ground with another vibrating impact, and his eyes fly open, white and unseeing, a murderous set to his teeth.

But, his irises. There’s a vague trace, not of black but of something real, something human, struggling to come to the surface.

This might actually work.

Lan Zhan’s fingers are already circling over the strings of the guqin, fixing Wen Ning to the spot, though Wen Ning thrashes against the power. The energy is still flooding into him. If they don’t manage this soon, before long Lan Zhan’s guqin alone won’t be enough to hold him off. Wei Wuxian gets to work, painting talismans in the air and thrusting them into the key points on Wen Ning’s body, forcing the energy flowing through him to focus, move as Wei Wuxian instructs.

One hard blow, right to the center of his chest. He makes sure it lands, and then he jumps out of the way, spinning free of the attack zone in case something’s gone wrong, to give Lan Zhan a clear shot.

His dumb wound stings from the twist and impact, but he’s mostly fine now, and at least Lan Zhan hasn’t seen.

Wen Ning snarls and struggles, but it’s only his head still moving now, the rest of him still as a statue despite the dark energy circling him.

“Ah Ning!” Wen Qing calls out, her voice desperate, but she keeps herself in check, just clutches hard on the arm Wen Yunlan is holding in front of her.

Lan Zhan makes a circle with his hand above the strings again, centering his power like he’s never done anything else but control damaged half-dead boys flooded with resentment energy. Then he thrusts it forward, delivering the final blow.

Wen Ning jerks, eyes snapping shut, his whole body stiff and still, barely moved by the breeze. Wei Wuxian holds his breath.

And then Wen Ning’s eyes open, slowly.

Blink, slightly. See.

“Young… Master…” he croaks out, on a voice that sounds like it hasn’t been used in months.

“Ah Ning!”

Now Wen Qing rushes forward, and she reaches Wen Ning first, grabbing him by the shoulders. Stroking a hand along his cheek, murmuring frantically to him as she checks him over with shaking fingers. He seems too dazed to reply properly, but everything in his body language reflects the boy from before. The one who helped Wei Wuxian rescue Jiang Cheng from the occupied Lotus Pier, who always smiled politely in the face of conflict, eager to please.

Wei Wuxian looks over at Lan Zhan, who is staring at Wen Ning, looking just as relieved as Wei Wuxian feels. When he meets Wei Wuxian’s eyes, Wei Wuxian gives him a small smile, nodding his head slightly. “Thank you,” he murmurs.

Lan Zhan’s mouth softens into one of his secret smiles. He nods back.

When Wei Wuxian looks back over at Wen Ning he finds Wen Qing pulling at his collar, running her fingers down along his neck, as if trying to check that all of his bones are intact one by one, and he steps forward to take her by the arm, shift her back a little bit. “Hey, hey—give him room to breathe, okay?”

She rounds on Wei Wuxian and clutches onto the front of his shirt with frantic hands. “He’s okay,” she says, tears in her eyes even as it’s half a question, begging him for reassurance. “He’s okay…”

Wei Wuxian smiles and nods. “Yeah,” he says. “He’s okay. He’ll be fine now, it’s okay.”

She throws her arms around his middle and presses her forehead into his chest, and he holds onto her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. He can feel the shudders racking her body and the anxious relief rolling off her in waves, and he just lets her hold onto him and cry, or breathe, or whatever she needs. He strokes her hair and lets her lean into him for comfort, the way his Shijie would hold him when he was small and overwhelmed.

Lan Zhan is still standing a little bit away, watching them with an expression that seems slightly blanker than it was a moment ago. Wei Wuxian gives him a sheepish smile, patting her awkwardly on the shoulder again. Nothing he can do, really—she’ll be all right.

Lan Zhan lowers his eyes and looks away.

~      ~      ~

Wen Qing has taken Wen Ning’s pulse like fifty times by now, and she keeps feeding him more soup, touching his forehead, asking him if he’s comfortable, if he would prefer to sit closer to the blood pool where the calming spirit wards are. Every time she sits down next to him for a moment and Wei Wuxian finally thinks she’s going to relax, she’s up and across the great hall again, fussing with her medicines and bringing back something else to drop in Wen Ning’s soup.

It’s kind of amazing to see him up and around like that. He’s still got the ghostly complexion and his hair is wild and unbound like it hasn’t seen a brush in months, though he knows Wen Qing has been tending to it as best she can. But underneath all that he’s exactly like he used to be. Sweet and polite, graciously accepting everything he’s given and stuttering out that his sister shouldn’t worry, he’s fine, he’s really fine.

The great hall is busy, warm with bodies and stories and the cooking fire. There’s a fierce joy in the rest of the Wens too, amazement that Wen Ning is back and, despite his paleness and the black lines up his throat, still the same sweet guy they all used to know. It has the vibe of a victory party—a nice one, with good people, not hidden barbs and manipulations and Jin Guangshan trying to marry Shijie to his peacock son.

Wei Wuxian leans back against the steps of the sunken hall floor, adjusting his belt so it doesn’t irritate the lingering traces of the stab wound, and takes a sip from the flask in his hand. Okay, so the drinks were better at the Sunshot Campaign victory party. But the mango flavor at least makes a nice change from well water.

Someone steps down from the upper level at his right, and he glances up to see Lan Zhan standing beside him, taking a seat a foot or so away along the step. His eyes are also on Wen Ning, who is waving a hand over his bowl now, telling Wen Qing that there’s quite enough salt in the broth, she doesn’t need to waste any more, this is fine.

Wei Wuxian smiles.

“Can’t believe you figured it out, Lan Zhan,” he says with a little shake of his head, taking another swig from the bottle. “Better step up my game, or they’ll start calling you the Yiling Patriarch instead.”

Lan Zhan gives him a quiet look, and Wei Wuxian hears it a second too late. Freezes. Shit. Stupid, stupid.

“I mean…” he tries, but he doesn’t have anything more than that, he’s drawing a complete blank, nothing. Fuck.

But then Lan Zhan huffs a breath, with a blink that seems to conceal an eyeroll, and he looks away again. His eyes fall on Wen Qing where she’s sitting down beside Wen Ning, her hands moving restlessly like she still doesn’t know where to put her relief.

Wei Wuxian keeps an eye on Lan Zhan for a moment longer, but he seems resigned to Wei Wuxian’s stupidity and not interested in dredging up that conversation again. At least for the moment.

So Wei Wuxian clears his throat a bit and catches Wen Qing’s eye across the room, sending her a little shooing gesture. When she raises eyebrows back at him, he mouths, Calm down. He’s fine.

She narrows her eyes back at him slightly, but presses her palms together and pins them between her knees. Trying to take his advice.

When Wei Wuxian glances over at Lan Zhan again, Lan Zhan’s eyes are fixed on the floor. He looks thoughtful again, and a bit of that blankness is back.

Wei Wuxian hesitates—Lan Zhan was nice enough to ignore his big mouth, maybe he should really just leave him alone to think his thoughts—but, they also decided they were okay, and part of being okay is… this. So. He lifts an arm, nudging Lan Zhan in the shoulder gently.

Lan Zhan looks up quickly. Looks caught—but Wei Wuxian pretends not to have noticed. Keeps it casual. “Hey. What’s up?” he asks, gesturing vaguely at the room around them. “This is a party, why are you so gloomy?”

Lan Zhan is silent for a moment. “I’m not gloomy,” he says then, though the way it comes out doesn’t exactly sell Wei Wuxian on this point. “I’m just thinking.”

It makes Wei Wuxian feel a little unsteady again, but— no, they talked about that already. That won’t be it. “What about?”

“Our situation,” Lan Zhan says, looking down at the floor again.

Oh shit. No, come on, they talked about this. Wei Wuxian takes another drink from the flask and tries to keep calm, remember they can have a rational conversation, it doesn’t have to go wrong like it did the last—

“The cave,” Lan Zhan clarifies. And Wei Wuxian finds himself blinking at him, because… what? How does the cave figure into…? “The sleeping arrangements were determined early on, when Wen Ning still needed constant monitoring. Now that that’s no longer the case, things might be… crowded.”

“Crowded?” Wei Wuxian repeats. At least, maybe it really isn’t about that, which is… good. That’s a relief. But, he’s still not following. The three of them have gotten by just fine so far, and it’s not like Wen Ning will take up any more space now that he’s awake than he did when he was asleep and needed all the charms and things all over the place.

Lan Zhan nods. “I’ve been thinking that perhaps Wen Ning and I should move out.”

Wei Wuxian frowns. It takes him a second to process that. “You and Wen Ning? Why?”

Lan Zhan presses his lips together slightly, that look he gets when Wei Wuxian is playing dumb—but this time, for real, Wei Wuxian has no idea what he’s talking about.

“Now that Wen Ning no longer requires constant care and observation,” Lan Zhan explains more slowly, “I believe it would make sense for us to let you and Lady Wen have some privacy. You should not deprive yourself or… or Lady Wen of the comfort you can take from one another.”

“Comfor…” Wei Wuxian blinks, still not getting it. But then the words catch up with him, and he runs them through his brain again, just to make sure he understood.

Lan Zhan thinks he’s having an affair with Wen Qing?

He barks a laugh. Lan Zhan looks up, startled.

“Lan Zhan,” he says, still grinning and nudging Lan Zhan in the shoulder. He drops his voice slightly for discretion, but can’t keep the bemusement out of it. “Look, I don’t know where you got the idea that there was anything like that going on with me and her, but seriously, you don’t have to worry about that. There’s nothing you’re getting in the way of.”

Lan Zhan looks up, a cautious hope in his eyes. “There isn’t?”

“No, of course not. We’re just friends.” Shit, he’s so relieved it’s just that that Lan Zhan is worried about. So fucking relieved. “Comrades, you know? Like you and me.”

Something freezes in Lan Zhan’s eyes. There’s a blink. Then he glances away again, turning back toward the floor. “Oh, I see,” he says. “That’s… good to hear.”

It comes out a bit stiff. Crazy—Lan Zhan must really have been worried about this.

The things this guy’s mind gets up to when Wei Wuxian isn’t looking.

Wei Wuxian hesitates a little, wondering if… But no, they’ve been trying to get back to normal again, and it turns out it wasn’t about that anyway like he thought, so, it’s probably okay. Lan Zhan can shrug him off if he wants to, Wei Wuxian can take it. He scoots closer and tentatively puts an arm around Lan Zhan’s shoulders. As always, he can feel him tense slightly, as though Lan Zhan is still not used to casual affection. But then, when no harm comes of it, the muscles loosen up slowly under Wei Wuxian’s embrace.

“So you’ll stay, right? In the cave?” Wei Wuxian says, tilting his head to try to peer into Lan Zhan’s face. Lan Zhan doesn’t meet his eyes. “All good?”

Lan Zhan nods briefly, and then seemingly with effort, looks at Wei Wuxian directly. Something flickers there that Wei Wuxian can’t put his finger on, but it makes him feel a bit warm and soft inside. Closer than he thought he was.

“I’ll stay,” Lan Zhan says. “Wherever you want me to be.”

For some reason, Wei Wuxian is finding it hard to look away.

He swallows—his throat feels dry all of a sudden, which is weird, he’s been drinking water since they came in. He puts on a smile, pats Lan Zhan on the shoulder again and shifts away an inch or too, glancing down at the jug in his hand. It’s lighter than before, and when he gives it a little shake, he finds it’s almost empty.

“I’m going to get some more,” he says, indicating the jug and meeting Lan Zhan’s eyes again, only briefly. “You want some?”

Lan Zhan nods, his eyes still on Wei Wuxian’s face. “Yes,” he says. “Thank you.”

~      ~      ~

It’s late, and once again Lan Wangji finds himself wide awake.

The weather has been getting gradually colder over the past couple of weeks, the night temperatures dipping low enough to make one’s breath visible in clouds before one’s face. Tonight, for the first time, he thinks there might be a frost in the air—they’ll have to see to the radishes in the morning, figure out what they can do to protect them from the cold snap. The weather inside the Burial Mounds has been unseasonably cool since they arrived, but Lan Wangji doesn’t know if that will continue to be the case as winter settles in and the outside temperatures continue to drop, or if the ecosystem of the Burial Mounds will remain relatively constant—a contained world of perpetual autumn, where the leaves and grass seem to bloom one day and dry the next.

Wen Ning’s snores are audible from the other end of the cave, but that would not keep Lan Wangji awake under normal circumstances. Likewise, he is well used to sleeping in the cold. He even finds the chill on his lungs somewhat bracing, like standing beneath the waterfall on a snowy morning, gathering his energies into a focused center.

But Wei Ying is restless, tossing and turning on his stone bed, occasionally breathing a shivering huff into the clumps of straw that make up his pillow. This, Lan Wangji finds difficult to ignore.

He wonders if he should get up and go looking for a second blanket. It doesn’t seem like it should be cold enough to be having such an effect on him, but then Wei Ying has never been quite as disciplined at handling the cold as Lan Wangji would expect from a cultivator. And his bed is nearer to the entrance, so perhaps there is a draft.

But then again, the houses are drafty too, and most of the blankets are likely in use. And he wouldn’t want to disturb Wei Ying while he’s trying to sleep, or make him feel watched in a way that he might find unnerving.

Lan Wangji closes his eyes again, tries to calm his mind. Tries to breathe in the cool night air, and block out the rustling sounds and the quiet little mumbles of complaint coming from the other side of the workbench.

He’s just on the verge of drifting off to sleep when he feels a sudden tug on his blanket, a weight slumping down onto the side of his cot and making it creak.

“Move over,” Wei Ying mumbles sleepily, teeth chattering a bit. Lan Wangji blinks up at him, trying to focus on his silhouette in the darkness. He can’t see much of Wei Ying’s face, only the jumble of his hair, and a couple of pieces of straw sticking out this way and that.

Wei Ying’s hand pushes clumsily at his hip again. “Come on, I’m freezing,” he demands, and Lan Wangji jumps slightly at the startlingly intimate touch, doing as he’s told and making space along the edge of the cot. Wei Ying doesn’t hesitate before pulling his feet up and nestling down underneath Lan Wangji’s blanket, dragging what must be the blanket from his own bed over them as well and pushing as close to Lan Wangji as possible, until Lan Wangji is trapped between him and the wall.

Lan Wangji can hardly breathe. He’s not sure what he’s supposed to do, what’s… what’s happening here. This is very… unusual.

But now he can feel the shivers coming off Wei Ying in waves, even with two blankets piled on top of him and what feels like every layer of clothing Wei Ying owns wrapped around him. He wonders if Wei Ying is ill perhaps—it really shouldn’t be cold enough to make him shiver like this. He’ll have to ask Wen Qing to look him over in the morning and make sure nothing is out of the ordinary.

After a few minutes of them lying there, Wei Ying curled up under the blankets with his face pressed against Lan Wangji’s chest, and Lan Wangji keeping as still as possible, trying not to crowd him and trying not to die from his frantic heartbeat, Wei Ying’s shivers start to dissipate. Lan Wangji can hear him managing deeper breaths, feel his muscles loosening slightly and relaxing, though he still makes no move to put any distance between them. After a long, nerve-wrecking moment of contemplation, Lan Wangji shifts the arm that isn’t trapped underneath Wei Ying’s head  over to wrap around Wei Ying’s shoulders and pull him closer, tucking him in more securely. Wei Ying mumbles sleepily into Lan Wangji’s chest, but nothing about him seems to protest.

Some part of him knows he should probably wake them both up properly and send Wei Ying back to his own bed. He knows that Wei Ying wouldn’t be doing this if he were fully conscious, particularly if he were aware of the nature of Lan Wangji’s feelings towards him. He could send him back to bed with Lan Wangji’s blanket as well as his own, maybe build up the fire and see about blocking the doorway, to keep in more of the heat.

But doing all that might cause something of a commotion, even if he were careful. He doesn’t want to disturb anyone else’s sleep. And Wei Ying seems much more comfortable now, with the additional body heat.

Wei Ying’s breathing evens out slowly, and Lan Wangji can feel the warmth in him growing over time, trapped in the blankets and Lan Wangji’s arms. He watches him for a long time in the darkness, half expecting Wei Ying to open his eyes again and grin—whoops, sorry to attack you there, Lan Zhan, sure is chilly tonight, you’re such a good comrade—but that doesn’t happen.

Wei Ying stays, sleeps.

Lan Wangji holds himself still, a most unexpected use of his old Lan discipline, and keeps him warm.

~      ~      ~

Lan Wangji wakes up to shafts of sunlight on the cave wall, the quiet shiver of air through the trees, and the warmth of Wei Ying pressed close against him.

Sometime in the night Wei Ying seems to have shifted and sprawled out a little more. He’s facing away from Lan Wangji now, and his hands are wrapped loosely around Lan Wangji’s arm, keeping it in place as his pillow. Lan Wangji still has his other arm looped around Wei Ying’s waist, holding him close.

Wei Ying snuffles in his sleep and shifts slightly, squirming backwards against him, and the sensation of what he’s squirming against gives Lan Wangji an unexpected jolt. The hand around Wei Ying’s waist clamps him by the hip over the blankets before Lan Wangji can think better of it, stopping him from moving. For a moment Lan Wangji holds his breath, worried it will have woken him, worried he’ll notice—but Wei Ying just gives a small, sleepy whine of protest and smushes his face into Lan Wangji’s arm, his body relaxing into another quiet snore.

Lan Wangji’s heart is racing, his body… He’s surprised at himself. Not that he has experience sharing a bed with someone like this, much less with Wei Ying, but it’s been a while since his body has… taken him by surprise like this. He usually has more control. He’s taught himself control over the years, kept his physical responses on a tight leash and ensured that he would only give in, let himself feel aroused, when he chose, safely contained within appropriate circumstances.

This is highly inappropriate.

He can feel the heat on the sides of his neck, the way his body is aching to be touched, to reach out and  pull Wei Ying closer. Even if it were only that, just the warmth of him through all the blankets and the layers, his breath in the air, that would be enough. If Lan Wangji let himself go, pulled him in, that would be plenty.

He knows this body is younger than the one he’s used to, missing a few scars and a few abilities, but until now he hadn’t realized just how precarious his control still was at this time, and how easy it would be to slip. Maybe he should have moved out of the cave after all, just to protect himself from this.

Wei Ying can’t know this. Wei Ying would never come near him again.

He keeps a hand on Wei Ying’s hip and closes his eyes, tries to think calming thoughts, cool his blood and his body. It doesn’t help that every time he feels he’s making progress, Wei Ying starts fussing again, apparently trying to roll over onto his stomach and readjust Lan Wangji’s arm to the right shape, the same way he does with his straw pillow.

At least that makes it possible to push the blankets down between them a bit, just there. For safety. If Wei Ying squirms against him again, maybe Wei Ying won’t be able to feel it. What that does to him.

Wei Ying is flat on his stomach now, taking up two thirds of the cot by himself, and he turns his head to rest his other cheek against Lan Wangji’s arm, and for a moment it’s all of this happening, all of Wei Ying close and Wei Ying’s face, soft in sleep, right here, and Lan Wangji feels his heart twisting even as his body is wild with suppressed shivers. Then he thinks he sees Wei Ying’s eyelids flutter, and Wei Ying stills. Blinks his eyes open, staring vaguely at Lan Wangji’s chest, inches in front of his face.

Then he gives a sharp gasp and pushes himself halfway up, blinking rapidly, nearly teetering off the bed as he tries to find his balance half-sitting. Staring at Lan Wangji, at the wall, at the blankets.

“Shit,” he says, scrubbing at his face with one hand and looking at Lan Wangji again, who is holding as still as possible and trying not to look suspicious. “Did I…? Shit.”

Lan Wangji swallows. He’s not exactly sure what question to answer, so he just keeps still and waits for Wei Ying to sort things out and figure out what to be upset about.

“I’m really sorry, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, looking genuinely apologetic. “Did I just, like, climb in with you?”

Lan Wangji still can’t quite get his voice to work, so he just nods.

Wei Ying’s face falls, and he scratches a hand through his hair. “Oh my god, I can’t believe I—why didn’t you just kick me out? You can do that you know, you don’t have to let me climb all over you and steal your blankets. It’s really okay.”

Lan Wangji swallows. Takes a small breath. “You were cold,” he says, and is relieved to hear it come out sounding mostly normal.

Wei Ying laughs, looking at Lan Wangji like he’s just said something particularly endearing. “You don’t have to let me steal your bed just because I’m cold either.”

Lan Wangji feels his brow pinch slightly with a frown. “But I don’t want you to be cold.”

Wei Ying opens his mouth to reply—but then he doesn’t. Just smiles again, his eyes growing big and a bit touched.

Lan Wangji loves him so much.

He’s still got straw in his hair, and his clothes are bunched up around his waist, all the layers twisted from the night, but he looks rested at least, and warm enough to produce a slight flush along his neck, and that’s enough to satisfy Lan Wangji. His bare calf sticks out from under the covers where it’s hanging off the cot, and Lan Wangji wants so much suddenly to reach over and tug the rumpled robes over his knee to block out the chill. Or cover it with his hand, feel what Wei Ying’s skin is like underneath his fingers.

But, no. Thoughts like that aren’t helping anything. He will not ask Wei Ying for more than he can give—not now, when they’re making progress. When there’s still so much more to be done, so many mountains left to climb.

He can’t risk making Wei Ying feel uncomfortable, putting distance between them now and risking that events might unfold the way they did before. It was bad enough that they almost fell out when he foolishly, selfishly put pressure on Wei Ying to start establishing a clan structure, but this… If Wei Ying knew he wanted anything like this, if that made him wary of letting Lan Wangji too close, of giving him false hope—that could be disastrous. He needs Wei Ying to trust him, to know that he is acting in good faith, and to continue confiding in him. Trusting his judgment.

Wei Ying can’t lose faith in him. He can’t wonder if Lan Wangji has ulterior motives or is trying to take something from him. It’s too important. Lan Wangji needs to stop the worst from happening, first.

“Please don’t be troubled,” Lan Wangji says. It comes out sounding a bit rough. “I didn’t mind. I would never mind. I only hope that you don’t feel uncomfortable. That I allowed you to stay.”

Wei Ying shakes his head quickly. “No, no!” he says, putting a hand on Lan Wangji’s shoulder, seemingly unthinkingly. It sends Lan Wangji’s head spinning, the way Wei Ying draws these lines—one casual touch is fine, crawling into bed in the middle of the night is good, but in the morning suddenly it’s too close, and Lan Wangji touching his wrist is too much. It’s difficult for him to guess what all Wei Ying might see as comforting and appropriate, and what he might take as too forward. The lines seem to blur every time he blinks.

“No, it’s totally fine,” Wei Ying says, with a relieved smile. “I just know you don’t… I mean, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. And it’s your bed.”

Being close to you never makes me uncomfortable, he wants to say. For a moment he almost does, even though in a sense it’s completely untrue. Being close to Wei Ying always makes him uncomfortable. Just in a way that he craves, like breathing.

“It’s quite all right,” he says. “I didn’t mind. I never want you to be cold.”

Wei Ying’s eyes go soft, and a little sad, and Lan Wangji wonders what he’s seeing all of a sudden—what makes him smile like that, like binding an old wound, never quite healed.

“Thanks, Lan Zhan,” he murmurs. “I’ll remember that.”

Chapter Text

It’s been worse since Wen Ning woke up.

Wei Wuxian was hoping it was just a fluke, but it’s been a week now and it’s getting harder to ignore. Bad enough he’s fucking cold all the time now, but the Tiger Seal is getting more active too, and he’s starting to have trouble keeping it quiet. It’s not too hard during the day, but at night, when everything is silent and he’s shivering under the covers and there’s nothing else to distract him, he can feel the thrum of dark energy where it’s tucked against his chest, like a small animal with sharp teeth hidden in its jaws.

It hasn’t really done anything weird—it’s just there, awake when Wei Wuxian is supposed to be sleeping. Reminding him that his source of power is outside himself now. That as much has he reassures Lan Zhan and everyone else that he’s got it completely under control, he knows he doesn’t. Can’t, ever. Not quite. It’s a strange symbiosis—the Tiger Seal needs him to breathe life into the dead things it holds power over, and he needs it to give him back the strength he gave up, the power to protect himself and the people he cares about.

It’s been quiet for most of the time they’ve been here, but now that Wen Ning is awake, it seems to be stirring from sleep. Hungrier than before.

Wei Wuxian reaches out toward the shelf in front of his eyes, runs his fingertips over the grip-polished handle of Suibian. He tries to forget it’s there most of the time, to be honest—he doesn’t need the distraction, and he definitely doesn’t need Lan Zhan starting to ask questions again, giving him those sad, disappointed looks. It would be harder to lie to him now. Gets harder by the day.

But Lan Zhan is down in the village running errands, and Wen Qing and Wen Ning are out collecting medicinal herbs in the forest, and the others outside try not to bother him much during the day, leaving him to his work.

He moves a bit closer, lets his fingers slide around the curve of the handle and grip. They still remember. It still feels right, somehow, and the hollowness inside him aches with the memory.

Taking hold of the sheath with his other hand, he picks the sword up from the shelf and pulls the blade free slightly, just far enough to see it reflect the dim light, see the red stripe burned into its center. Pulling it out the rest of the way, he lets the handle roll against the palm of his hand, feels the weight of an elegant swing. It feels heavier than it used to, so much it nearly throws him off balance—but the movement is still so terribly, achingly familiar that it’s like walking into a room of a house he hasn’t visited in years. Somewhere that used to feel like home.

Months, though. It’s only been months, hasn’t it? Seems impossible.

He steps through one of the basic drills, a sequence he’s known since he was ten years old, used to play out idly by the shores of the lotus fields when he was bored and Jiang Cheng was being a jerk. It’s harder than it used to be. He probably couldn’t do it even twice in a row, now, and he doesn’t get that surge of energy back from the sword like he’s supposed to. That power exchange, a give and take. It’s just a hunk of metal in his hand now, a blunt object, but he steps and parries, dodging and attacking imaginary enemies until he leans into the final thrust, his arm out straight, sword steady and parallel to the ground.

He’s breathing hard, but he holds it to the last beat, because it’s not all gone, it wasn’t all a waste. He kept something of it, at least. He can remember.

The glow of moonlight and white robes, white jars of liquor, stars spread out over the rooftop—it flickers in his mind, punches him in the gut. He loses his balance then, stumbles sideways and has to brace himself with a hand against the cave wall, the sword held loosely in his grip.

That. Only that. He’s not sure if he’d rather remember, or forget.

Sparring with Lan Zhan—fuck, Lan Zhan was so fucking stubborn and infuriating, but that was… he’d never felt like that before. Wei Wuxian had been used to walking all over pretty much everyone, knowing if he couldn’t charm them, he could beat them. But Lan Zhan—even from that first moment, Wei Wuxian couldn’t manage either, and Wei Wuxian had never met anybody like that before. A challenge. Someone who could stand with him on equal footing.

Equal footing.

Now they never will again. Not like that.

He slides the sword into its sheath and rolls to press his back against the cave wall, closing his eyes.

Don’t think. Don’t remember. It’s fine now, really, everything is the way it’s supposed to be. As it needs to be. He can get by, and that’s what’s important. Not being able to spar with Lan Zhan again is, in terms of the bigger picture, really not important at all.

But it just. It aches.

“Hanguang-jun,” he hears from somewhere outside in the courtyard, and his eyes snap open, heart giving a jolt. “Were you able to find the thread…?”

It’s close. Outside, but close, and getting closer. He pushes off from the wall and hurries back over to the shelf, placing the sword back where it belongs just as Lan Zhan comes into the cave.

He steps back quickly and links his arms behind his back—tries to look busy, like he’s been busy all this time, though he can’t quite remember what he was supposed to be working on. The way Lan Zhan stops as he walks in, the way his eyes flicker to the sword on the shelf, tells him he didn’t quite manage.

But Lan Zhan doesn’t say anything immediately, and Wei Wuxian gives him a bright smile to distract him—maybe too bright, but, whatever. “Hey! How was the village?”

Lan Zhan still looks speculative, and Wei Wuxian catches another tiny flicker toward the sword before Lan Zhan seems to decide, finally, not to comment. “It was fine,” he says, moving over to the worktable to set down the bundle of supplies. “I wasn’t able to get any more cinnabar though, I’m sorry.”

 “Oh,” Wei Wuxian says, shrugging lightly. “No problem, I think we’re still okay for now. Maybe they’ll have some next week.”

Lan Zhan mumbles his agreement. His eyes seem to sweep over the worktable curiously before he turns back and crosses over to the shelf. Wei Wuxian avoids looking at him as he lays Bichen down on the top shelf, next to Suibian. For a moment his hand seems to linger on the way back, brushing over the wooden sheath. But if Lan Zhan did see Wei Wuxian holding the sword, he still doesn’t comment.

Lan Zhan has been making a lot of decisions not to comment, lately.

Now he’s turning away again, busying himself with the bundle of supplies he brought, unpacking and sorting them into the appropriate places.

Wei Wuxian is used to Lan Zhan’s general quiet tendencies, and it’s not like he’s missing Lan Zhan getting on his case about the Tiger Seal and the sword and stuff. But right now he feels like he’s balanced on a precipice, trying to find the right way back to solid ground. He doesn’t want Lan Zhan to ask—doesn’t want him to say anything—but the longer he doesn’t, the more Wei Wuxian needs to know what he’s thinking, why he’s not jumping at the chance to bug Wei Wuxian about carrying his sword again.

Is it possible that— does he know?

Fuck. He can’t know… can he? Wei Wuxian tries to look at him without staring as his heart beats in his throat.

No. No, it’s impossible. Lan Zhan is pretty straight-faced, and even-keel and all that, but Wei Wuxian is sure he would have a reaction if he ever actually found out about… if he ever found out.

Then again, there was that night a few days ago when they had a frost, and he climbed in bed with Lan Zhan because he doesn’t have a fucking core to keep him warm, and Lan Zhan has been acting a bit strange since then. Not, like, bad strange, and not most of the time. Just whenever Wei Wuxian gets too close. As if he has something preying on his mind.

He watches Lan Zhan sort through another small stack of fabrics and a few packets of seeds, placing them each carefully onto the correct shelves.

It wouldn’t have been hard to put the pieces together. The Tiger Seal, the resentment… he didn’t even heal like a proper cultivator from Jiang Cheng’s fucking stab wound, and maybe Lan Zhan noticed after all. And with him so close like that… If Lan Zhan had even the slightest suspicion, he could have checked—Wei Wuxian wouldn’t have noticed.

But, it’s Lan Zhan. He might be quiet, but he’s also the most straightforward guy Wei Wuxian has ever known. He probably wouldn’t just go feeling around for Wei Wuxian’s pulse while he was asleep like that. That’s not a thing someone does.

Well. It’s not a thing Lan Zhan would do, anyway.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, and Wei Wuxian gives a start, finding Lan Zhan looking at him again, still slightly speculatively.

Wei Wuxian tries to wipe the trepidation off his face. “Yeah?”

“I’ve been… considering,” Lan Zhan continues. He sounds a bit off balance, like he’s treading carefully, trying to find the best way to phrase whatever this is. “I’ve noticed that lately the energy hovering around the Yin Tiger Seal seems to be growing stronger.”

Wei Wuxian’s stomach sinks. There’s a deep twitch of defensiveness inside him somewhere, and he’s not even sure if it’s from him or the Tiger Seal, but he tamps it down. Tries to keep things easy. “Have you?”

Lan Zhan nods, still watching him carefully. “I was wondering if you might allow me to help you.”

It’s too familiar all of a sudden—a conversation they haven’t had in a long while, and Wei Wuxian has to force himself not to glance over at the shelf. Maybe Lan Zhan did see after all. Maybe that’s why he’s been so quiet about it all this time, he was just waiting for Wei Wuxian to give him an opening. “With what?” he asks, trying not to let the dread creep into his voice.

“With your flute,” Lan Zhan says.

Wei Wuxian blinks. Stops. “What?”

Lan Zhan presses his lips into a narrow line and takes a breath, seeming to steel himself up for something. “The power of the Yin Tiger Seal and Wen Ning’s consciousness… even now, they seem to be connected. You have power over him, and in many ways that’s very useful. But it’s also dangerous. I would like to help you hone your ability to control it. I want to help you grow stronger.”

Wei Wuxian is still staring at him, not sure he’s hearing any of this right. He keeps expecting it to come back around to the sword somehow, the path of righteous cultivation, because surely even now Lan Zhan can’t have given up on that. But his words seem sincere—no double meanings, no hidden agenda.

He wants to help Wei Wuxian train in demonic cultivation. Help him become stronger.

Wei Wuxian doesn’t know what to say.

Lan Zhan is still looking at him expectantly, like he’s nervous of the answer. “Please,” he says, and there’s something quietly urgent underneath it, an echo of the way he used to ask him to learn some Lan piece of music meant to calm his soul. Except back then, it was meant to tame him.

Now he wants to help Wei Wuxian become stronger.

“Okay,” Wei Wuxian breathes out, nodding shakily. “Sure, thanks.”

A wave of relief passes over Lan Zhan’s face, and then there’s something like a smile.

~      ~      ~

It took a while for Lan Wangji to scout out a good location for the training. They wanted someplace relatively secluded and far enough from the main camp that no one would be likely to get lost and wander into danger while they were working. Eventually he settled on a wide, flat plain surrounded by outcroppings of rock, not far from the spot where they originally revived Wen Ning. The cliffs wouldn’t be enough to hem Wen Ning in if he got out of control, but at least they are high and solid enough that they might buy a little time for them to wrangle him, if needed.

Lan Wangji is perched in the shade of a lone tree near the edge of the canyon, his guqin spread out in front of him. A few meters away, Wei Ying and Wen Ning are standing across from each other, as though they’re about to fight a duel.

Wen Ning glances from Wei Ying over to Lan Wangji and back again, looking uncertain. “Are you sure, Young Masters?”

Wei Ying smiles at him and gives a confident nod. “Don’t worry about it, it’ll be totally fine. There’s no one else here, and I’d be pretty impressed if you manage to hurt me or Lan Zhan.” He taps his own chest with the end of his flute and gestures at Lan Wangji with it as well.

Wen Ning still looks troubled, and he glances over at Lan Wangji for confirmation. Lan Wangji also nods his reassurance, his fingers poised over the guqin strings.

“See?” Wei Wuxian says, gesturing at Lan Zhan again. “We’ll have everything under control. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

Wen Ning sets his mouth determinedly and takes a deep breath, shoulders hunching slightly until he lets it out. Then he lifts his hands to the sealing talisman tied around his neck.

After checking one more time with both of them, he gives the necklace a sharp yank, breaking the seal.

The impact is immediate. A pulse of dark energy echoes out of him, spreading wide, awakening the slumbering spirits in the rocks all around them, and then pulling inward again, converging on Wen Ning. Wen Ning turns his face upwards and gives an unearthly yell, a snarling bloodlust spreading through his body like the spidery veins that crawl across his skin. He brandishes a hand like a claw, eyes fixing on Wei Ying, and Lan Wangji feels a stab of alarm just before Wen Ning launches into attack.

But then it stops.

The sound of the flute, high and ghostly, bending and fluttering seems to stop Wen Ning in his tracks, tame the urge to kill. Wen Ning seems transfixed by it, listening intently as if he can understand each note as a word, takes in the instructions with an eager blink, willing to submit.

Lan Wangji keeps his hands at the ready, but he doesn’t play—not just yet. It’s better if the field is clear while Wei Ying is establishing his control. Additional music might confuse the signal and cause his instructions to be misunderstood.

There’s a creeping chill rolling across the canyon, and Lan Wangji sees the spirits coalescing into trails of black smoke hovering around them. Listening to the music. Not attacking, not threatening like they were when they invaded the camp—just drifting around, circling closer to Wei Ying, like acolytes willing to do his bidding.

When there are twenty or thirty of them collected, circling slowly,  Wen Ning starts to follow them with his eyes like a cat in a cage watching a pack of mice, just out of reach. Wei Ying meets Lan Wangji’s eyes across the canyon floor and gives him a small nod.

Lan Wangji starts to play.

It’s a calming melody—one of the oldest he’s known, so familiar his fingers pick it out without conscious intervention. There’s a bitter stirring deep in his chest at the very familiarity of it, the way it conjures memories of long afternoons of practice in the music hall and sore fingers in those early days, before he had developed the proper callouses. The silent room, and his mother. She played it too. It was one of the earliest he asked to learn, once he was finally old enough.

But that is not a thought for now. He must clear his mind, not let distractions seep into his playing, or it will not be as effective as it should. It will not keep them safe.

Once the guqin sounds have calmed the air around them, sealing Wei Ying and Wen Ning and the gathered spirits into a bubble of stillness at its center, Wei Ying bends the notes of his tune again.

The battle begins.

Wen Ning takes off from the ground like an arrow from a bow and starts hitting out at the trails of smoke. The spirits spring into action, rocketing around and avoiding Wen Ning’s attacks, coalescing and splitting around him, trying to get at him from behind and disorient him. Wei Ying keeps a firm grip on him all the while, leading Wen Ning through various acrobatics and helping him subvert and distract, lead the spirits into one trap after another like fish in a net.

It’s quite impressive. His control seems to have improved since the battle against Wen Ruohan, which is not what Lan Wangji would have expected, knowing what he knows. He wonders when exactly it began to deteriorate again.

They keep at it for over an hour, Wei Wuxian lining up spirits to attack Wen Ning and then guiding Wen Ning through a counterattack, while Lan Wangji keeps the environment stable and secure and ensures that they won’t be inundated by additional spirits or that their existing targets won’t flee. Finally, when Wei Ying is starting to look exhausted, Lan Wangji calls them to a halt.

The bubble is emptied of spirits and Wei Wuxian’s flute falls silent. Lan Wangji keeps the two of them protected while Wei Wuxian re-fastens the seal around Wen Ning’s neck. Lan Wangji can see the calm settle over Wen Ning then, see him blink back to himself as his eyes and his mind clear. He looks to Wei Ying with a slightly anxious expression, asking something Lan Wangji can’t hear at this distance—but Wei Ying just smiles brightly at him and claps him on the shoulder. He gives Lan Wangji the thumbs up, and Lan Wangji lets the music trail off and the last of his protections fall away.

Wei Ying is still smiling as he and Wen Ning approach, and Wen Ning looks quietly pleased with himself as well. Lan Wangji sweeps his hand over the guqin to return it to its spiritual pouch and gets to his feet.

“Was it really okay?” Wen Ning asks, eyes flicking from Wei Ying to Lan Wangji.

“You did very well,” Lan Wangji says, though he’s sure Wei Ying has already told him so. “As did you, Wei Ying.”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” Wei Ying says, grinning, and Lan Wangji feels vaguely flustered, though he’s not sure whether its due to the misunderstanding or just the deep brightness of Wei Ying’s smile.

“I didn’t mean to sound surprised,” he says, apologetically. “I hope you know I have great faith in your abilities.”

“I’m kidding, Lan Zhan, relax,” Wei Ying says, and shoves his flute into his belt to start heading back toward the camp. Lan Wangji falls in step beside him, while Wen Ning follows close behind.

“That’s a neat trick with the sound bubble,” Wei Ying says after a bit, as they move into the shade of a narrower section of the canyon. “How do you get it to bend around an area like that?”

Lan Wangji tilts his head slightly, polite modesty. “It’s not difficult,” he says. “It’s just a matter of modulating the harmonics. As the notes bend, so does the energy. It’s not dissimilar from one of your protective nets.”

Wei Ying nods thoughtfully, peering at the rocks along the path ahead. “Interesting,” he murmurs to himself, and he has that look about him that he always gets when he’s had an idea. It used to make Lan Wangji nervous every time, because Wei Ying has an unfortunate tendency to chase certain ideas through to their conclusion without fully considering the consequences and taking the necessary precautions. But after spending so many weeks in close quarters, he’s starting to feel he can tell the difference between Wei Ying’s dangerous ideas and the ones that are creative but not especially deadly.

Lan Wangji steals another look at Wei Ying’s profile, watching the thoughts flit around behind his face, approaches considered and discarded and considered again from a different angle with each passing moment. He’s so beautiful when he’s excited about something, and he seems to get excited about the smallest victories, even before they’re achieved.

Lan Wangji draws in a deep breath and lets it out slowly, refocusing his gaze on the path ahead.

~      ~      ~

The sun is as bright overhead as it ever gets in the Burial Mounds, and although a sharp chill permeates the air, the warmth from above seems to blunt its edge.

Lan Wangji is crouching in the dirt beside the radish patch, carefully grasping the greens of the next radish, pulling as gently as he can, trying to loosen it from the soil. It’s been decided that they will be planting through the winter. There’s a small risk of sudden frost, but the murkiness of seasons in the Burial Mounds is working in their favor, and the radishes, despite Wei Ying’s impatience with them, are sturdy.

He’s almost got this one, he’s fairly sure he can feel it coming free, shifting a bit under his hands. It’s getting easier to pull on it anyway, and maybe it just needs a bit more force, a harder yank to pull it out.

There’s a snapping sound, and Lan Wangji loses his balance, one knee falling into the dirt as he shifts sideways, his hand suddenly free.

He looks down at the radish top clutched in his fingers with chagrin.

With a small purse of his lips, he drops the greens onto the little pile he’s collecting and starts digging into the dirt with his fingers, trying to scrape away enough earth to uncover the body of the radish so he has something to grip onto. It took him ten minutes to dig out the last one, and there’s dirt so far underneath his fingernails that he’s not sure how anyone ever gets their hands fully clean after such work. He knows it must be possible, he is hardly the first to be doing this, but...

“Ah, Hanguang-jun,” Fourth Uncle says carefully, pausing in his work on the other side of the radish bed and wiping his darkened hands on the cloth at his belt. He has twenty or so radishes pulled up already, all of them with their greens intact. “It’s really all right if you’d prefer to do something else. I’m sure I can take care of this bed in no time, and I don’t want to trouble you with such boring work.”

“It isn’t boring,” Lan Wangji says, though privately he admits that digging in the dirt has not grown on him in quite the way that woodworking and sewing have over the past few weeks. “I don’t want to shirk my responsibilities.”

“But it’s really no—”

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying calls out to him, and Lan Wangji looks up to see him jogging toward the radish patch, holding something in his hand. Lan Wangji pulls his hands out of the ground and wipes them on his own cloth, though it doesn’t do much good. He gets to his feet as Wei Ying comes to a stop in front of him.

“Do you have a minute?” Wei Ying says, breathless. “I need your help with something.”

Lan Wangji glances uncertainly at the radish patch and the little piles of greens and headless radishes he’s collecting. He does hate to leave a task unfinished. “I’m not—”

“It’s quite all right,” Fourth Uncle interjects, with a smile, nodding encouragingly. “If you’re able to help Young Master Wei in any way, I’m sure that will be very valuable to us all. Much appreciated. I can take care of these old radishes, no trouble.”

Lan Wangji frowns at him apologetically. “If you’re certain.”

“Quite certain,” Fourth Uncle says. “Thanks for all your help! We’ve got a good start on it now.”

Lan Wangji nods then, taking him at his word. He turns back to Wei Ying. “How can I help?”

To his surprise, Wei Ying reaches for Lan Wangji’s dirt-stained right hand and pulls it forward, his other hand pushing up the sleeve to expose Lan Wangji’s wrist. Lan Wangji’s heartbeat quickens at the sudden contact of Wei Ying’s rough fingers against his palm, the pressure of his hand around Lan Wangji’s forearm. Then Wei Ying fiddles with the thing clutched in his hand, and it turns out to be a small, braided bracelet. It’s made of five thin strands of leather, all woven together with a narrow strip of bright red cloth threading through the middle and binding the leather at either end.

Wei Ying places it on the back of Lan Wangji’s wrist and then grabs the ends of the red cloth and ties them together underneath Lan Wangji’s wrist. He hooks a finger underneath the leather, against the back of Lan Wangji’s wrist, and gives a light tug, checking the knot. When he seems satisfied, he looks up, smiling.

Lan Wangji isn’t sure what to say.

“It’s a protective charm,” Wei Ying says. “Well, it’s supposed to be anyway—I’ve had it in mind for ages, but I couldn’t figure out how to make it work until your bubble thing the other day. But it’s kind of an experiment—I was wondering if you could test it for me, see if it would work.”

“Work for what?” Lan Wangji asks.

“For the Wens,” Wei Ying clarifies. “I’m hoping that if I made them each one, they’d be able to go into the woods alone without any of the spirits bothering them.”

Ah. This makes sense. A very useful invention indeed.

Lan Wangji looks down at the bracelet, runs the fingers of his other hand over the rough surface. Only the little ends of the red cloth are smooth, the same texture and shade as the underrobe Wei Ying used to wear. He wonders for a moment what happened to it—if Wei Ying took apart the whole thing for materials, or if he just borrowed a small piece.

He wonders if Wei Ying plans to make them all like that, or if it’s just because this one is meant for Lan Wangji. But then he scolds himself—what a silly thought. Lan Wangji would have little need for one, and Wei Ying knows that. Wei Ying won’t waste precious materials on him.

Back to the task he was summoned for.

“How do you want me to test it?” Lan Wangji says.

Wei Ying tilts his head. “Hmm, just go for a walk, I guess? See if anything comes at you, or if it keeps them all at bay. It should have about a one and a half meter radius, if I got it right.”

Lan Wangji nods. “I’ll do so immediately.”

He stops by the cave first to wash his dirty hands in the basin and retrieve Bichen for protection, and then he sets out into the woods.

Things stay relatively quiet as long as he’s on the main path, where a string of protective charms grant safe passage to any visitors who are allowed through the gates. Once he passes the outer ring of protections, however, he feels the familiar cold prickle of resentment energy creep along his shoulders, like stepping out from under the roof into a winter rain. He ventures off the path then, stepping over the underbrush and ducking beneath branches until he’s in the thick of the forest.

He’s impressed at how well the charm seems to be holding up. He’s a hundred or so footsteps from the main path before the first cloud of spiritual energy condenses and lunges at him, forcing him to bat it away with his sheathed sword. Another few minutes still before the next attack, though this one seems to fail to find a weakness in the protection, lurching to a halt a short distance to his right and then swirling around him a few times before giving up.

It’s not a complete success, but it definitely seems like Wei Ying is on to something.

He really is a very clever man. Warmth blossoms in Lan Wangji’s chest at the thought of Wei Ying spending days and nights working away at something like this—not for power or glory or conquest, just a small simple something to make life a little easier and more pleasant for the kind people around him. He was always like that. Lan Wangji didn’t see it at first, the little ways he saw the people around him, tried to reach out and make them happy. Lan Wangji as well, even when he was at his most disagreeable.

Like the lantern. It stirs such tenderness inside him when he remembers. Lan Wangji was quite content to make his own, release it on his own, just as he had always done. But Wei Ying insisted on sharing, and painted a…

Lan Wangji stops in his tracks. Blinks, eyes hazy and swimming in the dim as he tries to conjure it in his mind, his heartbeat in his ears. He can see the lantern, see Wei Ying’s hands curled around the edges as he shows it to him, even Wei Ying’s smile that still terrified him so much, but somewhere in the middle it all fades to gray, and he can’t… he tries…

A rabbit, his mind supplies. His breath leaves him in a rush, and he blinks into the dark, barely seeing the trees, barely seeing anything but the memory before his eyes. It’s a little hazy, and he’s not sure if he’s seeing it right, but he knows it was a rabbit.

He swallows down the panic, tries to calm the blood surging through his veins. He’s out here alone, he doesn’t know how long the bracelet’s effects will hold out, he can’t afford to drop his guard.

It’s all right.

It’s still there.

It’s all right.

He slows down his breathing, tries to clear his mind, but the image of Wei Ying’s hands and the rabbit lantern stays. He’s afraid to put it down, tuck it away somewhere, in case he doesn’t find it again. But he breathes through the rising panic and focuses his eyes on the forest ahead, until the world stops feeling off-balance and the ground is underneath his feet again.

He stays out there for another hour or so, only half his attention on the spirits. He keeps calling the memory of the lantern back to the front of his mind, and it makes him a little calmer each time he finds it mostly intact.

By the time he gets back to the camp, he’s feeling almost normal again, though he gets impatient when Wen Yunlan approaches him with a question unexpectedly, and he suspects his answer comes out harsher than he intends. He tries to make amends with an small bow, and then continues on into the cave.

The sight of Wei Ying sitting hunched over the worktable is an unexpected relief. Lan Wangji’s fingers itch to reach out for him, touch some part of him, just to remind himself that this is real. That whatever strange things might be going on in his head, Wei Ying is here with him, alive and well. Nothing will change that. Wei Ying will not fade.

But he restrains himself. He’s certain that Wei Ying would not appreciate being grabbed unexpectedly from behind while he’s focused on his work—and in any case, it would be difficult to explain his sudden impulse to reach out at such a moment, when that has never been particularly in his nature.

Instead, he stands in the doorway for a moment, watching Wei Ying scrawling hasty notes with a well-used brush.

He covers the bracelet around his wrist with his left hand and presses it into his skin. He can just feel the soft tickle of the fabric ties where they rub against the inside of his wrist.

“Wei Ying,” he says.

Wei Ying looks up and glances back at him over his shoulder. “Ah! There you are—I was just starting to wonder if I’d gotten you attacked or something,” he says with a smile, swinging his feet around and getting up to meet him. “How did it go?”

Lan Wangji swallows down the rush of nerves, more frayed than usual. Now that he’s in arms reach, the impulse to reach for him, pull him close, do something, is even stronger. But he simply clamps down on the bracelet and keeps his back straight, holding himself together. He doesn’t want to alarm Wei Ying.

“It went well,” he says, his voice only a little stiff. “The radius was a little smaller than you’d hoped—only one meter—and occasionally a spirit was able to slip through. But only three or four, in the time I was out.”

Wei Ying frowns, nodding thoughtfully. “One meter is probably a little close—I don’t think they’ll like that. And three or four slipping through is a problem—probably need to tighten the grid.” He wrinkles his nose a bit, like he’s just been told to tidy the shelves, but at the same time he seems to be doing calculations in his head, tapping one finger against his chin as he glances around at his supplies.

Lan Wangji watches his face, feels his nearness like a lifeline. Usually he manages to politely look away eventually, but at the moment he can’t take his eyes off him. It’s fortunate that Wei Ying seems too distracted to notice.

Then Wei Ying turns away, heading over to the shelf where the spare leather is stored and sorting through pieces, muttering to himself about ratios and field strength.

Lan Wangji loosens his grip around the bracelet, reluctantly. He needs to get his thoughts together, and not be foolish, even if today threw him off course.

“Do you need the bracelet back?” he asks. Wei Ying might want to take it apart again. The leather strands could be useful as lacings of fastenings, even if they can’t be reused for another bracelet. And the strip of red cloth…

Wei Ying looks up, seeming surprised to find him still there. “What?” He blinks. “Oh—no, don’t worry about it, I’ve got plenty of stuff. And I think I’m going to need wider strips anyway, so I’ll have to start over with a new design. You can just put it wherever.”

Wei Ying turns back to the leather, and Lan Wangji watches him work, still hovering near the doorway, letting the sight of him working, rummaging around, breathing, run through him like meditation.

It’s worth it. That hasn’t changed. He’ll always find it’s worth it.

~      ~      ~

He waits until the evening, his customary time to write, to pull out the box from under his bed. Wei Ying is still tinkering with leather straps and the little stones he likes to use as a basis for spells, and he hears the low murmur of Wen Qing talking to Wen Ning.

He sits cross-legged on the bed, facing Wei Ying’s direction, and schools his face in calm, rifling through the sheets of paper that his brush has filled with events from long ago. He sorted them by the order in which they happened. But now he wonders if he should sort them by importance.

He finds the one, the day of the lantern. It was one of the first things he wrote down, the first thing he knew he must never let go. As he starts reading, the words matching what is in his mind, the memory taking its familiar shape, his heart calms, finally.

I do not truly have the words to describe the feeling that came over me when he showed me what he had drawn. My uncle always considered pets to be frivolous and unnecessary, a waste of focus, a sentimental indulgence that would undermine the development of good habits. I had always had a secret fondness for soft, small creatures, and it pained me whenever I came across one that had been injured or caught by a predator, though I knew better than to display such concern in front of my elders. I do not know if Wei Ying perceived this in me somehow, or if he was simply thinking of the rabbits we had discovered in the Cold Pool Cave—but in any case, I have never felt such warmth spread through me so quickly as it did at the sight of the rabbit he had drawn on our shared lantern, like a secret wish had been plucked from inside me and was suddenly here, painted in soft, pretty lines.

He laughed at me, in his noisy, carefree way, pulling me back into my startled, helpless self, my embarrassment burning hotter than the other lantern we destroyed by mistake.

But this time, my anger did not last. His kindness had shaken the ground beneath me and engraved the first fragile notes of a hopeful melody onto my heart.

As we lifted our lantern to the sky, I watched him press his hands together and close his eyes, wishing for the strength to eliminate evil, protect the weak, and maintain a good conscience. It was so unlike the person I had at first believed him to be, so consonant with my own deepest beliefs and desires, that I could not take my eyes from his face. I could feel it in my bones as the last of my resistance to him fell away.

I not only desired him. I not only found him pleasing and charismatic and impossible to ignore. I was, in spite of every effort I had made not to succumb, in love with him.

Chapter Text

Lan Wangji,

I have not observed or heard of any plans to contact Wei Wuxian or the Wen remnants in the Burial Mounds since my last letter to you, although there are rumors of a Ghost General—a powerful fierce corpse that supposedly can tear a man in half, and who is under the Yiling Patriarch’s control. I can only assume from the description that this Ghost General is Wen Ning. Sect Leader Jin seems adamant that he is a threat, and encourages others to see him that way as well, although I have not yet heard anyone produce any concrete examples of harmful actions this Ghost General, or indeed his master, have taken since Wei Wuxian’s flight to Yiling. A few days ago, I found myself in an argument with a few fellow disciples when they were completely misrepresenting what happened three months ago in the camp at Qiongqi Path. I shouldn’t have drawn attention to myself in this manner, given our correspondence, but I couldn’t help myself. It was infuriating.

Please be careful, and give Wei Wuxian my regards. I will inform you if anything here changes.

Plans for the wedding of Jin Zixuan and Jiang Yanli are now finalized. The ceremony will take place two weeks from now. Many clans will be in attendance. I will keep my eyes and ears open during the festivities and should be able to observe more interclan communications.

Luo Qingyang

Lan Wangji curls the letter into his fist and lets out a long breath. With a brief glance up and down the street, ensuring that no pedestrians browsing the shops are paying him too much attention, he sends a small pulse of spiritual energy down his arm, until the paper bursts into bright blue flames and disintegrates, ash on the breeze.

Only two weeks left. Less than that, given the time the letter travelled.

He stands in the shadow of the shop wall, staring out over the heads of the passersby. He’s been wondering if he should find some way to tell Wei Ying. It only occurred to Lan Wangji recently, on the day he would have met Wei Ying—did meet him, that first time around, when he’d slipped out from under his Uncle’s watchful eye and traveled to Yiling—that the only reason Wei Ying even knew that his sister’s engagement had been reinstated was because he, Lan Wangji, had been able to tell him. Lan Wangji knows that Wei Ying’s sister’s happiness means a great deal to him, and although it won’t be possible for Wei Ying to attend the ceremony regardless, he feels certain that Wei Ying would appreciate knowing that it’s happening, and that his sister will be well cared for.

But it is difficult. He can’t tell Wei Ying the real reason he knows that this wedding is about to take place. He could of course explain that he’s been corresponding with Mian Mian, and that she informed him—but that would also raise questions that Lan Wangji is not prepared to answer. He has never been good at lying, and the truth would once again lead him back to everything he knows. Everything that Wei Ying must never know.

He is glad that Mian Mian keeps writing, in any case. He sometimes wishes he could have access to a steadier stream of information from the outside world than she is able to provide in her position, but he is deeply grateful for the risks she is taking. He will have to make do with the resources he has, for the time being.

“Lan Zhan!”

Lan Wangji blinks out of his thoughts and glances around for the voice. Wei Ying is coming toward him from just along the street, a joyful bounce in his step. He has the empty radish sack slung over his shoulder—they had enough after the most recent crop that they decided to try selling a few this time.

His brother, Lan Wangji thinks suddenly. Perhaps he could tell Wei Ying that Xichen mentioned news of the wedding in his latest correspondence. But… no. He’s already told Wei Ying the contents of the letter that arrived two days ago—a friendly report of everyone’s good health, Xichen’s impressions of the new disciples, a summary of a relatively quiet night hunt south of Caiyi—and Wei Ying would find it transparently strange that Lan Wangji would have failed to mention something like this. Besides, Lan Wangji is not adept at crafting lies out of whole cloth. Wei Ying would almost certainly become suspicious.

But Xichen has been writing quite regularly lately. Perhaps another letter will arrive in time.

“You were successful?” Lan Wangji asks as he pulls his hand behind his back and falls into step beside Wei Ying.

“Went like hotcakes once I turned on the charm. One lady bought four.” Wei Ying looks quite pleased with himself. Lan Wangji feels a pang of selfish disapproval, but he stuffs it down. It’s good that Wei Ying managed to sell them. Their funds won’t last forever, and establishing a new stream of income is important.

“How about you?” Wei Ying continues as they turn off the main thoroughfare and head up the road that leads back to the Burial Mounds.

“I found the things that Wen Qing requested.”

“Even the string? They didn’t have that the last time.”

Lan Wangji nods. “The string as well.”

It’s always calming, Lan Wangji finds, the walk back up the mountain. Moving away from the bustle of the village, the people who stand too close and move too quickly, who don’t seem aware of their surroundings. Moving up and away until it’s only Wei Ying’s voice beside him, chattering on about the toys he wishes he could have bought for Ah Yuan, or the piece of fruit the seller’s daughter gave him as a free sample, or the fact that his sleeve wrappings are fraying and he needs to figure out how to get the edges rounded off like Lan Wangji’s so they don’t keep catching on things.

There was a time in his life when Lan Wangji would have found it all very annoying, but now he never seems to tire of the sound of Wei Ying’s voice, no matter what he’s saying. No matter whether he’s saying anything at all. Lan Wangji has had enough of silence.

It’s growing dark by the time they get back to camp, and there’s bustling and noise in the great hall—it sounds like someone has prepared a small feast or some other festivity. Lan Wangji looks curiously at Wei Ying to see if he has any idea what the excitement might be about, but Wei Ying just looks back at him, equally curious. They leave the empty sack and the supplies in the cave, then circle around into the great hall to see what’s going on.

“Ahh, Young Master Wei! You’re back!” calls Fourth Uncle from the middle of the room. Most of the Wens are sitting around the little tables, bowls and chopsticks already distributed. There are a few giggles and smiles as their attention turns to Wei Ying, and a festive anticipation in the air. Wen Liu smiles broadly over the big bowl of radish salad she’s distributing, and at the table closest to them Lan Wangji sees Wen Song nudge her sister in the side with a grin.

Fourth Uncle takes a couple of steps towards them. “We’ve got a bit of a surprise for you,” he says, with a smile.

Wei Ying looks puzzled, like he’s trying to figure out if he’s forgotten his own birthday. “For me?”

“Well, for everyone. But Wen Qing said you’d particularly appreciate it.” Fourth Uncle turns to the table behind him and nudges in between two of the women crowded around it, reaching for something with both hands. He lifts a heavy-looking jug above their heads and turns around, presenting it proudly to Wei Ying.

Wei Yin blinks and takes hold of it, pulling it forward a bit to sniff at the opening at the top—and then his eyes go wide and shining, like a child who’s just been gifted a beautiful new kite. Like Ah Yuan once looked at a small paper butterfly.

“Oh my god,” he says. “Where did you get this?” His awe is terribly endearing, so much so that Lan Wangji almost feels appreciation for the liquor himself.

Fourth Uncle looks very pleased indeed, his cheeks a little ruddy, either from smiling or—Lan Wangji suspects now—from drink. “A couple of us have been working on it for a while. We weren’t sure if it would come out, so we didn’t want to get anyone’s hopes up.”

“It smells amazing,” Wei Ying says, and someone hands along a bowl so that Fourth Uncle can pour a sample for Wei Ying, who holds the bowl carefully in both hands like a precious baby rabbit.

~      ~      ~

There’s a metallic bite to the liquor that isn’t entirely pleasant and builds with each sip, but after nearly three months without, Wei Wuxian is ready and eager to overlook such minor flaws. The warmth of alcohol spreading through his veins for the first time in forever, making him feel lighter and looser than he has since they got here, is heavenly.

“You sure you don’t want some?” he asks again, offering the jug to Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan is sitting right next to him on the upper stone floor of the Great Hall, their backs against a wide pillar and their feet dangling into the sunken center of the room. Everywhere around them, the Wens are arranged on the steps and at makeshift tables, enjoying their meal and their share of the booze.

Lan Zhan, meanwhile, is drinking his modified mango juice. It turned out he likes the flavor, though he admitted after a couple of weeks of only sipping at it daintily that he found it too intense in its original form. So he gets his own jug now with a watered-down version. Very wild in a Lan Zhan sort of way.

Lan Zhan shakes his head patiently. “No, thank you.”

“Ah, come on, Lan Zhaaan,” Wei Wuxian cajoles, swaying into Lan Zhan’s shoulder a bit. They’ve already finished eating and there’s no more work to be done—he knows Lan Zhan can’t hold his liquor, but how much trouble could he possibly get into at this hour?

Lan Zhan gives him a narrow-eyed look, and suddenly Wei Wuxian is thrown back to their school days, when Lan Zhan stormed in and broke up one of their sneaky drinking parties. Jiang Cheng and Huaisang were so wasted, they were all just lucky Wei Wuxian is a stronger drinker than they are. And a waaay stronger drinker than Lan Zhan…

The laugh bubbles up from inside of him, and he drops his head back against the pillar and takes another drink.

He wonders how Jiang Cheng is doing, tries to imagine him sitting around here drinking homemade wine like this. He’s got fussier tastebuds than Wei Wuxian—he’d probably make a face at the aftertaste. But he also wouldn’t want to be a baby, so he’d drink it and be, like, super manly about it.

“What is funny?” Lan Zhan asks, a wary slant to his look.

Wei Wuxian glances down at the jug in his hands, his thoughts drifting pleasantly on the surface of his mind. Feels like if he reached out just a little, he could grab a handful of the flowy white robes Lan Zhan used to wear, tug on his sleeve or poke him until he wipes the frown off his face and makes it softer, nicer, like he knows it can be.

“Nothing,” he says, giggling again as he remembers the thunk sound Lan Zhan’s head made when it hit that table. “This is great. Only way it could be better is if it were Emperor’s Smile.” He throws a grin over at Lan Zhan—and then stops, his stomach dropping when he remembers, Lan Zhan, oh fuck, stupid…

Lan Zhan is looking back at him with an unreadable expression, but Wei Wuxian shifts around to face him better, a hand flailing for Lan Zhan’s arm—shit, stupid, stupid. “Fuck. Forget I said that. Um. Let’s talk about something else?”

Lan Zhan glances down at Wei Wuxian’s hand on his arm, and suddenly Wei Wuxian isn’t sure if he should pull it away or not. They’ve been mostly okay since the radish patch talk, and Lan Zhan hasn’t brought it up since then, hasn’t flinched away from Wei Wuxian’s touch or anything like that. But now Wei Wuxian is thinking of the Cloud Recesses again, remembering Lan Zhan all in white, kneeling for punishment. Asking to be punished for doing wrong, even though Wei Wuxian had been the one who dragged him into it. It blurs in his head, Lan Zhan in the rougher darker robes and kneeling for Wei Wuxian, asking to pledge some kind of loyalty oath to him, and the sharp, hurt closing of his face when Wei Wuxian freaked out and fucked it up.

It’s been lurking at the back of his mind, the worry that Lan Zhan might start that up again. Ever since Jiang Cheng turned up and Wei Wuxian had to sever his own ties with home, for now, he’s been wondering. But Lan Zhan hasn’t said anything.

Must still be there, though, somewhere underneath the surface. You don’t go from kneeling down and making a trembling speech about titles and ceremony because you miss your clan so much straight to being chill about living from radish to radish and letting your idiot crafty cultivator friend casually trample all over your memories of home.

He pulls his hand away and puts it back in his lap, wrapping both hands around the jug. He’s so stupid. Things were fine until a second ago, why did he have to—

“It’s all right, Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, and Wei Wuxian almost jumps when he feels a tentative hand on his knee, though he manages not to. He’s glad he doesn’t, too, because he can feel a tremor in Lan Zhan’s fingers like he’s not sure this is okay, and Wei Wuxian doesn’t want to spook him, make him feel rejected again. He looks at the hand, and then up at Lan Zhan, and tries a smile.

Lan Zhan has a sort of careful, determined look on his face that makes it a little bit harder to breathe for a moment.

“You can mention it,” Lan Zhan says, very sincerely. “I’m sorry if I gave you the impression that you couldn’t.” He looks at Wei Wuxian for another moment that feels heavy and swirling with meaning at the same time, then blinks down, his voice a murmur. “I want to remember.” There’s something deep and still in there that Wei Wuxian doesn’t quite understand.

Wei Wuxian covers Lan Zhan’s hand with his, and though it stirs underneath his fingers at the contact, Lan Zhan doesn’t pull it away, lets Wei Wuxian keep it tucked against his knee. “I don’t want to make you sad,” Wei Wuxian says.

Lan Zhan nods thoughtfully. “Some of it makes me sad to remember,” he agrees, and there’s a strange little flutter in there, a dark edge that Wei Wuxian doesn’t know what to do with, wants to ask about. “But even those things... they are important.” There’s a pause, Lan Zhan’s gaze on the carvings in the stone floor but like he’s looking at something else. The Cloud Recesses, the past. “And many things make me happy to remember. Growing up there with my brother. Meeting you there.” He turns, looking straight at Wei Wuxian, his eyes determined, like he’s willing him to understand. “Those are good things to remember. I don’t want to forget. I don’t want you to forget either.”

Wei Wuxian feels a little hazy from the alcohol, and like Lan Zhan’s insistent focus is making him drunker somehow. “Even though I drove you nuts?” he asks, with a smile that feels shaky on his face.

Lan Zhan doesn’t flinch or even blink. “Even so,” he says.

There still seems to be something else, something Wei Wuxian isn’t seeing, and he isn’t sure he’s understanding much of anything. But maybe understanding isn’t required, to do what Lan Zhan needs him to do. And if that’s remembering how he got Lan Zhan drunk and how often he had to copy the rules and the most fun ways he broke them, if Lan Zhan wants him to reminisce about the old days at the Cloud Recesses because that makes him feel better, more at home here—then great, that works, he can totally do that.

“Okay,” he says, nodding slightly. Lan Zhan is still looking at him like he expects him to do something, his hand warm underneath Wei Wuxian’s, and Wei Wuxian isn’t quite sure what he’s supposed to do.

Lan Zhan seems to realize that eventually, with a bit of a blink. He turns his gaze away again, but keeps his hand where it is. “Tell me about Emperor’s Smile,” Lan Zhan says, finally.

Wei Wuxian blinks at him. “What? What do you want me to tell you about it?”

“Anything you remember,” Lan Zhan says, his eyes flickering like he’s casting about for something in his mind. “What it tastes like. Why you like it.” Lan Zhan’s restless gaze skims over their hands on Wei Wuxian’s knee, the little twitch in Lan Zhan’s fingers, but still he doesn’t pull away. “When you first drank it.”

Wei Wuxian tilts his head a bit, trying to see Lan Zhan better, figure out if he’s joking. “Lan Zhan, you know when I first drank it. You were there.”

“I know,” Lan Zhan says. “Just… tell me anyway.”

“Okay,” Wei Wuxian says slowly, watching Lan Zhan out of the corner of his eye as he takes another sip of Fourth Uncle’s fruit wine. “I was… I mean, it was at the Cloud Recesses, that first time. When you wouldn’t let us in because we’d lost the invitation, and I went back to get it, and I bought a bottle of—”

“Two,” Lan Zhan interrupts a bit sharply, as though this is a particularly important detail. “You bought two bottles.”

“I did?”

Lan Zhan is looking at him very intently, nods. “Yes. I broke one.”

“Oh, right,” Wei Wuxian murmurs thoughtfully. Then he shrugs it off. “Whatever, so I had two bottles, and the gate was already closed, so I jumped over the wall into the courtyard—”

“It was on the roof,” Lan Zhan interrupts again. There’s something stiff about the way he says it. Something impatient.

Wei Wuxian shoots him a look, a touch of grumpiness stirring. “Am I telling you what I remember, or are you telling me what you remember?”

But Lan Zhan just looks back at him straight on, with that sheen of urgency in his eyes. “It was on the roof. You need to remember it right. It’s important.”

Wei Wuxian blinks at him. This is weird. “Lan Zhan, are you okay?”

Lan Zhan’s eyes widen for a moment, looking caught. Seen. But then he blinks, glances away again. His shoulders come down, as if he’s consciously relaxing them.

It’s not quite enough to make Wei Wuxian feel better. “I’m fine,” Lan Zhan says. “I just… it’s important that you remember it right. Everything that happened.”

Wei Wuxian blinks at him. “Why?”

Lan Zhan’s jaw tightens, and for a moment he looks angry and hurt, in that way of his where it’s flickering under the surface, comes out tight in the quiet of his voice. “It’s important to me. I would appreciate it if you could remember it right.”

Just like that, Wei Wuxian feels like shit all over again. Okay, yes, Lan Zhan is acting weird—but, he’s Lan Zhan. He’s such a rock, so reliable and steady all the time that Wei Wuxian forgets how strange this all must still be for him. Wei Wuxian knows what it’s like to live on the streets and have no roots, even if he doesn’t remember that much of it. Even before the war, he always knew that one wrong move and Madam Yu could have him out on his ear, he could end up drifting again, and he was prepared for that. But Lan Zhan… that’s never been the way he thinks. Lan Zhan’s entire life has been built around tradition and order and steadfast devotion. When Wei Wuxian first met him, Lan Zhan felt off-balance if he didn’t have his headband on straight—now he doesn’t have it at all.

So, okay. It may be weird, but if Wei Wuxian making an effort to remember a few random little details of things that have happened will make him feel better… he can try. No guarantees he’ll succeed, but he’ll really try.

“Sorry,” he says again, squeezing Lan Zhan’s hand in his own. “If it’s important to you… I’ll try. I’ll try to do better. I’m sorry.”

He sees Lan Zhan take a deep breath, tension rising and falling. He almost looks sheepish then, stealing a glance at Wei Wuxian’s face. “It’s all right,” he says. “I know you find it difficult. But I would appreciate it if you would try.”

Wei Wuxian nods quickly, scooting closer and taking Lan Zhan’s hand between both of his, clutching it against him, his fingers a little clumsy and his head a little light. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knows he shouldn’t be pawing at Lan Zhan like this—Lan Zhan likes his space—but the thought flits away as easily as it comes, and he can’t be bothered chasing it. “I really will, I swear. And hey, you have a way better memory than me—if I ever forget anything you want me to remember, just tell me, okay? I’ll really try.”

Lan Zhan looks at him again, and there’s something still a little bit lost in there, though the gaze is warm, as warm as the wine mellowing the world.

Then Lan Zhan nods. “I will.”

~      ~      ~

It’s cold again that night.

The buzz from drinking keeps Wei Wuxian cozy enough for a while, and he dozes on and off for an hour or two, lost in the pleasant tilting of the floor underneath him and the fuzzy ease wrapped over all the sharp edges. But sometime after that he wakes up shivering, the shadows deep and the tilting less fun.

He sticks it out for a while, pulls on another layer of robes and curls into a ball under the horse blanket, waiting to see if he can chase out the chill as nausea curdles in his stomach—but it’s not working. It never seems to work anymore. It’s like his blood itself is cold, and the longer his heart beats in the darkness, the more it spreads the cold around, until his fingers are stiff and his teeth chatter against each other, and it feels like the first time he was here again, when he was alone. When he felt like a hollowed-out shell, the wound deep inside him still fresh and bleeding.

The cold metal of the Tiger Seal burns through the layers of robes and makes him colder, weaker, like it’s sapping the heat out of him and turning it into nothingness. A void.

His brain is sluggish and slow, and the colder he gets, the more he hears of the voices, calling him from far beyond the edges of the camp, beckoning him out into the wild darkness. They want to drag him down, pull him under, beneath the freezing cold and into the memories, the blood and death and loss he tries so hard to forget.

I need you to remember.

Lan Zhan’s voice. It’s cold as ice, but he reaches for it anyway, wraps it around himself like another blanket, and it chills his skin, but he doesn’t let it go. He wants to remember. He wants to remember the good things.

He just also has things he wants to forget.

The cold is settled inside him now, in the space that was left, and he can feel the edges of the Tiger Seal digging into his flesh, trying to become a part of him, and he doesn’t want it, he doesn’t want—

He jerks awake again.

He’s not even sure exactly when he drifted off. It’s still freezing, still cold enough he can see his breath clouding in front of him in the dim moonlight. But this is awake—he’s awake now, for sure, and the voices… no, he wouldn’t hear them from here. He doesn’t hear them inside the camp, not when the talismans are working.

It’s so cold.

The room is still spinning, and now he’s not sure anymore if it’s just the alcohol, or if the cold is seeping into his brain. He can hear Lan Zhan’s quiet, steady breaths over on the other side of the cave, and he wrestles down the urge to crawl out of bed and go climb in with him. With his mind cold like this, he remembers how he was draped all over Lan Zhan half the night after he had a few jugs in him, and now that his buzz is drying up it feels less friendly and close and more like maybe he should apologize, maybe he should have kept his dumb happy feelings to himself. He’s still not really sure what Lan Zhan minds and what he doesn’t, when it’s too much. Sometimes he almost seems to like being close with Wei Wuxian. Other times it’s like the smallest touch burns him, and he can’t be far enough away.

I never want you to be cold.

Wei Wuxian huddles down and bunches the covers up around his face, blinking into the darkness. There was that, too. That didn’t sound like a lie. Not that Lan Zhan ever lies, but it didn’t sound like politeness, like Lan Zhan just trying not to make him feel awkward, it’s not some phrase everyone says to their cave roommates. Lan Zhan wants him to be okay. Lan Zhan wants him around. Every time Wei Wuxian has given him the chance to leave, to put more distance between them, Lan Zhan has never taken it.

I need to be here.

Wei Wuxian twists, glancing over his shoulder towards the workbench, knowing Lan Zhan is just beyond it. Lan Zhan and his warmth, his golden core. Lan Zhan who’s always there, who works long hours in the sun without complaint and never asks much—a few sheets of paper and for him to remember. A place to belong.

Wei Wuxian feels hollow again. Couldn’t even give him that much. Can’t remember enough, can’t be enough, can’t ever be what Lan Zhan is missing.

Before he knows it he’s rolling to his feet. He almost pokes himself in the eye pulling the blankets around his shoulders, then feels his way past the workbench, trying not to trip on any of the random gadgets he’s left scattered all over the floor. He almost makes it too, even with the floor rude and slanting, only catches a toe on something on the last two steps and ends up sitting down hard on the edge of the cot. “Shhh,” he hisses, scolding the darkness, but Lan Zhan is already blinking, frowning up at him blurrily. “Sorry,” Wei Wuxian whispers. “I tried to be quiet, but there was a thing… there…”

He sees Lan Zhan swallow in the dark, looking him up and down for a moment. Wei Wuxian’s momentum falters under his scrutiny. But he got this far and it’s so cold and the room’s not steady, and Wei Wuxian is just about to ask him to move over when Lan Zhan does it himself, turning slightly onto his side and pressing himself up against the cave wall, making a space.

It makes Wei Wuxian’s throat go tight—that he just does it like that. Wei Wuxian didn’t even have to ask this time.

He pulls his legs up onto the bed and slides underneath Lan Zhan’s covers, rearranging the bundle of blankets he brought with him so that they’re piled on top. He can’t seem to get them untangled so they lie flat, and he eventually gives up trying, just huddling down and pressing up next to Lan Zhan, where everything is warm and safe. It’s like the air is lighter here too, easier to breathe. He wraps an arm around Lan Zhan’s middle and holds him close, taking warmth from him all the way along. Lan Zhan lies still, but doesn’t try to stop him, doesn’t push him away.

Wei Wuxian stays still and unobtrusive for a while. At some point he can even feel his fingers again.

“I’m really glad you didn’t leave,” he mumbles into Lan Zhan’s chest. He feels the breath stop underneath his cheek for a moment—but then it resumes again, only a little stutter. Still warm and safe.

Wei Wuxian nuzzles into the rough fabric of Lan Zhan’s robes, trying to warm up his nose. The roughness still seems strange on him—even seeing him every day like this, Wei Wuxian always thinks of him in the soft and airy fabrics of the Lan clan, thinks that when he presses up against him and pulls himself close, makes himself warm and protected, there should be silk and fine embroidery there against his skin. Lan Zhan belongs like that. Layers and layers of pretty stuff, cool to the eye but so warm underneath. Wei Wuxian hides a muffled giggle against the fabric of Lan Zhan’s underrobe, and then it dawns on him that Lan Zhan might not ever be like that again. That might be gone.

It stings, somewhere deep. He misses that too, somehow. “I’m sorry you can’t go home, Lan Zhan,” he whispers low into the fabric, the words catching on his tongue, heavy and slurred. “I’m sorry I didn’t…”

It trails off. He can’t keep the words in his head, but they press against his heart.

“Didn’t what?” Lan Zhan says, his gentle voice soft in the dark.

Wei Wuxian’s mouth feels dry, and his eyes keep falling closed, though he feels like he should try to be awake for this. Like it’s important. “I’m sorry I’m not… you know. That I can’t be… your new clan, or whatever.” He has to swallow then, his eyes aching, and that’s dumb, they did this—they talked about this. Lan Zhan was good, he didn’t even bring it up again. But Wei Wuxian still feels shitty. “I can’t be what you want me to be.”

Lan Zhan is quiet for a long time. Wei Wuxian can feel his breathing under his cheek, deep and slow.

“You are everything I want you to be,” Lan Zhan says, eventually, and it feels like a warm embrace all around him. Like somehow Lan Zhan’s voice can reach inside him and make all the shivers calm and stop. For a moment he thinks there are fingertips in his hair—the lightest, gentlest touch down along the back of his head, barely disturbing the strands.

But he really can’t keep his eyes open anymore, and who knows, that’s probably just his mind playing tricks on him. Wanting what it doesn’t have.

“Go to sleep, Wei Ying.”

He does.

~      ~      ~

I didn’t recognize what I was looking at, at first. My eyes sought out the words I had been reading previously, but this was an illustrated text. A drawing that took a moment to register in my mind. It showed two men locked in an intimate embrace, the one penetrating the other from behind. For a moment I wasn’t sure that I was seeing correctly, and thought I must be projecting the dark shadow of my own thoughts onto the paper in front of me. But as I realized what I held in my hands, the cold truth washed over me, tied my stomach into knots, and welled up in a burst of helpless anger, such as I’ve only felt when truly, viscerally afraid.

He knew. He must know, I thought.

I believed, deep in my bones, that he could only be mocking me. With benefit of hindsight I know that would not have been in his nature, to cut so cleanly to the quick and then smile, as if my anguish meant nothing. He can’t have known. It was a careless joke that accidentally hit a mark, and indeed the fact that he chose that particular manner in which to mock me was most likely proof that he did not know. That he believed, without question, that I was like everyone else.

Indeed, I suspect he still does believe that.

But in any case, in that moment I was certain, down to my core, that he had seen through me. That he knew my weakness, and was exploiting it. The certainty of that laid me bare, injured me all the more deeply for the knowledge that my body wanted not only men, but him. If instead of this he had asked me for myself, to let him do to me as the men in the drawing, I know that I would have done it. And I would have hated myself for it.

But this was nowhere in his thoughts. He could not understand, could have no conception of the conflict that was tearing me from myself every moment he was near. To him, it was no more than a game.

I clutched my sword tightly and stood, furious. I tore the pages to shreds against his protests and demanded that he leave. If I could have separated from my body and left it behind as well, in that moment, I would have done so. I could not remember a time when I had felt more shame.

“But the dragon needs to have teeth!” Ah Yuan insists, and Lan Wangji glances up from his writing over to where Wei Ying and Ah Yuan are huddled together at the worktable. Wei Ying is sitting on the bench, bending over a drawing with his brush at the ready and a smile on his face. Ah Yuan is standing up on the bench beside him, watching and critiquing, his small forefingers held up to his mouth and wiggling a bit, like floppy fangs.

“Of course, of course,” Wei Ying agrees with an indulgent nod, and Ah Yuan cranes his neck this way and that, puts a hand on Wei Ying’s shoulder and leans in to make sure he’s doing it right. “Ah Yuan, I can’t see,” Wei Ying laughs, nudging him with an elbow until Ah Yuan pulls back, just a bit.

Lan Wangji smiles to himself, his heart warm and full at the sight.

He never got to see much of Ah Yuan at this age, the last time. Ah Yuan was always an energetic child, but by the time Lan Wangji had emerged from seclusion he had been taught a certain level of sedateness, the same way Lan Wangji had been taught when he was young. There’s something about watching him flourish in this environment, make-do and unorthodox as their living situation is, and seeing his natural enthusiasm not reined in but egged on by Wei Ying’s chaos, that feels… freeing. Good.

The Cloud Recesses would have been good for Ah Yuan too—he knows that. There’s a part of him that still misses the boy as he’d known him last, the boy who was so studious and kind, who seemed to find the good in everyone and made many more friends in his classes than Lan Wangji had ever managed. There are no other children in the Burial Mounds—though Wei Ying does a pretty good impression of one sometimes.

“I’m drawing the tail bits,” Wei Ying protests, still scribbling with the brush.

“But they’re not pointy!” Ah Yuan says. “See, like here.”

Lan Wangji has to remind himself sometimes that despite his foreknowledge, he does not truly know the future. He knows what was, and what must not be. But beyond that so much lies unwritten, and the more he changes, the further off the beaten path they go. Down the narrow bridge, into darkness, and hopefully, someday, the light.

He must take with him what he can, and leave the rest behind.

“Ah Yuan,” Wen Qing says as she enters the cave. “Time to wash up, Granny’s waiting for you.”

“But I need the dragon,” Ah Yuan says, his face falling as he straightens on the bench and turns to Wen Qing.

She whacks him lightly on the backside with the cloth from her belt. It’s playful, nothing like a punishment, but it gives Lan Wangji pause nonetheless. That, too. Pain as a tool of teaching—that will not be a part of his life now. Even if Lan Wangji were to suggest it, he suspects Wei Ying would object.

Would he ever suggest it? He thinks not.

It’s strange how, when he tries to parse out his reasons, it still feels like two separate things in his head, a world apart. His early upbringing, in which he’d never questioned a punishment, rare as they had been for him, secure in the assumption that judgment would be fair, and that the structure of his surroundings was strict and clear. And then later, as he matured and everything began shifting around and inside him, the boundaries no longer so distinct. The same rules, the same methods, but the lessons taught through pain were so false and unreasonable, it seemed like a mockery of everything he’d ever believed.

What is just, what is evil. What is black, what is white.

He still feels grateful for the discipline instilled in him as a young disciple, and he does not feel that the means by which those lessons were taught did him any harm. But when he thinks of applying those same methods to Ah Yuan’s free spirit, he can’t picture himself finding it just. Or, if his later experience is to be any guide, effective.

“Get going,” Wen Qing tells Ah Yuan, scooping him up underneath the arms so that his legs kick at the air, and setting him down on the ground. “You can pick up your dragon when your hands are clean. I’m sure it will be waiting for you.”

“Sorry,” Wei Ying says, giving her that can’t-scold-me smile as Ah Yuan scampers out of the room. “We got caught up, I forgot to send him out.”

“You should wash your hands too,” she tells him. “Sounds like dinner will be ready any minute.”

“So strict, Wen Qing,” Wei Ying says, wrinkling his nose at her.

It makes him look a bit like a rabbit, and Lan Wangji can’t help a smile.

As Lan Wangji watches Wei Ying start to clear up all the papers and writing implements on the desk, sorting them into notes on the one hand and dragon pictures on the other, he glances back down at his own writing—the heavier paper he uses to record his recollections. Almost reflexively, his mind pulls up the lantern again—the shape of it, the weight on his fingertips. Wei Ying, dressed in white with the dark blue Jiang crest at his shoulders, and a delicate metal lotus leaf curling around the knot at the top of his head. Even the texture of the lantern paper, and a few delicate brush strokes at the edges, before it all fades into gray at the center.

“Wei Ying,” he says, still staring at the papers on his lap.

Wei Ying stops in his work, looks up at him. “Yeah?”

Lan Wangji raises his eyes to meet Wei Ying’s, finds them curious but attentive. “Would you draw something for me?”

Wei Ying blinks at him for a moment. “You… want me to draw you something?”

Lan Wangji nods, tamping down the vague embarrassment he feels at asking for drawings like Ah Yuan. But this is important.

“What do you want me to draw?”

Lan Wangji swallows, tries to keep his voice as even and casual as he can, as though this is not a strange request at all. “A rabbit,” he says. It only stumbles a little.

An amused smile pulls at Wei Ying’s lips, but he seems to try to clamp down on it, pursing his lips into a thoughtful expression and glancing down at his drawings, as if he might already find one there somewhere, filed away for just such an occasion. “Sure,” he says, nodding, clearing his throat a bit. “Sure, Lan Zhan. I can draw you a rabbit.”

~      ~      ~

Late that evening, after dinner and a few rounds of drinks with Fourth Uncle—Lan Wangji stuck to his usual lightened mango juice—they return to the cave, Wei Ying with a jug in his hand. For a nightcap, he said, charming Fourth Uncle with a grin. The maneuvering is not really necessary, in Lan Wangji’s experience, as none of the Wens would deny Wei Ying any comforts they have to offer.

Wen Ning and Wen Qing are already asleep, and only a few candles at the near end of the cave and on the worktable remain lit. Lan Wangji moves over to his bedside and starts loosening the fastenings of his belt. But Wei Ying stops at the worktable, setting down the jug on the corner and dropping to a seat on the bench, shuffling around his papers again.

“So, like,” Wei Ying says, flipping one paper back and forth to check for writing on either side, “what kind of rabbit do you want?”

Lan Wangji blinks at him. Now? But…

“You don’t…” he starts, his hands still on the ties of his belt. “It’s not urgent. It can wait until morning.”

“What?” Wei Ying says, eyebrows arching as if he finds the notion appalling. “No, of course not! When Hanguang-jun requests a rabbit, a rabbit he shall have. You want a white one or a black one? Or maybe like a calico pattern…”

Lan Wangji is still feeling somewhat off balance—but Wei Ying seems very determined, and he’s finally located a clean sheet of paper, his brush swiping over the ink stone as he peers down at it thoughtfully. Lan Wangji swallows.

“A white one, please,” he says.

Wei Ying grins at him. “Should’ve guessed, shouldn’t I,” he says. And then he settles in to work.

Lan Wangji brings over the stool that lives next to the firepit and takes a seat at the stone worktable, opposite Wei Ying. He can’t see much of what Wei Ying is doing from this angle, and he doesn’t want to stare, so he just sits patiently and tries not to make him feel pressured, hoping what he sees in the end will spark his memory, let him fill in the blanks.

Finally, after several long minutes, Wei Ying sits up, looking pleased. “There,” he says, dragging the brush just a couple more times over the tip of an ear. Then he looks up at Lan Wangji and passes him the drawing across the table.

It’s… a rabbit. A very nice rabbit. Cute and slim and white, facing nearly forward, its ears lowered and its little nose poking at a bit of greenery on the ground.

But. It’s not that rabbit.

Lan Wangji fingers the edges of the paper, eyes scanning the drawing, trying to put his finger on what’s not right about it, what should be different.

“Something wrong?” Wei Ying says, looking between Lan Wangji’s face and the drawing. He seems anxious to have gotten it right, and Lan Wangji doesn’t want to make him feel that it’s unappreciated, but it’s also not… it’s not quite right.

“No,” he says, shaking his head firmly. He smiles a bit, because it really is a very nice rabbit, and Wei Ying drew this for him. For that reason alone, he treasures it. “It’s lovely. It’s a very nice rabbit. I just… I was wondering if you could draw me… another rabbit.”

Wei Ying’s brow wrinkles curiously. “You want another rabbit?”

Lan Wangji nods. He can feel his ears getting hot.

Wei Ying props his chin up on one hand, tilting his head to the side and fiddling with the neck of the wine jug beside him. “Is there a particular rabbit you’re aiming for or something? Can you describe it for me?”

Lan Wangji glances away, trying to keep his pulse under control and his entire face from flushing. “I want… I want the one that you drew for me,” he says, quietly, and meets Wei Ying’s eyes again with effort. “Back then. On the lantern.”

Wei Ying’s eyes widen slightly at that—and then his face falls guiltily, and Lan Wangji’s stomach goes tight. He wonders if he’s asked for too much.

“I’m sorry, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, and he’s peering at Lan Zhan like he genuinely is sorry, and he’s loath to have to say it. “I don’t… I don’t remember that one.”

Some expression must have crossed Lan Wangji’s face at that, because before he knows it Wei Ying is waving a hand, rushing to qualify. “I mean I don’t—I didn’t forget, I swear, I remember the lantern, and I remember drawing you a bunny—I remember that—but I just… I don’t remember what it looked like. I’m sorry. Was it… was it important? Should I have remembered?”

Was it important?

It’s almost funny. Almost.

But, no. He can’t expect Wei Ying to understand how important it was, or why it was important in the first place. To Wei Ying it was just one of many small acts of kindness, a gesture of friendship to someone who had been nothing but cold to him, and who he seemed to like nonetheless. Wei Ying couldn’t possibly know what it meant to him. What that day was to him.

“It’s all right,” Lan Wangji says, shaking his head to let Wei Ying know he’s not going to get angry at him again over a frayed recollection. “I don’t expect you to remember. I don’t remember exactly what it looked like either.” It takes the breath out of him for a moment to say it out loud, but he holds on to his composure, doesn’t flounder. “I feel that I will know it when I see it.”

Wei Ying nods, looking a little relieved. “And that one,” he points at the drawing, still in Lan Wangji’s hands, “isn’t it?”

Lan Wangji shakes his head apologetically.

Wei Ying nods again, casting his eyes out over the table, scanning the mess of papers thoughtfully. “Okay,” he murmurs to himself, and then starts shuffling through the papers again, the brush tucked between his fingers. “Okay… but you’re sure it was white though, right?”

“Yes,” Lan Wangji says. “It was definitely white.”

“Anything else you can remember?”

Lan Wangji looks down at the bunny drawing again, trying to pinpoint what’s wrong about it. The face. Where it’s looking, nibbling at the grass, that’s not right.

“I think it should face this way,” he says, holding up the drawing and pointing to the right side of the paper. “And it should be… fluffier.”

“Fluffier?”

“Yes,” Lan Wangji confirms. He’s certain of that. “Like a big rabbit.”

“Okay,” Wei Ying nods, glancing from the first drawing down to the blank sheet he’s uncovered. “Yeah, okay, I can do that…”

~      ~      ~

“The ears are good,” Lan Wangji says, appraising drawing number twelve carefully, and comparing it side by side with drawing number eleven. “The black at the tips, that is definitely right.”

Wei Ying takes another sip from the wine jug—he fetched a second one from the storeroom an hour ago, around rabbit number six. “Really?” Wei Ying says, craning to look at the rabbit upside down. “Huh, that bit felt weird, I don’t even remember seeing a rabbit like that before. Maybe I fucked up and was trying to cover a mistake or something.”

“The rabbit was perfect,” Lan Wangji says, a burst of defensiveness swelling in his chest. “No mistakes.”

Wei Ying grins at him, head tilting to the side. “I appreciate your faith in me, but I promise you, I do sometimes make mistakes.”

“Not with rabbits,” Lan Wangji says stubbornly, and he knows it doesn’t make any sense. But he feels the need to defend the helpless rabbit anyway.

“I point you to rabbits one through eleven as counter-evidence,” Wei Ying says, with an expansive gesture at the drawings scattered around their section of the cave.

“Not mistakes. Just not the same,” Lan Wangji says, passing the latest drawing back to him again. “The eyes need to be red. And there’s something wrong with the bottom, he should be sitting on something.”

“He?” Wei Ying says, pulling out another sheet and readying the brush again. “She could be a girl rabbit, Lan Zhan.”

“He’s not,” Lan Wangji says, watching Wei Ying bend over the next drawing.

“How do you know?” Wei Wuxian asks, flashing him a quick grin, a sudden glint in his eyes. “Was it a very naughty drawing, Lan Zhan?”

Lan Wangji can feel his ears heating up again, but he just shakes his head. The rabbit is too important to get sidetracked by embarrassment. “It was not,” he says. “But I know.”

Wei Ying’s smile turns gentle. “Ah, I see,” he says, still quietly amused. “I shall not question Hanguang-jun’s rabbit intuition.” He returns his focus to the paper and starts sketching out the body of the rabbit again, using his last attempt as a guide.

They make it through thirteen, fourteen, and fifteen with little tweaks here, a line changed there, less shading and more fur, more texture on the rocks and the small plant sticking out of them. When Wei Ying finishes drawing number sixteen, he leans up again and puts it down in front of Lan Wangji with a flourish.

Something turns over inside him as he stares down at the rabbit. For an instant he’s back there, standing in the grass beside Wei Ying, watching him stare at the lantern floating up to the sky, taking their promise with it. The promise to protect. To keep a clear conscience. To fight for the weak.

“Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying says, and it pulls him out of the memory, back to the drawings spread out over the worktable. Here, in the Burial Mounds. This place so far away from everything they’ve known. This place where they are needed.

Wei Ying kept his promise. Lan Wangji wants to do better at keeping his this time.

“It’s perfect,” he says, and he can’t help smiling at the way it makes Wei Ying’s face light up with glee. Wei Ying gives a little shout of triumph, swaying tipsily in his seat as he pumps his fist in the air—and then he winces, whispering an apology toward the alcove where Wen Ning and Wen Qing are asleep.

Lan Wangji looks down at the drawing again, holding the edges very gently so the lightweight paper doesn’t wrinkle too much. “It’s the perfect rabbit.”

Chapter Text

“If we tell people they’re ‘specially cultivated’ radishes grown by the Yiling Patriarch himself,” Wei Ying says, leaning toward Lan Wangji and lowering his voice, “we could probably double the prices.”

Lan Wangji doesn’t look up, still counting the coins he received from the older woman who just stopped by their spot on the street. She bought three. “That would be a lie.”

“It’s not a complete lie,” Wei Ying argues, settling back again with his elbows on the steps behind them. “They were grown in burial soil, after all.”

“Using quite ordinary techniques,” Lan Wangji points out, giving him a sideways look. “And I do not recall the Yiling Patriarch having much interaction with the planting process.”

Wei Ying waves a hand at the sky in outrage, though there’s no real sting to it. “I fixed the sun thing! That should count.”

Lan Wangji turns back to the radishes, grabbing another sample from the sack between them and staring down potential customers as they pass.

He knows better than to take Wei Ying’s idle scheming to heart. As amused as Wei Ying is by the occasional huckster selling talismans and gadgets in his name, and as shameless as he is about enjoying the offerings of fruits and salted nuts that the villagers have started leaving at the entrance to the forest path, he always seems to stop short of claiming the title in public. Lan Wangji has never asked him about it, not eager to retread the painful and embarrassing ground of their argument over establishing a formal clan. But he suspects he understands some of his reasons nonetheless, and can’t fault him for his position. It’s all very harmless as long as it’s just talismans and offerings, but the legend of the Yiling Patriarch has a life of its own, outside Wei Ying’s control. Lan Wangji has seen firsthand what happens when the world stops being amused by it, and becomes afraid.

They sell the last of their stock around mid-afternoon and get to their feet again, Lan Wangji tucking the radish sack away into the spiritual pouch in his robes. They take the longer route back across the village, because Wei Ying likes to walk by all the fruit stalls and daydream about buying one of each. Lan Wangji enjoys watching him. He still prefers not to let Wei Ying go into town by himself, but he’s stopped trying to prevent him from going when Lan Wangji is unavailable to accompany him. Now that it’s not a source of tension anymore, Wei Ying even seems to enjoy his presence on these excursions.

Soon the stalls peter out and they’re back in the quieter end of town, where it’s mostly houses and storage buildings, and only the rare pedestrian.

Becoming a radish merchant is joining the list of things that Lan Wangji never expected to do, but that he doesn’t mind. He doesn’t like to barter, and after the experience of their first, stressful sales outing, in which Wei Ying seemed to want to try out a different starting price on each passerby, he insisted that they just name their final price and stick to that. Wei Ying kept complaining that they were doing it wrong, but Lan Wangji thinks that once people got used to them, many of their customers began to appreciate the quick and smooth transaction. He hasn’t pointed out to Wei Ying that he was right, but he feels a certain satisfaction every time someone just hands over the payment without unnecessary fuss.

“At least it’s not as cold as it was a couple of weeks ago,” Wei Ying says, leaning back his head towards the bright, cloud-dappled sky. “Those steps get cold. I almost froze my ass off.”

“You should have another layer,” Lan Wangji suggests, though it does seem like Wei Ying already has at least three, which he’d expect to be enough. Perhaps next time Lan Wangji should bring along something for him to sit on.

Wei Ying snorts, his ponytail swinging, the red ribbon gleaming in the sunlight. “You want me wandering around the Burial Mounds dressed for a banquet?”

“I only meant—” he begins—but then Wei Ying drops his gaze from the heavens and the smile falls away abruptly. He stops, and Lan Wangji’s gaze snaps ahead to check what’s troubling him.

Jiang Wanyin is standing a few feet ahead, in the middle of the road, his face stern and his cloak billowing in aggressively bright purple. Instantly, Lan Wangji’s hand is on the hilt of his sword.

“No wait, stop,” Wei Ying says in a rush, putting out a hand in front of Lan Wangji. His eyes go from Lan Wangji to Jiang Wanyin and back, imploringly. Then he steps forward, between them, his palm still urging Lan Wangji to stay back as he’s facing Jiang Wanyin. “Jiang Cheng, we don’t want any trouble.”

Jiang Wanyin has seen Lan Wangji reach for his sword, but he makes no threatening moves. He just stands there, staring back at them. Looking disgruntled, as he usually does, but not particularly menacing.

“Come with me,” Jiang Wanyin says. He turns away, oddly certain that they will do as he says.

Wei Ying glances back at Lan Wangji, a plea in his eyes that asks for trust, for calm, to not rock the boat. Lan Wangji reminds himself of what he learned the last time Jiang Wanyin was here, that his previous assessment of Jiang Wanyin’s character was at the very least flawed. Incomplete.

Lan Wangji isn’t ready to call the man trustworthy, but he has to admit to himself that he doesn’t really believe Jiang Wanyin is an immediate threat. The last months would have looked different if the Jiang sect leader had been out to get them or take some sort of revenge for their little confrontation, and, well. There was that unexpected pleading, a thing Lan Wangji had never thought he would hear from Jiang Wanyin. Worry for Wei Ying.

So for now, he’s going to assume this is not a very blatant trap. He nods tightly, and follows as Wei Ying turns and hurries to catch up with Jiang Wanyin.

Jiang Wanyin leads them around a corner into a more secluded square. It’s quiet here, and the purple of Jiang Wanyin’s robes feels almost noisy against the dim greys and browns. Lan Wangji keeps his sword hand at the ready, just in case, following as Jiang Wanyin turns left and heads for the large wooden door of an old mansion or a merchant’s estate. The door has been left half-open, but with the area so deserted it doesn’t look very inviting. Jiang Wanyin stops at the threshold, standing aside to let Wei Ying enter the compound first. Wei Ying turns his head to check on Lan Wangji briefly, but then steps through. Jiang Wanyin follows him, and Lan Wangji steps forward as well—then has to stick a hand out quickly to stop the heavy door from hitting him in the face.

“Jiang Cheng!”

Lan Wangji’s pulse has quickened from the surprise. But Wei Ying is fine, unharmed, standing right there and glaring at Jiang Wanyin. Jiang Wanyin still has his one hand on the door, pushing steadily back against Lan Wangji’s braced grip.

“If you’re going to be an asshole, we’re both out of here,” Wei Ying threatens.

Jiang Wanyin gives Wei Ying a look as if Wei Ying is the unreasonable party. But then he relents, releasing his grip on the heavy door and making an exasperated face as he lets Lan Wangji step through.

Tension is coiling in Lan Wangji’s stomach, and he keeps a watchful eye on Jiang Wanyin as the man closes the door and secures it with a wooden bar. The precaution just adds to Lan Wangji’s alertness.

As Jiang Wanyin turns away from the door and stalks ahead, Lan Wangji sees that there is another person across the courtyard. Smaller, facing away, wearing a long black cloak with no identifiable markings on it. For a moment, the strange production feels ominous, and Wei Ying comes to a halt, seems to hold his breath.

His eyes flicker to Jiang Wanyin with a question, like he knows instinctively who it is but doesn’t want to trust his feelings. That’s when it dawns on Lan Wangji who it must be, that Jiang Wanyin didn’t bring them here to speak to a mysterious stranger.

Did this happen the last time as well?

The figure turns, pushing the hood back, revealing hair adorned with gold and a pale, smiling face. Jiang Yanli.

Lan Wangji hears Wei Ying draw in a sharp breath as she unclasps the cloak, the red and gold of her wedding dress glinting and shimmering in the sun. Lan Wangji looks over at him and sees the stunned rush of emotion in his eyes, taking in the sight, what it means. What it’s for.

“Shijie,” Wei Ying whispers, and it hitches, damp in his throat, and Lan Wangji feels guilty again for not having found some way to give him warning this time. And yet, he’s also relieved. That at least Wei Ying has this, the chance to see her. To know.

Jiang Wanyin is standing off to the side, watching the two of them with what actually seems to be a smile. The softness in his gaze takes Lan Wangji by surprise.

Jiang Yanli looks back at Wei Ying with tears in her eyes, before she turns in a slow circle for his gaze. The robes are so fine they almost seem from another life, but Jiang Yanli moves shyly and hesitantly as always. Lan Wangji hangs back as Wei Ying marvels at the dress, at seeing her. In a strange way it makes Lan Wangji homesick, but for something he never had. This warmth—the light that Wei Ying brings into his life, making the world seem brighter and softer, kinder. Wei Ying’s sister seems to do that for Wei Ying with just her presence.

An echo of that night ripples underneath his skin, the scraping of steel. Jiang Yanli in blood-stained white, lifeless on the ground, Wei Ying’s scream of despair. The emptiness in his eyes as he stood at the cliff. The end of everything.

No. No, not this time. Lan Wangji takes a breath and tries to calm himself, push the thought to the back of his mind. He won’t allow that to happen.

“You’re acting like she’s marrying you,” Jiang Wanyin says, with a little smirk.

“Shut up!” Wei Ying grouches at him, with a fidgety pout like he’s twelve years old, and suddenly Lan Wangji can’t help wondering if maybe Jiang Wanyin had a point, even if he made it rudely. If Lan Wangji should be here after all, intruding on this family reunion. Even now, even after Wei Ying’s official expulsion from the clan, after everything they’ve lost, these two are… they’re Wei Ying’s family, still. It sends a strange pang of jealousy down his spine, shot through with warmth.

“You look really beautiful, Shijie,” Wei Ying says reverently, and it lights up her eyes, her red mouth quivering on a shy smile. Lan Wangji isn’t well-versed in the attractiveness of women, but in this moment she has a brightness about her that nobody can miss.

“See, I told you,” Jiang Wanyin says, though it doesn’t sound like how a man like him would say I told you so. It sounds excited and secretly giddy.

Lan Wangji lets himself fade into the background as the brothers both complain about Jin Zixuan. It is odd to hear them speak of the man whose death was the crossroads for them all with such childishly innocent bickering. Almost as strange as seeing Wei Ying and Jiang Wanyin united in their antipathy as Jiang Yanli becomes flustered.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying calls back to him, tugging him from his thoughts. He finds all three of them looking at him and wonders what he’s missed. Jiang Yanli is smiling as kindly and warmly as she always does, and although Jiang Wanyin still glares a bit in Lan Wangji’s direction, it’s obvious he’s in a strangely good mood. Lan Wangji wasn’t aware he had good moods.

Wei Ying waves him closer energetically, and he realizes they’re all about to sit down at the little table set up at the corner of the yard, where there’s a picnic basket waiting. Lan Wangji hesitates briefly, wondering if he should take this opportunity to excuse himself, give them some privacy. But Jiang Yanli’s nod is encouraging, and even Jiang Wanyin doesn’t argue, so he follows them. Takes the empty seat opposite Wei Ying, with Jiang Yanli to his left and Jiang Wanyin to his right.

It’s… strange.

“Now, Ah Xian,” Jiang Yanli says, looking at Wei Ying with her hands folded in her lap. “There’s something I’d like you to do for me.”

Wei Ying nods quickly. “Anything, Shijie. You name it.”

She smiles, lips pressed together demurely. “I would like you to be the one to choose the courtesy name for my first born son.”

Wei Ying’s eyes widen slightly, and then he breaks out in a grin that could light up the entire courtyard. He looks so happy. The only time in recent memory that Lan Wangji has seen him like this was the night Fourth Uncle revealed he had produced drinkable alcohol.

“Okay,” Wei Ying says, nodding with a casual affect, still glowing from within. “Well, I guess ‘ru’ is the character for the next generation of Jin Clan descendants, so…” His eyes flit around with thoughts, blink towards Lan Wangji for a moment—hold his gaze for a beat. It makes Lan Wangji’s breath catch in his chest, but then it’s gone again, and Wei Ying looks away, towards the wilting flowerbeds and the old garden fence.

“How about Jin Rulan?” he decides at last. Not looking at Lan Wangji.

Lan Wangji freezes. Surely not.

Jiang Wanyin casts an irritated look in Lan Wangji’s direction, though he seems to get flustered when Lan Wangji meets his eyes. Lan Wangji isn’t sure he’s able to completely conceal his shock.

“The child will be descended from the Jiang Clan and the Jin Clan,” Jiang Wanyin says, turning his frown back on Wei Ying. “Rulan sounds like he’s got some ties to the…” He falters, looking like he’s trying not to squirm, but he glares his way through it. “The Lan Clan.”

Wei Ying stares back at Jiang Wanyin stubbornly. “Just because he has Lan in his name doesn’t mean he belongs to the Lan Clan—the Lans don’t own the syllable.” He’s still not looking at Lan Wangji. “I meant the orchid, and the orchid is one of the four gentlemen of flowers, why shouldn’t he be named after that? I think it’s pretty.”

Lan Wangji can’t take his eyes off him.

Jin Rulan. Lan Wangji has heard the child’s name, of course, was present when it was to be officially bestowed, before it all… before everything went wrong. But he never realized that Wei Ying had chosen it himself.

Jiang Wanyin is sending him another glare again, as though Lan Wangji has somehow secretly lobbied for this honor—Wei Ying named the child after him, he’s still not certain he’s understanding that right, but it must have happened even the first time, even when he wasn’t here—but Lan Wangji is just as stunned as Jiang Wanyin is, perhaps more so, and he has no explanations to offer.

Wei Ying sneaks a glance at him and seems to see it. Perhaps it’s obvious. Wei Ying gives him a smushed little half-smile and looks away again.

Did Wei Ying… when Lan Wangji wasn’t here, did Wei Ying perhaps miss him?

“I don’t believe this,” Jiang Wanyin says.

“Shijie asked me,” Wei Ying counters. “So don’t you get all huffy, it just makes you look old and unattractive to girls.”

Jiang Wanyin sits up straight in indignation, though for some reason Lan Wangji can’t bring himself to take it as a threat. “Wei Wuxian!”

“Ah Xian, Ah Cheng,” Jiang Yanli says, managing to sound gentle and firm at once. “Let’s not argue, please?” She puts a hand on Wei Ying’s arm and he immediately tucks his shoulders in and lowers his head. “It was Ah Cheng’s idea to let you name the baby.”

Wei Ying falters for a moment, his eyes snapping to Jiang Wanyin in a flicker of surprise.

It takes Lan Wangji a moment to catch up, his mind still full with the reveal that Wei Ying might have been thinking about him when he was in the Burial Mounds alone, and the surprise takes him over more slowly.

Jiang Wanyin did not only bring his sister here so Wei Ying could see her before her wedding. He was also the one who suggested that the honor of naming the child should go to Wei Ying?

Jiang Wanyin is frowning, first at Wei Ying and then at the table, squirming like he’s trying to shrug off an uncomfortable cloak. “I should have known better,” he grumbles.

“It was a lovely idea,” Jiang Yanli smiles, which only makes Jiang Wanyin look even less at ease.

Then she opens up the picnic basket, revealing a pot of soup, which seems to put an end to the bickering over the name. Lan Wangji is not familiar with her cooking personally, but Wei Ying has often spoken in glowing tones of the taste of her Lotus Root Pork Rib Soup, and he can tell from Wei Ying’s delighted eyes now that this must be the soup he’s been craving. She dishes out a bowl for Wei Ying to taste first, and he closes his eyes in delight at the first mouthful. Jiang Wanyin is served next, in what seems to be a longstanding ritual, and Lan Wangji is surprised when she offers the third bowl to him.

“I couldn’t possibly impose,” he says, feeling off-balance at the gesture, knowing it must be simple politeness.

But Jiang Yanli shakes her head firmly and holds the bowl out a little further. “Please, I insist. It would make me very happy if you’d accept.”

He can’t very well refuse that. He curls his fingers around the bowl and accepts it with both hands, giving her a small bow of thanks.

It is quite delicious. More flavorful than what he’s accustomed to from his own childhood, but not spicy like most of the things Wei Ying seems to love this much—a pleasant, mellow richness. And a very welcome change from radishes, though Lan Wangji knows he suffers from the monotony of their meals far less than Wei Ying.

After a moment of quiet eating—which Lan Wangji finds strange as well, having become used to the boisterous meals of the Burial Mounds—Jiang Wanyin raises his half-finished bowl in mock salute. “Well, let me be the first to toast to the accession of the Yiling Patriarch.”

Wei Ying chokes on his soup.

“Ah Cheng,” Jiang Yanli scolds, frowning at him as Wei Ying dabs off his chin, meeting Lan Wangji’s eyes a bit nervously across the table. But really, Lan Wangji is not obtuse—he knows Jiang Wanyin can’t possibly be mocking him on purpose.

Still, a little flush creeps up the back of his neck when he imagines how Jiang Wanyin might sneer if he knew that Lan Wangji once knelt before Wei Ying and said something similar. He doesn’t care about the man’s opinion, wouldn’t care about anyone’s opinion if Wei Ying had said yes. That’s all it is.

And it doesn’t matter now.

“What?” Jiang Wanyin says, raising eyebrows at him innocently as he sets his bowl down again. “That’s your title these days, isn’t it?”

“Shut up,” Wei Ying hisses at him, with more urgency behind it than the rest of their squabbling. Lan Wangji takes a slow breath, shaking off his self-consciousness, and meets Wei Ying’s eyes with what he hopes is reassurance, a small shake of his head. He will not take offense, and he doesn’t want Wei Ying to come to blows with his brother over an unwitting slight.

Wei Ying blinks back, but nods, just barely.

“How’s your injury?” Jiang Wanyin asks, a bit gruffly. In spite of himself, Lan Wangji can hear the concern masked beneath the prickly tone.

Wei Ying’s hand moves to his side absently, pressing on the scar. “Fine,” he says, with a half shrug. “It wasn’t that deep.”

“How long did it take to heal?”

There’s a flicker on Wei Ying’s eyes, and he seems to stop himself before speaking—meet Lan Wangji’s eyes across the table as though asking something of him, but Lan Wangji isn’t sure what it is.

“Seven days,” Wei Ying says, and Lan Wangji frowns.

That’s… not right. Wei Ying was his usual, careless self about it, refused to rest properly or anything after a day or two, but Lan Wangji knows for a fact that Wen Qing was still treating his wound for at least another week after that. And there were those hints of lingering caution and soreness, almost a month later, that he tried to conceal even from Lan Wangji.

Wei Ying is giving him another small imploring look across the table, willing him not to say anything—so Lan Wangji stays silent. Whatever Wei Ying’s reasons for hiding the depth of the injury from his brother, it’s not Lan Wangji’s place to overrule them.

“Can’t believe you stabbed me for real,” Wei Ying grumbles petulantly.

“You broke my fucking arm!” Jiang Wanyin says, though his outrage seems notably harmless. “It took me a month to heal.”

“I had to make it look real!” Wei Ying counters. “If I’d sent you back with some wimpy fake injury, no one would have believed it.”

“Wimpy fake injury,” Jiang Wanyin mutters into his soup. “After—” His eyes briefly snap to Lan Wangji, but he cuts himself off.

“Ah Xian,” Jiang Yanli says, something hesitant and trembling in her voice as she puts a hand on Wei Ying’s arm. “I hope you weren’t in too much pain as you were healing?”

“What?” Wei Ying says. “No, please, don’t worry. It was just a little stab wound.”

She looks pained, though. “I know you were trying to hold up appearances, and you both did what you thought was best.” She almost looks a little guilty as Wei Ying pats her hand, and like she’s not comfortable making this admission. “I knew it was a rough fight from all those bruises Ah Cheng had, and I couldn’t help worrying, with you out there by yourself, about who would take care of you.”

Ah. Lan Wangji sees Wei Ying understand the moment he himself realizes. Jiang Yanli drew conclusions from the state Jiang Wanyin was in after their encounter. For whatever reason, Jiang Wanyin didn’t see fit to correct her.

“It really wasn’t so bad,” Wei Ying says, not meeting her eyes.

“I told you, Jie,” Jiang Wanyin says, sounding a little sulky. “They have a doctor.”

“That’s true, that’s true,” she says, a shaky smile on her mouth. “I know.” She pats Wei Ying’s hand and his arm, and again Lan Wangji feels this uneven sense of jealousy mixed with appreciation that here is someone else who cares for Wei Ying deeply, and who worries for him. “I knew Wen Qing would take good care of you. And I’m glad that you also have Hanguang-jun here to help you.”

She’s beaming at Lan Wangji. He still doesn’t feel particularly guilty for having given Jiang Wanyin a taste of strong medicine, but Jiang Yanli’s gratitude, when she doesn’t know that he’s the one who sent her brother home with more blue and purple than he arrived in, does make him feel a little uneasy in his skin.

Jiang Wanyin rolls his eyes where she can’t see.

“See, you don’t have to worry about me,” Wei Ying says to Jiang Yanli with another reassuring smile. “I was fine in no time. Quicker than Jiang Cheng with his arm.”

Lan Wangji notes that Wei Ying also doesn’t point out he wasn’t nearly as beaten up as Jiang Wanyin. But then, Wei Ying has been obfuscating how long his injury took to heal even without any additional beatings. There seems to be a silent agreement between the brothers to keep Jiang Yanli from worrying as much as possible.

Jiang Wanyin huffs something into his soup, but Lan Wangji can’t make it out.

“Now, tell me what you have planned for the wedding,” Wei Ying says with bright eyes, only a slightly wistful tug to his mouth. “Is Jiang Cheng making sure that peacock is giving you everything you deserve?”

Jiang Yanli blushes, lowering her head. She tells Wei Ying some details about the planned festivities, though mostly about how kind and generous everyone has been and how glad she is for Madam Jin’s support.

It aches a little to see the gentleness on Wei Ying’s face, the shades of melancholy over the fact that he can’t be there. Lan Wangji has never been partial to this kind of grand social occasion, but it is clear from Jiang Wanyin’s fond smile and Wei Ying’s longing joy that they are both terribly invested in this ceremony.

Lan Wangji wants to feel anger that Jiang Wanyin will get to be there in person while Wei Ying never will. Not in the old past, and not in this new course of time, either. It would be a familiar, almost comfortable indignation.

But his mind keeps circling back to that day, when the death of Jiang Yanli pushed Wei Ying past what he could endure. Lan Wangji barely had the presence of mind to see anyone but Wei Ying at the time, but he knows that Jiang Wanyin was holding her in his arms on the battlefield as she died. Before he came after Wei Ying with the intent to kill.

It sits like poison in his stomach. For what Jiang Wanyin did, for his part in Wei Ying’s fall, Lan Wangji cannot forgive him. It’s almost harder to believe now, when Lan Wangji can plainly see that there is conflict between them but no rift, and they are closer than he ever thought in their shared adoration of their sister.

“So,” Jiang Wanyin says, pulling Lan Wangji back into the present. “This is going to be your plan now, is it?” He raises his chin at Wei Ying, then seems to gesture vaguely at Lan Wangji, or perhaps the hills beyond him. “The two of you holed up in the Burial Mounds with those people for the foreseeable future?” He seems to be trying to sound casually disapproving, but there’s something restless underneath the surface that makes him seem more worried than anything. “How long do you think you can go on with this?”

Wei Ying straightens his shoulders a bit, eyes meeting Lan Wangji’s briefly before he faces his brother’s scrutiny. “Pretty long, I think. I mean, the Wens are still afraid to leave the mountain, and no one has been giving us any trouble when we come down here to run errands.” He tilts his head slightly. Lan Wangji is starting to recognize this particular shade of contentiousness. “Except you, of course.”

Jiang Wanyin’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t rise to the bait. “Just because no one has bothered you yet doesn’t mean they won’t,” he says. Lan Wangji can’t help noticing the way he frames this, doesn’t seem to include himself in the ‘they’ out there somewhere. The higher ranks of the cultivation world. And Jiang Wanyin sees more of that than they can from their hiding place. He is echoing things Lan Wangji can only remember from a past that no longer is, and a few letters from Mian Mian. “The hand doesn’t move fast enough when you try to save someone, but there are thousands of ways to kill someone.”

A chill runs through Lan Wangji’s blood, and he can feel it on his palm for a moment. Wei Ying’s hand in his, slipping. Slipping free.

Too slow.

“Whoever comes, I’ll kill,” Wei Ying says stubbornly, glaring at Jiang Wanyin—and in a strange, shifting moment, Lan Wangji recognizes that the look in Jiang Wanyin’s eyes isn’t anger or frustration, isn’t his normal disagreeableness. It’s something deeper, older.

Like a young man staring into a campfire, unable to hide his fear that the brother he is searching for might be dead already.

If Lan Wangji didn’t know it was impossible, he’d almost wonder if in this moment Jiang Wanyin can see the same future Lan Wangji sees—the day when everything Wei Ying had built came crashing down around him and killed nearly everyone he loved. Dragged him down with it.

Jiang Wanyin doesn’t know the future, of course. But he knows the past. He watched his home fall to the Wens, lost his parents and his clan. Stood beside Lan Wangji when Wei Ying first reemerged from the Burial Mounds, a dark shadow of his former self.

For the first time, Lan Wangji wonders if Jiang Wanyin would even believe him if Lan Wangji told him that once, in another life, he meant to kill Wei Ying in rage.

“You never listen,” Jiang Wanyin says, and it sounds sad under the petulance, resigned.

“Ah Cheng,” Jiang Yanli prods gently, “Ah Xian—this isn’t the time to argue. We won’t be here much longer. There’s no point in getting angry at each other.”

“He started it,” Wei Ying sulks.

“Wei Wuxian—” Jiang Wanyin growls.

“Ah Cheng!” Jiang Yanli interrupts, a different sternness in her voice, and Jiang Wanyin drops his gaze and looks chastened.

No, it wasn’t only rage, Lan Wangji acknowledges. It was grief.

And if Lan Wangji can adjust the course of time, neither one of them will have to experience the grief that turned Jiang Wanyin nearly to murder and drove Wei Wuxian to his death. 

Jiang Yanli turns back to Wei Ying. He, too, seems to shrink apologetically. “Ah Xian,” she says. “Tell me about where you’re living. Are you getting enough to eat?”

The tension eases again as Jiang Yanli engages Wei Ying in a discussion of radishes and how sick of them he is. She even manages to offer a few suggestions on how to prepare them differently so that they’ll taste less like the same thing over and over, which seems to cheer Wei Ying up greatly.

Meanwhile Lan Wangji finds himself observing Jiang Wanyin, and another instance of that uncharacteristically gentle expression with which he watches Wei Ying and Jiang Yanli discuss radish recipes and better ways to store vegetables to keep them from spoiling. Lan Wangji once again thinks of the days when they traveled together, searching for Wei Ying. The deep worry Lan Wangji could sense in Jiang Wanyin’s every movement. How tightly he hugged Wei Ying to him when they found him, in spite of the darkness in him. In a way, that had made it seem so much colder when Jiang Wanyin had apparently cast Wei Ying out without a second thought, abandoning him for the sake of his reputation, to curry favor with the stronger clan leaders.

It’s odd to think that there might be someone out there who is as afraid for Wei Ying’s safety in the Burial Mounds as Lan Wangji was in the other past, when he himself stayed on the outside. That in spite of all that Lan Wangji remembers about what once happened, the Jiang Wanyin he once traveled with is still here, searching for his brother.

He turns his attention back to the soup. He may be willing to admit that Jiang Wanyin might not be as irredeemable as he had assumed, but he still doesn’t need to be caught staring at the man. And there isn’t much he can do with these revelations, except be glad there might—might—genuinely be one enemy fewer out there than he thought.

It is Jiang Wanyin who, after another short while, says, “I think it’s time.” It sounds calm and resigned.

Lan Wangji can see the flicker of a pout cross Wei Ying’s face, but then he puts on a brave and cheerful face. “That’s right. You should get back to Lotus Pier before nightfall. And we have, like, shopping to take home. Dinner stuff. People are waiting for us.”

“I’m sure they are,” Jiang Wanyin says, the bite back in his voice, and for a moment the two of them stare at each other as if weighing whether to go down the path of insults again. Then, by some silent agreement—Lan Wangji is always surprised when either of them manages to do something silently—they let it go.

“It was lovely seeing you again, Hanguang-jun,” Jiang Yanli says, her smile shy and genuine. He remembers now how she once faced off with Jin Zixun and even stood up to her future mother-in-law to protect Wei Ying. But so much about her is warm and gentle that Lan Wangji can only hope Jiang Wanyin will look out for her well, while he keeps Wei Ying safe in the Burial Mounds.

“You honor me, Lady Jiang,” Lan Wangji replies and shows her a little bow. “My apologies for intruding on your family reunion.”

“Wasn’t the soup great?” Wei Ying beams at him proudly. “I’m so glad you got to try it, Lan Zhan. Sucks that I never got to take you to Yunmeng, but at least now you’ve experienced one of its best things!”

“And now I’ll have to go all the way to Lanling whenever I want to eat it,” Jiang Wanyin complains as he hands Jiang Yanli his soup bowl.

“Hey, at least you can go,” Wei Ying says.

“Well, there are some benefits to not saving the world farming radishes,” Jiang Wanyin counters.

It hits Lan Wangji in that moment, with Jiang Yanli once again gently reining in the bickering, that he could— perhaps should— A warning. A caution.

Jiang Yanli will be in Unicorn Tower. She should not be in danger, not directly. But she is so important to Wei Ying, and that court is full of intrigue and Jin Guangshan’s hunger for the Yin Tiger Seal and its power, and Lan Wangji only has Mian Mian to keep him informed. Perhaps Jiang Wanyin should know— not the future, but that there is something to guard against.

Jiang Wanyin is not an enemy. Not yet. Not anymore.

Perhaps he never will be.

And the thought is suddenly there, surprising, ill-fitting, a strange urgent shape knocking against what he used to know— Could he be an ally, too?

They’re packing up, Wei Ying and Jiang Wanyin not obstructing exactly, but not hurrying things along either. There seems an unspoken awareness in the air that it might be a long while before they can see each other again. How often can a sect leader and the wife of a sect leader's heir sneak away and find a merchant’s house just abandoned enough for a family lunch?

Jiang Wanyin and Jiang Yanli will be leaving, and Wei Ying and Lan Wangji will return to the camp, cut off from the world except for gossip in town and Mian Mian’s secret letters.

And Jiang Wanyin will be out there, seeing things. Knowing things.

If Lan Wangji wants to act, he has to—

“Sect Leader Jiang,” Lan Wangji says. His heart is beating a bit faster, louder. He isn’t afraid, but he also isn’t used to making such decisions quickly. And certainly not when they’re about a man he despised until a few short months ago.

Jiang Wanyin is looking at him, a wary shadow crossing over his features.

Lan Wangji tries not to clear his throat, not to betray any nervousness as he stands up, and gestures. “May I have a word with you?”

“Ah, um,” Wei Ying says, more loudly than you’d think such a sound could be, and he jumps up, almost as if he’s ready to throw himself across the table to stand between them. “Lan Zhan—”

Wei Ying’s response seems to make Jiang Wanyin more suspicious as well. He rises, and Lan Wangji can see his fingers twitch, though he neither moves for his sword nor lets Zidian flash. “Sure,” he says, in the same tone he might use to agree to a duel with an inferior opponent. “I don’t mind having a word.”

The alarm is still written bright on Wei Ying’s face. “Jiang Cheng—”

“It is nothing to worry about,” Lan Wangji tells him in a calm tone, waiting until Wei Ying is facing him again, then underwriting his point with a steady look. “I have an apology to make regarding a private matter.” He lets that hang there, drawing on the brothers' apparent determination to keep the altercation between him and Jiang Wanyin from Jiang Yanli.

"Oh. Okay," Wei Ying says. There's even a spark in his eyes as he thinks he understands, the way he lights up when he’s figured out something. He seems to consider this an unexpected but welcome turn of events. "I'll help Shijie, then?”

“Yes, please do,” Lan Wangji says. He gives Jiang Yanli another faint nod. “Please excuse us, Lady Jiang.”

She smiles back at him, as if she at least isn’t at all worried that whatever business Lan Wangji has will be anything but polite and non-violent.

“Right, but don’t go out of sight,” Wei Ying says to Lan Wangji, carefully bright. Then, to Jiang Wanyin, “And don’t be an asshole!”

Jiang Wanyin opens his mouth, but Lan Wangji cuts him off. “We’ll just be over here,” he says, and leads the way to the furthest corner of the courtyard. It will have to do.

There, he turns to face Jiang Wanyin, who to his credit has followed him without making any further fuss.

Then they stare at each other. It’s a little strange to look at the man and not feel the rumblings of anger. To think that maybe, Jiang Wanyin could be on his side.

After a moment, Jiang Wanyin frowns and says, “Well?”

“Well what?” Lan Wangji asks.

Jiang Wanyin raises his chin. “Weren’t you going to make an apology?”

“No,” Lan Wangji says. He sees Jiang Wanyin blink in confusion and adds, “But I will issue one if one is required.”

“I don’t give a single fuck for your apology,” Jiang Wanyin says, spite flowing free as water from a spring. “You said you had a private matter, what the—” Then he stops himself, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Required for what?”

Lan Wangji’s heart is picking up, just slightly. He isn’t used to this. He didn’t plan for this. He just… changed his mind about this irritating, aggressive man, and followed an instinct.

Talking has never come easily to him. So many moments in his life when the ground was shifting under him, and he could offer nothing but silence.

This isn’t that, though. This is Jiang Wanyin, and a question, a warning, and possibly some brief humbling, if Jiang Wanyin chooses to be a nitwit. He just needs to open his mouth. “I have a favor to ask of you.”

Jiang Wanyin’s eyebrows arch upwards. “What sort of favor?”

Lan Wangji meets his eyes steadily. “I have reason to believe that Jin Guangshan and others among the higher ranks of the cultivation world present a danger to us.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Jiang Wanyin says.

Lan Wangji draws in a tight breath, refusing to be baited or sidetracked. Keeps his calm. Attitude doesn’t matter here, results do. “I have reason to believe, specifically, that Jin Guangshan wishes to possess the Yin Tiger Seal. And I believe that he will take steps that would put not only us, but others, perhaps even your sister, in danger in order to get it.”

Something flickers in Jiang Wanyin’s eyes—a worry, something slotting into place, and he seems to forget to be bad-tempered for a moment. “What makes you think that?”

“I can’t tell you that,” Lan Wangji says. “But it doesn’t matter.”

“It doesn’t matter?” Jiang Wanyin glares, but the concern is still there under the habitual bluster. Lan Wangji is getting better at recognizing it. “You can’t just say that my sister will be in danger and then not tell me where the hell you’ve got this from.” He’s almost hissing, trying to keep his voice low.

Lan Wangji tries to think quickly, adjust, without letting it show on his face. “I do not have information about an immediate threat against your sister. I would tell you if I did.” He waits just long enough to let Jiang Wanyin register that, without leaving him time to interrupt. “But she will be in Unicorn Tower while forces at the Jin court are operating against Wei Ying. I believe you, too, have a stake in being watchful, in more ways than one.”

Jiang Wanyin is still eyeing him suspiciously, though Lan Wangji can see the disquiet in him beneath the surface. “Look,” Jiang Wanyin huffs. “You can’t give me some big mystery speech and ask me to—” He blinks again, deep lines furrowing his brow. “What do you actually want from me here?”

Good. Lan Wangji likes clarity. “I would like you to be on your guard,” he says. “And I want to ask you to stay in contact with me about the state of the outside world, within Unicorn Tower and in general. I would appreciate it if you could keep me appraised of any developments at the Jin court, any possible moves against Wei Ying and the Wens, and specifically any suspicious movements on the part of Jin Guangshan.”

Jiang Wanyin’s eyes widen, incredulously. “You’re asking me to be your spy?”

“If you prefer to call it that,” Lan Wangji says.

“I can’t believe you’re— You want me to feed you information?” Jiang Cheng demands. “Why should I trust you? This is preposterous.” He’s shaking his head, but Lan Wangji notes that he is still standing here, waiting. Listening.

It’s deep in his bones, a reluctance to argue. Nothing that is black or white, right or wrong, ever needs to be broken down and examined, put back together in an argument that convinces despite flaws and gaps and contradictions. He wasn’t raised for it, and it doesn’t come naturally to him. “I can’t tell you more than what I just told you,” he says, to the predictable flare of annoyance in Jiang Wanyin’s eyes. “I barely know more than this myself. I’m asking you to trust me.”

“Trust you,” Jiang Wanyin echoes.

“On this, yes,” Lan Wangji says. “I think you know you can.”

Jiang Wanyin looks at him critically. For half of what he wants, Lan Wangji could let it go at that. Jiang Wanyin will be on his guard, even if he doesn’t go out of his way to keep Lan Wangji informed.

“We fought together once,” he says. It’s not easy to say, and feels cheap, as if he is holding this up as some sort of leverage. But it’s true nonetheless. “You know that I care deeply for Wei Ying’s safety. You must know that I am here because I want to ensure that no harm comes to him.”

Jiang Wanyin exhales in irritation, somewhere between a huff and a snort. But when he stops shaking his head and looks straight at Lan Wangji, there’s something clear and sharp in his gaze. “Maybe,” he concedes. Irritation is still hovering around him, his own little haze of resentment clouds. “But I’m not spying for you, Lan Wangji.” Lan Wangji finds it hard to decide if it’s the spying or that it’s supposed to be for him that has Jiang Wanyin more annoyed.

Lan Wangji raises his arms in front of him and makes a polite circle, lowering his head smoothly. To Wei Ying and Jiang Yanli, it would look like the conclusion to the apology he announced. “Sect Leader Jiang,” he says, in his most diplomatic voice. “I mean you no disrespect. I ask because I can see that you, too, are concerned for Wei Ying’s welfare. I believe that you, like me, wish for a peaceful end to this entrenching stalemate.”

Jiang Wanyin frowns, looking suspicious at Lan Wangji’s formality and decorum. “I thought you two were just going to lay low in the Burial Mounds for good. Kill anyone who comes. Isn’t that what the plan was?”

Lan Wangji stares at him silently. He isn’t sure how to respond to this—he wouldn’t like to sound as if he’s not supportive of Wei Ying, certainly not to someone with whom Wei Ying has such a complicated relationship. But he also does not think it will be effective to pretend that he subscribes completely to Wei Ying’s view and optimism. “I believe that it is likely that the situation will become more complicated than Wei Ying currently hopes. I would like to be as ready as I can be when it does. I would like to have some warning.”

Jiang Wanyin doesn’t say anything for a moment, doesn’t even project annoyance. He gives Lan Wangji an appraising look. Whatever answer he had expected, that doesn’t seem to have been it.

“I can’t be seen writing to you,” he says then. “Even if there isn’t some evil plot going on somewhere, it’ll be my head on the chopping block if any of the other sect leaders learn that I’m passing information to people in the Burial Mounds. I have a responsibility to my people and to my sister. Coming here today was enough of a risk as it is.”

“I can be reached at the Yiling post office under the name Xiao Xiang,” Lan Wangji says. “If you take a few other precautions, the chance of anyone discovering we are in contact will be minimal.”

Jiang Wanyin narrows eyes at him, still looking irritable. But he also seems to be having difficulty coming up with any further objections, which is perhaps the reason for his irritability. “I’ll think about it,” he says gruffly.

Lan Wangji nods his acceptance. “That is all I ask.”

Jiang Wanyin makes a small, disdainful noise, like “all he asks” is quite a bit. But then he turns to go.

“Wait,” Lan Wangji says quickly, taking a step towards him. Jiang Wanyin stops, turns halfway back to him with an impatient frown. “Please, regardless of whether or not you choose to contact me… don’t mention this to Wei Ying.”

A curious look crosses Jiang Wanyin’s face at that, and for a moment Lan Wangji is afraid he’s going to ask him why. He starts to open his mouth.

“Jiang Cheng!” Wei Ying calls over to them. He’s standing behind the picnic table, the challenge in his expression familiar. “What, are you boring Lan Zhan with embarrassing childhood stories or something?” He's clearly playacting at provocation, but there’s a hint of worry underneath. The basket has been packed up. Jiang Yanli has put her cloak on, though she hasn’t yet pulled up the hood.

“Oh, shut up,” Jiang Wanyin says, loud enough it carries over.

Wei Ying nods, apparently reassured by this response. “It’ll get dark soon,” he adds in a more somber tone, like he doesn’t want to admit it.

Jiang Wanyin turns back to Lan Wangji and meets his eyes for a moment. Gives him a curt nod.

Lan Wangji’s heart thumps sharply. That will have to be enough for now.

“All right, Jie, let’s get going,” Jiang Wanyin says as he marches ahead of Lan Wangji, back to where his sister is waiting.

They say their final goodbyes, and then Wei Ying and Lan Wangji hang back inside the courtyard as Jiang Yanli and Jiang Wanyin turn to go. Wei Ying looks like he’s just barely keeping a grip on himself, and Lan Wangji stays close to him, trying to give him whatever support he needs as he watches them leave. In his right hand, Wei Ying is clutching a delicate green and white tassel with a charm shaped like the lotus of the Jiang Clan on it. It’s twisted between his fingers like a lifeline.

As the heavy door swings shut, Lan Wangji can’t help reaching for him—a hand on his elbow, lightly, just to let Wei Ying know he’s there. Wei Ying draws in a sharp breath at the touch and turns to look at him, blinking a couple of times and swiping at his cheek with his empty hand. He gives Lan Wangji a grateful smile.

“I can’t believe she’s marrying that stupid peacock,” he murmurs, laughing a bit, though it comes out slightly choked. “And I can’t even be there to make sure he knows she’s too good for him.”

Lan Wangji doesn’t know what to say, so he just stays close. Wei Ying remains subdued and thoughtful, a lotus in one hand and Lan Wangji at the other, even as they make their way home.

Chapter Text

"Lan Zhan!" Wei Ying's voice comes strong and bright from behind him. Lan Wangji sees Ah Yuan jump, then break into a grin.

Lan Wangji turns from his washing board and the rough brown robe he is scrubbing, to find Wei Ying leaning against the railing at the other end of the porch, his flute twirling between his fingers. His smile sends the predictable swell of warmth through Lan Wangji, tempered by a few months of exposure and the distinct feeling that Wei Ying is up to something.

"Brother Xian called you," Ah Yuan informs him, making his whittled wooden horse gallop up Lan Wangji's arm. He's been very good all morning sitting by Lan Wangji's side and not interfering with the laundry, only extracting a story about an emperor boy and his pet dragon. And he was very forgiving of Lan Wangji's shortcomings as a storyteller, providing most of the plot himself.

"Yes, he did," Lan Wangji acknowledges. "I wonder what Brother Xian wants?" He turns his head toward Wei Ying again, whose smile has gotten wider, the twirl of his flute more suggestive of clever plans.

"Can you come with me for a moment? I want your opinion on a thing."

The secretive sparkle of his eyes suggests there will be no better explanation forthcoming. Lan Wangji puts down the wet robe and scans the courtyard. Everyone outside is busy, as is normal. Another crop of radishes is ready and most people are working together harvesting, apart from Grandmother Wen and Wen Liu who are doing the cooking, and Lan Wangji, who was asked by Wen Yue to help wash out a few stains that require a particularly forceful scrubbing.

A brief soak won't harm the clothes, he figures. "In a moment," he tells Wei Ying, drying his hands. Then he picks up Ah Yuan and carries him over to Grandmother Wen.

It's a warm day. He can feel the evidence of his efforts in the dampness of his robes, the sun shining on his back. The perpetual autumn of the Burial Mounds is still holding, the cool evenings balancing out the gradually warming days, but with Wei Ying's papermen holding back the resentment clouds over the camp, Lan Wangji can feel that outside of their little world, spring has come.

"Can I leave him with you?" Lan Wangji asks Grandmother Wen, who nods with a smile. "He'd be underfoot in the fields."

"Of course, Young Master, put him right here," she says, patting the space beside her stool. The breach in the barrier was three months ago. Wen Qing's excellent medical skills made sure Grandmother Wen’s hip healed well, but she's only been moving entirely on her own for two weeks, still gingerly. She wouldn't be able to run after a rowdy child, but with Wen Liu nearby for emergencies it should be all right.

As Lan Wangji lowers him to the ground, Ah Yuan tries to pull up one of his short legs with his arms. "I'm not underfoot."

"No, you have been very good," Lan Wangji praises him. "And you'll listen to your grandmother and not keep her from the cooking, won’t you."

"Come here," Grandmother Wen smiles at him. "You can help me taste lunch."

Ah Yuan nods earnestly, though it's unclear which of their statements he's responding to. Lan Wangji nods his thanks to Grandmother Wen and turns back towards where Wei Ying is waiting.

Wei Ying has a restless air about him, but doesn't complain about the wait. He takes Lan Wangji by the arm and tugs him towards the outlying radish fields. Right before they reach it, however, Wei Ying takes a sharp left onto one of the little footpaths leading into the forest, where the Wens don't like to go.

Lan Wangji is curious, but patient enough to wait and follow. The little path takes them halfway around the mountain. As they round a wide bend, he first sees a slapdash fence made from twigs, a few talismans hanging from it, and then beyond that what looks like a little enclosure of… weeds?

Wei Ying tugs at his arm again as they get closer, excitement rolling off him. "Look!" he says proudly, waving with a flourish at the weeds spread out in front of them. Lan Wangji enjoys seeing him like this, though he doesn't understand the significance of the weeds.

"You've found some type of spiritual grass?" he ventures.

"Ha!" Wei Ying says, grinning at Lan Wangji with the full force of his confidence. "It's potatoes."

Lan Wangji looks at the weeds, the fencing, the talismans. The winding path behind them, where the Wens would never wander. Not even Wen Qing, without a sword.

Wei Ying has a secret potato field.

"I got them the day we ran into Jiang Cheng in town," Wei Ying says, then blinks. “I mean, that first time, a couple of weeks ago. With the—” He waves his arm, imitating how someone might perhaps hit someone else in the stomach with a sword sheath. Lan Wangji can feel his skin turning a little warm. "You remember?"

Yes. Lan Wangji nods. It was quite memorable. About ten weeks ago, when it was still winter.

Wei Ying grabs Lan Wangji by the sleeve again and drags him past the fence. He walks right out into the middle of the garden and kneels down on the ground, his fingers skimming through the potato weeds as if he is petting them. "I only bought four because that's all I could afford without tipping off Wen Qing, but they seem to have sprouted well. I think they're ready now, so I wanted to show you." He looks exceedingly pleased with himself, here in this dirt patch in the middle of the eternally dying forest, with his secret potatoes, and Lan Wangji has to rein himself in to not let the fondness spreading through his chest show on his face.

"Congratulations," he says, examining the plants. He has about as much experience with potatoes as he had with radishes when they first arrived, so he must take Wei Ying at his word that these are ready.

"Thanks!" Wei Ying says brightly. "And, um, I was wondering if you'd help me dig them up. If they all turned out well we could have them for dinner tonight."

Lan Wangji nods. Of course he will help.

"Also," Wei Ying says, looking up from under his brow with earnest eyes that make Lan Wangji think of Ah Yuan. "Protect me. If it comes to it."

~      ~      ~

They dig up the potatoes carefully, using a pair of tree branches to help. It isn't that many, so they don't find it necessary to go back for tools or a basket.

Wei Ying is so delighted with every tuber they unearth that Lan Wangji likes the potatoes simply on account of that, though he is getting a little concerned that Wen Qing might actually stab Wei Ying with needles if he brings the potatoes back with this much triumph.

It's nice to work together anyway. Wei Ying spends most days in the cave doing work that only he can do, while Lan Wangji picks up any task around the camp that can benefit from his strength and patience for precision. So he takes some pleasure in this rare joint project, even if it is digging around in the dirt. At one point, he feels a fleeting awareness of what someone who knew him before all of this would say if they saw him harvesting potatoes in the Burial Mounds and feeling happy about it. But it's easy to let go.

It's cooler here, the sunlight dimmed by the usual grey fog. Wei Ying hasn't taken the trouble to clear the resentment clouds here, or perhaps the small size of the place doesn't make it worthwhile, so it feels rather more like the eternal autumn of the Burial Mounds in this garden than in the main camp. Out here, it might even still frost over from time to time, the way the radish fields did on the coldest evenings of winter.

As the nightly chill has lost its edge, Wei Ying has stopped crawling into Lan Wangji’s bed. Lan Wangji knows that’s a good thing overall, as he wants Wei Ying to be comfortable in his sleep. But he can’t help feeling wistful when he thinks of that whole armful of another person, Wei Ying's unreserved closeness, the feeling of being able to shield and shelter him with nothing but his arms and his own warm body.

There is an element of self-torture to it, true, with the feelings that holding Wei Ying like that stirs in him and the fact that his own body is both younger and more reckless, less willing to subjugate its wants beneath meditation and self-control. But beyond his helpless desire for Wei Ying, he misses that closeness, the chaste press of their bodies against one another. It seems to settle an ache, fill an emptiness of which he’d only ever been dimly aware, his skin absorbing the nearness like dry ground softening in a spring rain. The touch itself seems to ground him, calm him, in a way he’d never realized that innocent contact with another person could.

So much is different here, in the way people are with each other. Even with him. Not just Wei Ying, and how easily he’ll brush his hand over Lan Wangji’s hand or back—he has always been like that. There is less distance all around, and more casual touch than he’s ever known. Grandmother Wen absent-mindedly patting his arm when he learned to sew a straight line, the bumping of shoulders as he helps Wen Yunlan to move something heavy, or the contact of Wen Liu’s fingers against his as she deposits Ah Yuan in his arms.

Ah Yuan most of all, the way he easily and unselfconsciously likes to hang off Lan Wangji when Lan Wangji is watching him. He’ll grab Lan Wangji around the knees, wanting to be lifted up and carried, or climb onto Lan Wangji’s lap and wrap his arms around Lan Wangji’s neck, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

All of it would seem so strange to his old self, and yet now it is as familiar as breathing. Like something has slotted into place and the air moves more easily around him, the world holds him more firmly.

Sometimes he wonders how he ever lived without it.

He’s not even sure anymore if such physical distance was something he chose, or just a habit of his upbringing, passed down from father to son like an heirloom and never questioned.

He recalls one time for sure, when he was still small, and he was very cold, his fingers so frozen that they burned. Brother was sitting beside him, and held Lan Wangji’s hands in his own folded ones, trying to warm them up. When they were warmed a bit, he put an arm around Lan Wangji’s shoulders and tugged him close, held him—awkwardly, because he was quite small himself. Lan Wangji doesn't remember it as much of a hug, but he recalls that he was upset at the time, so he might not have noticed. He doesn't remember why he was upset, only that he was, terribly. He doesn’t remember why he was so cold, either.

It was a very long time ago.

His mother…  his mother would have hugged him. Wouldn't she? She was warm, and he remembers her smile. He remembers sitting next to her in the Silent Room and her fingers brushing through his hair as he showed her his schoolwork. And she would… in greeting or in leaving… she would have hugged him, wouldn't she? At the edges of his mind there is the sense of being home, of warmth, and by now he knows she was not very good at being a Lan.

You have more of your mother in you.

The memories ripple and slide, like reflections of light in his peripheral vision, slipping away as soon as he reaches for them. He stares down at the earth and finds he doesn't remember what it was like to come in when he visited her, or how they said their goodbyes. It's all white, like snow, like rabbits, like his old robes, and he can't fill it with color.

He can't tell if it's gone, or if it was never there. If he’s forgotten, or if it’s only that no one ever held him like that once he was old enough to remember.

~      ~      ~

Lan Wangji offers up his spiritual pouch for carrying the potatoes back to camp. Wei Ying seems to have misgivings as Lan Wangji holds the pouch open for him to drop them in, but Lan Wangji merely says, "You don't want to lose any of them, do you?"

Wei Ying doesn't, it seems, and so he loads them all in one by one, and they move their haul of dirty potatoes back in the last vestiges of Lan finery that Lan Wangji still wears on his person. Lan Wangji would have expected to feel wistful about this, but instead he finds it strangely satisfying.

When they get back to the camp, Wen Ning and Wen Yunlan are just finishing stacking up sacks of radishes on the cart, while a few others are carrying armloads of harvested radishes to the storeroom. Wen Qing and Fourth Uncle are in conversation near the cart, and they look up as Wei Ying and Lan Wangji approach.

Wei Ying is walking with a bounce in his step, his hands clasped behind his back, his hair swinging against his shoulders. Walking behind him, Lan Wangji can imagine the gleeful depth of his smile. He envies Wen Qing somewhat for her resilience to it, as she merely regards Wei Ying with a suspiciously raised eyebrow.

"What do you want?" she asks.

"Look what Lan Zhan brought!" Wei Ying says, gesturing at Lan Wangji with both arms as if he is presenting him to entertain with acrobatics in the town square. "Lan Zhan! Show them!"

Obediently, Lan Wangji takes the spiritual pouch from inside his robes and opens it, holding it in front of Wen Qing and Fourth Uncle for a look.

"Wei Wuxian!" Wen Qing says, with a glare so fierce she might not need to pull out her needles. It still gives Lan Wangji the strong urge to place himself between them in defense when he sees her regard Wei Ying in anger, but he has observed enough conversations about planting preferences at this point that he feels relatively certain how this will end. "I have told you a hundred times!"

In any case, Wei Ying steps behind Lan Wangji's shoulder all by himself, using him as a human shield.

"But look at them!" Wei Ying says over Lan Wangji's shoulder. "They came out amazing! I was totally right!"

"If that was why you kept coming back allegedly not finding the string—"

"I only bought four!" Wei Ying says, skillfully sidestepping the string question. Lan Wangji knows they really did fail to find string at least three of those times, but he can’t vouch for the others. "And, look, we can have such a nice dinner. Wen Ning!"

Lan Wangji blinks, peering around to see what Wen Ning might have done to warrant this change of direction. Wen Ning is still standing next to the radish cart, looking equally confused.

Wei Ying sweeps over to him and slings an arm around his shoulders. "Wen Ning, you like potatoes, right?" he says, with that wildly encouraging expression. "You want to have something other than radishes for dinner, right? It'll be sooooo good." He tilts his head back, eyes closing briefly with an expression of pleasure, like he’s just stepped into a hot bath.

Lan Wangji feels a little pang.

Wen Ning looks as if he is staring at an army of puppets and not knowing where to move. "Young M-master, I, din-dinner…" His eyes dart over to his sister, then back to Wei Ying, who is still smiling expectantly. "I…"

Wen Qing sighs so loudly Lan Wangji hears it over Wen Ning's stutters. She has her hands on her hips, her brow furrowed darkly but her mouth twitching. "Leave him alone," she says, though her tone is somewhere between scolding and warmth. "Take your potatoes to Granny and tell her to lay off the radishes for tonight."

Wei Ying makes a triumphant noise. He pats Wen Ning on the shoulder as he lets him go, then darts back to Lan Wangji and puts an arm around Lan Wangji's shoulders instead. "You heard the lady, Lan Zhan!" he says, while Lan Wangji absorbs the shock of Wei Ying's body all along his, so suddenly. That, too, is softer now after all these months, and many of those cold nights in winter. Almost like it's a normal part of his life now. "Let's get this set up for dinner!"

Wen Qing gives Lan Wangji a compassionate look, then shakes her head and returns to her discussion with Fourth Uncle.

Wei Ying lets go of Lan Wangji’s shoulders and grabs him by the arm instead, half dragging, half pushing Lan Zhan and his spiritual pouch full of potatoes towards the Great Hall. "This is going to be so great!"

~      ~      ~

Lan Wangji carefully unfolds his legs in front of him, stretching them against the mild soreness from an afternoon of ploughing. The sky is too dark, too covered for stars, but the campfire sends sparkles into the air now and then. Next to him Wei Ying is making happy noises as he alternately savors his potato and the wine Fourth Uncle volunteered for what has turned into a spontaneous party.

They moved the chairs out of the Great Hall, Wen Yunlan set up a big fire in center of the courtyard, and they all formed a large circle. Everyone got one potato carefully roasted over the fire by Wen Ning and a small portion of potatoes fried with their leftover meat, and Grandmother Wen made a slightly sweetened mash of the rest for dessert. It isn't that much food, but there's a sense of appreciation and excitement in the air, as if the new dishes and the milder nights are making everyone feel adventurous.

Lan Wangji likes the gentle flavors of the potato variations, and he's grown used to the anarchic elements of these meals, like everyone packing up chairs and tableware and camping outside. It feels very peaceful.

"She thought onions were the work of evil spirits," Fourth Uncle is saying over his little bowl of fried potatoes, the fire’s warmth or the wine darkening his cheeks. "We had to pick them all out or disguise them really well, or my sister couldn't get her to eat anything."

"Disguise them?" Wen Qing says, her eyes big in the firelight. "That is horrible treason. I can't believe you would reveal this to me so casually." Next to her Wen Ning laughs, and Wen Qing turns and pinches his ear. "Don't you dare laugh at your big sister. They gave me hidden onions!"

Wen Ning pulls in his head, hiding his smile behind his bowl. He still moves with a lot of shyness. In the playful light of the campfire, you wouldn’t even know he’d been brought back from the brink of death, left with the scars to prove it.

"You were a very sweet girl," Grandmother Wen says, much fondness in her face. She, too, has had a little wine, and it brings two red spots to her cheeks. "But very peculiar about onions."

At this Wen Qing herself laughs, averting her gaze on sudden embarrassment. "I did grow out of it," she says, stubbornly. Lan Wangji thinks that like everybody else, she has had a little more wine than usual this evening.

It is strange to think of her as a little girl afraid of onions. Of course they were all children once, but she has been so sure of herself, so undisputedly an authority that it's hard to imagine her doing something as silly or self-indulgent as refusing a particular kind of vegetable.

He looks over at Wei Ying and finds Wei Ying's eyes on him, sparkling in the firelight. He raises what is left of his roasted potato, and Lan Wangji isn't quite sure what question or greeting this is supposed to be, but he smiles anyway, a happy tug in his heart.

“I miss onions,” Wen Liu sighs, staring at the campfire.

"Onions would be nice, " Fourth Uncle agrees.

"They would," Granny Wen says with the sadness of a hampered cook. "But we mustn’t be greedy."

"Nothing like three months of radishes to make you appreciate a good old potato," Fourth Uncle says. Lan Wangji doesn't need to turn his head to feel the glee coming off Wei Ying.

"Yes," Granny Wen says, an unusually sly look to her as she ponders her own bowl. "How strange and fortunate that there were suddenly potatoes…”

"All right, all right!" Wen Qing says. She holds up both hands, one of them still holding her wine cup, as if she is trying to quieten a crowd. The crowd doesn't go quite silent but there is definitely attention turning their way from all over the courtyard, a still, eager moment as she waits, and looks at Wei Ying. Lan Wangji doesn't quite understand. She leans forward slightly, something momentous hanging in the air. "The potatoes… are good!" Her eyes crease with laughter and she toasts Wei Ying, who makes a triumphant noise.

There are flickers of laughter and gentle ribbing from all sides of the circle as Wen Qing sways in her seat, taking another sip from her bowl. For a brief moment, Lan Wangji feels an instinctive need to fade into the background, as if everyone is enjoying a joke that’s obvious to everyone but him. But it’s an old reflex. There’s nothing to hide from here.

"A drink to Young Master Wei and his secret potatoes!" Fourth Uncle says, and there are little cheers all around them.

"Wait, wait!" Wei Ying says, waving them off. They all stare, mid-toast, and he blinks. "No, of course we should all drink to that. Here goes!" He waves a hand for everyone to continue, and tosses back the contents of his wine cup. When he lowers his head again, he seems confused to find the cup empty.

He holds the cup out to Fourth Uncle for a refill, his free hand waving vaguely in explanation. "I just meant to say, Lan Zhan helped too!"

Lan Wangji feels his face flush at the sudden attention, even though Wei Ying is being kind, and he is by now used to people looking at him.

"He didn't know about the secret field," Wei Ying clarifies. "He's way too honorable for that. But he helped me dig them up and he carried all of them home!"

There were about fifty potatoes in total and they weighed less than Ah Yuan. Lan Wangji finds this less of a noteworthy contribution than all the scrounging and planting Wei Ying must have done, but the cups go up anyway.

"To Hanguang-jun and the secret potatoes!" Fourth Uncle says, to rumbling echoes all around them.

"You too, you too," Wei Ying encourages him with an eager dip of his head. "Your water!"

Lan Wangji is still feeling slightly warm, but he raises his cup of mango water as instructed.

He has never been anywhere where secret potatoes were the subject of toasts and cheers before, but it feels fitting.

"I'm impressed with your bravery, though," Fourth Uncle says to Wei Ying, with exaggerated weightiness. "You let Hanguang-jun harvest the precious potatoes…" There's a wine-induced twinkle to his eyes.

Lan Wangji blinks, swallows, not quite sure where this is going. Is there something untoward about harvesting potatoes together?

"Of course!" Wei Ying says. "It was much more fun than doing it alone."

"Hanguang-jun is very good at other aspects of farming," Wen Qing says, cradling her wine cup in her hands. "And I didn't see a single potato with its head snapped off. Perhaps it's only radishes he has a grudge against?"

A… grudge? Lan Wangji gives her a puzzled look. The smile she returns is twitchier than the respectful courtesy she usually shows towards him. All of a sudden, Lan Wangji feels on slightly slippery ground.

"I think, really, that's the fault of our radishes," Fourth Uncle says, with a thoughtful pinch to his brow. "We must grow them stronger, to withstand the power of Hanguang-jun." He flexes his arm, and Wen Qing's eyes crinkle up as she laughs, peering at Lan Wangji over her cup. Grandmother Wen is hiding a grin behind her sleeve, and Wen Liu lowers her eyes as she breaks into a smile. She must have turned many of his headless radishes into meals by now, Lan Wangji realizes.

Lan Wangji feels a flush in his face, a nervous flutter inside his chest as he tries to think how one is meant to respond to something like this. This sort of teasing has only ever happened to other people. People less awkward than him. People who had friends.

"All right, all right," Wei Ying says, waving them off. He casts a careful look over at Lan Wangji, and Lan Wangji is surprised to see he’s not laughing with the rest of them. He looks troubled. "Stop teasing him."

Wen Qing's mouth is still twitching, her fond expression turning on Wei Ying. Fourth Uncle's laugh turns into a quiet chuckle.

Nobody but Wei Ying has ever teased Lan Wangji before, not like this. As if he's someone ordinary, not too stuck up to talk to, too aloof to like.

He doesn't want it to stop.

On a flush of daring, Lan Wangji puts his hand on Wei Ying's forearm gingerly, hoping that the touch won’t offend Wei Ying given how often they have slept on the same bed now. Wei Ying looks at him, still with that concern that stirs warmth in Lan Wangji's heart. "It's all right," Lan Wangji says quietly. "You can let them."

Wei Ying blinks in surprise, and Lan Wangji feels his flush deepen.

"I think… it's nice. I like it."

Wei Ying gives him a curious look, but then he seems to understand. Something in him seems to relax, a smile pulling at his lips. "Okay," he says. "I'm glad." And he does look glad, as if he, too, can feel something coming to rest out here around the campfire, with the secret potatoes.

~      ~      ~

"I think that'll be enough watering for today," Fourth Uncle says with a thoughtful look out over the radish field. His team of five people have concluded their last lanes and are all standing or sitting in a little clump at the top of the field, looking varying degrees of tired. Lan Wangji sets his last pair of full water buckets on the ground at Fourth Uncle’s feet and looks out at the watered seedlings.

"A good day's work," he says, and Fourth Uncle looks pleased as he stretches his back.

Lan Wangji is still allowed, technically, to help with the planting, but he has remained slow and precise, and since he tires less quickly than the others from carrying the water buckets back and forth, they've come to this distribution of labor. It suits him too. The walks back and forth from the stream are one of his more meditative tasks.

"Do you still want to use these two for the radishes, or should I take them for the laundry?" Wen Song asks from where she’s slumped on the ground, nodding at Lan Wangji's buckets.

"Nah, go ahead, take them," Fourth Uncle says. "We're done here for today."

It will still be a while before dinner. Lan Wangji could offer to help with the laundry, he supposes. But he saw Wei Ying going around the camp earlier trying to get people to test what looked like a stick of some kind—it’s unclear to Lan Wangji at this point exactly what the stick was supposed to do—and on his way into the woods to fill the water buckets, Lan Wangji heard the beginnings of a commotion in the great hall involving Wei Ying and Grandmother Wen's cooking. By the time he had returned to camp, Grandmother Wen was in a sour mood, and Wei Ying had settled himself on the roof of the western houses with his flute. So it seems Wei Ying might have some time on his hands.

Lan Wangji heads toward the western houses, smiling as he sees Ah Yuan running in an excited circle around Wen Liu, who is scrubbing radishes. Ah Yuan is animatedly telling her a story about a horse, and she’s nodding along indulgently, making sure he doesn’t trip over the paving stones. Wen Qing is nearby as well, hanging herbs from an unused laundry rack to dry, trying to keep them out of Ah Yuan’s reach, while Grandmother Wen seems to have gone back into the great hall.

High overhead, stretched out on the roof with one foot dangling over the side, is Wei Ying. He’s got his flute in one hand, but his attention is on the stick he was shopping around earlier, his mouth pursed in a small, thoughtful pout.

Lan Wangji just stands there for a moment, allowing himself time to appreciate this peaceful, if slightly mysterious, picture. "Wei Ying,” he says, after a breath. “Could I speak with you?"

Wei Ying's head turns to him immediately, and he sits up. "Lan Zhan!" he says, but then his brow furrows darkly. "If this is about Granny Wen, I already said it was an accident, and I apologized." He looks very put out, which suggests that whatever happened with Grandmother Wen, it was nothing serious.

"It’s not about Grandmother Wen,” Lan Wangji assures him. “I have a favor to ask of you."

"Oh!" Wei Ying lights up. He hops down from the roof, the disturbed air teasing the ends of Lan Wangji's hair, and then Wei Ying’s warm, beautiful smile is right in front of him. "What do you want me to do?"

"If you're not busy, I'd like to show you something," Lan Wangji says.

Wei Ying twirls the stick the way he sometimes does his flute. "Nope, I'm not busy at all. Definitely not doing anything useful," he says with a sulky look over his shoulder at Wen Qing, who looks up from her herbs to roll her eyes back at him. But Wei Ying's expression is energetic again as he turns back to Lan Wangji. "Where to?"

Lan Wangji leads him across the courtyard and into the woods, down the path to the stream where they catch their fish and fetch water for laundry and planting. It isn’t the same direction that Wei Ying led him when they went to the potato field a few days earlier, but he wonders if Wei Ying also felt this same slight shiver of nervousness as he led the way that day, the feeling of the quiet closing in around them, the hush of a shared a secret.

He steals a glance over at Wei Ying beside him on the narrow path, their shoulders nearly touching as they stay between the branches. Wei Ying is still twiddling the stick between his fingers and frowning at it slightly as if waiting for it to recite a classical poem.

Perhaps not.

"What happened with Grandmother Wen?" Lan Wangji asks, directing his gaze back toward the path ahead.

Wei Ying sighs and throws the little stick up into the air in front of him. Lan Wangji thinks he can see it… hover for a moment, before Wei Ying snatches it out of the air again. "I've been working on a new charm," he says, patting his chest. Lan Wangji assumes that means he's carrying the charm in his robes right now. "I've been thinking, building stuff involves so much heavy carrying, and you work so hard carrying the buckets all the time."

"I don't mind," Lan Wangji says.

"Yeah, but, it could be easier, right? So I've been working on trying to make things lighter. You know, make them float?" He tosses the stick again, and this time Lan Wangji definitely sees it hover for a moment before Wei Ying grabs it. "And I got this little thing to work, a little bit—but, you know, it's really very light and not all that useful."

The path winds around a corner. They're far enough from the camp now that Lan Wangji can feel the troubled shadows of the Burial Mounds at the edges of his consciousness, though Wei Ying has put up protections along the path to the stream and reinforces them roughly once per week.

He's beginning to suspect he knows where the tale of Wei Ying's new charm is going. "What were you trying to float in the air?" he asks.

"Well, I was trying to raise the big iron pot," Wei Ying says. "Because it would be so useful if that could be easier to lift, right? Only I was a little off in my aim, and kind of, accidentally, sort of, lifted up Granny Wen's robes."

Lan Wangji turns his head, his eyebrows rising in shock.

"They barely went past her knees!" Wei Ying says defensively, but he looks contrite. "But she was pretty startled, and Wen Qing chased me out of the great hall and told me I won't get any dinner if I keep trying to make things float, even though it would make so many things easier." The pout is back, and really quite endearing, though Lan Wangji feels a deep shudder of sympathy for Grandmother Wen’s embarrassment.

"Perhaps you ought to do as Lady Wen says," Lan Wangji hazards.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying sighs dramatically. "I was hoping at least you would have a little more faith in me." He turns a woeful gaze on the stick in his hands.

The words tug on Lan Wangji's heart, even though he knows Wei Ying is prone to exaggeration. "I have tremendous faith in you," he says.

Wei Ying blinks over at him. "Oh," he says, a flicker of guilt crossing his expression. "I know that. I mean. I was just talking. I don't really think—" He makes an exasperated noise and rubs a hand over his face, looking so flustered that the irrational ache in Lan Wangji's chest is replaced by warmth. "Forget I said anything?"

Lan Wangji feels himself smile. "It's all right," he says. "I understand."

Wei Ying shoots him cautious sideways look, but then seems to believe him.

They've made it down to the banks of the stream, a gentle curve where they usually come to get their water. Lan Wangji and Wen Yunlan built a small wooden platform jutting out into the water so they can get to where it's deep enough to fill the buckets without getting their feet wet. The stream itself isn't very wide, perhaps the width of two men's height. Sometimes narrower, shallow in places over pebbles and boulders, in others deep and slow.

Wei Ying looks curiously at the little pier, then at him, but Lan Wangji gestures further down the river bank.

"It is a little further," he says, taking the lead. The trail alongside the stream gets narrower as they move past the pier, overhung with branches, and Wei Ying has to shift to walking behind him. The dark energy is immediately more oppressive as they leave the extra protections of the main path, like a ghost might reach out for them any moment.

Lan Wangji walks slowly, holding brambles out of the way so they don’t snap into Wei Ying's face. With the way the stream bends and the forest thickens, they are out of sight of the little pier within five minutes’ walk.

As they push through the last layer of underbrush before a break in the trees, Lan Wangji finally stops. In front of them is a small, circular eddy jutting out from the side of the river, the water drifting through it so gently, it almost looks still. From where they stand, the ground slopes upwards and around to a squat, muddy cliff on the opposite side of the pool. There’s a large fallen tree lying half inside the pool, its roots sticking up above the water where they must have come loose from the eroding cliff some months or years ago. At the near side there are a few sturdy boulders along the edge, a natural bulwark.

Lan Wangji can feel Wei Ying's curiosity as he puzzles over the dead-end. "I came across this while I was looking for additional places for fishing," he explains. They do most of the fishing a little upstream of the water point, where the current runs slower and the water is deeper.

Wei Ying glances from Lan Wangji to the pool, skeptically. "Isn't this a bit small to hold a lot of fish?"

"I didn't mean this for fishing," Lan Wangji says. "I was thinking about bathing here." He feels a mild flush coming on, though it isn't because of the subject of bathing itself. After sleeping in the same room as Wei Ying for going on five months, and occasionally keeping him warm at night with his own body, it would be foolish if he could not discuss such things with Wei Ying. But Wei Ying is too intelligent and too perceptive not to see the connection to what Lan Wangji was accustomed to from his life in the Cloud Recesses, and letting Wei Ying see his nostalgia for such creature comforts makes Lan Wangji a little self-conscious.

Wei Ying is regarding the pool quietly, his bottom lip between his teeth. He gives Lan Wangji a guarded look. "This is…"

"It isn't the Cold Spring," Lan Wangji says. It's darker, and smaller, and quite honestly muddier. "But I would enjoy having a place to bathe and gather my thoughts that is private like this." Like everyone else, Lan Wangji has been washing with water they carry to the camp, in a space set out for it and shielded with cloth screens, far enough removed from the central courtyard that it affords some privacy, but close enough that the Wens are not bothered by spirits and dark energy. Lan Wangji doesn't mind the hard work, and any longing he might feel for the beauty and fineries of the Cloud Recesses is more than made up for by the warmth he has in his life now. But this…. he would like this. To have this. It would feel familiar.

"Yeah, I bet," Wei Ying says. He still looks thoughtful, and perhaps a little guilty. "Probably should have thought of this a while ago…"

"We had a lot of things to worry about," Lan Wangji says. "I came across this place by chance."

"Yeah," Wei Ying nods to himself. "Yeah, of course." Then he blinks. "What's the favor though? I mean, you don't think you need my permission, do you?" His eyes look big with worry, and Lan Wangji is almost overwhelmed with fondness.

He lets the smile through, weighs the joke for a brief moment, then says, "You may be the Yiling Patriarch, fearsome master of the Burial Mounds, but no, I do not think I need your permission to sit by myself in a river in the forest."

Wei Ying blinks again, before laughing a gentle, sheepish laugh. "Okay, good," he says. "So what do you need from me?"

Lan Wangji takes a few steps towards the edge of the pool, and Wei Ying follows him. As they move closer, it’s easy to see that the near side of the pool is shallow and smooth, the rocks shoring up the edge quite sturdy. It would be easy to step into the water here. "I would like your help with putting protections on this place," he says, motioning toward the trees along the shore.

"Oh, of course," Wei Ying says. "Yeah, you don't want to be interrupted by an angry ghost when you're looking for some peace and quiet!"

"Precisely," Lan Zhan nods. "Will you help me?"

"Totally," Wei Ying says brightly, as if Lan Wangji did him a favor instead of asking for one. "I'd love to."

~      ~      ~

Wei Wuxian gets to work. He always carries a bunch of spare protection talismans on him, so they start with those, setting up a perimeter on the near side of the river. Once those run out, he carves a few spells into some of the surrounding trees as reinforcements, and then plays a quick little tune to rouse any sleeping ghosts that might be hunkered down in the pool already.

There's a moment when the water stirs and Wei Wuxian's heart sinks. If there's some drowned child or vicious murderer who calls this pool home, Lan Zhan might not find it as appropriate for his relaxation and meditation even if Wei Wuxian manages to get rid of them. But then the black shadow rising from the water takes shape, a pointed snout at one end and a scraggly tail at the other, and shakes itself from slumber. It's just a cranky and, judging by the way it twirls to Wei Wuxian's music, slightly manic dead fox.

He turns to Lan Zhan, who’s been watching over Wei Wuxian’s shoulder. "How about you run back to the cave and get me some more talismans while I make peace with our foxy friend here?" he says. "It's the big stack next to the scythe. I think I left that split spoon on top of it."

Lan Zhan regards him for a moment, then dips his head. "I will find them," he says, and turns to go back up the little trail.

Wei Wuxian stares after him for a moment, and thinks that Lan Zhan blends into the underbrush much more quickly now than he would have in his sparkling white Lan robes. But—what, is he wistful over that now? The good old days, when Lan Zhan couldn’t camouflage into the haunted woods? Lan robes or no Lan robes, Lan Zhan looks impressive in any get-up. Anyway, it makes Wei Wuxian slightly guilty to think it, but he’s actually kind of pleased that Lan Zhan found this little place and wants it secured like this. It feels like Lan Zhan settling in, daring to make himself comfortable.

Lan Zhan works so hard, and he never wants anything for himself. Their lives here have started to feel almost normal and Wei Wuxian thinks so much of that is Lan Zhan's presence, keeping him steady even when he misses his sister and that asshole Jiang Cheng. Even when, despite his best efforts, he finds himself wondering about the future and can't really see beyond keeping a low profile and planting radishes, forever. Lan Zhan lets him sleep in his bed when he's cold. He even made his own new robes, which, honestly, shows Wei Wuxian up a little, because Wei Wuxian had to charm Granny Wen into making sure he had enough clothes to avoid having to go naked between laundry cycles. He does the laundry, he pushes the plow, he lets Wei Wuxian try out random experiments on him and he never even complains. He's been so good to Wei Wuxian. And then the one thing he ever asked for, Wei Wuxian couldn't give him.

So Wei Wuxian is damn well going to fix up this pool and make it the best fucking Burial Mounds  Fake Meditative Cold Spring it can be.

He sits on a nearby boulder and plays for the dead fox. The fox's mind is a little blurrier and a whole lot more frantic than Wei Wuxian is used to from your average human ghost, but he learns that the fox was caught in a trap, fell in the stream with a broken leg, and washed up here as it died. Most of the bones were washed away, but the fox isn't particular about having any sort of burial, fortunately. It’s just the unfair sting of the trap that's keeping it anchored here. Wei Wuxian calms it with some sympathy, then borrows one of Lan Zhan's soothing tunes, playing around with it until he can feel the frantic movements of the fox ghost stretching and slowing as the phantom pain eases. A few minutes after that, he’s able to send the creature on.

He stands and stretches, feeling pretty satisfied with his work. Lan Zhan's pool is officially ghost-free. He’s taking a couple of test swings at his own talismans to see how well they'll hold when he hears the rustle of Lan Zhan coming back down the overgrown trail.

Lan Zhan has brought what looks like about half the stack of talisman paper, which should definitely be enough to finish getting this place secured. The stream is narrow enough for even Wei Wuxian to make the jump without trouble, so he insists that they hop over to the other side and put up a few talismans there as well, just to be safe.

"It should be fine now," Lan Zhan says, after Wei Wuxian tests the protections with a constrained burst of energy from the Tiger Seal. Dusk is beginning to settle, and it never takes long for it to turn into darkness.

Wei Wuxian hums critically and pokes at one of the talismans stuck to a tree at his right. It still looks a little weak.

"Wei Ying," Lan Zhan says. "I will be fine. I do have a sword."

"I know,” Wei Wuxian says, “but you shouldn't be disturbed." He knows on some level that he’s probably being a bit ridiculous. Lan Zhan is right. If a really unusually strong spirit comes to bother him, Lan Zhan can defend himself. Short of putting up a whole barrier like the one they’ve got surrounding the camp, this is probably the best he can reasonably do.

He sighs and pushes back his shoulders. "Okay, fine,” he concedes, leaving the weak talisman where it is. “We can go with it like this. But if anything comes to bug you, you tell me, yes?"

"I promise I will inform you," Lan Zhan says. He looks quite serene and… like maybe he’s finding this funny?

Okay, right, maybe Wei Wuxian is being weirdly cautious here. He admits it with a sheepish look, and Lan Zhan is good to him as always and does not point out that he’s fussing like a worried grandma.

They make it back onto their side of the stream, and Lan Zhan tucks the leftover talisman paper into his robes as they survey their work. Under the cover of the trees, it's already quite dark. Wei Wuxian taps Lan Zhan's shoulder for another sheet of paper—“No more protections, I just can’t see,” he says, when Lan Zhan gives him a look—and quickly writes a slow-burning fire spell. The water of the pool sparkles black in the flickering light.

"Thank you for this," Lan Zhan says with a small smile. He looks very soft all of a sudden in the shadowy glow, and Wei Wuxian's heart beats a little funny watching him admire the pool. It's just so nice to be able to do something for Lan Zhan.

"My pleasure," he says, and then he looks out at the pool again and… "Hey, should we try to pull that tree out? Not that I expect you to do a lot of swimming around, but it might be in the way. And if it keeps rotting, it'll get pretty gross."

Lan Zhan examines the fallen tree. If it at least made a ladder of some kind, it might be useful, but it's really just in the way as far as Wei Wuxian can see.

"That's not really necessary," Lan Zhan says. "It would be a lot more work."

"Don’t worry about it," Wei Wuxian says. Sure, it looks a bit big for two people to lift with no roping, but one of them is Lan Zhan and… oh! "Hey, my new thing could come in useful!" He lost track of where his trusty little stick went with all the talisman stuff, so he can only make a lifting gesture at Lan Zhan to illustrate.

Lan Zhan looks skeptical.

"No ladies here, and I promise I'll stop immediately if it starts lifting up your robes," Wei Wuxian grins.

Lan Zhan's eyes go a little wide. It's cute that Wei Wuxian can still shock him with something this harmless, almost nostalgic.

"Just joking," he says, smile softening. “I’m pretty sure I’ve got the robes problem sorted now. No risk of surprise nudity here. Shall we give it a try?"

"If you wish," Lan Zhan says, still sounding a bit flustered. But the hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth says he’s not genuinely upset.

Lan Zhan passes him another blank talisman, and Wei Wuxian writes his newest experimental charm on it before affixing it to the tree lying half in the water. He thinks he can feel it tremble on contact, which he takes as an excellent sign. Then he holds his hand over it, urging it to rise.

Nothing.

Okay. Hm. Well, the stick usually tends to hover over his hand, but he's not sure how well he can get his hand under the tree without, like, drowning himself. He tries holding a hand along the side of the tree and infuses the spell with as much power as is reasonable, admitting this one is not worth completely tiring himself out over. He really is pretty sure the tree is at least vibrating, and if the problem is just mass, maybe he can improvise a modification on the spot? And, since he only wants to make it lighter, he doesn't need it to float… He prods the tree trunk with a finger, just to see if it will shift, but— okay, if it's lighter already, it's not lighter enough that Wei Wuxian can actually get it to move with just one hand…

"Wei Ying," Lan Zhan says. He's standing there in his usual pose, quiet concern on his face. His robes are all in order. "I don't think this is working."

Wei Wuxian sighs. It really would be so useful… 

In the end Lan Zhan uses Bichen to split the tree into two long halves, which Wei Wuxian wouldn't have wanted to suggest, since Bichen isn't some common axe, but it makes it possible for the two of them together to pull the tree parts out of the water. Once they have them up on the ledge and pushed back a bit, Wei Wuxian thinks that after the wood dries out, they might even make a good place for Lan Zhan to set his clothes while he’s bathing.

Wei Wuxian looks around the little sheltered space, still illuminated by the fire charm, and finds there's something secretive about the place. In the good way. Even with all the darkness and spirits just outside, this circle feels cozy and protected.

"Will this be okay?" he asks.

Lan Zhan doesn't seem dismayed by Wei Wuxian’s failure to make the tree float. In fact, he seems quite pleased. "I look forward to using it," he says, with a quiet smile. "Thank you."

Lan Zhan's smile makes Wei Wuxian feel warm inside, still happy he could do this for him. Lan Zhan appears to be ready to go, and it's true that they're on the verge of nightfall. They might already have missed dinner. But it also seems weird to have accomplished all this and then not… do anything with it.

"Do you want to try it out?" Wei Wuxian asks.

Lan Zhan's eyes flick towards the pool and back to Wei Wuxian. He seems a bit confused, or something. "Now?"

Wei Wuxian nods encouragingly. "Yeah, why not? I mean, I know it got kind of late but it's not like the two of us are afraid of the dark or whatever, and…"

Lan Zhan has gone kind of… still. There's a weird concentration in his face. "The two of us?"

Oh. Maybe… right. Lan Zhan was always… yeah. The privacy thing, he knew that. Dumb, really—that’s why they did all this in the first place, right? Lan Zhan likes his space when he’s bathing, doesn’t need Wei Wuxian chattering on at him all the time.

He gives Lan Zhan a smile in apology. "Ah, sorry," he says. "It's okay if you just want it for peace and quiet. You did say. Sorry about that." There's a stubborn part of him that still wants to take it as a challenge, show Lan Zhan that stuff like this is much more fun when you've got a buddy with you. But after months of living here, watching Lan Zhan put up with so many inconveniences he'd never have to deal with in the Cloud Recesses, having to make his own clothes and having Ah Yuan drooling on him and Wei Wuxian stealing space in his bed and whatever, he just… he wants Lan Zhan to be able to enjoy this. He wants Lan Zhan to have what he wants. "I can go ahead back to the camp if you want, or you can just try it out some other day."

Lan Zhan looks at him, then at the pool again. Everything about him seems a little slow, and… is he blushing?

Wei Wuxian waves a hand at him. "It's really okay, forget I said anything!" Really, it's not actually a big deal if Lan Zhan wants his pool to himself. Anyway, if Wei Wuxian goes back to the camp now, maybe he can make sure to save out some dinner for Lan Zhan, in case he gets back too late.

"No," Lan Zhan says at long last. "It's all right. We can try it out." He gives a very measured, slow nod. "You're right that… this was a lot of work. Of course I don't mind you using it as well." He's still not moving, like he's waiting for Wei Wuxian's final verdict.

That probably shouldn’t make Wei Wuxian feel all warm and soft inside. He’s not even sure why it does. "Okay, great," he says, with a little smile. Then he lifts his hands and starts taking off his belt.

It takes him a moment to realize Lan Zhan is still just standing there, and—what? Has he changed his mind? But when Wei Wuxian looks up again to ask if something’s wrong, Lan Zhan’s eyes dart away and he gets moving. Lan Zhan gets his outer robe off almost weirdly fast, leaving it over a low-hanging branch, and walks over to the edge of the pool in his underrobes, starts wading in.

Oh, right. Yeah, he remembers that, Lan Zhan is very modest when he's not bathing by himself. That’s cool though, Wei Wuxian can roll with that. He follows Lan Zhan’s example and leaves his underrobe on, because this is Lan Zhan's pool, so Lan Zhan gets to make the rules. He crosses over to the water’s edge as well and dips a foot in, making a face when it turns out it’s about as cold as you'd expect from a forest stream.

Lan Zhan is slowly wading around the outer part of the pool, getting a feel for its depth, the map of the terrain. The water is up to his knees, though for a few awkward steps he sinks lower, the waterline at his hips. There's something weirdly cute about watching him be exploratory and not his usual poised self, his hands hovering over the water as if he’s ready to catch himself from falling over. Wei Wuxian doesn't want to make him self-conscious about it though, so he takes a few careful tiny steps himself, testing out where the water gets deep.

Soon Lan Zhan seems to find a spot he likes. He lowers himself to sit on the floor of the pool, the water just up to his chest and his knees bent in front of him. There's still a look of tense concentration on his face, and he's holding both his hands above the waterline, his elbows resting on his knees and his fingers curled together.

Cool, Lan Zhan's found a good spot. Wei Wuxian strides over to him, the water rippling messily around his knees, then nearly falls face first in the water when his foot sinks a few inches into a deeper bit. He manages to catch himself, though his arms flail along the surface noisily as he's balancing.

"Sorry," he says as he approaches Lan Zhan, at a more gentle tiptoe. "Didn't mean to splash you."

Lan Zhan says nothing, just lowers his gaze as Wei Wuxian steps into the spot beside him. Maybe he's already meditating.

Wei Wuxian gingerly lowers himself into the cold, his robe getting heavy and clingy as it soaks the water up. He tries not to shiver as the water reaches his chest, breathes through the discomfort and waits for his body to adjust.

The ground is a mix of sand and mulch, which is good. At least Lan Zhan isn't going to be bathing in mud. Or bones. With the ripples from Wei Wuxian's exertions fading, the pool shimmers dark in the light of the burning talisman. Lan Zhan's light grey underrobe shines through the water a little. Of himself, with his darker underclothes, Wei Wuxian can only see his naked feet below the surface. He can feel a tiny hint of the stream's current against his toes, curling in on one side of the pool and swirling very gently, so slowly it's invisible to the eye.

If he's honest, he still doesn't really understand the appeal of sitting in cold water, not moving. He understands hot baths, and he understands going for a swim. But the appeal of this has to be a Lan thing.

It's not nearly as cold as the Cold Spring in the Cloud Recesses, which Wei Wuxian can tell from the fact that it doesn't feel like being stabbed in the legs with icicles—but he had a core then and he doesn't now, so he has to concentrate to keep his teeth from chattering.

"So," he says, looking at Lan Zhan's profile. "What do you think?"

Lan Zhan has his eyes on the pool, and he still looks full of concentration. His hands are still curled together on his knees, and Wei Wuxian can see his throat move as he swallows. The hair along his back is wet and heavy, and a few strands have started to look tousled, sticking to his shoulders. The wetness has crawled up his robe and the light grey fabric is clinging to his chest even where it's above the water. They've been closer than this, but something about the light underrobe and the dark pool and the unsteady flickers of the fire spell makes Lan Zhan look soft, a bit exposed.

Wei Wuxian feels very protective of him suddenly. He wishes he could make this place… brighter, and clearer. Less of a dim imitation of something as beautiful as the Cloud Recesses. But, he can't. Making do is kind of their whole thing here, and Lan Zhan… well, at least he knew what he was getting when he made his choice to stay. His choices. There were several.

"I think it's very nice," Lan Zhan says. He still isn't looking Wei Wuxian's way, but some of the tension in his shoulders is easing.

"Maybe we could find some boulders or something so you can sit better," Wei Wuxian wonders. He clenches and unclenches his toes against the cold, wriggling them in the sand a bit. Lan Zhan seems to be watching the ripples it makes. "Or we build some sort of bench. I can probably come up with a spell that could keep the wood from rotting." He hears Lan Zhan take a deep, slow breath, though nothing else about him is moving. "Oh. Sorry. I should be quiet, right?"

Slowly, Lan Zhan turns his gaze towards him. There seems to be a flush in his face, though it might be a trick of the light. He still looks like he hasn't gotten enough meditation in, but there's a small, reluctant smile on his lips. It doesn't do anything to dampen the odd sense of softness Wei Wuxian is feeling. He finds it a little distracting, like he doesn't want to look away because it's cute, but weirdly he feels he should. "I have realistic expectations about that," Lan Zhan says.

"Oi, Lan Zhan!" Wei Wuxian sputters, nervousness flowing out of him on a laugh. "That's very cheeky."

Lan Zhan's mouth twists up at the edge, before he looks back out over the pool. "This is very beautiful. I like it very much."

~      ~      ~

The town feels busy today. Lan Wangji came down the mountain on his own this time, as Wei Ying was needed to pacify a small ghost that moved into one of their food storage cabins. He feels the absence of Wei Ying’s boisterous presence, but it is admittedly easier to move through crowds like this as one person than two.

Lan Wangji walks slowly, but he still ends up pushed and jostled from time to time. It's been months now, and he still doesn't understand why people can't just keep control over their elbows or watch where they're going. But he's learned to accept it, get used to far more accidental body contact than he's ever wanted with strangers.

He's learned to get used to many things that he never thought he'd have to contend with. Some of them are annoying, like people thinking a man in plain clothes does not need personal space. Some of them make him happier than he ever thought he'd be. The few glimpses he had of this place, from that one visit in the other life, the one where he left Wei Ying here to fend for himself, didn't prepare him for just how much.

He's carrying a letter to his brother today. It's mostly observations about their planting rotation, how well their last batch of radishes sold, their efforts to better seal the houses against the spring rains, and a mention of the recent development that the villagers have started calling on Wen Qing for medical help. He wants to maintain that connection, as much as is possible. His brother has done nothing wrong and should not feel that Lan Wangji no longer cares for him and his welfare.

He never mentions any of Wei Ying's crafty methods in his letters. He sometimes wants to tell Xichen about those moments when Ah Yuan makes his heart flow over from joy, but Xichen might now never even know Ah Yuan, and so Lan Wangji sharing those feelings seems not right somehow.

He thought for a long time about whether or not to tell Xichen about the pool. Decided not to in the end. Even though he finds it peaceful and bracing and private, all things that are helping him feel settled and grounded here, and even though the cultivation world’s low opinion of Wei Ying sometimes makes him want to shout about the kindnesses, big and small, that Wei Ying continuously offers for so little reward. 

It's not that he'd have to include the information that on the first outing, he and Wei Ying bathed together. Lan Wangji felt deeply flustered by the joy of the companionship, and the nervous awareness of their thin wet robes and his too-easily stirred body. He wouldn’t have to mention that, of course. But even if he glossed over that, he wonders if Xichen might read his description of the murky little pool in the Burial Mounds that used to house a dead fox, compare it to the simple clean elegance of home, and regard him with pity.

At the other end of town, he drops off some medicines Wen Qing has put together for a local woman who is having a difficult pregnancy, then heads to the postal exchange.

There is a letter waiting for him there. It's not from his brother. The writing on the outside doesn't look like Mian Mian's either.

Xiao Xiang,

I have contemplated your ridiculous proposal for a number of weeks. I have spent more of the past two months in Unicorn Tower than in my own home, which is a hell of a lot more time than I needed to spend there just for the wedding. If anyone picked up on that, they haven’t called me on it yet. Unicorn Tower is heavy with politics, and now that you've made me paranoid I always think everything has a second meaning, but that might just be because everyone is wary of pissing off Jin Guangshan. I have detected no evidence of any scheming against my sister, and in fact I think everyone here loves her, as they should.

The wedding was beautiful. The banquet was lavish, the dances impressive, the gifts befitting an Empress. Ah Jie was the most beautiful bride, and everyone said so. People will talk about it for years.

Of course everyone’s still talking about the Yiling Patriarch, and they can’t seem to make up their minds if he’s supposed to be impressive or terrifying. There’s fear of Wen Ning, fear that there are more like Wen Ning. I haven't heard anything that suggests any concrete moves, but I don't know if I'm hearing all of it. They all believe that Wei Wuxian defected, so obviously I wouldn’t be in league with him, but Jin Zixuan has stopped everyone from speculating about the Yiling Patriarch in my sister's presence because it upsets her, and I think that’s affecting how they talk around me too. I'll keep listening.

Also, my sister is pregnant. I'll leave it up to you whether to tell him, as it's early days yet.

Don't write to me at Unicorn Tower.

The letter isn't signed. The identity of the author is obvious if one manages to read the contents, but perhaps Jiang Wanyin feels that this offers him plausible deniability. A layer of caution, like the protective spell.

Lan Wangji lets the letter sink. His skin is prickling with nerves, with awareness of the point in time that Jiang Wanyin’s terse, reluctant words have just stitched into the tapestry of Lan Wangji's second chance. Jiang Yanli is pregnant. There will be a boy.

Nine months from now, there will be an invitation.

Chapter Text

It was the weight of his body on mine that broke my resistance. The icy cold still clung to us in wisps of mist, and his bright smile felt like an assault, my forehead ribbon tight around my wrist where it tied us together. It felt as if even that sacred object, that part of myself, was betraying me as well, making a mockery of my years of obedience and dutiful conduct. He had fallen on top of me as we were released from the Cold Pool Cave, our legs entangled and our robes heavy and frozen to the touch. As he shifted up clumsily to smile down at me, I found it impossible to tell if his awkward bumbling was genuine, or if he was deliberately teasing me with the cruel knowledge of the way his closeness quickened my pulse, left me helplessly aroused.

I had spent so many weeks feeling tortured by his presence. I didn’t want to like him. I didn’t want him to have this much power over me.

Up to that day, I had maintained control over those urges he stirred in me, determined that I would not let myself be any weaker than I already felt just being near him.

A few days before we found ourselves in the Cold Pool Cave together, I had awakened in his room, on the floor beside his bed, with no memory of the previous night besides the headache that told me I must have succumbed to drink. My shock at my own actions, and that blank space that my frenzied mind nevertheless filled with terrifying possibilities, made me rush out to seek discipline, and I was eager to accept the punishment that was, I felt then, deserved, bracing readily for each strike of the rod and hoping that the wrongness in me might be set right somehow.

It did nothing of the sort.

For days after that, my resolve to put him out of my mind would slip, and I would find myself thinking back on that night of oblivion, on how vulnerable I must have left myself, imagining all manner of illicit things he might have done to me while I was not the master of myself.

I imagined them quite often, and quite extensively.

It was most difficult to ignore when I was alone in my room at night. If not for the fear that my discipline would fail me and my brother might witness some evidence of my indiscretion, I would have asked to move into the Frost Room for the duration of the lectures, to have an outside presence reinforce my self-restraint. But I was too afraid of slipping, wittingly or unwittingly, and even if I could have survived the mortification of my brother realizing that I had no more control of myself than the most silly-minded of our younger disciples, I could not bear to make him wonder about the object of my desires, or ask who might have such sway over my senses. The clan rules allowed for the occasional private physical release, but they would never have condoned the wild swoop in my stomach whenever Wei Ying set his sights on me, or the treacherous hunger with which my body responded to him. The thought of giving in, conceding defeat, lowering myself by taking pleasure in thoughts of someone who should never have this kind of hold over me filled me with fury. So I held out against these yearnings, through his constant, relentless presence, his quick-witted teasing that made me feel both inept and stupid, and my feverish attraction to him, for nearly all of his stay.

And then, there was the Cold Pool Cave. The feeling of his body pressed so intimately against mine, the fresh understanding of the danger of the yin metal lurking on the horizon, and the full weight of him on top of me after weeks of craving and fearing his touch, pushed me past the point of resistance.

I clung to the frayed scraps of my self-respect in the moment, pretended that I was not aroused and hoped desperately that he hadn’t noticed. His lack of mockery seemed evidence that he hadn’t. Once again my anger at his sheer existence had become muddled by his actions, by the respect he had shown towards my ancestors in the Cold Pool Cave and the way he protected the secret of my clan with a quick-thinking lie to his own brother. It was a strange sensation, the rush of relief and unaccustomed appreciation of his intelligence and discretion, while at the same time blood was flowing to my lower body and my skin yearned for him to topple me over again.

That night in my room, I lost the battle, and I touched myself while thinking of him. I thought of what would happen if he lay on top of me again and smiled infuriatingly like that, like he knew every jolt of need he had the power to elicit in me. I thought of how I would grasp at his wet robes and turns us over, yank them apart to reveal him to me, shock the satisfaction off his face. I imagined him overwhelmed, caught as he realized he felt just as helpless and desperate for my hands on his skin as his presence always made me feel, and I thought of how he’d tremble, and be warm, and cling to me. My release left me furious with both us.

“Difficult letter?”

Lan Wangji looks up from his writing tablet, the last strokes of the brush still drying. His face turns warm as he finds Wei Ying watching him across the worktable, a little tilt to his head and a careful question in his expression. “No,” Lan Wangji says, a hint of roughness in his voice.

“Okay,” Wei Ying says, his mouth curving in a smile. The candlelight always makes him look soft and even more beautiful, even with his hair coming loose and messy and a dab of soot on his nose. “You seemed really focused, that’s all.”

Lan Wangji stops himself from pulling the paper closer to his chest. He knows Wei Ying can’t see what he’s writing from this distance. “It’s been a long day,” he says. “I was trying to find the right words.” There’s an echo of his old embarrassment in how his blush deepens, but he hopes the flickering shadows will hide it from Wei Ying.

Wei Ying hums sympathetically, twisting a leaf from one of his experiments between his fingers.

“I should sleep, perhaps,” Lan Wangji says, tucking the paper safely away beneath several other pages like it. A history of desire, transforming into love.

Wei Ying hums again, distracted by his work. Lan Wangji allows himself another moment of watching him quietly, the echoes of his youthful torment still tingling beneath his skin. It’s strange to remember how he saw Wei Ying then, when he could not see his intelligence, his kindness. When he was so wrapped up in childish shame, he could barely look at Wei Ying at all.

The desire has not faded with time or depth of knowledge. Only grown.

He still very much doesn’t want Wei Ying to stumble across a detailed account of Lan Wangji’s self-pleasure to extended thoughts of him, however, so he stows away the wooden storage box carefully, and then prepares for bed. As he stretches out on his cot and closes his eyes, Wei Ying’s warm presence and the gentle rustle of his leaf experiments accompany him to sleep.

~      ~      ~

The ground shakes from the force of Wen Ning’s roar. Wei Wuxian stands with his feet slightly apart, balancing out the tendrils of power swirling around him. They cast jagged shadows in the blue shine of the bubble around the two of them, stirring the hum of Lan Zhan’s energy.

The vengeful ghost circles and circles around the inside of the bubble, waiting for the chance to strike. This one’s got some really practiced spite, probably an asshole when he was alive too, and his attacks are quick and precise. He keeps rushing at Wen Ning and then skipping out of his grasp, trying to throw Wen Ning down. Wei Wuxian can feel the frustration simmering along the connection between him and Wen Ning, rumbling in his stomach and trying to sneak under his skin—but Wei Wuxian tweaks the melody a little, lets the aggravation run straight through him and settle in the ground, smoothing out Wen Ning’s movements.

On the ghost’s next attack, Wen Ning is focused, nothing but calm, and the fast snap of his arm slams the ghost back against a rock. Satisfaction sends a new ripple through Wen Ning’s composure, but Wei Wuxian levels that out too. One of the meeker ghosts takes advantage of the leader’s sudden absence and makes an approach, but Wen Ning blasts that one away just as easily, and Wei Wuxian can feel the ease with which Wen Ning is responding to him, solid and settled, down to his bones. Wen Ning is taking his cues, and Wei Wuxian siphons the rage off him as needed, lets it sink into nothing.

He looks over at Lan Zhan, who is sitting on the ground with his guqin in his lap, his grey robes spread out around him, whisps of his hair stirring from the energy of the fight. The blue glow of the protective bubble he’s cast makes him look radiant, but not in the white Lan way. More like an elemental spirit, native to the environment, and still simply the brightest thing in these woods. His fingers rest motionless on the guqin strings, his eyes watchful.

Wei Wuxian has a firm grip on Wen Ning and his focus is impeccable, he’s riding the resentment energy without letting it seep anywhere it’s not supposed to go, and Lan Zhan can see that. It’s exhilarating. 

He lines up another handful of smaller foes for Wen Ning, gets them nicely riled up, and lets them have a go.

After another moment or two, the first, gentle guqin note rings out. It crackles over Wei Wuxian’s skin, but he keeps playing steadily, and Wen Ning doesn’t waver. A second string, a third, Lan Zhan starts weaving a melody, not the pretty and soothing tunes he once used to help Wei Wuxian stay grounded, but something strong, like a declaration. Wei Wuxian feels its power like a creeping invasion between his robes and his skin, but he keeps his mind clear, focused on the mission.

Wen Ning’s moves are powerful, direct, fast enough to block three attacks in close succession. Wei Wuxian can’t help it, he peers at Lan Zhan over his flute, his body thrumming with defiance.

Lan Zhan isn’t looking at him but at the guqin, which makes sense. This isn’t Lan Zhan’s normal repertoire and he wouldn’t want to make a mistake. That concentration looks good on him, the blue glow making his drab robes look almost fine again if you squint. That perfect tension.

The melody picks up speed, and the gentle disturbance at the edge of in Wei Wuxian’s senses becomes more of a gale, dragging sand over his clarity.

Wei Wuxian closes his eyes for a moment, lets the attack pass. Doesn’t let go of Wen Ning. He still has to control the ghosts he’s serving up, and the mental flotsam that Lan Zhan’s tune is sending his way makes his grip waver there, but Wen Ning is as obedient as ever. Lan Zhan must be able to see it too.

Lan Zhan was very firm that control of Wen Ning always has to come first.

It’s not a real attack, they both know. Lan Zhan is testing the waters, assailing Wei Wuxian with darker melodies than he’s normally comfortable with, and unlike an enemy he’s pretty invested in doing Wei Wuxian no permanent damage, so it’s not quite realistic conditions. But it’s a start. It’s something.

It feels like sparring again.

The clearing is noisy. They don’t sound good together, the guqin battling the flute, discordant melodies echoing off the large stone walls of the canyon. It’s wrong in his ears but hot in his belly, that clash of notes, the tight focus in Lan Zhan’s body and spirit. Lan Zhan sending wave after wave of power against him, trying to undermine him, to break his control over Wen Ning. Wei Wuxian slipping out of his grasp, trying to hold on amidst the strengthening assault.

Now Lan Zhan is looking up. His eyes are dark and serious, and he’s clearly checking Wei Wuxian over even as his fingers keep playing that tune that sends disorientation down Wei Wuxian’s spine. Wei Wuxian stands firm through the shivers and lets Lan Zhan look, see that he’s fine. He can take whatever Lan Zhan can throw at him.

He feels a smile tugging at his mouth, has to breathe it away to keep playing, but Lan Zhan is still looking at him. He thinks Lan Zhan can see it anyway, the high he’s riding, the crackle of energy that isn’t even resentment. This is good.

Then Lan Zhan’s tune changes. The overwhelming clash fades, and for a moment they seem to be in harmony, Lan Zhan’s melody winding around the flute’s, a counterpoint. Wei Wuxian’s skin tingles, the sudden closeness running from his fingers up his arms, into his chest. The ghosts can feel it as Lan Zhan joins in on Wei Wuxian’s control over them, and Wei Wuxian can feel them stirring in confusion, not sure who to listen to.

Lan Zhan is strong. It’s the first time they’ve even tried it like this, and his mastery and strength are making the air around Wei Wuxian vibrate.

But at least in this, Wei Wuxian is strong too. Wei Wuxian is soaring.  

The guqin melody trembles as Lan Zhan lets it get softer, like a layer of delicate silk peeking out from beneath a sturdy robe. Wen Ning falters, his arms freezing from the interference as he reaches up to shield against an incoming ghost. Wei Wuxian pours more of his power into the flute and he makes the notes forceful, clear, his heart thumping when Wen Ning completes the move in time and bats the ghosts away.

He shoots Lan Zhan another look, slightly winded from the rush. It still has a wrong itch to it when he holds the thought in his head, Lan Zhan piggybacking off the resentment energy Wei Wuxian is using, and Wei Wuxian hadn’t been all that comfortable with the idea of adapting their training like this when Lan Zhan first suggested it. But there’s something about Lan Zhan coming at him with both  force and  elegant subtlety, and Wei Wuxian being able to beat him back, that makes him flush warm, makes him want to keep going.

Wen Ning finds the guqin trying to play for him confusing, Wei Wuxian can see it in his halting, jagged motions. But Wei Wuxian’s connection to him is still strong and stable, and Wei Wuxian manages to keep him focused, guides him through the fight with the small ghosts.

At some point, Lan Zhan shifts again, from trying to mess with Wen Ning to trying to throw Wei Wuxian off directly. Wei Wuxian feels the guqin try to wrap him up in quavering uncertainty, and the energy shimmering over his skin is so enticing that he’s almost tempted to let it in, ride that tremble just a bit. Suddenly he wants to see more of Lan Zhan’s strength, see where Lan Zhan would take it, let him…

He feels himself sway on his feet, just a little, the force of gravity somehow weaker and stronger for a moment, and that snaps him out of it like a slap to the face. Lan Zhan will have a fit if he fucks up and faints right now. He needs to concentrate.

Wei Wuxian goes on a counterattack, still controlling Wen Ning but sending some of the ghosts to fight Lan Zhan’s music too, dampen the sound waves before they can reach Wei Wuxian. He sees the shock in Lan Zhan’s eyes and then darkening determination, and it gives Wei Wuxian a secret thrill.

It reminds him of Lan Zhan’s fierce glare across the classroom, his fingers crushing Wei Wuxian’s paperman into oblivion in the middle of a lecture.

A dance in the moonlight.

Something inside Wei Wuxian is stirring with an old excitement, sharpened by time, by having missed it, by how close they are here. Lan Zhan’s challenge is tempered with concern but he responds, throwing back the ghosts and redoubling his efforts to pull Wei Wuxian off balance.

From the start, Wei Wuxian’s crafty methods were like a lifeline to him, but they’ve never felt warm like this. A confused surprise nestles in his stomach as he feels Lan Zhan fighting him, having to step it up, fight harder, because Wei Wuxian can hold his own. He’s a little breathless—he has to concentrate to keep the flute going, Lan Zhan’s got it easier there just having to use his fingers, and even at some distance Wei Wuxian thinks how elegant those fingers are and that Lan Zhan doesn’t need the Lan robes to look absolutely perfect and brilliant and the intense stare he’s giving Wei Wuxian feels like Lan Zhan caught him at something but can’t prove it, or wants to confiscate Wei Wuxian’s Emperor’s Smile but can’t get at it, and it feels great.

Wei Wuxian is sweating, and he can feel his pulse fast and thin from exertion, the low flow of his energy noticeable as his limbs get heavier. He should maybe ease off. But he’s still got this.

The blue light around them flickers, the glow contracting. The sound bubble is wavering because Lan Zhan is starting to struggle. He’s okay, he’s not hurt, but he’s having to concentrate to try to get past Wei Wuxian’s defenses and the flush in his face makes him look alive and Wei Wuxian can almost feel his warmth from here, that solid shield that makes him think of Lan Zhan’s arms around him in a cold night.

Wei Wuxian’s notes trill in quick succession to fend off Lan Zhan’s counterattack, and then he holds Lan Zhan’s eyes with a question. Wei Wuxian could totally keep going, oh, he’d love to keep going, but… it’s enough. They both need to stay in fighting condition just in case, and he doesn’t actually want to accidentally push back hard enough to get past Lan Zhan’s defenses.

Maybe he could, though. What a thought.

Lan Zhan nods, and his hands come to rest. Wei Wuxian lets the melody trail off, just enough to bring Wen Ning to stillness in a way that doesn’t make him fall on his face, and make the swirling ghosts slow to a stop.

This is just the first practice like this. They can do this more.

When he puts the flute down, his breath comes a little hard, and his palms are damp. Lan Zhan is staring at him with some kind of fascination, driving more heat to Wei Wuxian’s face.

Hey, he only did what he was supposed to do. Lan Zhan can’t be all… shocked or whatever.

He shakes himself, an odd ringing in his ears. Finally he becomes conscious of Wen Ning still standing there, rooted to the spot and swaying slightly. Okay, right, he needs to see to Wen Ning now.

The protective bubble stirs, then cascades like a waterfall into the ground as Lan Zhan packs it up. The normal light makes Wei Wuxian blink, the green of the trees feeling strangely bright all of a sudden. Lan Zhan’s chest is rising and falling with some speed as he stares up at Wei Wuxian, and Wei Wuxian doesn’t know if it’s an aftereffect of the struggle or of holding up the barrier. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t know which that he finds it hard to tear his eyes away.

But he gets himself to move, fishing the talisman necklace out of his robes. He’s surprised to find his own body feeling warm to his touch. “Are you okay?” he asks Wen Ning as he fastens the necklace, patting him on the shoulder.

Wen Ning turns his head slightly, with the puppet-like slowness that means he’s not yet entirely himself. But then he shakes himself, and comes to properly with a ducking of his head. “Is ev-everything all right, Young Masters?” He turns quickly for Lan Zhan, as if he’s just remembered that Lan Zhan was also here.

Lan Zhan has gotten up from the ground and stowed away his guqin. He’s coming towards them, and Wei Wuxian gets that warm flutter in his stomach again at the sight of him. They were sparring.

Lan Zhan’s eyes are still dark and something about their intensity gives Wei Wuxian a shiver. Whatever Lan Zhan’s exact assessment of this practice is, he doesn’t look like he’s freaking out or regretting that he suggested putting Wei Wuxian to the test like this.

“So that—” Wei Wuxian starts, but then he has to clear his throat. He could kind of do with some water, now that he thinks about it. “That was pretty good?”

Lan Zhan comes to a stop in front of him. He nods slowly. For a moment he looks like he’s got words in his mouth but isn’t sure if he wants to spit them out, which somehow reminds Wei Wuxian of the Cloud Recesses again. Having to tease a reaction out of him.

“You did very well,” Lan Zhan says eventually.

It floods Wei Wuxian with an unexpected happiness. “You too!” he blurts out. “I mean, I know you were holding back and everything and we weren’t really going for it life and death, but I think that was a really good practice. This was a great idea!”

Lan Zhan gives him another one of those considered nods, his body so controlled that it doesn’t even matter he’s wearing rough grey and there’s dirt on the hem of his robes, he is totally the Second Jade of Lan. 

The reminder makes Wei Wuxian hesitate. He knows this resentment energy stuff isn’t uncomplicated for Lan Zhan, and he doesn’t want to give him regrets by making him think Wei Wuxian isn’t taking it seriously enough, but… He shoots Lan Zhan a smile. “I had fun,” he says, his mouth still oddly dry.

Lan Zhan averts his gaze but doesn’t scold him, a little flush in his face. It’s cute.

~      ~      ~

Wei Wuxian keeps riding that high all the way back to the camp. If his legs felt less heavy and exhausted, he thinks he’d be bouncing. He has to force himself not to babble about how he wants to set up another round soon, because he doesn’t want to spook Lan Zhan and Lan Zhan seems deep in thought, but they are definitely, definitely going to do this again.

Wen Qing is waiting for them in the central courtyard, her arms crossed over her chest. It’s her usual scolding big sister pose, but her eyes are full of worry. Wei Wuxian waves with his flute and smiles brightly at her.

“Did everything go okay?” she asks, stepping forward and putting a hand on Wen Ning’s shoulder as soon as Wen Ning is in reach. She gives Wen Ning a critical once over. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, Ah Jie,” Wen Ning says, only slightly stuttering. “I just fought off some ghosts. It wasn’t very hard. I wasn’t injured.”

“I want to see that for myself,” she says, jerking her head towards the cave entrance. Wen Ning has no choice but to follow. Wei Wuxian exchanges a glance with Lan Zhan, who nods like Wei Wuxian doesn’t have much of a choice but let himself be examined either.

Fine, fine. It’s part of the deal.

Wen Qing leads the way to her workstation in the back of the cave and has Wen Ning sit down on her chair. She looks him over, feels his cold skin at a few pulse points, the usual stuff after a practice. Then she looks at Wei Wuxian for his assessment.

Although she is an excellent doctor, Wen Ning’s special condition means that she’s not the resident expert on whether or not Wen Ning has been hurt. “He’s really fine,” Wei Wuxian says seriously. “We confused him with the guqin joining in, but he was just fighting some totally normal ghosts. Everything went according to plan.”

Wen Qing hadn’t exactly loved the plan when they first rolled it out to her, but Wei Wuxian knows that she would have objected more strongly if she’d really thought he would let Wen Ning get hurt. Her eyes skim over Lan Zhan briefly, who is hovering behind Wei Wuxian at a respectful distance, but then she turns back to Wen Ning, looking deeply into his eyes as if to reassure herself that all that’s staring back at her is her sweet, slightly terrified brother. 

“Okay. I’m glad to hear it,” she says. Wen Ning’s mouth lifts weakly on a failed smile.

Wei Wuxian glances back at Lan Zhan, wondering why he’s still just… there, not saying anything, while excitement is still coursing through Wei Wuxian like a wild river. He’s pretty sure Lan Zhan also had fun, what with the flushing and all. Right?

Lan Zhan is observing Wen Qing’s work, but his eyes slide to find Wei Wuxian’s quickly. In the dim light of the cave, his gaze seems dark and penetrating, almost knowing, and for a moment Wei Wuxian feels a different sort of shiver racing down his back.

Knowing what?

No. No, that’s not it, Lan Zhan can’t… he wouldn’t know, suddenly, just from this. As the moment of panic recedes, Wei Wuxian realizes that Lan Zhan is actually looking more like confused, like he’s trying to get a read on Wei Wuxian’s thoughts. Has he noticed him shivering? Is he wondering why Wei Wuxian is so excited? Lan Zhan is always so calm, so put together, he probably doesn’t even…

It’s normal, really, to feel a buzz when an experiment goes well. Maybe Wei Wuxian should tell him that. Granted, he doesn’t usually get a flush like this all down his neck when he figures out a new talisman, or whatever, but… this was bigger. That makes sense, right? And he enjoyed it. He’s… not sure he actually wants to draw attention to that, come to think of it, and he also doesn’t want Lan Zhan to get embroiled in dark energy matters, but the feeling of that push and pull is still wound all around him, that old, long-lost thrill of being able to shove at Lan Zhan, make him work up a sweat…

Lan Zhan would look very intense if he got sweaty. Not just from lugging around stupid water buckets, but from this, from parrying Wei Wuxian throwing stuff at him, like they used to.

“You, next.” Wen Qing’s commanding voice snaps him back into the present. She’s pointing at the chair Wen Ning has just vacated.

This is part of their usual routine. It makes Lan Zan feel more comfortable not holding back too much during their practice if he submits to an examination afterwards, so Wei Wuxian doesn’t kick up a fuss about it. He obediently sits down and lets Wen Qing take his pulse, her face a calm mask that doesn’t give away the absence she can feel there. She’d never let on about that in Lan Zhan’s presence.

She gives him a frank stare and asks, “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” he says, with a little sigh. It’s absolutely true, too. “Like after every practice.”

“I attacked you much more aggressively this time,” Lan Zhan says, taking a small step closer. His brow twitches inward with concern, and Wei Wuxian isn’t sure why that makes his pulse thrum again.

“Yeah, and I fought you off,” Wei Wuxian says, shooting him a smile. “Should I be worried about Hanguang-jun’s condition?”

Lan Zhan still seems mildly flushed, but he doesn’t get annoyed. “We were careful,” he says. “My energy isn’t depleted.”

“See, and I’m fine, too,” Wei Wuxian says, with a reassuring nod. He doesn’t actually want to rile Lan Zhan up, he just genuinely doesn’t want him to worry. “Right, Wen Qing?”

Wen Qing’s frown flickers briefly, but she nods at him. “You seem unharmed, and no more in danger than you usually are.” Her eyebrow quirks up. “If you think this new training regimen will help you take better care of Wen Ning, I’m okay with you continuing.”

“Great,” Wei Wuxian says, trying not to beam. He is so up for more practice sessions like this.

“If you don’t need me here anymore, I would excuse myself,” Lan Zhan says.

Wei Wuxian looks over at him again, feeling a sudden irrational impulse to grab a handful of his robes and keep him here. The fact that he’s okay leaving must mean he really thinks Wei Wuxian is okay, which is good, but…

“Hey, why do I have to be examined but not you?” Wei Wuxian asks. He gives Wen Qing a stubborn look. “You should check him over too! I’m not just some lightweight, you know. We both worked up a sweat!” That detail has definitely stuck with him, and he’s pretty sure Lan Zhan is still giving off some warm exhausted energy, though that could maybe be Wei Wuxian’s imagination.

Wen Qing’s eyes narrow briefly, a subtle flare of warning in them. Okay, yes, fine, Wei Wuxian knows why he is the one being examined, even apart from the fact that he’s the one summoning all the ghosts, but Lan Zhan doesn’t know that, and it’s important to make sure that Lan Zhan is okay. And that he doesn’t get suspicious or… anything. Maybe Wei Wuxian should just go over there and feel Lan Zhan’s pulse himself.

Wen Qing’s face evens out to politely neutral, perhaps a bit patient, and she looks over at Lan Zhan. It really is super impressive how tightly she can hide stuff away. “Are you sure you’re all right?” she asks him.

Lan Zhan gives her a restrained nod. “I feel some fatigue, but I’m not otherwise affected. I’ll be fine.”

Wei Wuxian feels a pout coming on. Lan Zhan is going to leave still. Why is Lan Zhan ditching him right now, when they were so… so good together? Don’t they need to discuss this a little more? Do a play-by-play? It would be useful for future practices, right? And he’d love to hear more about how their session felt from Lan Zhan’s end.

Lan Zhan’s gaze skims over Wei Wuxian again, and something prickles on his skin in its wake. “This form of practice has been unusual for me, however,” he says, to Wen Qing again. “I would like to meditate and gather my thoughts.”

Oh. Well that… that makes sense. He would need to meditate after something like that. Does that mean… Is he going to go to the pool?

For a moment, Wei Wuxian wants to go with him. He’s mostly left Lan Zhan alone there after their first joint evening in the water, because he knows Lan Zhan likes the privacy. But especially now, something about the thought of sitting in the shadowy pool, hidden away from everyone, feels very appealing. They could discuss how the duelling felt to Lan Zhan there.

Oh god, he needs to get a grip. Just let him go already. Lan Zhan wants to meditate, not listen to Wei Wuxian babble about weird tremors running down his spine.

“Don’t go too far,” Wei Wuxian blurts out. He knows Lan Zhan went out on a limb with this, and Lan Zhan deserves whatever time and space he needs to pull himself together, but the thought of Lan Zhan out in the woods while Wei Wuxian is buzzing around the camp on his own, still high on their joint adventure, makes him anxious somehow. He sends a smile after, only a little shifty.

He sees Lan Zhan swallow. Huh. Maybe he really is struggling a bit with the aftereffects of the training.

“It’s just, I thought it went really well,” he says, not even sure why he’s explaining—but he doesn’t want Lan Zhan to think he’s just being randomly clingy. “But it was kind of intense, you know? And I don’t want to worry about where you are.” Hearing it back it sounds maybe not perfectly logical, but he holds Lan Zhan’s eyes anyway, hoping Lan Zhan will see the logic that is definitely there somewhere.

“I’ll stay nearby,” Lan Zhan agrees, with a tiny lowering of his head.

“And don’t miss dinner!” Wei Wuxian adds brightly.

Lan Zhan gives him another very composed nod. “I’ll be back for dinner.”

“Great!” Wei Wuxian says again. “I look forward to seeing you.”

Lan Zhan blinks, his composure faltering for a moment—but then he turns and heads to the cave’s exit, his rough robes darkened in the dim light but his posture as striking as ever.

Okay, that was a weird thing to say. Since when does he tell Lan Zhan he looks forward to seeing him, at dinner? He’s a little confused, because it made sense in his head, and now he’s kind of…

Wen Qing has her most level look turned on him, and Wei Wuxian ducks his head. All right, he’s kind of embarrassed, but it was just a dumb slip of the tongue, Wen Qing doesn’t need to be looking at him all critical like that.

Wen Qing takes his wrist again. He startles out of reflex, but then relaxes.

“What, you were lying?” Wei Wuxian asks in a quiet voice. “I do feel fine, you know.”

“Not exactly lying,” she says, her voice just as quiet. Wei Wuxian can hear Wen Ning shuffle a few steps away, busying himself with some of Wen Qing’s herb supplies. “How exhausted are you?”

“It’s really not bad,” Wei Wuxian says. “I mean, I can feel it, but I’ll be fine after some rest and some food. Especially if that food isn’t radishes.”

She ignores that detour, and the line between her eyebrows flickers up again. “It’s costing you,” she says.

Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes. “It’s not that hard. Are you giving people a talking-to when they’ve spent all day building houses and are tired from that?”

Wen Qing takes a heavy breath and steps back slightly, leaning against her work table and crossing her arms over her chest again. “I’m not objecting to the training,” she says. “I think you know best what will help you keep Wen Ning steady, and I know that’s in everyone’s best interests.” 

Wei Wuxian raises his eyebrows expectantly. “But?”

She takes a long breath, and for a moment her lips press together as if she’s finding it hard to make up her mind. “I think you should consider telling him the truth.”

The truth about— oh. “What?” His stomach goes tight, a shot of nervousness making his throat dry. It’s unlike Wen Qing to push this subject, she’s never meddled before. Not since she agreed to do it. “No.”

“You two are training together, and it leaves you exhausted,” she says. For a moment her calm authority reminds him of Shijie, and it stirs that same guilty spot in him that Shijie does when she’s disappointed in him.

“We’re fine,” he says. “I don’t know why you think this is a problem all of a sudden, but nothing’s changed about this. We’re not telling anyone.”

“He doesn’t know that you’re vulnerable,” Wen Qing says, her face quite unruffled by his defensive tone. He can feel Wen Ning’s anxious attention even though Wen Ning has withdrawn as far as he can while still pretending to be doing work. “If he comes at you with his full power and he doesn’t know you don’t have the defenses he thinks you have, things could go very wrong.”

“Hey, I defend myself fine,” Wei Wuxian says, an old irritation churning in his gut. He’s just proven it, hasn’t he? “And I don’t want him to know, so obviously I’ll be careful not to let anything like that happen.”

“Why don’t you want him to know?” she asks.

“You know why,” Wei Wuxian says, frustrated. “The more people know, the likelier it is to get out, and Jiang Cheng…”

Her gaze flickers slightly at the mention of Jiang Cheng, but her voice remains calm. “But we live here now,” she points out. “Your brother isn’t exactly visiting on a regular basis. You think Lan Wangji couldn’t keep your secret?”

“We might not live here forever,” he says. “He might not…” His throat goes dry suddenly, stuck.

But it’s the truth, you never know. They don’t deal in the long term here, they’re all busy not getting killed by ghosts and finding new ways to make radishes less of an abomination. He’s never heard Wen Qing make plans for the future either, and Lan Zhan… well. There was the clan thing, but that’s not really an option, so. “We just don’t know. I’d rather play it safe.”

She doesn’t look satisfied with this answer, but the resigned twist of her mouth seems to suggest she’s not inclined to argue the point. “I just want you to think about it,” she says. “Think about what would happen if you got hurt because he doesn’t know. How he would feel.” She lifts her chin, indicating the outside, their general surroundings. “What it would mean for the rest of us.” 

It puts another twist in his stomach. That… no, of course he wouldn’t want to risk himself in a training situation. They all depend on him to keep the Burial Mounds under control. And Lan Zhan… Lan Zhan would be so stricken. He’s totally the type to hold himself responsible for every little thing.

Wen Qing is holding his eyes and letting the silence stretch. If she were pushier, it would be easier to snap back at her.

No, he can’t. He can’t tell Lan Zhan. Even if he could, he can’t, because Jiang Cheng can’t ever find out, and the fewer people there are who know, the less likely it is that Jiang Cheng would hear about it somehow, and… it’s just the most sensible thing. It’s served him well so far, hasn’t it?

And Lan Zhan doesn’t need to know. They’ve just— they’re on equal footing again, fighting like this. Wei Wuxian won’t ever let it get so out of hand that he’d get hurt, so Lan Zhan also doesn’t need to know this thing that would only worry him, Lan Zhan doesn’t need to look at Wei Wuxian and see another thing he’s lacking. What he no longer is. Lan Zhan doesn’t need to carry that around with him. It’s better this way.

“I asked you not to tell anyone,” Wei Wuxian says somberly. “You promised.”

Wen Qing’s stare narrows for a moment, and he wonders if now is when she’ll take his head off. But her voice stays even, neutral. “I won’t. I’m just asking you to think about it.”

Well, as far as Wei Wuxian is concerned, he’s already thought about it, and decided that it’s a stupid idea. But, whatever, if it gets him off the hook now. “Okay,” he says peacefully, with a tame smile. “I’ll think about it. Can I go now?”

She gives him a tiny aborted eyeroll, which reminds him a hell of a lot more of Jiang Cheng than Shijie. “Go ahead. Find something useful to do.”

He gets to his feet and turns away from her and her uncomfortable questions. Lan Zhan said he’d stay nearby. Wei Wuxian is going to check up on that, make sure he’s around. Then they’ll have dinner together, and he can bask in today’s successes, and maybe find out if Lan Zhan found their newly discovered way of sparring as exciting as he did.

It’s fine. He’s fine like this.

~      ~      ~

Wei Ying is in a spirited mood this evening. As soon as Lan Wangji finished helping Wen Yunlan put away the gardening tools and joined the others gathering in the courtyard for dinner, Wei Ying waved him over to the far edge of the space, near the cave, where he had set up two of the low chairs in their own little group. At first Lan Wangji wondered if something had upset him, as he usually prefers to sit in one of the more central groups with Wen Qing and Fourth Uncle. But Wei Ying had greeted him with a wide, heart-stirring smile and offered him some of the diluted mango water, so it seemed evident that that was not the case.

“I saw you stole my roof,” Wei Ying says, leaning towards him conspiratorially, once the radish stew has been distributed.

Lan Wangji feels a mild flush chase up his neck, but he knows he has nothing to be ashamed about. He chose to do his meditation in the spot where Wei Ying sometimes unwinds and plays his flute, on the port on top of the western houses, since Wei Ying didn’t want him to venture too far from the camp. It isn’t as good for calming his thoughts as the pool in the woods, but it was a quiet afternoon, and nobody interrupted him. In a strange way, the distant sounds of the people he lives with working together and speaking in familiar voices even felt soothing, an anchor for his swirling thoughts and the leftover bursts of defensive energy.

“Is the roof reserved for the Yiling Patriarch?” he asks, feeling daring. “If this is a new rule, you should communicate it through the proper channels.”

Wei Ying’s smile flashes deeper. It always has an effect on him when Wei Ying’s exuberance shines on him like this. But today, with the charge of their experimental training in the clearing still chasing around Lan Wangji’s skin, it hits him especially hard.

“Okay, no, let’s not make it that official,” Wei Ying says magnanimously, waving his spoon in dismissal. “We can just say you borrowed my roof. I’m happy to share with you.”

Lan Wangji averts his gaze from the continuous brightness and swallows a mouthful of stew. “It is a good roof,” he says. “I appreciate your generosity.”

The joke seems to make Wei Ying inordinately happy, which in turn makes Lan Wangji’s stomach go tight with a flutter. But this is something he is used to by now.

“Are you feeling better now?” Wei Ying asks more seriously.

“I wasn’t feeling bad.” The stew is more flavorful than it was at the beginning. Lan Wangji thinks Wen Qing has authorized more money for a few spices, and Wen Liu has been experimenting with the use of some local herbs growing here in the Burial Mounds.

“I know, but you said you wanted to gather your thoughts and stuff,” Wei Ying says. “Did you gather them all?”

At first Lan Wangji isn’t sure if Wei Ying is making a joke, but his smile is light and his attention serious, almost shy. “It was the first time I’ve ever tried to attack you using the guqin,” Lan Wangji says. “And the first time I’ve ever tried to insert myself into the Yin Tiger Seal’s connection between you and Wen Ning. I wasn’t in distress, but I found it helpful to think through our training and separate out any lingering traces of resentment energy. In that sense, yes, I have gathered all my thoughts.” He gives Wei Ying a smile as well.

“Okay,” Wei Ying says, with an uncertain lift of his voice. “I hope you weren’t too uncomfortable. I know what we did must have been pretty weird for you…”

“There is no need to worry,” Lan Wangji says. “You will remember that it was my suggestion?”

“Yeah, but.” Wei Ying raises a shoulder. “I make a lot of suggestions that turn out more stupid than I think they will, so, you never know.”

Lan Wangji regards him evenly. “I’m very pleased by our success. Your control over Wen Ning and the Yin Tiger Seal is commendable. I think this is a very worthwhile exploration.”

Wei Ying’s smile comes back slowly, but so fervent it makes Lan Wangji momentarily dizzy. “I’m so glad to hear that,” he says. “I thought it was great, Lan Zhan. You’re helping me so much. I’ve never felt stronger.” The hum of excitement in his voice makes Lan Wangji’s insides feel weak and unsteady. Perhaps Wei Ying can use that strength to bear him up.

He nods quietly, because he’s not sure what to say. For a moment he resorts to the Lan way of having a meal, taking refuge in silence.

Wei Ying is in such a good mood that he doesn’t even disparage the radishes. His eyes have a sparkle to them when Lan Wangji takes a sip of his light mango juice, his attention so sharp that at one point Lan Wangji wonders if something is afoot, but Wei Ying merely seems to be enjoying his company.

It’s nice. Better than nice, it’s intoxicating.

The truth is, tangling with the connection between Wei Ying and Wen Ning like that felt very daring. It was entirely outside the realm of his experience, and he couldn’t even tell if the voice at the back of his mind warning him of danger sounded more like Uncle, or like himself. Trying to interfere with Wei Ying’s mastery of his powers, and Wei Ying responding to his efforts with such fierce determination, felt almost shockingly intimate, despite the confrontational nature of their training. He still carries the leftover tremors of it—the feeling of being on a bridge that sways in two different directions underneath him, dangers lurking in the wind and waters below, and then putting his trust in Wei Ying, being guided through the storm, wildness all around him, while at the center everything is clear.

They have been left mostly to their own devices here, weeks turning into months, but Lan Wangji is aware that time is moving forward. In less than half a year, Jiang Yanli’s child will be born. With the ensuing tragedy drawing closer like a ghost of maybe, Lan Wangji finds it infinitely comforting to see Wei Ying so in control of his powers. To see him not push the training too far, even though he clearly relished the challenge, and knows less than Lan Wangji does about where such rashness might lead him.

And also, to see him happy.

It was never  the sword that killed Wei Ying. Not an enemy’s sword, and not a brother’s. It was Wei Ying feeling that he’d lost everything, his conviction that there was not enough left in the world to stay alive for. Wei Ying’s spirit—Wei Ying’s happiness—is as necessary to Lan Wangji’s mission as helping him maintain control of his powers, and avoiding the disasters that drove Wei Ying to such despair.

“Brother Zhan!”

They both look up at the voice, which is wobbling towards them at a short-legged, excited pace. Ah Yuan is running across the courtyard, a bright smile on his face. He’s holding an apple in his chubby little hands, sticking it out at them like an offering.

“You don’t want your dinner, Ah Yuan?” Wei Ying says, holding his food bowl and spoon in one hand as he uses the other to catch Ah Yuan around the waist, bringing him down safely from his exuberant speed.

“Brother Zhan was on the roof!” Ah Yuan reports. “My apple is a gift.”

Wei Ying gives Lan Wangji a brief look, his eyebrow raised in a way that could be curiosity, or trouble. “Why is he getting a gift and I’m not?” he asks, tilting his head at Ah Yuan.

“You’re on the roof when you’re sad,” Ah Yuan says. “If Brother Zhan is on the roof, I want to cheer him up.” He turns his head shyly over his shoulder, and between Wei Ying looking at him with his mouth twitching and Ah Yuan’s big worried eyes, Lan Wangji needs a moment to make the connection implied in Ah Yuan’s grave statement.

“I wasn’t sad, Ah Yuan,” Lan Wangji says. “I was meditating. That’s something cultivators need to do sometimes.”

“Oh,” Ah Yuan says. “You’re not sad?” His natural kindness sometimes reminds him so much of Wei Ying that it hurts. It always did.

“No,” Lan Wangji says truthfully, and then, on a daring whim, he adds, “I had a very good day with your Brother Xian. We learned a new skill.”

Ah Yuan lets go of Wei Ying and takes two short steps towards Lan Wangji. “What did you learn?”

“How we can fight off ghosts better if we work together,” Lan Wangji says.

“Like the mean ones that live in the forest that sometimes come to attack us?” Ah Yuan asks, one tiny hand brushing over his brow where he got hurt that time. There’s still a fine, fading scar. It tugs at Lan Wangji’s heart that he remembers that.

“Like those, yes,” Lan Wangji says. “Your Brother Xian is working hard to make sure they can’t come back.” He casts a brief glance at Wei Ying, who is wearing a lopsided smile and looks strangely embarrassed.

Ah Yuan is blinking up at Lan Wangji. “Should I give him my apple then?”

He can practically hear Wei Ying’s sudden grin. “You can give your apple to whom you want,” Lan Wangji says reassuringly. “But you may also eat it yourself.”

“But, I wanted to give you a gift.” Ah Yuan is frowning like this is an unsurmountable problem, big eyes drifting hesitantly between Wei Ying and Lan Wangji.

Lan Wangji does not think Ah Yuan should give up his apple, though it’s been weeks since anyone had to get up from dinner hungry. He doesn’t wish to turn down the gesture either. “If you like,” he says, “we can both accept your gift and share it.”

Ah Yuan gives them both one last consideration, before he beams at Lan Wangji and holds the apple up. Lan Wangji takes it, and Ah Yuan hooks his arms over Lan Wangji’s legs, bouncing with energy and, Lan Wangji suspects, a little bit of shyness that he’s trying to hide.

“Thank you very much, Ah Yuan,” Lan Wangji says. “We appreciate it.” When he glances over, he finds Wei Ying’s smile small and secret and his gaze sharply observant. Lan Wangji can’t quite tell what he’s thinking, when all Lan Wangji suggested was a practical solution that won’t make Ah Yuan feel bad. Somehow it makes Lan Wangji’s skin prickle.

But he ignores it, hands Wei Ying the apple and takes hold of his spoon again. Looking down at Ah Yuan, he says, “Will you help me with some of my stew, then? Now that I have half your apple, I don’t think I will be able to finish it.”

Ah Yuan hums his agreement. He’s well-behaved and attentive, and eats quite a few more spoonfuls of Lan Wangji’s stew when Lan Wangji lets him be in charge of the spoon instead of feeding him. Eventually though, they get to the point where Ah Yuan has definitely had enough of radishes. When he gets squirmy and distracted in a manner that threatens to distribute radish stew over Lan Wangji’s clothes, Lan Wangji takes the spoon back.

“Are you full?” he asks.

Ah Yuan nods decisively.

“Very good,” Lan Wangji asks. “Then I’ll finish the rest. You can sit with us, or you can see if Grandmother has finished eating, but you mustn’t run on a full stomach.”

“Sit with you,” Ah Yuan decides, and settles down on the ground right between them. He asks Lan Wangji about the little emperor boy story they put on hold the other day, and Lan Wangji reminds him that the pet dragon’s eggs hadn’t hatched yet.

He catches Wei Ying’s eyes again. Wei Ying holds up the apple with a silent question, and Lan Wangji gives him a smile, tilting his head towards where Granny and Wen Qing are sitting, indicating that they should return it for some other meal. He wouldn’t mind Wei Ying having the apple in the least, but if Ah Yuan noticed, it might lead them on another round of discussing the gift.

Wei Ying nods with a small, probably unconscious pout. The way his mouth draws together sends a sudden surge of shameful longing through Lan Wangji, taking him completely by surprise.

He blinks, feeling the heat in his cheeks, and focuses all his attention on his food.

They eat in silence for a while, almost like he was taught. When he has his unexpected flush of emotions under control again, Lan Wangji casts another glance at Wei Ying, as silence usually indicates something is wrong. But Wei Ying seems content, as languid on that small chair as always—Lan Wangji honestly doesn’t know how he doesn’t fall off—and peacefully eating his radish stew.

Between them, Ah Yuan has gotten wrapped up in his own world, making a stick that might be a flying sword or another dragon swish through the air. He’s mumbling something under his breath, occasionally adding tutting and cooing noises. Lan Wangji wonders if he’s continuing the story of the little emperor boy in his head.

“You’re very good with him,” Wei Ying says, quietly enough that it doesn’t draw Ah Yuan’s attention. The look Wei Ying gives Lan Wangji is warm and distracting, but Lan Wangji has regained his balance and lets the warmth shiver through him. He’s accepted that this is just the way things are. These ripples of deep affection are their own kind of comfort, even though they sometimes leave him lonely in their wake.

“He’s very sweet,” Lan Wangji says. He breaks the eye contact and looks down at Ah Yuan, so absorbed in his play. It isn’t a word he uses often or freely, but it is the right one. As a young child, as a student. As Ah Yuan first, and later as Sizhui, he was always sweet. “Very easy to love.”

He thinks he feels a kind of tension from Wei Ying and looks up again. Wei Ying is a little flushed, but his smile looks very much like he knows something Lan Wangji doesn’t, which is disconcerting. “I think you’re making me jealous, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Wangji blinks. This is a strange thought. What could… oh.

In his mind, Wei Ying was always first for Ah Yuan. Ah Yuan clung to Wei Ying so naturally, as any child who’d know a good heart and a fiercely protective spirit would. Lan Wangji had only met Ah Yuan the once before that day Lan Wangji found him left behind in the cave, feverish and hungry. When he vowed to keep this child safe as the one thing left for him to do after he’d failed to protect Wei Ying. It had taken him by surprise when he came out of seclusion and realized that fever and shock had blotted out Ah Yuan’s memories, and the boy didn’t seem to recall anything about the man who had been his protector along the dark narrow bridge they had all traveled.

It is strange to think that now, Ah Yuan hasn’t spent these months living only with Wei Ying, and  most of the time Ah Yuan is around Wei Ying, Lan Wangji is there too. “There is no reason to be jealous,” Lan Wangji says, a little flustered at the idea. “You’ve saved his life many times. He looks up to you very much.”

Wei Ying’s eyes have a dark sparkle in them, which isn’t the reaction Lan Wangji had expected to his heartfelt reassurance. Wei Ying leans forward from his lounging pose, his elbows on his knees. Despite his height, he somehow manages to look up at Lan Wangji. “I meant you, Hanguang-jun,” he pouts. “You think he’s all sweet, but what about me?”

Lan Wangji stares at him.

Wei Ying tilts his head, and somehow it feels like he’s right there in Lan Wangji’s space even though he hasn’t left his chair. “Am I easy to love too?”

A hot disorientation sweeps up Lan Wangji’s spine.

The easiest. The hardest.

Wei Ying gives him a falsely meek, pleading look and it’s so beautiful and unbearable that Lan Wangji’s entire body is burning with it.

“Am I not cute?” Wei Ying asks, the pout intensifying, but the mischief in his eyes gives him away and at least lets Lan Wangji breathe, even if he’s still shivering inside.

“You’re very…” Impossible. Irreplaceable.

Wei Ying perks up with renewed tension at his failing attempt to play along with the joke. “Seriously, Lan Zhan! I’m very worried,” he says.

Lan Wangji is trying to think through his quickened heartbeat and the stifling layer of awkwardness that has settled on him like an old, familiar coat. He’s forcing the words out when he says, “You needn’t worry.”

Wei Ying isn’t satisfied yet, the glimmer in his eyes relentless. “If he’s sweet, I want to be cute,” he says. “Tell me I’m cute.”

Lan Wangji’s mouth is so dry he doesn’t even dare to swallow. For a different person, this would be easy. It’s just nonsense, Wei Ying’s random charm and appetite for a challenge. He’ll have forgotten about it by tomorrow.

“You’re very cute,” he says, the word feeling like a distant language in his mouth, as strange as the strangest of their radish variations.

Wei Ying breaks into a satisfied smile, tilting his head back almost like he’s basking in the sun, while Lan Wangji averts his eyes from the shine of him and wills his heartbeat to slow back down.

~      ~      ~

The woods around him are dark. The shine of Wei Ying’s protective talismans reflects gently off the water, its surface black and glittering.

It’s later than he usually comes here. But it’s been a long day, a strange day, and the coolness of the air is a blessing. It still holds the damp rot of this place, but Lan Wangji is so used to it by now that he can only taste it when he tries.

He feels the gentle current of the water on his naked skin, the muffled curl of the stream into the pool. He breathes in, his body still too warm, but the darkness is welcome, hiding his troubled feelings.

No, that isn’t right. He isn’t troubled, not the way he used to be. But he is feeling disorderly, his emotions whipped up from their dance with dark energy and the intensity of Wei Ying’s attention over the course of the day. He needs to gather himself, get his balance back. It’s such a profound joy to be around Wei Ying, have him close, after the horrors of the past. But some days it is also… overwhelming.

His chest expands again, and he closes his eyes in the cool night. In the blackness behind his eyelids, he sees Wei Ying lean towards him with that teasing smile, and in his mind it turns even more knowing. Like Wei Ying can sense the hot shivers running over him, see his breathless need in the stiffness of his posture.

Wei Ying, knowing how Lan Wangji’s blood is pumping wild and thick, and leaning in anyway. Smiling anyway. What about me, Lan Zhan?

He swallows, opening his eyes and staring into darkness, waiting for the image to fade, the fiery knot in his stomach to loosen.

Wei Ying’s power is stunning. His actual power, the way he handles himself with his flute, battling ghosts and Lan Wangji at the same time. Given how things went wrong back in the other past, he keeps expecting Wei Ying’s abilities to be more volatile. But in every situation he’s witnessed so far, Wei Ying has been strong, controlled, careful even. The way he looked this morning, he seemed like the victor of a successful hunt.

He’s stunning in other ways too, sometimes holding Lan Wangji captive with a mere look. Their extended familiarity and this life together hasn’t made it easier. As soon as he thinks he has built up a tolerance, can accept Wei Ying’s closeness and wear it like a stolen cloak, then suddenly Wei Ying will look at him a certain way, or Lan Wangji will feel the live warmth coming off his body, and the shiver in his skin asks what it would feel like to bring their mouths together, to pull him in close and feel all that strength against himself.

His breath goes out in a shudder. He needs to calm down. He’s here to get his bearings, before he goes back to the cave in which they all live, Wei Ying at once too close and too far away, and the Wen siblings just around the corner.

He has his hands resting on his knees above the water, and now his left hand curls around his right wrist, around the thin leather bracelet. Wei Ying’s incantation faded long ago, and the leather itself is turning brittle from sweat and daily wear, tucked under the sleeve of his robes, but the spell Wei Ying has on his heart and his body is as strong as ever.

Am I not cute?

That sparkle, not even a figment of Lan Wangji’s greedy imagination. It’s perfectly preposterous, and perfectly devastating. He knows well by now that Wei Ying is completely unaware of how his conduct makes Lan Wangji flush with yearning. Wei Ying doesn’t have the cruelty inside himself to do it on purpose, though the result remains the same.

Today was… extreme. It built on months of teasing closeness and casual need, and then those many years of loneliness when Wei Ying was gone, during which any time he slipped and let himself imagine Wei Ying’s touch, or even his presence, he’d come out of it feeling flayed alive by his own feelings, crushed by hopeless emptiness.

Wei Ying is alive now. It’s more than Lan Wangji could ever have hoped for. More than enough.

He wishes the water was colder. The discipline of the Cloud Recesses might allow his body to find, if not true serenity, then imposed numbness.

But, no. If anything is as true in this life as it was in their old one, it’s that not even the Cloud Recesses can mitigate Wei Ying’s natural pull.

His mouth twists a bit when he remembers his younger self, and his utter helplessness against the force with which Wei Ying invaded his life and his heart.

His younger self. Lan Wangji shifts in the water, his face burning in the cool air. How much more mature is he? Sitting here in the dark with arousal pooling in his stomach, heavy between his legs even in the water, because he duelled Wei Ying’s dark magic and then Wei Ying charmed him for fun and entertainment at dinner?

He can’t imagine going back to the cave like this, trying to sleep a few steps away from where Wei Ying is resting, his usual endearing self, completely unaware.

Lan Wangji hasn’t touched himself in that way since he joined Wei Ying in the Burial Mounds. At first it simply wasn’t what his mind and heart cared about, and then the constant lack of privacy caused him to discard any fleeting inkling he might have had. But he’s alone now.

He breathes, deep into his stomach. Wei Ying doesn’t know how much torment he inflicts on Lan Wangji, and he’ll never know if Lan Wangji seeks some release before he heads back to their communal space. He’s left the discipline of the Cloud Recesses behind, after all. It was never any good for this anyway.

There’s a tiny slipping sound when he moves his hand below the surface, finds his arousal growing and warm in the cool water. He bites his lip, even though nobody is around. Nobody but ghosts, and Wei Ying told those to keep out.

He has to do it with his left hand, because he can’t let the leather strip on his right wrist get wet, and on the first slow stroke the less familiar touch flares in his mind like the illusion of someone else’s hand, what if it were someone else’s. He shudders in the water, crouching forward. That he can see his actions in the ripples on the surface makes him feel exposed, his own shamelessness on display, and his skin runs hot with it. The heat of his palm, surrounded by the slips and whirls of the water, brings him to full hardness fast, and the length of time it’s been since he last felt this makes his stomach sink and swirl with urgency.

There’s a noise when he exhales, objectively tiny but it feels crass, out here in the open. He tries to not make the water splash as he moves his hand on himself, lightly enough so that he doesn’t immediately spill even though he really shouldn’t linger, here, in this place that wasn’t meant for this. There’s a hot breath of guilt on his neck as he remembers Wei Ying building the pool for him, and an all-body tremor when he remembers Wei Ying sleek and easy in the water, his underrobes clinging to him and his eyes sparkling in the firelight. He thinks, what if Wei Ying turned to him, what if Wei Ying knew he was hard and desperate under the surface, aching for the smallest touch… Wei Ying leaning into his shoulder and whispering in his ear, Tell me I’m cute.

Lan Wangji moans, his head bent forward. All the things he would tell Wei Ying, if he could, if Wei Ying wanted to hear them, pulled them out of him… he’d pour his heart out, he’d debase himself, his weakest confessions and most intimate desires, and he’d shake just like this for Wei Ying’s hand when it touched him, Wei Ying’s hot smile nestled into his neck. His hand goes tighter and faster and the water does splash, obscene rudeness hooking straight into the heat inside him, and he moans again through tightly-pressed lips as he pulses sharp and stiff in his hand and his climax shudders through him, the water’s ripples like a forlorn caress on his skin.

He’s panting, the spikes of pleasure taking time to peter out. So long… it’s been so long that his body feels almost as confused as it did when he was a youth experiencing the first upheavals of lust. For a strange moment, he misses the weight of his forehead ribbon.

As his blood slows down, he hears the dulled noises of the forest, and shudders again at his exposure.

But he knows there’s no one else here. Nobody will know, and his thoughts of Wei Ying were only mildly covetous, in a way that probably happens to most people who get caught up in desires. This isn’t the Cloud Recesses, and there isn’t any rule against such things.

He thinks. Perhaps.

He rests for a moment longer, waits for the shivers to pass, for his legs to feel steady. This may not have been the intended purpose of the pool, and he still feels hot behind the ears remembering Wei Ying’s enthusiasm at building it with him. But it’ll be easier to be around Wei Ying if he isn’t so agitated all the time, and there’s genuine good in that. For both of them.

If he’s truly honest with himself, if he discards old reflexes and self-serving misapprehensions both, he suspects Wei Ying’s generous heart would even forgive him. Wei Ying might find it benignly amusing to know that Lan Wangji indulges in such indecency.

And he would no longer have any cause to worry that Lan Wangji does not find him cute.

He draws a circle in the water, sends the ripple out across the surface, the darkness cooing and calling around him. As he sits in this slightly misappropriated pool, surrounded by ghosts held at bay by Wei Ying’s protections, he knows he truly has more than he’d ever thought possible.

And still, underneath his gratitude, unfolding like his shamelessness under cover of the water, there’s the low thrum of what is still out of reach.

Chapter Text

“It would be sooooo helpful,” Wei Wuxian says, blinking up at the merchant woman. She’s short and plump, and he has to lean over quite far to manage to look up at her, so he’s half lying on her sacks of apples—beautiful, flawless specimens, and a good deal for people who don’t need to fund things like secret potato projects—and showing her a woeful face. “I’m sure you know what it’s like with a young child at home. He’s really the sweetest, but he eats so much…” He makes his most endearing plea face, the one that would totally get him soup, and lots of it. Her skeptical just-business face is flickering. “His mother isn’t around anymore, and it’s just a little harder than I expected. I’d never ask you to sell your beautiful apples for less than what they’re worth, but if you had any that are a bit less, you know, perfect, that you could give me for a good price, I and my poor child would be ever so grateful.”

He’s managed to put a smile on her face, though the look she gives him is shrewd and suspicious, like she’s got a pretty good idea of what he’s up to. Ah, shame. It’s always worth a shot, anyway.

“I have a few second tier ones that I can give you at a bit of a discount,” she says, a little twitch to her mouth. “Not a big discount. But for your little boy.”

He beams at her, and despite her serious face, there’s a little flush in her cheeks.

She shows him the less than pristine apples, a nice big load stacked under her primary wares, and he thanks her profusely and promises her that she has made his day.

He swings around, flicking a stray lock of hair out of his face. Lan Zhan is standing a few steps away, not looking officially affiliated with him. But no random stranger would give Wei Wuxian such a brooding look just because he haggled down the price of some apples.

Lan Zhan never seems to like the bartering much, whether he’s selling or buying. Wei Wuxian gets it, it’s probably beneath him, or would be beneath him if he was still with a proper clan. He assumes the Second Jade of Lan never even knew the price of a sack of apples until he ran away with Wei Wuxian.

He suppresses the guilty twinge that Lan Zhan’s judgy face always seems to instil in him. It’s all good. This is a good day. The merchant is happy she could help him out, and he’s got a big sack of slightly weird-looking apples and a nice handful of spare change. Everybody wins.

He hands the sack of apples to Lan Zhan, who has his hands free now that they’ve sold all of their radishes. “I’m being thrifty, Lan Zhan, it’s very responsible,” he says. “She doesn’t even know who we are, it’s not like I’m besmirching our good name or whatever.”

To his surprise, Lan Zhan’s eyebrows twitch minutely, and then the brooding actually disappears from his face. “Congratulations on your future potatoes,” Lan Zhan says, shifting the sack to carry it over his shoulder.

Wei Wuxian smiles at him with much more genuine happiness, and Lan Zhan’s face gets that slight blush like he’s almost going to smile back but for some reason or other finds it improper or something. It’s one of his cutest expressions.

Wei Wuxian motions for them to move along the waterfront. The truth is that he isn’t especially angling for potatoes just now, as he kept a few of the old ones for seed. He’s been thinking of buying some tea. Lan Zhan likes the watered-down fake mango juice, but now that Wei Wuxian has his semi-regular supply of wine, the fact that there isn’t any tea in the house feels kind of not right. He thinks Lan Zhan would like it.

They’ve concluded the work part of the day. They got an okay price for the radishes, and even got rid of them relatively quickly. Lan Zhan’s reputation for not being interested in bartering works in their favor here, as his noble aura seems to deter people from making too many rude counteroffers. People just take him at his word.

Wei Wuxian shoots him another look, feeling the smile on his face. Despite Wei Wuxian’s general feeling that Lan Zhan deserves way better than the Burial Mounds can offer him, the fact that he’s turned into an awesome radish seller fills Wei Wuxian with an odd pride.

They saunter along the water. The town isn’t as busy as it sometimes is, so they can comfortably walk next to each other the whole way. Wei Wuxian drags his gaze over the stalls as they walk, Lan Zhan stopping patiently each time something catches his eye. The carrots look pretty good, but they’d eat all his extra money in a heartbeat. There are a few toys that Ah Yuan would probably love, but the kid also loves sticks and rocks, so.

Wei Wuxian never touches the money they make off the radishes. It seems like an unspoken understanding between the two of them, too. Lan Zhan is relaxed about the pocket money Wei Wuxian skims by haggling, but the radish earnings go straight to Wen Qing.

Lan Zhan never seems very interested in the stalls, but he shows no sign of wanting Wei Wuxian to hurry up. If anything, despite the fact that he’s carrying a load of apples on his back, he seems to be enjoying the leisurely stroll, his mouth curving into an invisible smile when Wei Wuxian gets fascinated by a little wooden gadget for sorting talismans, or an ink stone shaped like a turtle.

The thought comes to him somewhat out of the blue. He puts the ink stone down and faces Lan Zhan directly. “Lan Zhan, want me to buy you lunch?”

Lan Zhan stills, confusion showing in a small frown.

Wei Wuxian doesn’t know what reaction he actually expected, and he figures this one is understandable. They’ve never gone to one of the inns before, and… he wanted to buy tea.

“There’s food when we get home,” Lan Zhan says, frown deepening with concern. “I don’t require lunch. If you’re hungry, I saw a stall with some bread a short while ago.” He’s clearly trying to make sure Wei Wuxian doesn’t fall over from his sudden mysterious hunger, and Wei Wuxian feels a little embarrassed.

“It’s okay, I can bear it,” he says bravely. “You’re right, we should wait until we get home.”

They walk further along. Wei Wuxian gives a stall selling candied plums a lingering look. Does Lan Zhan actually like any sweets? The food in the Cloud Recesses is so abysmally boring that anything tasting strong is probably strange to him, but would very sweet be the same as very spicy?

Hard to tell from Lan Zhan’s face. He regards all the stuff set up along the river with the same patient distance, whether it’s gadgets or candies or pretty shawls. That one time with the toys was an odd exception.

And Wei Wuxian can’t afford to buy anything like those plums anyway, not if he wants to buy the tea, and he thinks Lan Zhan will appreciate that more.

He just needs to find a way to sneak off and actually buy it sometime soon.

He hardly ever goes into town alone anymore. Lan Zhan gets stressed out about it and it isn’t worth the argument. But today he didn’t even want to go alone. It’s nice being out here with Lan Zhan, a little change of scenery from working in the cave while Lan Zhan pushes ploughs and carries water buckets. Walking along, plotting what he’d buy if money suddenly fell from the sky, Lan Zhan next to him being all content and mellow. It’s pretty great.

At the end of the row of stalls, there is a merchant woman offering combs and other hair accessories, mostly made from leather and wood. A red leather hair piece catches his eye first. There’s a dark grey one next to it, with some studs in it that shine bright and polished. It’s not as fancy as gold or silver, but…

He casts a look at Lan Zhan. This is one of his darker robes, a sturdy, sensible grey. You can always tell he’s not just anybody from his posture and the thoughtfulness in his eyes, but his clothes really look ordinary enough that he could be a tidy and unusually regal farmer. If he had at least something slightly more impressive to tie his hair back than a braided strip of cloth…

Lan Zhan’s head tilts slightly with a quiet question.

“I’m just looking,” Wei Wuxian says, gesturing vaguely at the hair accessories, feeling caught.

“I see,” Lan Zhan says. There’s still curiosity in his gaze, but he doesn’t ask, and Wei Wuxian thinks it’s okay, as long as Lan Zhan doesn’t think he intends to spend their radish money on random pretty things.

Wei Wuxian covers his weird embarrassment by making them move along. They still need to go by the postal exchange, as Lan Zhan wants to pick up a letter. Wei Wuxian isn’t sure what they talk about so often—Lan Zhan must be a lot chattier in letters than he is in person—but Wei Wuxian supports Lan Zhan maintaining ties with his brother, so he doesn’t mind the detour.

He takes them into one of the side streets, past the pharmacy, where they put in a request for something Wen Qing wants, and then to the inn that handles the mail. Wei Wuxian doesn’t need to buy any talisman paper today, so he hangs around outside the inn and lets Lan Zhan have his privacy.

He slouches against one of the roof supports out front, turning his face up into the sun, the sack of apples at his feet. He’s keeping an eye on the door too, and sees Lan Zhan the moment Lan Zhan steps out. He’s wearing a regular withdrawn Lan Zhan expression on his face, and Wei Wuxian has no idea if that means he got mail or not.

“Anything good?” he asks hopefully.

Lan Zhan picks up the apples again, then waits for Wei Wuxian’s indication of where they’ll head next. “My brother hasn’t written,” he says.

“Ah,” Wei Wuxian says. Then he stands there for a moment and doesn’t quite know what to do or where to go.

“Do we have more business in town?” Lan Zhan asks.

Well. They can’t afford lunch, Wei Wuxian doesn’t know if Lan Zhan wants any candies, he can afford to buy Lan Zhan a pretty hair piece even less than lunch, and he wants the tea to be a surprise. “I’m good?” he says. “Let’s go home, you promised me food.”

Wei Wuxian leads the way out of the smaller streets, and they head through the city gate. It’s really pretty good weather today, and he’s enjoying the sun, the warmth of an early summer that isn’t dulled by the clouds of the Burial Mounds.

The letters are Lan Zhan’s business. Wei Wuxian leaves that to him, he’s defended the paper use to Wen Qing, and that’s it. But…

“Lan Zhan,” he says, while they’re still on the main path where they can walk comfortably next to each other.

“Yes?” Lan Zhan is giving him a curious, but not alarmed look.

“Are you sad that Zewu-jun hasn’t written to you?”

There is only the tiniest flicker of something complicated crossing Lan Zhan’s face, before he shakes his head. “It hasn’t been long since his last message,” Lan Zhan says. “It makes sense to ask about mail when we’re in town already, but I am not concerned that he is delaying unduly, or hesitant to correspond with me.”

“I see,” Wei Wuxian says. “That’s good. I’m glad.” It must be very complicated for Lan Zhan, being in touch but officially no longer connected to his family, so Wei Wuxian doesn’t pry further. 

They keep walking. “Why?” Lan Zhan asks after a moment.

Wei Wuxian turns to him. There’s something really rather cute about Lan Zhan with a sack of apples strapped to his back, regarding him with an innocent sort of curiosity.

“Why am I glad?”

“I meant why did you ask,” Lan Zhan clarifies.

“Oh,” Wei Wuxian says. “It was just, I had a really nice day, and if it ended on a bummer like that, it would kind of suck.”

Lan Zhan thinks about that for a few more steps. “I had a really nice day, too.”

It puts a warm coil of satisfaction in Wei Wuxian’s stomach. His hair fluffs away from his neck as he hurries ahead then turns, walking backwards in front of Lan Zhan, who considers this change with mild surprise.

“You’re glad it didn’t suck?” he asks, raising his chin slightly with how victorious he feels.

“I’m glad we both had an enjoyable time,” Lan Zhan says.

Wei Wuxian feels the grin breaking out over his face, and he holds Lan Zhan’s eyes shamelessly directly. “You’re glad it didn’t suck,” he says with a hint of a challenge.

There’s another small smile on Lan Zhan’s face. It takes him a couple more steps of Wei Wuxian walking backwards and not letting him off the hook, and there’s a very delicate blush at the tips of his ears, but his eyes are soft and a little bit daring. “I’m glad it did not, in fact,” he says, with a barely visible rise of his eyebrows, “suck.”

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian squeaks, impossibly delighted and blushing bizarrely at the same time. The sight of Lan Zhan taking him up on a dare is quite something, really. He’s grinning broadly as he falls back in next to Lan Zhan, his steps light and bouncy. He doesn’t know why it’s so thrilling all of a sudden, buying apples and selling radishes and trudging up and down a mountain with Lan Zhan, but he knows he wants more of this.

~      ~      ~

I’ve heard nothing unusual in the palace recently. Though I also haven’t been around for a few weeks, seeing as I happen to have my own territories to run. I hope you can forgive the inconvenience.

I haven’t heard anything about him getting invited to any family events at Unicorn Tower. To be honest, I still think it’s ludicrous to think this might happen any time soon. He’s lucky nobody’s sent out real troops after my and Zewu-jun’s visits. His reputation is only getting worse the more sinister stories of the Yiling Patriarch keep popping up everywhere. But, as promised, if they try to invite him to a naming ceremony or whatever, I’ll do my best to stop it.

My sister is fine. They say it’s an easy pregnancy. You can tell him that if you want.

There is some gossip that Lan Wangji is writing to his brother from the Burial Mounds, and that Zewu-jun refuses to read his letters. Only telling you what I heard, not commenting. If it’s relevant.

I know it’s not actually true that he fought three wolf spirits in the moonlight and is now wearing their ghost teeth as part of his headpiece, but if you’re bored one night and can find the time in your busy planting schedule, I’d be curious if there’s any actual event behind that insane story. Also, how is Wen Qing?

I’ll be back at Unicorn Tower in three weeks, I can receive your answer at home until then.

Lan Wangji folds the letter up discreetly and stows it away in his correspondence box, under the last letter from Xichen. From the outside, nobody would be able to tell that he’s writing to anyone besides his former Sect Leader and brother.

Jiang Wanyin’s recounting of the gossip about him and his brother only proves how little faith one can put in rumors. Lan Wangji does not expect his brother to be thrilled by the decisions Lan Wangji has made, and this awareness is a small, settled ache in Lan Wangji’s heart, but Xichen is not someone who would refuse to read a letter out of pique. His messages, meticulously friendly and uncontroversial, have continued to come regularly and without fail.

He straightens from stowing the box away. The cave is empty, with dinner preparations already in progress. He can’t blame Jiang Wanyin for his disbelief that anyone would invite Wei Ying to any of the festivities around baby Jin Rulan’s birth, no matter how much Jiang Yanli loves him. With burning shame and regret, Lan Wangji remembers how it took all of his own stubborn determination, founded in a desperate need to bring Wei Ying back into the cultivation world, to get Wei Ying that invitation.

It was not the only tragic mistake that led them to a cliff mere days later, Wei Ying slipping from his grasp. But it was one of them.

So as his first line of defense against the run of the old tragedy, he has asked Jiang Wanyin to interfere with any invitation Wei Ying might receive. It’s a strange enough request that he cannot fault Jiang Wanyin’s confusion, but he appreciates, despite his lingering feeling that the man is pig-headed and not worthy of Wei Ying’s loyalty, that Jiang Wanyin has accepted his request.

He heads out of the cave, into the mild chill of early evening. The central courtyard is busy with dinner preparations, and—

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying calls out, waving his arm as if he’s trying to call Lan Wangji to his side across a wide field, not the small square of the camp. He’s sitting with Fourth Uncle, Wen Qing, and Wen Yunlan, but the stool next to him is free, an empty bowl sitting on top of it. Wei Ying is patting the open seat energetically, as if Lan Wangji sitting down next to him is something that has to be enforced.

The tragic outcome of that invitation to Unicorn Tower only crossed Lan Wangji’s mind briefly. But it still holds power over him, like an old scar aching at a gust of winter. Seeing Wei Ying happy and alive like this is a powerful antidote to those heavy thoughts, a breath of life spreading through his entire body.

Obediently, Lan Wangji heads over to Wei Ying’s dinner group, taking the spot that Wei Ying reserved for him. It’s silly to be so glad to see him. They have always been each other’s closest companions here in the camp. But in the last few days, Lan Wangji feels they have been spending even more time together, Wei Ying coming to talk to him while he’s chopping wood or mending robes, asking his opinion on various new ideas, or beckoning him into the cave for an early presentation of some new tool.

The fish lure he had helped Wei Ying test the other day had attracted a lot of worms, which was a little revolting, although Wei Ying’s outraged expression as he scolded the worms for getting in the way of the fish was terribly charming.

Shortly after Lan Wangji is settled, Ah Yuan comes galloping over, carrying his little wooden bowl and spoon set, which slips from his grip as he throws himself against Lan Wangji’s thigh. Lan Wangji takes him by the arms and stands him up properly, making sure the bounce didn’t hurt him. “Did Grandmother Wen send you over?” he asks.

Ah Yuan nods expansively. “There’s food now.”

“I heard,” Lan Wangji tells him seriously, then picks up the bowl from the ground. There’s a little bit of dirt on the edge but it’s not too bad. 

Ah Yuan’s eyes go bigger as Lan Wangji picks up the spoon, too, as if he’s worried he’s done something wrong.

“You can use this, Hanguang-jun,” Wen Qing says, reaching over Wei Wuxian to hand him a cloth that looks decently clean.

Lan Wangji briefly bows his head. “Thank you.” He wipes off the spoon, then entrusts the utensils to Ah Yuan again. He gets Ah Yuan settled on his knee and calms him with a hand on his back when he tries to bounce around a little too much for comfort. 

“I heard dinner is going to be a big surprise!” Wei Ying says with a meaningful wriggle of his eyebrows.

Lan Wangji catches Fourth Uncle shaking his head quietly.

“A famous produce of this area, known for its nutritious splendor and its health benefits and its…” Wei Ying’s face briefly pulls into a frown as he runs aground. “…fame.”

“We’re having radishes?” Lan Wangji asks. Wei Ying sighs deeply. His woeful pout does a terrible thing to Lan Wangji’s heart, though Lan Wangji does not have a secret potato stash or soup repository to save Wei Ying from his dreadful fate.

“As a salad today,” Fourth Uncle says. “With the baby greens.” 

“You harvested today?” Lan Wangji asks. Ah Yuan is playing with the spoon, which he seems to treat as some sort of ship in the sea that is his empty food bowl, and isn’t requiring Lan Wangji’s entire focus.

“The third south plot,” Fourth Uncle nods. “I’m hoping we can get the plowing done tomorrow, but the rain has left things pretty damp.”

“Let me know if you want my help,” Lan Wangji says.

“If it’s too hard, I might take you up on that,” Fourth Uncle says a little ruefully.

Wen Liu is coming around with the food in a pot, and when she steps close, they all raise their bowls for the familiar procedure. Wen Ning is hovering behind her, a dishcloth still slung over his shoulder. He’s distributing drinking water from a bucket, and looks only his normal degree of nervous.

Lan Wangji finds Ah Yuan restless today, so he monitors him for a bit after Wen Liu serves him up—but there are no spills, and the spoon doesn’t get dropped again. He catches Wen Qing shooting them a small smile.

Lan Wangji misses a bit of conversation as he makes sure the salad is cut small enough that Ah Yuan can handle it, but he hears Wei Ying say, “I think there is some favoritism going on here!”

Lan Wangji’s eyes snap over to him. Is this another case of Wei Ying wanting to be found cute?

But Wei Ying is looking at Wen Liu with an expression of false innocence. “Look at Wen Yunlan’s bowl, he got a bigger portion than this!” he says, pointing at his own food with his spoon. Wen Yunlan is shaking his head with a sheepish little smile, and Wen Liu is lowering her head in embarrassment, which only makes Wei Ying lean in further and grin. “We really can’t have this kind of injustice here, I need to speak to somebody! Wen Qing, you’re always on about being responsib—ow!”

Wen Qing has hit Wei Ying in the shoulder with her knuckles, hard enough that he sways on his stool—though he might, Lan Wangji is aware, also be exaggerating the impact.

“You’re too mean,” Wei Ying pouts, rubbing and rotating his shoulder.

“Leave her alone,” Wen Qing says. “You are insufferable.” She gives the still blushing Wen Liu an exasperated look and says, “Just give this rabblerouser’s portion to me from now on, then he’s got something to complain about.”

“Hey!” Wei Ying says.

Wen Liu laughs, still blushing but clearly not too disheartened. Wen Yunlan doesn’t seem to be concerned either, smiling quietly and peering at her over a bite of salad.

“Look, if you’re going to give anyone extra portions, it should be Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying says, pointing with his chopsticks in Lan Wangji’s general direction. “He’s been carrying everyone’s apples home today!”

“Oh, favoritism is okay when it’s you,” Wen Qing says, rolling her eyes.

“It isn’t favoritism, it’s only what’s right,” Wei Ying points out.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says, feeling uncomfortable with the attention even though it’s obvious Wei Ying is merely making some entertainment for himself. Wen Liu isn’t even taking it seriously enough to stay—she’s already moving on to the next group. “It’s fine.”

Wei Ying sighs dramatically, but perhaps his hunger catches up with him, because he stops his quest to provide Lan Wangji with more radish greens and sulkily stuffs some into his own mouth.

~      ~      ~

Lan Wangji is writing to his brother when he hears Wen Qing’s voice at the cave entrance, with that impatient but protective tone that she uses with Wen Ning. He tries to keep his focus on his writing—it’s only polite—but the hushed voices are distracting. She’s saying something about taking down the third row of herbs. But she’s alone when she comes into view, a small basket in her hand.

He nods at her—his correspondence is no secret—but she doesn’t head past him as he would have expected. Instead, she crosses over to stand beside his cot, setting the empty basket down on Wei Ying’s unoccupied worktable.

“Lan Wangji,” she says. “Are you busy or could I speak with you for a moment?”

Lan Wangji puts his brush down. “Lady Wen,” he says. “No, not too busy.”

Wen Qing lets out a short sigh. It seems her sighs are always short. “Fourth Uncle and some of the guys are working on a gift for you. They’re using some of the saddle leather to make you a proper belt, as a thank you for all your hard work and what you’ve done for us.”

An uncomfortable warmth rises under Lan Wangji’s collar. He doesn’t need rewards for merely doing his part.

“It’s supposed to be a surprise, so they asked me to find out what your belt size is,” she adds. “I have no idea how they think I’m going to accomplish that without you noticing, but to spare both of us the awkwardness, I thought I’d simply come to you.”

“That isn’t necessary,” he says.

“I actually disagree,” she says, a kind curve to her mouth. “But it’s neither here nor there, they’re going to do it.”

Lan Wangji puts his writing aside. If she’s on secret assignment, even if she agreed with him that such a gift is unwarranted, she wouldn’t be able to explain his refusal to the others. “What do you need from me?” he asks.

“I briefly thought about nicking a spare belt of yours but I don’t think you have one, do you?”

“No. It didn’t seem necessary.”

Wen Qing plucks a length of the string she uses to dry her herbs out of the bottom of the basket, unrolls it and raises it in an indication of measuring with a slightly apologetic look. “Do you mind?”

He’s mildly uncomfortable, his limbs feeling awkward as he stands—both because it’s surprising and unusual, and because he’s aware a more normal person would not feel so immediately embarrassed. But Wen Qing is a doctor, and Lan Wangji has learned to deal with much more unusual things. He raises his arms enough that she can measure his waist, making knots in the string where the ends meet around him, and then she straightens, giving him a slightly crooked smile.

“Thanks,” she says, rolling up the marked string.

“Thank you,” he replies, with a small nod.

She looks at him for another moment, so he doesn’t sit back down. It seems like she has a question or inner conflict of some sort. “Is there something else?”

She almost startles, shakes her head. “No, it’s nothing. Sorry to interrupt you.” She nods at his writings and pockets the string.

Perhaps it’s the letters, but in the face of her moment of indecision, he finds himself thinking of what his brother would do. “Are you sure I can’t be of assistance, Lady Wen? It seems like you have something on your mind.”

She looks vaguely surprised, and Lan Wangji feels more awkward suddenly. He is aware that he is not the sort of person that other people generally consider confiding in, and he’s not good at appearing approachable. But he is also aware that Wen Qing’s position among what’s left of her clan must leave her with few options for expressing her concerns to others here. He knows from experience that that can be a lonely position to occupy.

She still seems to be hesitating, but she hasn’t shrugged him off and returned to her work yet—so he draws on his memories of Xichen, and takes a tentative step sideways, indicating that there’s space to sit on his cot for both of them. After a brief moment of unease, she takes him up on the offer, sitting down gingerly.

It helps that she moves as awkwardly as he feels. They’ve lived here in the Burial Mounds for months, even sharing the same cave, but they haven’t had many private conversations. Lan Wangji has a high opinion of her skills and her intelligence, and since it has become clear that she doesn’t have the hold on Wei Ying’s heart that Lan Wangji once selfishly feared she did, he feels more at ease around her. It is also clear that she respects him. But they are both quiet people.

He sits down as well, trying to look the way his brother would. Inviting, like someone people talk to.

“I’ve been thinking lately about… if there’s more I should be doing for Ah Ning,” she says, a bit haltingly, as if the words are unfamiliar.

Lan Wangji frowns. He hasn’t noticed anything being particularly wrong with Wen Ning recently. But then, Lan Wangji primarily interacts with him during their trainings, and Wen Ning doesn’t talk much at meals. “Is he unwell?”

She smiles. “No, nothing like that,” she says, looking down at her hands and rubbing idly at a smudge of dirt on her thumb. “I just mean… well. I know none of us are particularly in a position to think of the future, just now—but everyone else here has some measure of life skills, the abilities they would need to support themselves if we should ever… if…” Her eyes flicker in his direction, as if she’s having trouble finding the right words. “If our situation should change somehow. Ah Yuan is a child, of course, but he has many years to grow, to become an adult. But Ah Ning…” Her voice trails off, eyes unfocused on the space in front of her, as if for a moment the future is playing out in front of her.

Or perhaps the past.

Lan Wangji feels a heaviness settle over himself, considering Wen Ning through her eyes. The boy seemed to have had challenges even before the fall of the Wen clan, but he was a skilled archer, and he acted bravely to assist Wei Ying when he and his family were in trouble. Now, his situation is entirely different. He functions perfectly well within their group here in the Burial Mounds because everyone knows he has a kind nature—but in the wider world, without the protection of a strong clan or the understanding of his eccentricities from the people around him, he might face a much more difficult existence.

That’s assuming he should ever be able to live safely among people without the care of his sister and the guidance of Wei Ying’s talismans. It seems possible, but by no means a certainty.

“I see,” Lan Wangji says, hoping it comes out sounding understanding, the way his brother would say it. Wen Qing looks over at him and gives him a little half-smile, as if she can see what he’s trying to do.

Then she sighs. “I’ve been thinking about training him as a doctor,” she says. “Everyone in my clan knows medicine to some degree, and he’s been an assistant to me for a long time. But I’ve never really treated him as a successor, or a student. I don’t know...” She tilts her head, a flickering smile that betrays a hint of guilt. “He likes to help people, and he’s very conscientious. But I don’t know that he’d have the confidence to learn the necessary skills.”

Lan Wangji isn’t sure what he’s meant to say to that. He has no particular medical expertise, so he doesn’t know if Wen Ning possesses the appropriate skills or not. But Wen Ning’s spiritual impairment and his timid nature admittedly make it hard to picture him in the role of an independent physician. “I would imagine learning to be a doctor is no easy thing,” he says, hoping it leaves room for her to be guided by her own thoughts on the matter. His heart is beating a little fast. This is absolutely not something he has ever done before.

But he’s never lived with people who tease him about snapping the heads off radishes either. He is learning.

She lets out a long breath. “I know. Even leaving aside that he’s susceptible to dark energy, I don’t want to imagine how he’d handle the more heartbreaking parts of the job,” she says, half to Lan Wangji and half to herself. “I’ve just… after those first few months, when he was…” Her voice catches a bit, a haunted look flickering in her eyes at the memory. It’s a feeling Lan Wangji knows well. “I’ve just been so glad to have him back, you know?” she says with a little smile. Almost an apology, though Lan Wangji recognizes that it is not directed at him.

“You and Wei Wuxian, you’ve helped him so much. Saved him. And the training you’re doing, it’s good,” she says, a little bit of her doctor’s appraising tone coming back into her voice. “I don’t like to see him fight, but it’s good that Wei Wuxian is practicing his control, and I think Ah Ning appreciates being able to be useful to him. But I also just feel like… this can’t go on like this forever, can it? And perhaps I should put more effort into making sure that he’s set up to take care of himself later, if any of this…” She gestures around. “If this is ever over. Or if something happens to me, or… anyone.”

She’s never said this much to him at once. Her bickering with Wei Wuxian can sometimes go on for several rounds, but this, this is… real, and new. It’s a bit overwhelming.

Something cold wraps itself around Lan Wangji’s heart as her words sink in. She can’t know, of course, what she’s speaking of. She can’t know how it ended the last time, or how moot the question of Wen Ning’s future became. But her words echo questions that live silently in the back of Lan Wangji’s mind about what comes next. What comes after.

If there should ever be an after.

Lan Wangji swallows. He’s not sure he can offer much that would be of use to her, without explaining his foreknowledge. Though even that would perhaps be of little comfort. “It seems reasonable to consider all contingencies,” he tries, feeling a bit helpless.

She nods, mumbling her agreement vaguely. “I guess I’m used to hunkering down by now. It’s what I did for years as part of Wen Ruohan’s court.” There’s a moment’s hesitation, as she seems to realize what she’s said. Checking his reaction.

Lan Wangji tries his very best not to have one. Her involvement with Wen Ruohan is not new information—her acknowledgment of it does not change anything about their present circumstances, as far as Lan Wangji is concerned.

The tension across her shoulders eases slightly. “I spent so many years just trying to stay out of trouble, doing what I could to keep us safe. I always knew Ah Ning was too gentle for this world, and he had… that problem.” She raises her shoulders in a small shrug. “But his cultivation was strong enough, and there seemed to be a path for him. Now it’s… everything is different.” She gives a small huff of breath, the wry trace of a laugh. “Except the hunkering down and trying to stay out of trouble.”

Lan Wangji understands. His brother’s voice echoes in his head, asking him if this is what he wants to do with his life, build houses in the Burial Mounds. None of them know that Lan Wangji is the one who has the most tangible goal—to keep Wei Ying safe through this crucial time and avert disaster. But even given that, a large part of his plan has been to stay in this in-between state, what Wen Qing calls hunkering down. To maintain the current balance, in hopes of preventing anything from getting worse. “It’s difficult to make plans for the future while we are still in this situation,” he says to her.

“I know,” she says. “And not a priority. Food’s still the priority.”

Potatoes. Lan Wangji feels himself smile. Maybe one ambitious day, for variety, onions.

“Most days, I don’t even mind,” she confesses. “Like, nobody here is raising armies and making puppets and stomping all over other clans just because they can. It’s refreshing.” She gives him a darting look up from under her brow. Her fingers are curling around the edge of the bed, and her sigh is heavy. “I know most of the cultivation world considers us outlaws and would rather we were all dead, but nobody is actually threatening Ah Ning if I put a foot out of line or piss off the wrong idiot…” She rolls her eyes a little, staring ahead into the cave.

Beyond the stain of the association and the price her clan paid for it in the end, Lan Wangji realizes he has never given much thought what life at Wen Ruohan’s court might have been like for someone like her. With a vulnerable brother, and scum like Wen Ruohan’s sons for cousins.

“Anyway,” she says, with a smile and a shift of her posture. “I still wake up grateful we’re here, mud and ghosts and all. I just wonder about Ah Ning’s future, sometimes.” She looks at him sideways, and for an odd moment her self-consciousness seems familiar. “Look how I’ve talked your ear off.”

It is unusual, that much is true. Lan Wangji’s mind feels uncomfortably slow as he tries to figure out the right response. “I’m sorry that I can’t be of more help,” he says, painfully aware that nothing he’s said came even close to actual advice. “But I didn’t mind.” His voice feels weirdly dry even though he’s barely said anything. “You. Talking to me.”

“Thank you,” she says.

“Perhaps,” he ventures, “it would be beneficial to speak to Wei Ying about it. Aside from you, he’s the one who knows Wen Ning’s condition best.”

There’s a guilty slant to her smile now. “I thought about that. But Wei Wuxian is very focused on getting us through today, I didn’t think he’d want to hear about my woes about not having a plan for Ah Ning’s life.”

Lan Wangji’s stomach twists uncomfortably at that. He remembers his attempts to push Wei Ying towards any markers of permanence, and the ache of his sharp rejection. Wei Ying’s refusal to allow any official trappings and titles is tied up with this, the fact that they don’t know what might happen one week from now, and when Lan Wangji isn’t selfishly focused on his own feelings, he understands where it comes from.

It still aches a bit. But he understands.

Nonetheless, he feels certain that Wei Ying wouldn’t object to any discussion of the future, particularly if it didn’t require any direct commitments from him. “I am sure that he would hear you out if you wanted to speak to a sympathetic ear about your brother,” Lan Wangji says. It feels strange to speak about Wei Ying to a third party.

A friend. She’s Wei Ying’s friend. The way they are here, they are… something. Not a clan, perhaps, but not nothing either.

She acknowledges the point with a small tilt of her head. Her mouth twitches when her eyes land on Wei Ying’s chaotic worktable. “Maybe in a while,” she says. “I haven’t really sorted out what I think yet.” She looks back at him. “It was just… on my mind.”

Something about the halting rhythm of her sharing her thoughts feels very familiar—though Lan Wangji is fairly certain she would never clam up in fright because a beautiful boy teased her, or spend nights lying awake in torment because the same boy called her stuffy and boring.

“I understand,” he says.

“I’ll leave you to your writing,” she says, getting up from the edge of his cot. “I have some more herbs to measure out.” She bows her head slightly. “Thank you, Hanguang-jun.”

“Wen Qing.” This, too, feels strange, and perhaps more like something his brother would say. Though his brother probably doesn’t need to line the words up quite so painfully. “If you have something on your mind again, please know that I would not consider it a burden if you came to speak to me about it.”

She gives him a nod, another brief smile, and then she goes back to work, herbs and medicines to get them through today, and tomorrow, and perhaps next week.

~      ~      ~

“So,” Fourth Uncle says after everyone has put their plates down. His cheeks have those two red spots that come out when he has consumed wine, and he looks excited.

Lan Wangji shifts somewhat uncomfortably and catches Wen Qing’s sympathetic yet entertained look. It had been impossible to miss that something was coming from the glances that various people who are not very used to concealing their emotions were sending each other, supposedly in secret, during dinner. At least Lan Wangji is fairly sure his face did not give anything away.

The fact that it has been declared a night for wine also tipped him off somewhat.

Fourth Uncle clears his throat. “Hanguang-jun.”

Lan Wangji nods to register his attention. He has, for obvious reasons, not had any wine, but he feels a warmth rise along his neck that is inconvenient for maintaining the fiction that he is surprised by this turn of events.

Fourth Uncle stands up. The people in the farther sitting groups are also standing, and drawing closer. One of the younger men, Wen Xiaobo, hands Fourth Uncle something wrapped in an empty apple sack.

Lan Wangji assumes that it is fine he looks at least a little bewildered now, because he would certainly find this strange even if he didn’t know what was going on. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Wen Qing bite back a smile.

“What’s going on?” Wei Ying asks, glancing from Fourth Uncle to Lan Wangji. He doesn’t look alarmed but he’s paying attention.

Lan Wangji doesn’t want to lie to him with words, in addition to his inept playacting, so he just looks at Fourth Uncle, passing the question on to him.

“Well, me and the men,” Fourth Uncle says, “we were thinking about how much Hanguang-jun is helping all of us out, and how he always does all the really hard stuff…”

Lan Wangji tries to breathe out his tension. He is allowed to look surprised, but he isn’t sure he is managing.

“He is. He totally does,” Wei Ying says, nodding with conviction even as he still seems not to know where this is going, and when Lan Wangji catches his eyes, there’s something proud in his expression. It sends an unsteady shiver through Lan Wangji.

“So, I should say, we had this left over from those saddles you brought back from town, Hanguang-jun, and it wasn’t taking away from anything we really need for the farming, so…” Fourth Uncle is scratching the side of his neck distractedly, and Lan Wangji thinks he tends to speak more smoothly when discussing planting and harvesting. But then Fourth Uncle reaches into the rough sack and pulls out a somewhat stiff, wide belt, almost as wide as the sash Lan Wangji used to wear with his Lan robes.

He holds it out to Lan Wangji with both hands. The edges of the belt have darker carvings etched into the leather, while at the sides, there are some loops that someone could hook tools or small pouches to. “We hope it’ll look a little nicer than just fabric,” Fourth Uncle says, then clears his throat, “and also be useful.”

“I’m…” Lan Wangji’s pulse is going a little fast with not knowing what he should say, and specifically what he would say if he hadn’t known this was coming. Honestly, he would probably say nothing.

“You will accept, though?” Fourth Uncle asks.

“Yes,” he says hastily. “Of course. Thank you.” He takes the belt. The leather certainly looks used, not something someone from a fine clan would buy. But it’s been well cared-for, and the craftsmanship that went into the carvings is striking. Lan Wangji runs his fingers over the edge of a dark character worked into the lighter brown. Strength, it says. Next to it are a few swirly loops that could be the sun or an abstract flower, and then, Calm. Another one is Honor.

“This is very beautiful,” he says, a strange weight on is throat. Wei Ying leans in close, his sudden presence both comforting and distracting as he peers down at the belt.

“Wow,” Wei Ying says. “Nice!”

“You shouldn’t have troubled yourself,” Lan Wangji says, falling back on politeness. Then, hearing that it might sound like a refusal to someone already nervous, he looks up at Fourth Uncle quickly, hoping he’ll take it as meant.

“Well, we’re not exactly going out for drinks at night, and the festivals in these parts are a bit boring,” Fourth Uncle says, with a gentle grin. Whatever he saw on Lan Wangji’s face, he isn’t worried that the gift was out of bounds. “And I sure write pretty terrible poetry, so, this was safer for everybody.”

There are a few quiet laughs and snorts at that statement. Lan Wangji feels a tug on his mouth, and a flutter of warmth from his belly to his cheeks.

“You should put it on, test the fit!” Wen Qing chimes in.

Lan Wangji feels his limbs getting slower and heavier at the thought of being even more in the spotlight, swapping out his belt in front of the whole group.

“Yes, put it on,” Wei Ying says eagerly.

“Just hold your robes closed, it’ll work,” Wen Qing adds. She gets more talkative on wine nights, he has noticed. Her encouragement is gentle on the surface but there’s a suspiciously wicked glint in her eyes.

He should say yes. It’s such a beautiful gift. He just feels a little stuck, and everyone looking at him, waiting for him to make up his mind about something that would come naturally to any one of them, doesn’t make it easier.

For a bright second, he sees himself back in Gusu, and knows that as himself then he would just turn and go. 

“Let me help?” Wei Ying offers with his irrepressible enthusiasm.

Lan Wangji takes a breath and decides to shed his wavering. “Very well,” he says. He hands Wei Ying the leather belt, while he unties the one made from fabric that is holding his outer robes together, and then holds his robes as per Wen Qing’s teasing suggestion while Wei Ying drapes the leather belt around his waist, leaning in to maneuver the ends together.

It brings Wei Ying close, though not more than Lan Wangji should be used to by now. His skin prickles with awareness anyway, Wei Ying’s head slightly bowed, the little frown of concentration, the soft sway forward of his ponytail. Wei Ying’s hands at his waist as he guides each of the two narrow straps through the buckles feel natural and proprietary, as if Wei Ying thinks nothing of putting clothes on Lan Wangji. When he tugs the belt shut, the brief snap of strength hooks like heat into Lan Wangji’s belly.

“Looks great,” Wei Ying says, stepping back, his smile wide, hitting deep.

“And perfectly measured,” Wen Qing declares, instigating a toast with a wave of her wine cup, to a swell of approving murmurs all around. Then she leans over towards Granny Wen and says, in the tone of a secret whisper but perfectly audibly, “We shouldn’t make him turn all the way around to show it off, should we?”

Lan Wangji takes a breath, deep enough that it clears some of his flush, leaves just an unfamiliar warmth behind. “It fits very well,” he says to Fourth Uncle, then nods at the co-conspirators behind him. “Thank you.”

~      ~      ~

The moonlight is broken by the haze of dark energy. Beyond the barriers Wei Ying has put up, the ghosts have come out, riding on the shadows of darkness. Lan Wangji can feel their distant presence, the disturbance in the world, but it’s so cushioned by Wei Ying’s protection spells and so normal that it doesn’t jostle his sense of peace as he sits on the wooden roof deck, his legs folded in, the air tasting almost clear.

“Hmmm,” Wei Ying is saying, lounging against the support pole of the awning overhead. He has his flute in the one hand, a bottle in the other, and appears to be weighing them. “Play, or drink?”

“Do you have any urgent appointments this evening?” Lan Wangji asks him.

Wei Ying smiles at him, his eyes outshining the distant stars. “Only with you.”

Lan Wangji flushes instantly. He meant to tease, and so did Wei Ying. It’s such a danger that even a mild and easy retort from Wei Ying can stir Lan Wangji’s deepest feelings.

But he doesn’t feel embarrassed. Instead, the small racing shiver that Wei Ying’s playfulness leaves in him feels… good. Like the mild spiciness of the baby greens of their radishes, after he adjusted to the flavor. “Then play first,” he says. In the dark, Wei Ying can’t see his flush, and if Wei Ying is playacting that they had an engagement to meet here on the roof, Lan Wangji can playact having ideas on how such a meeting should go. “You may drink in between.”

For a blink of a moment, Wei Ying seems stunned and oddly fascinated. But he is not someone who needs long to find his footing. “So decisive, Lan Zhan,” he says, a furtive appreciation in his voice that makes the air between them feel closer and warmer. “As you wish.”

Wei Ying begins his tune. It’s light, peaceful, without that dip of sadness that sometimes drifts into the cave when Wei Ying is up here playing by himself. There is no spiritual force behind it. Lan Wangji enjoys it, like a gentle breeze that makes everything calm and a little more beautiful.

His fingers brush the character carvings on the belt briefly. It’s so kind of them. He has not put much focus on how others view him since he traded parts of his past for a chance to save Wei Ying, renounced his clan and disappointed his family. He didn’t expect this to feel so pleasing.

And perhaps he is being vain, but for tonight, he is content to enjoy it.

Wei Ying’s melody winds to a sweet, friendly close. Lan Wangji looks over and catches his smile in the dimmed moonlight as the flute sinks to his lap.

“May I drink now, Hanguang-jun?” he asks. There’s a silky edge to the question.

“You may,” Lan Wangji says, the weight of his pretend magnanimity feeling good in his throat.

Wei Ying bows his head appropriately, then flips the stopper off the flask Fourth Uncle supplied him with. He takes a deep drink, then looks out over the camp. “Good thing Ah Yuan’s asleep,” he says.

“Why is that?” Lan Wangji asks.

Wei Ying’s mouth twitches gently. “Because he thinks we’re sad when we’re up here.”

“I’m not sad,” Lan Wangji says.

“No,” Wei Ying says. He looks very pleased. “I’m not sad either.” He takes another drink, then swirls the bottle playfully. “Also then he’d be cuter than me again.”

Lan Wangji doesn’t flush this time, just rides out the faint tingle of Wei Ying taking such silly joy from his company.

Wei Ying has continued to stick close to him these past few days. More in his space than before, more insistent about wanting Lan Wangji by his side for unimportant, everyday occasions. Lan Wangji doesn’t have any experience to compare it to, as Wei Ying has been the only person who ever inserted himself cheerfully and relentlessly into Lan Wangji’s life as if he wanted to be there, even before Lan Wangji knew how much he craved just that.

It’s good that Wei Ying is so comfortable around him here—that any differences they might have had in the past haven’t made things difficult in the long run, or made Wei Ying feel self-conscious about relying on him. Lan Wangji needs him to feel comfortable, needs him close, so he can be here to avert disaster when the time comes. To protect him.

But lately, this charge between them… it isn’t just Lan Wangji’s usual preoccupation. He doesn’t think so, anyway. He hopes—he thinks—but he’s also trying not to hope, he needs to be careful. He needs to watch himself, to not imagine something that isn’t there, just because he so desperately wishes for it.

Because if he starts to imagine, starts to hope, and it turns out he’s wrong—well. That’s a mistake he shouldn’t make twice. Asking Wei Ying for more than he can give.

“It looks good on you,” Wei Ying says. When Lan Wangji turns to him, he appears to be flustered for a moment. “I mean. The belt.”

Wei Ying pays him compliments. Wei Ying prods Lan Wangji to pay him compliments back. Lan Wangji isn’t sure if Wei Ying is entirely aware, but even with his limited experience of human relations, it seems an unusual escalation of behavior between friends, and it makes him wonder.

It feels new.

“Thank you,” he says. “It was very thoughtful of them.” 

“I’m glad you think so,” Wei Ying says, sounding honest, not teasing now.

Wei Ying asked him to stay out with him. Invited him to the roof. It isn’t anything unusual for them to be alone together, but the way Wei Ying insisted, when they’ve already spent more time together than usual, was noticeable.

Is Wei Ying doing this on purpose? Or is he just being his usual artless self, wanting some company in the moonlight so he isn’t bored and alone, and not feeling particularly shy about demanding it?

“Did you know about the gift?” Lan Wangji ventures.

Wei Ying drops his gaze, a slow sigh escaping. “Nah, I’m terrible with secrets.”

It gives him a tiny pang of disappointment. Then he feels ungrateful, and tries to wipe the thought from his mind. 

“Did you want it to be from me?” Wei Ying asks.

That crackling warmth is back in his stomach. It distracts him. Makes everything disappear except that glimmer of a question.

Does Wei Ying know?

And if he doesn’t…

He looks away from Wei Ying, his heart beating noisily in his ears, and turns his face into the night, hoping for some cooler air.

If Wei Ying doesn’t know… would he mind if Lan Wangji asked?

He hasn’t considered it, truly considered it, in forever. Since that first week, the night that Wei Ying snatched his hand away as if Lan Wangji’s touch on his wrist was a danger or an imposition. He needs Wei Ying to trust him. To let him be his friend.

But it seems like this day, and a few before it, has put them here on this roof, a strange dark shine building between them. A spark that might be struck, if someone dares.

Would he dare?

When he’s quite honest with himself, staring into the darkness with no wishful thinking, but also no anticipation of disaster clouding his mind, he thinks that even if he laid his feelings bare, and Wei Ying rejected him, it wouldn’t have to be a rift. Wei Ying is kind, and not generally disposed to take offense at an honest approach. He even takes pleasure in not caring for propriety, likes to buck convention, and relishes when others do the same. They are such good friends. All that should withstand a moment of misplaced hope and brief humiliation.

“Lan Zhan?”

He startles, caught. What was the question?

“Are you okay?” Wei Ying asks, the suggestive lilt gone from his voice, his focus solely on what might be troubling Lan Wangji as he is staring into the night.

“I’m fine,” Lan Wangji says, swallowing hard against a dry scratch in his throat. If Wei Ying had anything but alcohol in that bottle, he’d ask for a sip. “Quite well.”

“Don’t get sad on my roof,” Wei Ying says, a shy lopsided smile underlining his concern.

Lan Wangji loves him so much.

The question. There was a question.

One slightly more ordinary than the one Lan Wangji is still afraid to ask.

“I would feel very flattered if you gave me such a present,” he says, feeling daring just at that. The little blink it elicits in Wei Ying is gratifying. “But I also believe that your choice of engravings would perhaps not be as suitable.”

Wei Ying stares at him for a moment, before he breaks into a smile. “Lan Zhan, what are you saying? You think I would not have perfect decorum if I got to design your belt?”

Lan Wangji does not even bother to address that. “I expect it would say something like…” Though it is not easy for someone like him to anticipate the unpredictable humor of someone like Wei Ying. “Boring?”

It doesn’t sound right even to him, but Wei Ying sits up and gives him a look of bright shock. “I would never!” he says. Selfishly, pettily, Lan Wangji enjoys this immediate rejection of the idea that he might still be boring to Wei Ying. “I would go for…” Wei Ying ponders it with a tilt to his head. “Steadfast.”

It’s Lan Wangji’s own fault, and he invited the teasing, but now he’s blushing anyway.

“Strong,” Wei Ying adds.

“That’s already on there,” Lan Wangji reminds him.

“Pretty,” Wei Ying says.

For a moment they stare at each other.

“Or handsome, if you prefer,” Wei Ying says, a nervous tension in him that makes that other question flare up again in Lan Wangji’s mind, and leaves his skin tingling.

Does Wei Ying know what he is doing?

“It would be a strange thing to have written on my belt,” he says eventually.

“It’s no less true than the other ones,” Wei Ying insists, then leans back again, not quite as languid as he could be, but he sends another smile Lan Wangji’s way. “What about elegant?”

It’s somewhere between a joke and a dare and a whisper of meaning, and Lan Wangji tries to calm his breath, enjoy the warm shiver, and makes himself not bristle or turn away.

~      ~      ~

It was his fault. His relentless optimism had taken us past two towns where we could have found a large inn, with the separate rooms that my purse comfortably allowed, and instead dragged us onwards until, upon nightfall, we were stuck in some hamlet where a farmer offered us a small storage room and two shared blankets. The farmer, a good, hardworking man, was apologetic about the basic quarters we found ourselves in for the night. Wei Ying was not.

I had grown used to his presence and admitted to myself that his company brought unknown feelings of joy to my life, and that my affection for him ran deeper than mere lust for his body. I still found it easy to be tremendously annoyed with him.

The room was drafty and dusty. He acted like he was on a fine adventure, spreading out one of the blankets on the floor and calling the room “cozy”, while I couldn’t let him know how displeased I was without showing myself ungrateful towards the the farmer and his hospitality.

Already the room was warm and stifling. The draft didn’t save me from the effect of being trapped in here with him. He smiled up at me, infuriatingly cavalier about patting the space beside him on the blanket as if it were the most natural thing in the world for me to lie down beside him and not be mortified by the lack of distance, the heat of my pulse at being able to feel him stir so close.

It was a natural thing for him, of course. It emphasized how strange my longing for him was that he spared not even a fleeting thought to the possibility that I might have these thoughts and feelings.

We were to sleep fully clothed in case of a sudden need to flee, the yin metal tucked inside my robes and our swords right by our sides. It felt like a small mercy.

I lay on my back, holding myself as still as I could, waiting for my customary sleeping time to come and relieve me of the awareness of his closeness, while at the same time frightened that my discipline might abandon me in my sleep, and some dream or phantom thought might make me move towards him.

Wei Ying was not tired yet. He expressed this fact by sharing many of his thoughts on the food we had eaten for lunch, the change in cuisine along our path, the ways a few simple spells could help out on this farm, a theory on why some water spirits prefer wells over streams and rivers, and cats.

It was habit and impulse to find him exasperating. But those few days of his absence after the Jiang family’s departure from the Cloud Recesses had changed the color of silence to me, and I’d found myself thinking of its pallor as a robe that had been washed too often, rather than a sign of refinement. I was aware that he would speak to anyone like this, because it was in his nature to be friendly and let his words sprawl, but deep inside myself I held a knot of tight hope that he might be wanting to speak with me, that I might be someone he found worthwhile to share his thoughts with.

Into the small pause, as he pouted and pondered the lingering mystery of the last village, I said, “I did not see any evidence of a curse on the cat.” The words left my heart beating as nervously as if I had made some momentous confession.

He looked at me with brief confusion, and for a moment I took it as confirmation that he had not expected the tedious and stiff Lan Wangji to partake in the conversation.

“But then why do you think all the villagers were being so weird about it?” he asked me, tilting his head mildly and giving me his full, dizzying attention.

I sat up, so that I would not be lying flat while we were speaking, and we exchanged theories on the manifestation of curses in animals. When he had concluded a tale of vengeful birds, he said, “This reminds me a bit of travelling with Uncle Jiang and Jiang Cheng when we were kids.”

I didn’t know how I should react to this comparison. On the one hand, I wanted to be something else to him than a little brother, and I smarted at the thought of how easily he sorted me into a row of experiences he had had many times. On the other, the comparison was to his family, and I as a stranger should probably be flattered.

“How so?” I asked him.

“Oh, just, being on the road, having adventures. We’d tell ghost stories or try to sneak out without getting caught. We once tried to steal a goat just to see if we could and snuck it into our room, but that was a bad idea, it smelled super bad.” He wrinkled his nose in disgust, which was both childish and beautiful. I felt so helpless towards him.

Then he looked at me with bright curiosity, and asked me such a terrible question. “What sort of things did you get up to when you were younger, Lan Zhan?” he asked.

He meant on travels or while visiting family. He meant pranks and childish adventures, for fun, for laughs.

I had no answer for him. I felt myself blushing and hated myself for it, because there should be no embarrassment in being responsible, in avoiding frivolity.

“Oh, right,” he said, and I still couldn’t answer him.

I thought he would mock me. Even after the lantern ritual, after he had drawn the rabbit for me, I was certain that my solitude and ineptness would be amusing to him, make me a subject of derision, and it scared me. His careless ridicule had an irrational and embarrassing power to wound me.

But what he said was, “Ah, Lan Zhan, you’ve been much too busy for fun stuff like that, being Hanguang-jun and all. I know the yin metal is terrible and very serious business, but just between you and me, I’m a bit glad it’s getting us out on the road like this.” His eyes seemed to shine as if he had told me a secret, even though he was only being kind and foolish.

He told me more stories of his childhood, and as he spoke I began to realize with the strangest sense of the world shifting that he was doing so to make me feel a part of them, rather than to heighten my awareness of my own isolation. My heart was beating so noisily I feared he might see it, with how fond I suddenly felt.

Lan Wangji stares down at the paper. Reads the top part again, then the final few lines. Then he reads it again in its entirety, and his pulse is fast, pumping cold realization through his veins.

It’s gone. He has no memory of any of this.

He rearranged the papers, this wasn’t the top sheet. He didn’t write this yesterday. He’s written so many of these that he doesn’t remember when he wrote each individual one.

But it’s gone from his mind. It’s as if he’s reading a stranger’s story.

His fingers skim the writing, as if he could touch this past Wei Ying through the words, call him back in all his splendor.

The record rings true. It fits what he knows of Wei Ying. He can draw up a picture of the two of them in some dusty storage room. Wei Ying’s older, more lavish robes. His smile, which hasn’t changed. The way he found Wei Ying’s presence maddening. He remembers enough from his younger years to know which wild, anxious heartbeat he meant when he wrote this down and tried to capture his own insecurity in the face of a sign that Wei Ying might genuinely enjoy his company. Remembers enough of the dizzying and terrifying effect Wei Ying had on him then to imagine what it must have been like to suddenly be stuck in a small room with him, sharing a blanket.

He remembers enough to piece it back together. He remembers enough for now.

He can see from the light shiver of the box that his hands are shaking. He takes a deep breath, tries to calm himself down. He knew this was coming. That’s why he wrote it down.

His eyes track the writing again. Wei Ying told him stories. Why didn’t he write down which stories? Why didn’t he write down if Wei Ying was smiling when he made that kind remark about Lan Wangji not being friendless and boring, but instead just too busy for youthful adventures? Why didn’t he write down how they woke up? Was Wei Ying sleepy? He would have been, probably, but now Lan Wangji has to imagine it, fill in all the details he forgot to put on paper. He left out so much, and now it’s all gone.

On a flush of fear, he rifles through the papers. The things that happened before this, the things he holds so deeply in his heart that he wrote them early, are further in the back. His eyes skim the characters but what he really needs to find, what he needs to see—

Wei Ying’s drawing of the rabbit is right there, on top of Lan Wangji’s notes about the lantern ceremony. He stares at it with his heart pounding, and it’s here on the page, but also in his mind, clear, safe. His perfect rabbit.

~      ~      ~

It may not even be the first one. The thought rings in his mind as he tries to get some work done, be of use to the people around him. He tries to use his awareness of this fact to calm himself, though the horror of his first real proof of what he’s losing is still lurking within him, shadows creeping up on him when his mind drifts from the plowing, the harvesting, the helping.

But it’s all right. He lost something, but he’s no worse off than yesterday. He can’t know what else he might have already forgotten that didn’t stand out enough for him to write down, and he is still pushing this plow, helping grow the radishes. He can still look across the courtyard to where Wei Ying is teasing Ah Yuan with the floating stick, and feel his heart grow heavy with affection and with gratitude that he gets to be here.

He knew this was coming. It’s worth it.

He may have forgotten weeks and months and not know about it, but it doesn’t change his love or his mission. Knowing there might already be black empty spots in his memory, and going on the way he knew he would, is like cleaning a wound with vinegar. Not nice, but ultimately beneficial.

Turning over the fields for a new round of planting is hard work. Lan Wangji lets effort and sweat be his focus, and takes gratification from how his work makes the others’ tasks easier.

He will always know Wei Ying. He will not forget everything. He will remember everything that’s happened since the moment time diverged, the day he stood before Wei Ying in the rain and chose to stay behind, chose to follow. He will remember everything here, and everything of the other future, the one that must not happen. The erasure of his memories prior to that point is a price he paid willingly, another thing he chose. For the most important things, those memories he can’t bear to lose, he will have his diaries. The plow goes around and the soil gives, and the fear in his heart will calm down soon.

“You’re quiet today,” Fourth Uncle says when they break for lunch.

Lan Wangji startles. Nobody has spoken much all morning, and he forgot this is a thing they do during farm work. “My apologies,” he says.

Fourth Uncle’s face changes from a crinkled smile to one of concern, and Lan Wangji realizes belatedly that Fourth Uncle was making a joke. “Is everything all right, Hanguang-jun?”

“Yes,” Lan Wangji says. “I’m fine.” He wants to apologize again for misunderstanding, but it would draw too much attention.

He’s fine. He entered a bargain. Now he has to honor the price.

As everyone finds spots in the courtyard, Lan Wangji passes the little gathering where Granny Wen is handing out lunch rations to Wen Song, her mother, and her sister, and drifts over to Wei Ying. Wei Ying is playing with Ah Yuan. He has wrapped a spare length of his wrist fastenings around the floating stick so that it hangs in the air a little heavier, the black ends of the fabric swaying as it shivers.

“It’s a bird!” Ah Yuan exclaims. “It can fly!”

Wei Ying turns to him, an eyebrow raised as if Lan Wangji has criticized his floating stick again.

Seeing Wei Ying’s failed experiment turn into an exciting toy for Ah Yuan is a gentle balm on his jagged pulse, helps him pull the aching pieces of himself back together. He knows what he is holding on for. He won’t lose this. If he stays the course, if he’s able to succeed in his mission, this new life he is building out of the ruins of his past will more than make up for the loss.

“That is a very good bird,” Lan Wangji says. “I hope it won’t fly away.”

The daring challenge in Wei Ying’s expression fades, replaced by a rueful smile. “I think it’s more of a low-flying bird,” he says, as Ah Yuan strains up on his toes to try and catch it. Wei Ying holds out a steadying hand when Ah Yuan’s balance wobbles on landing, and the lingering fear and loss pressing on Lan Wangji’s heart finally ease up.

This is what matters. Lan Wangji doesn’t have to remind himself. It’s right here, with him.

“I would assume having a bird close to the ground would be better for playing than one who will soar among the trees,” Lan Wangji says. In a way it’s almost strange that neither of them has thought of this use for the failed invention before.

Ah Yuan hops up towards the stick again.

Maybe it could even be something more interesting than a black bird, made up of one ribbon. Maybe it could be a dragon. Lan Wangji is no master of the needle but with some help, perhaps this can be turned into something that will make Ah Yuan very happy.

He suddenly remembers Wei Ying in those white, floating student robes, eyes sparkling with mischief in the moonlight, trying to flirt his way out of trouble when Lan Wangji had been so utterly unfit to cope with it. Their very first fight, high above the roofs of the Cloud Recesses.

Wei Ying looks at him over Ah Yuan’s head, his smile warmer and a little more secret, a little less challenging.

Lan Wangji will lose those memories too. He doesn’t know when, but one day he’ll have to read through his diaries to know how they met and how Wei Ying exploded his quiet life of safety and structure.

His heart thumps heavily with foreboding, but then he tries to shake it off. What is important is what’s here now.

~      ~      ~

The air still seems to crackle on Lan Wangji’s skin as they make their way back up the narrowing, darkening path. Wen Ning is walking ahead, as they both like to keep an eye on him, though their training went without a hitch. Aside from mild exhaustion and his usual consternation when he reawakens in a body still pounding with demonic rage, Wen Ning is fine.

Wei Ying was impressive. Lan Wangji hit him harder this time, trying to disturb his control and wind a distracting grip around his melodies, but he was resolute. His eyes shine with satisfaction whenever he sends Lan Wangji a glance, and Lan Wangji doesn’t know for sure how much of it he is imagining, but his body always seems to be a little closer than Lan Wangji expects as they walk next to each other.

These brushes with resentment energy always leave Lan Wangji a little unsettled, and the rawness just under his skin makes him even more aware any time Wei Ying leans in to comment on something, or for no reason at all.

“You almost got me that one time,” Wei Ying says, in a tone of confession.

That is news to Lan Wangji. “I didn’t think I did,” he says. “I never felt you waver.”

They’re getting close enough to the protective seal that Lan Wangji can feel its energy, even though it’s barely a whisper in his mind compared to how conscious he is of the dark power just barely settled in Wei Ying’s veins.

“Good,” Wei Ying says, his smile winding like a sliver of heat right into Lan Wangji’s belly. “I didn’t mean for you to notice, obviously.”

“I didn’t,” Lan Wangji says, turning his eyes towards the path again.

“I thought we sounded good together,” Wei Ying says. “It had me distracted.”

It sends a selfish spark of pleasure through Lan Wangji. The challenge of the training always puts Wei Ying in a feverish mood, and the question of whether he means to tease or knows he is playing to Lan Wangji’s hopes remains as open as ever.

“We could play together sometime, without any battle involved,” Lan Wangji says. “If you’d like.” 

“I think I’d like,” Wei Ying says, eyes sweeping over Lan Wangji. “Though the battles are fun…” 

At the protective seal, Wei Ying picks up two apples from the improvised shrine that the villagers have built for the Yiling Patriarch. He holds one out to Lan Wangji, and perhaps it is the mood or Wei Ying’s flirty nature that makes it look not entirely innocent.

“Want one?” he asks with an arched eyebrow.

Lan Wangji doesn’t usually take these offerings. He understands that for Wei Ying, the impertinence of it adds to the joy of consuming them, but to Lan Wangji the whole business is based on foolishness. And yet, at the same time, he can’t bring himself to interfere with someone’s shrine offerings, even if they were made on a ridiculous premise.

But something shifts inside him, pushes all that back into some mist of things he doesn’t care about anymore. “I do,” he says, enjoying the flare of surprise in Wei Ying’s eyes as he holds out his hand.

Their fingers brush as Wei Ying lets him have the apple. Lan Wangji’s stomach is too restless for him to feel hungry, but now that he has it, it would be odd not to take a bite. So he does.

Wei Ying appears to be somewhere between flustered and excited as they fall back into their pace. The seal crackles closed behind them.

The loquat. That time, with his brother. He threw it back because he didn’t want to want anything from Wei Ying and didn’t want to give him any satisfaction.

Has he written that down? His pulse quickens suddenly. What if one day he should discover that Wei Ying shares enough of his feelings that a teasing gift like the apple isn’t just for entertainment, but a sign that he wants Lan Wangji to take his hand, pull them together, embrace him? Would it matter that he can no longer remember that small moment on the boat ride, Wei Ying’s mischief and his own shameful awkwardness? Maybe it wouldn’t. If Wei Ying wanted Lan Wangji to embrace him, few other things would matter in that moment.

And he’d never even know what was gone.

“Wei Ying,” he starts.

It isn’t even particularly important. He was foolish about so many things. The loquats are but a drop in the ocean.

“Yes?”

“I’ve been thinking, about the villagers,” he says, the half-eaten apple still in his hand. “They leave these things to ask for protection.”

“Some of them do,” Wei Ying corrects him. “The ones who think I’m fierce and ugly, so I think I deserve to eat all of their apples.”

“Yes,” Lan Wangji concedes. “They do. But regardless, they are not wrong.”

“I’m fierce and ugly?” Wei Ying says with pretend affront.

Lan Wangji chooses his words carefully. “We are a concentrated group of cultivators, living permanently in the area,” he says. “It would be in line with tradition to help the local people who have no spiritual energy.”

Wei Ying doesn’t reply for a few steps. When Lan Wangji looks over, Wei Ying’s face is mostly neutral. “Just because we’ve been here for a while doesn’t mean people who are not weird and crazy want us to meddle in their business,” he says.

Right. Perhaps that was too much already—one mention of permanent.  

On the heels of Wei Ying’s relentless closeness and joyful flirting, the brush-off leaves Lan Wangji feeling oddly hurt.

“We have a doctor,” he says, a little more forceful than he intended. “People always need doctors. You have improved the weather for our crops. If a farm in Yiling was haunted, people wouldn’t even know they can ask us.”

“We’re doing lots for them already, we sell them excellent radishes,” Wei Ying says, and Lan Wangji has to breathe through a flare of actual anger.

It’s not Wei Ying’s fault. Wei Ying doesn’t want them to be a clan. If Lan Wangji’s selfish wishes hadn’t made him fear that this is where Lan Wangji wants to maneuver them, maybe this wouldn’t even be an issue. “It wouldn’t hurt us to build some relations and have some people positively inclined towards us,” he tries again, calmly.

“We agreed that we should keep a low profile because that’s safest,” Wei Ying says. The wariness in his voice is sharp like a blade. “Advertising our services as the local cultivators isn’t exactly keeping a low profile.”

Fine. Lan Wangji lets it go. He didn’t even mean it to be about the clan question, or any sort of leadership question. It would just be right.

But he’s letting go of more important things than this. He’s going to be fine.

“I’m sorry, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says after a while of them walking in silence, far enough behind Wen Ning that he didn’t notice the spat. “It’s not a good idea.”

“Understood,” he says. The camp comes into view where the path turns lighter in the distance. They’ll have dinner soon. He’s still holding half an apple, and he will finish it, because they don’t let food go to waste. He just needs a moment, somewhere, to sit, and write down the memory of the loquats.

~      ~      ~

By the time Lan Wangji hears people getting ready for dinner, he has calmed down from his moment of pique. He has also written a diary entry about that day in Caiyi, and his heart is full with how young and bright Wei Ying was. To this day, Lan Wangji isn’t sure how much of their early squabbles was purely Wei Ying’s sunny and noisy nature clashing with Lan Wangji’s helplessness, and how much was Wei Ying wanting to get under his skin to see him squirm. He is fairly sure it is some mixture of both.

They are good memories now. He didn’t need the bargain to realize how precious they are. Ten years of Wei Ying being dead already made sure of that.

Wei Ying deserved better from the world. At least Lan Wangji is here to stand by him this time, and fight as much of the world as he has to.

And when the worst of the danger is past, Lan Wangji can ask his question. Can take the flirting and the laughing and nights on the roof and compliments on his looks and worries over Lan Wangji’s radish portions, and ask, Did you mean it?

Do you want me?

He brushes his fingers over the diary entry on top of the stack, the account of Wei Ying lounging on a boat in an outrageously brazen way as he threw fruit in Lan Wangji’s direction.

When the worst of the danger is past, will he still remember?

Will he know about the rabbit on the lantern?

His fingers tremble slightly, and he closes the box. The flirting, the closeness, it’s all happening now. He missed his chance the last time, if there ever was one, always waiting, hesitating, caught within himself. Waiting for later, for someday, to be surer or freer or different. And Wei Ying…

Wei Ying is generous. Wei Ying is kind. On anything but the question of the clan, he’s always listened to Lan Wangji and been willing to hear him out.

If Wei Ying’s answer should ever be yes… Lan Wangji wants to still know. Still be all the parts of him that led him to this point. He wants to know about the rabbit lantern, and his helpless fear at Wei Ying’s charm and beauty, and the first time he admitted to himself that he yearned for Wei Ying’s touch.

His stomach is in turmoil as he stands up.

There will be dinner soon. There will be structure. Something to turn to, if he’s wrong.

He heads outside the cave, nervousness and cowardice looping around each other inside him. He isn’t sure how to say it, how he would even put it without being presumptuous. Without placing another burden on Wei Ying, infusing all that’s good between them with hurt and guilt. But the urge is beating wildly behind his forehead, and he wants to… say something.

Wei Ying is alone, sitting at the edge of the courtyard on one of their wooden benches, bent forward as he tinkers with something in his hands. The mists of the Burial Mounds are rising, gradually swallowing the light. It is what elsewhere would be sunset.

A few paces over, people are still wrapping up farm work, or having little chats as they unwind from their labor. Nobody comes rushing at them with duties or questions.

Lan Wangji takes a deep breath. He imagines it tastes of the decay inherent in this place, but he’s been here so long that he doesn’t notice anymore. Somewhere, he can smell a faint trace of cooking. Another reminder that they’ve made things good here.

“Wei Ying,” he says quietly.

Wei Ying turns around for him. There’s a demonstrative energy to his movements that is maybe supposed to hide nervousness, but Lan Wangji can tell he is a little on edge. “What is it, Lan Zhan?”

Lan Wangji still feels the chill of their fight lingering under his skin, and he suspects Wei Ying feels the same. Given the pattern of the last few weeks, Wei Ying not even trying to stick close to him was a telling sign.

“May I join you?” he asks.

“Of course!” Wei Ying says, shuffling sideways by less than a hand’s breadth to make sure it’s clear he’s making space.

Lan Wangji sits down next to him on the bench, brushing his robes out over his knees. For a brief, silly moment, he thinks that if they were not farming radishes in the Burial Mounds, he could have put on something different for this.

At least his robes are not dirty from the plowing today. He looks out at the mists curling around the trees, aware from head to toe of Wei Ying’s presence, the way he feels alive here.

“What’s wrong?” Wei Ying asks. Now the nervousness is real. “Are you still mad? I’m sorry about before, Lan Zhan. You’re probably right about the village—I mean, we can at least talk about it, if you want. I shouldn’t have shut you down like that…”

Lan Wangji takes another deep breath. This is a good development. They should talk about this more.

But not now.

“Wei Ying, I have a question.”

“What?”

His pulse is in his ears, but he opens his mouth, makes it form the words. “Would you forgive me a mistake?”

He isn’t looking, but he can hear the soft huff of Wei Ying’s laughter. That sound, too, is nervous. “What did you do, Lan Zhan? Murder another radish?”

Lan Wangji almost startles at the joke. His lack of farming skills were the furthest thing from his mind, and the wild swing tells him with a moment of unsteadiness that Wei Ying truly has no idea where Lan Wangji is leading him. “No,” he says.

His eyes still ahead, he can feel Wei Ying turning serious, and in a way that helps, means he can’t back out now. He can’t just leave Wei Ying worried.

“I’m not angry about— You weren’t wrong, before,” Wei Ying says. “If that’s what you mean, there’s nothing to forgive.”

Lan Wangji shakes his head. “It’s not that,” he says. “It isn’t something I’ve done yet.” He looks over at Wei Ying slowly, his whole body tight with apprehension, a jitter he can barely hold in at the open question on Wei Ying’s face.

Wei Ying’s face has always done that, even before Lan Wangji knew him. Always made him stumble.

 “Sure,” Wei Ying says, uncertainty making him sound uneven. “It’s you. Of course I would.”

Lan Wangji believes him.

Then he takes Wei Ying’s hand. Feels the brief, confused tension in it, but Wei Ying lets him lift it towards him. All the way up, until Lan Wangji presses his lips to the back of it.

His eyes are closed, and his heart is hammering beneath his skin. He hears Wei Ying’s quick little breath.

Wei Ying’s hand is cool from the evening. A little lighter in tan than Lan Wangji’s own is by now. A beat, a breath, and Lan Wangji lets their hands sink again between them and rest on the wooden bench, his mouth tingling from something so utterly new, the warmth of Wei Ying’s skin whirling through him like a waterfall.

There’s a twitch in Wei Ying’s hand against his. Lan Wangji sees it, a shiver of Wei Ying’s startlement he can feel against his palm, and he starts to let go, the air stirring wild around him, Wei Ying so frozen beside him. Then Wei Ying’s fingers clutch at his, squeezing clumsily.

A hot, sharp knot goes tight in Lan Wangji’s belly.

Wei Ying isn’t moving. When Lan Wangji dares to look at him, Wei Ying is staring at their linked hands, his eyes alert and confused, lips parted on a nervous breath.

“Is everything all right?” Lan Wangji asks, his heart beating so fast that he thinks Wei Ying might be able to see it, if only he lifted his head.

“Yes,” Wei Ying says sharply. “Everything’s all right.” His hand squeezes in a tight flutter again, and even though Wei Ying is still staring, stunned, the knot in Lan Wangji’s stomach twists and ripples, releasing warmth.

He wants to embrace Wei Ying so much it hurts, but he also wants this. Wei Ying making a choice. Wei Ying getting to think. To know what Lan Wangji wants.

It’s all right, he thinks, releasing an unsteady breath. Wei Ying isn’t swooning into his arms or claiming him with a kiss as if he was waiting for this, but… Lan Wangji knew that was unlikely. Their lives are complicated, and this is complicated. It’s why he waited.

And Wei Ying has never… Wei Ying might not. Want that. He knows that too.

“Not a mistake,” Wei Ying says. There are other questions, in his eyes, between them, but Wei Ying’s nod at that is firm.

“Understood,” Lan Wangji says, his throat as rough as if he’d been screaming himself hoarse. “We’re going to have dinner soon.”

“Yes,” Wei Ying says.

Lan Wangji wants to say something clever. Something to lighten the mood that will give Wei Ying the break he needs without making anything awkward. But he has never been much good at that, and his mind is blank, and his heart is still pulsating with relief and yearning and faintest hope, at Wei Ying holding on to him. “I’ll stay with you,” he says, half a question, entirely stupid.

“Yeah,” Wei Ying says hoarsely, nodding as if they settle all their dinner seating arrangements like formal invitations. “Please do.”

Chapter Text

The paperman flutters down from the sky and crumples up in the palm of Wei Wuxian’s hand, exhausted. Wei Wuxian sighs. Crap, that one wore out even faster than the last one. What the hell is going on up there? He squints up against the broken sunlight, where a narrow gap has been ripped into the resentment clouds, blue sky above peeking through.

His aim must be off. He keeps overshooting, punching holes straight through the cloud cover and into the stratosphere, instead of drawing a gentle breeze along at the level of the clouds, pushing them away. Now he’s got a greenish blanket of clouds, as thick as ever, with a single hole torn through it. And a nosebleed.

He swipes a rag from his belt and wipes up the trickle of blood, peering up at the sky as if it’s the sky that punched him.

It would help if he could actually concentrate.

Lan Zhan is over in one of the main fields, pushing the plow along like he does most days. Or a lot of days, anyway—usually Wei Wuxian isn’t out here to see it, but it seems like he does that a lot. All sure and steady, his hair a little ruffled from the exertion. He’s got such a narrow frame, but Wei Wuxian knows how much that plow weighs, can see the way he’s putting his back into it, his shoulders working as he drives it smoothly along.

It’s all totally normal. Apart from the nosebleeds and Wei Wuxian kind of sucking at his job right now, everything is perfectly normal. Lan Zhan is doing his farm work, Wei Wuxian is dealing with the resentment clouds, nothing’s out of the ordinary, nobody’s sitting lonely in any radish patches, and sometimes for a stretch Wei Wuxian even forgets that anything not normal has even happened.

But then he remembers.

It’s a little surreal when he thinks back on it. Even the twilight made it strange, that time of day where it’s a little too early for firelight but a little too late to see everything clearly. Wei Wuxian doesn’t like fighting with Lan Zhan, so he was really glad when Lan Zhan came to talk to him—but  Lan Zhan was being so weird, he thought maybe it was going to blow up into another whole thing, and Lan Zhan was talking about mistakes, and then…

And then Lan Zhan kissed him. His hand. He kissed it. With his mouth and everything. For a while after that Wei Wuxian’s mind was just this rushing noise, no thoughts, poof.

Lan Zhan straightens when he gets to the end of his row. His eyes find Wei Wuxian across the courtyard, and it sends a brief ripple of shock through him. But, no big deal, Lan Zhan’s just interested in where he is. Wei Wuxian likes knowing where Lan Zhan is, too, this isn’t actually weird. This would have happened before yesterday. It wouldn’t have been weird then, and it doesn’t have to be weird now. Everything’s cool.

Lan Zhan’s gaze sharpens as he seems to notice the rag pressed to Wei Wuxian’s nose.

Wei Wuxian makes a little show of laughing at himself, and motions at the hole in the resentment clouds, shrugging lightly. No big deal at all. Wei Wuxian is totally fine.

Lan Zhan hesitates for a moment. His frown makes it look like he’s not sure whether to believe Wei Wuxian or not. But then he seems to decide in favor, and gives him a small nod as he gets back to work.

See? Normal. It’s been like that all day—even yesterday evening was normal, Lan Zhan sitting on his bed doing some mending while Wei Wuxian was at the worktable with a couple of new talismans. He didn’t make any progress on them whatsoever, but Lan Zhan finished hemming a robe, and it was normal and companionable, almost like nothing happened at all.

Maybe at some point this weird, jittery feeling will even go away.

Maybe Lan Zhan will just go on being normal like this, and Wei Wuxian can go on being normal, and he won’t even have to figure out what he’s supposed to say.

“Wei Wuxian!” Wen Qing’s firm voice makes him flinch. He turns his head and sees her standing next to Granny and Wen Liu, a basket of herbs hanging from her arm. Her stare is narrow and critical. “You all right?”

He turns away from Lan Zhan in the field and makes his way over to her. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he says, dabbing his nose. It seems like the bleeding’s already stopped. “Just pushed it a little too hard.” Her eyes stay sharp on him, and he holds up his wrist. “You can check if you like.”

She does, and mellows out a bit when she sees he wasn’t lying.

He sees her eyes flicker toward where Lan Zhan is working in the field, and there’s a look on her face like she’s going to ask him… something, who knows, but whatever it is, Wei Wuxian’s not up to it.

“What’s that?” he asks, before she can form a question. When she looks puzzled, he motions towards her basket. He hasn’t seen those leafy herbs with the strangely tidy roots before.

“Oh.” She sighs, glaring down at the leaves as though they’ve personally offended her. “Dark Winter Wormwood. Probably a failed experiment. I thought it might be useful if we grew our own fever medicine, but the dark energy in the soil must be messing with it. Something’s off about it.” She picks up one of the plants, sniffs it, then hands it to Granny. “What do you think?”

Granny rubs it gently between her fingers, also tries to smell it, then lightly dabs her tongue against it. She raises her eyebrows. “Tastes like pepper?” she says. “It’s been a while, but I don’t remember that it’s supposed to do that.”

“No,” Wen Qing says, with a frustrated frown. “That’s what I thought. Something’s weird about it.”

Wen Liu puts down the radish she’s been scrubbing and leans towards Granny, taking the herb off her. “Maybe we could use it as seasoning?” she wonders. Wei Wuxian thinks he recognizes a fellow sufferer of radish fatigue in her keen expression.

“A powerful medicinal plant that’s apparently absorbed a lot of resentment energy and is doing something different from what it normally does?” Wen Qing asks back, her eyebrows raised. “Let’s not. I don’t want you all growing scales.”

Wen Liu snorts, and Granny gives Wen Qing a sympathetic look as Wen Qing stares at her potentially evil plants. Then she looks back at Wei Wuxian. “If you have a moment, do you think you could take another look at the soil in the herb plot, see if you can improve it?”

“Make it less evil?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow.

She raises a shoulder. “You do it with the clouds. It might be worth a shot. Would make us a lot less dependent on buying things in town.”

“I don’t mind trying,” he says. And then, with a grin, “What do I get if I save you all this money?”

She thwacks him across the arm with the weird pepper grass. “Free medical services, is what you’re getting.”

“All right, all right,” he says, holding up his hands in surrender. “Where did you plant those things? I’ll go have a look.”

“Over there, you’ll see where I’ve just dug these up.” Wen Qing lifts the basket in the direction of one of the easternmost radish fields, one plot down from where Lan Zhan is working.

There it is again. That wobble in his stomach. He swallows.

But he keeps his cool as he gives Wen Qing an affirmative salute and heads off, only shooting a couple of glances at Lan Zhan’s back as he pushes the plow down another row.

This is normal. It’s not even that close, Lan Zhan might not even notice him crouching over here, not while he’s busy. They were closer in the cave.

And on the bench.

Would you forgive me a mistake?

It wasn’t a mistake. Wei Wuxian is still sure of that, is going to make damn sure Lan Zhan doesn’t have to regret it, because they’ve been there done that, and that sucked, so… yeah. Wei Wuxian is not going to let him feel weird about it. He’s not going to let it make anything weird.

He just needs to… think. Thinking is fine, thinking isn’t weird, and thinking doesn’t make this a mistake either.

He sits on the ground beside the patch of upturned earth, poking at it with a stick and seeing the way the soil curls around it, crumbles away. It’s kind of chalky. Good enough for radishes, but maybe the herbs are more delicate. And, well, then there’s the whole evil thing. He glances up again without really thinking about it, and catches Lan Zhan turning at the end of his field, noticing Wei Wuxian. Wei Wuxian smiles. Lan Zhan gives him a small nod, his mouth doing that quiet little smile thing back, and Wei Wuxian’s stomach flutters stupidly with nerves and… well. Nerves.

Everything’s normal. Nobody made any mistake. Lan Zhan… Lan Zhan asked him a question, which is the normal thing to do when you want to know something, and Wei Wuxian didn’t fuck it up this time, and he’s going to do his damndest to not fuck it up now either. He can handle this, he can make this all fine. There’s no rush. Lan Zhan kissed his hand and it felt strange and warm and tingling, but now his hand is cool in the air and he has work to do. And so does Lan Zhan.

Wei Wuxian turns back to the plot in front of him and tries to focus on the ground, the bones, let his mind reach out for the relentless sadness that is soaking the earth just beyond the edges of this reclaimed field, and put the steadfast drag of the plow resuming one field over out of his mind. 

~      ~      ~

“I asked you a question.”

Wei Wuxian’s head snaps up, his heart skipping, jolting forward. “What?“ He blinks around, trying to connect the question with the voice.

“Wei Wuxian.” Wen Qing is quirking an eyebrow at him, the lights of the evening fires flickering unevenly over her face. “How many herbs should I go for this time around?”

Wei Wuxian has to stop himself from answering “what herbs?” like an idiot—because right, he remembers now why he zoned out after his report about the herb garden. The stupid finances are really not his area of expertise and she’s usually happy to leave him to his own devices while they debate seed prices and value for money. He’s just the fix-it guy. “How should I know?” he says. “The ground looks fine now as far as I could dig, but if your fever plants draw this shit from deep down, there’s only so much I can do.”

She gives him a slightly irritated look. “I’m asking you for your opinion. Seeing as it's your area of expertise.”

He glares back for just a moment, a lurch of indignation in his gut. But then as quickly as the anger comes, he starts to feel stupid. He doesn’t even know why he’s feeling so cornered, but now he feels Lan Zhan’s attention on him too, and it makes him feel guilty for being grumpy. “You’re the one with the purse strings,” he says, trying to soften it with a little shrug. “Whatever we spend on it is going to be a gamble. I can’t guarantee it’s going to work.”

“You said the herbs take about to three weeks to grow, Lady Wen?” Lan Zhan says, his voice as calm as the night around them, and as warm as the glow of the fire.

Wei Wuxian has another reluctant spoonful of his radish stew, and doesn’t look up, but he assumes Wen Qing confirms what she reported earlier.

“Then it wouldn’t be a great hardship to first try with a smaller amount of seeds, would it?” Lan Zhan says. It sounds clever, and helpful. When Wei Wuxian sneaks a glance at him, he finds Lan Zhan looking thoughtful, gentle in the firelight, his sturdy leather belt somehow making his Burial Mounds robes look better, more proper. The cuffs of his sleeves are always tidier than Wei Wuxian’s, and there’s something elegant about how he holds his bowl and chopsticks. “We have been very fortunate and not had many illnesses since our arrival. If our good fortune holds, a few weeks more or less should not be a problem. And if the goal of the experiment is to conserve funds in the long run, it seems reasonable to experiment in small amounts.”

“No, you’re right,” Wen Qing says. “That’s a really good point.” She sounds much nicer talking to Lan Zhan than when she talks to Wei Wuxian. Nicer enough to make a lesser man sulky, but Wei Wuxian appreciates it when people are nice to Lan Zhan, so, he lets it go. “I was just very frustrated by the first batch. I’ll do it like that.”

“I will be in town tomorrow or the day after, and could pick up what you need,” Lan Zhan offers.

“I’d appreciate it,” Wen Qing says, and Wei Wuxian looks up to find her smiling.

Lan Zhan is just so great. At least there’s no question there. People know that. Lan Zhan is… great.

He watches the firelight flicker over the slope of Lan Zhan’s nose, along the curve of his jaw where it bends toward his mouth. Each bite he takes is neat and tidy, his tongue poking out just a flicker as he licks a drop of broth from his lip.

Lan Zhan’s eyes meet his then, and he feels caught suddenly, a low swoop in his stomach as he realizes he was staring. Pretty weirdly. But Lan Zhan’s face is very calm, just his usual kindness. “You worked very hard today,” he says. “I hope it is rewarded.” 

Wei Wuxian feels his ears get weirdly warm at the totally random praise. He wants to say that he was just messing around, trying the usual things, but he also doesn’t want to get into another round of arguing with Wen Qing. So he just looks back at Lan Zhan, who meets his eyes in a way that’s almost normal, and if Wei Wuxian hadn’t been going around vibrating with awareness for the past twenty-four hours he might even have missed that little flicker of shyness, of worry.

Wei Wuxian gives him a smile, out of some instinct, and says, “Thanks, Lan Zhan. I hope so too.”

Lan Zhan nods, and the worry seems to sink back under his calm. There’s even another small, quiet smile for Wei Wuxian, before Lan Zhan’s attention shifts back to his food. Lan Zhan likes that they’re being normal. Wei Wuxian is pretty sure.

He stares at the fire, mostly so he doesn’t stare anywhere he shouldn’t be staring.

There was a question. Outside of normal. Lan Zhan is waiting.

The thing is, if he’s honest, Wei Wuxian’s not even sure he knows what the question is.

He feels heat creep up his neck that has nothing to do with the fire. His eyes stay carefully fixed on the flames, his spoon poking ineffectually at his stew, and he remembers what Lan Zhan’s mouth felt like, warm against his skin. What it looked like, small and gently pursed, careful. Calm. A little tremble in Lan Zhan's fingers, his eyes closed. Wei Wuxian takes another bite of broth and radishes and finds himself wondering for a brief, weird, shuddering moment what it would have felt like if Lan Zhan had kissed his mouth instead of his hand.

~      ~      ~

Lan Zhan is writing letters again.

Wei Wuxian has decided to focus on a leaf-based talisman that he’s hoping will give them a cheap and long-lasting light source, and he’s actually getting somewhere tonight. He’s only checking on Lan Zhan sometimes, because Lan Zhan is very focused on his writing and Wei Wuxian likes to make sure he’s not, like, feeling bad or stressed or anything. And because Lan Zhan sitting on his bed writing his letters with that very absorbed expression is nice to look at. Always has been.

He doesn’t stare though—not at all—because he doesn’t want Lan Zhan to worry. He’s been pretty good about maintaining his chill all day today, and Lan Zhan would probably worry that things weren’t normal if he noticed Wei Wuxian staring at him all the time. So he just checks in a bit, between rounds of experimentation on the little pile of leaves he’s collected like a squirrel.

It’s the third evening since the hand-kiss day. That’s… okay, he needs to make sure not to call it that out loud, because that would not help with the whole normalcy thing he’s got going here. But, whatever. Anyway, it’s been three days since that day,  and Wei Wuxian still isn’t sure what he’s supposed to say or do about it. Lan Zhan hasn’t said anything new either, almost like it never happened.

Maybe that’s it. Maybe Wei Wuxian would do better if there was some… new information. Or a push of some kind. Something a little bit clearer than Lan Zhan taking his hand to kiss it, and then also being there next to him at dinner and discussing whether or not they should try out new summer crops, or sitting just a couple of steps away, sweeping his brush elegantly across the page with a serene face of concentration.

It’s just, he did not see this coming. Like, at all. He’s not sure if he was supposed to and he just missed all the signs or if Lan Zhan has been really super good at hiding… whatever this is, or what.

It’s not bad. It’s just… buzzy. A constant hum of distraction in the back of his mind. When he sits still—makes himself sit still, lets his eyes rest on the leaf in front of him without actually doing anything about it, tunes out the gentle swish of Lan Zhan’s brush and how much closer the distance from the table to the bed feels, and stops the thoughts from rattling around his head—he knows that somewhere below, underneath all the confusion and weirdness, it was good. A good moment. A warm moment. He wasn’t only being kind when he said it wasn’t a mistake—it doesn’t feel like a mistake. It doesn’t feel like something he wants to call a mistake. He wants to take it, and understand it, and— and give Lan Zhan the right answer.

To that question. Which—

How would that even work? Does Lan Zhan have… thoughts? Beyond the kiss on Wei Wuxian’s hand and the shy normalcy and the quiet smiles, does Lan Zhan… does he know what he wants? To do? Does he have things he wants to do with Wei Wuxian?

In theory, Wei Wuxian knows what some of those things might be. He’s seen pictures, after all. But there’s something really strange about pulling up memories of all the random stuff he’s glimpsed here and there—a picture of a guy grinning over his shoulder with his ass sticking out, or some excited guy on his knees with the other guy’s dick curving out of his robes, two guys just lying on a bed with their dicks out—and somehow bringing it together with Lan Zhan.

It makes him squirm just to think about it, with Lan Zhan so close that Wei Wuxian can hear him write.

Like. Lan Zhan. Is that what he was thinking of when he kissed Wei Wuxian’s hand? Anything like that?

It does something fuzzy to his brain, the thought of that. Lan Zhan threw such a fit over that one time with the porn, and that was even just a joke. It’s hard to imagine him ever looking at something like that by choice, even if it were one of the normal ones, with women. It’s not like they’d have them in the Cloud Recesses library, normally. Like, Wei Wuxian likes the dirty drawings, wishes they didn’t come last in a long, long list of things they can’t afford these days, but even back then it was more the thrill of the perversion, for him. He even liked the ones with guys that Huaisang had with him that summer, the way they gave him that topsy-turvy sizzle of looking at even dirtier stuff than the usual. He doesn’t know where Huaisang found that, because all he and Jiang Cheng ever managed to hunt up in Yunmeng was full of women.

Not that they were actually looking for anything else. But. For a change, it was… it wasn’t bad. Interesting, maybe.

He liked the ones with the happy smiles that always looked joyfully tipsy. If Lan Zhan smiled like that…

Lan Zhan keeps his robes on when they’re in a pool together.

Wei Wuxian sneaks another glance at him, the way he’s sitting all collected and with his back straight, the stillness about him, his mouth soft and his eyes clear as he’s concentrating. He gingerly tries on the thought, tests out the idea that Lan Zhan would kiss him on the hand because what he’s thinking of is pushing up Wei Wuxian’s robes and pulling down his pants so he’s there with his ass naked— And that’s where it stops and he has to look away, because something about it feels weird and almost rude and too unexpected, and he’s lost track of where he was with the talismans, his gaze on a frail little leaf that—okay, he was doing something here, he was… seeing if he could get them to work like fire talismans,  fueled by the resentment energy they’ve accumulated. Right.

He tries to draw a new tweak of the spell onto the next leaf, but the leaf is brittle and cracks, and he swears under his breath. He can feel it when Lan Zhan stops his writing and looks up at him, and Wei Wuxian puts a sheepish smile on his face and meets Lan Zhan’s eyes. Because hey, even if Wei Wuxian is currently failing horrifically at casting Lan Zhan in porn in his head, they were still being normal here, right?

Totally normal.

Lan Zhan’s attentiveness feels both a bit guarded and oddly warm. “Is everything all right, Wei Ying?” Or maybe that’s just the being caught thing. Caught with porn. About Lan Zhan. In his head.

He can’t even make it take shape, and it still feels too vivid somehow, a heavy weight in the pit of his stomach.

“Yeah, sure,” Wei Wuxian says, waving a hand randomly at the leaves and talismans spread out over the table. “I’ve still got some work to do before these will turn out usable, that’s all.” He smiles again, hopes it looks more normal than it feels. After a moment, Lan Zhan accepts that and dips his brush in the ink again.

Wei Wuxian even knows his reaction to the idea of Lan Zhan getting naked with people is dumb, because the Lans make babies too, so that maintaining icy façade and meditating your feelings away can’t be all they have going on, at least not all the time. But Lan Zhan isn’t… it’s not the same as thinking of some hypothetical Lan with some hypothetical other-Lan making hypothetical children in some hypothetical presumably very orderly and rule-followy way. Lan Zhan is… Lan Zhan is different.

Or. Is he?

Has Lan Zhan maybe actually done it before? He is famously beautiful after all. There must have been plenty of people who wanted him. If he actually was okay with that... he could have had anyone, right? Maybe someone out there looked at Lan Zhan—proper, tidy, elegant Lan Zhan—and didn’t find it too weird to touch him, beneath his robes, back when he still had the nice ones even, and—

Some guy, maybe. Would it have been a guy? Or is it just, they’re here and Wen Qing is scary?

He gives Lan Zhan another secret look, tries to imagine someone brushing their hand over Lan Zhan’s cheek, tilting his face up… or down… There’s a tingly echo on the back of his hand when he remembers the dry, soft touch of Lan Zhan’s mouth. He tries to imagine Lan Zhan kissing some fine lady’s hand because he likes her, and somehow the image is funny, in a sharp, twist-in-his-stomach sort of way.

Is Lan Zhan actually used to sleeping with people, and now that they’re so many months in, he’s started to miss it?

Maybe it’s not even Wei Wuxian he wants, maybe it’s just… somebody. Somebody close and friendly, someone known to be a little wild and plenty shameless, shameless enough that they wouldn’t mind if it's with a girl or a guy. Of course someone like that would be the person to go to. Lan Zhan doesn’t know that Wei Wuxian’s reputation for shamelessness is pretty much all flair and no substance, so of course he would figure… of course he would think…

His mind conjures up one of the drawings again, and he tries not to think about it, but it comes easier now, unhelpfully. The thought of Lan Zhan with his robes open, someone with loose long hair and delicate shoulders kneeling at his feet. Taking him into their mouth. Someone else.

The thought sticks weirdly in his throat. He looks down again at the next leaf, his mind blanking on what spell he even wanted to draw as he finds himself wondering if, when Lan Zhan came to the Burial Mounds with him, he left behind more things than Wei Wuxian ever thought. Things it wouldn’t have occurred to Wei Wuxian that he might miss.

~      ~      ~

“The cart is ready,” Lan Zhan says, with the smallest tilt of his head towards the load of radishes over on the other side of the courtyard. It’s quite a large harvest this round.

Wei Wuxian doesn’t startle, because he’s been watching Fourth Uncle and Lan Zhan pack up their spare radishes out of the corner of his eye the whole time he’s been out here supervising his weather papermen. He smiles brightly. “Great! Are you coming?”

The faintest frown flickers over Lan Zhan’s face. “I had assumed so.”

“Okay!” Wei Wuxian says. It’ll be their first trip to town since four days ago when Lan Zhan kissed his hand, and everything is still normal, so this can be just as normal as everything else has been. He’s not worried. Not much.

Lan Zhan is regarding him with a sudden stillness, a question between his brows. “Would you prefer to go by yourself?”

“No, of course not!” Whoops, shit, whatever Lan Zhan saw on his face must have given entirely the wrong impression. He needs to watch that. “I was only asking. Because you’re very busy. I could take Wen Ning to deal with the cart.”

The confusion on Lan Zhan’s face is definitely a frown now. “Do you want to go with Wen Ning?”

Wei Wuxian shakes his head quickly. “No, I just meant, in case you were busy.”

“Wen Ning is helping with dinner,” Lan Zhan points out, and there’s a hint of something stubborn on his face now. 

“Yeah, sure,” Wei Wuxian says, smiling again as he tries to get a grip, so that his babbling doesn’t get away from him further. “It was just a question, Lan Zhan. I’m happy to go into town with you.” Then the sound of that hits him, as if there’s something serious here, as if there might be a reason he wouldn’t be happy to go into town, and he stares at Lan Zhan to see if Lan Zhan took it the wrong way—or some wrong way anyway—but Lan Zhan just gives him a short, slightly flustered nod, and turns for the cart.

Wei Wuxian is thrown enough that he barely remembers to summon his last paperman before the poor thing completely exhausts himself. But he pulls it together, yells in Wen Qing’s direction that they’re taking off, and then they do.

So this part is… actually very, very normal, he realizes as the sound of voices from the camp drifts away behind them. Lan Zhan is focused on maneuvering the cart down the mountain and doesn’t say much, and Wei Wuxian finds it easy to keep them both entertained with dreams of spicy snacks and fancy booze he’d like to buy, just like he usually does. The sky clears into a bright summer day as they leave the forest behind, and Wei Wuxian is starting to feel like this could be a beautiful outing in town, nice the way it always is with Lan Zhan.

But as the quiet stretches on, the two of them winding their way down the mountain path, he can’t help noticing that his observations about the summer weather and how he hopes people will be in a good mood because of it sound a little frantic even to his own ears. Nervous. There’s a creeping awareness in him of just how alone they are here, and that they haven’t been alone together for an extended stretch like this, alone and awake, talking, since before the… before. Even in the cave, Wen Qing is always just around the corner.

He’s in the middle of an extended monologue about how the tree bark peels in these interesting patterns here when his brain conjures up a sudden image of Lan Zhan dropping the handles of the cart and taking Wei Wuxian’s hand, not to kiss it but to pull him in, slip an arm around him, pull him all the way against his body and kiss him on the mouth, in front of all the rabbits and squirrels and everything.

The words dry up in his throat. Suddenly he can’t actually remember what his point was.

He peers over at Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan glances back at him, mildly curious about why he suddenly cut himself off like that, but not really… anything else. He’s just… he’s really very normal, holding on to the cart handles, showing no sign that he minds pushing these sacks of radishes. Making the odd confirming noise as Wei Wuxian picks up a thread from earlier about fruit in the market, and being patient and steadfast and strong. Here, like this, even just the two of them alone in the woods.

Maybe Wei Wuxian got it all wrong.

The thought hits him like the crack of a whip. There’s been the odd moment over the last four days where he looked at Lan Zhan being his normal, restrained self and wondered if he’d maybe hallucinated the whole affair. But what if he didn’t completely hallucinate it, he just misread what it means?

His feet feel a little unsteady. He has to shift to walking behind Lan Zhan for a bit where the path narrows, rocks on either side and just enough space for the cart to pass, and as he’s stares at the set of Lan Zhan’s shoulders as they guide the cart through, it keeps going around his head. Dizzying, strange, like waking up slowly from a really vivid dream.

What does he know about the Lan Clan? Like, really know? Maybe… maybe kissing someone on the hand is some unexpected Lan version of a hug? Or maybe it’s like bowing, like kneeling, a type of contact where— god, right, Lan Zhan wanted to pledge himself to Wei Wuxian and all that, maybe it’s that? Some Lan way of saying, ‘I’m sticking with you, great graveyard leader,’ and they do it that way because they don’t actually like to talk? And with the way Wei Wuxian reacted the last time he tried to do something like that, of course he would be worried…

Would you forgive me a mistake?

Maybe this whole thing was some gigantic misunderstanding and there’s nothing sexual or whatever going on at all, Lan Zhan’s just doing his Lan Zhan thing and this time Wei Wuxian didn’t fuck it up, didn’t make him feel like it was a mistake.

Didn’t fuck it up out loud anyway. If that’s true, then if Lan Zhan knew all the stuff that’s been running circles in his head for the last four days— fuck, he’s glad Lan Zhan can’t see him right now, he can feel the flush stealing up the sides of his throat just thinking of it.

Maybe he’s already done what he was supposed to do. Maybe this is all he’s supposed to do, just be here beside Lan Zhan like always, and the last four days of his brain spinning like a waterborne abyss every time he remembers the brush of Lan Zhan’s mouth on his skin was just him being a massive idiot.

Thank fuck he hasn’t said anything yet. How horribly awkward would that be?

He feels a strange mixture of relief and… something, the unsteady rush of a close call maybe, as they find their usual place in the square and set up shop. He keeps stealing little glances at Lan Zhan here and there when he’s pretty sure Lan Zhan isn’t looking, and every time he does he finds Lan Zhan as normal as the last time, as normal as always. Doing his no-bartering business and exchanging radishes for coins. Wei Wuxian falls far behind in the selling, too distracted trying not to remember his own frenzied thoughts about Lan Zhan and strangers and dicks to pay attention to luring customers—but Lan Zhan doesn’t seem to mind. He doesn’t even seem to notice.

Maybe Wei Wuxian just got it wrong.

They’re down to the last few radishes now, and Wei Wuxian turns from a young mother with a kid on her hip who he's upsold from three to four, and he catches a look on Lan Zhan’s face, deep and strange and wanting, and it runs right through him again, like a warm spring that startles him with its twists and currents.

No. No, it’s not… he didn’t get it wrong. It’s not some odd way the Lans hug people.

It was a question. Lan Zhan kissed him on the hand, Lan Zhan… Lan Zhan wants something from him. And Wei Wuxian still hasn’t given him an answer.

It feels like a long moment before Lan Zhan looks away again, the old normalcy settling around them again like robes that don’t quite fit right. “I think it might be best if we went straight back to the camp today,” Lan Zhan says, busying himself with tidying up their space. The last of the radishes are gone now—Lan Zhan’s customer must have taken the lot. “Given that we have the cart this time.”

Something sinks inside him for a moment, and Wei Wuxian feels sulky at the prospect. No window shopping, no fantasizing over treats. No attempts to charm any of the townsfolk into letting him have stuff for free.

But Lan Zhan’s the one who has to deal with the cart, and Lan Zhan is… Lan Zhan has been waiting. Wei Wuxian doesn’t know yet if he has anything to offer him, but he doesn’t want to annoy him or burden him, so he nods understandingly, even energetically. “Sure,” he says, with a little smile just in case. “We can do our usual stuff again next time. Right?”

“Of course,” Lan Zhan says, once again as serene as ever.

~      ~      ~

He’s not sure if it was right.

Lan Wangji sits quietly in the cool stream, his eyes closed to the dark and shadowed trees around him. The current is a gentle brush over his skin, his hair tickling along his back now and then as the water moves it.

It’s been five days now—five days since he tipped his hand, decided to show Wei Ying the truth. Let him know that there’s more here for him, if he desires it. More than comrades.

Wei Ying hasn’t said anything about it.

It’s not unexpected—Lan Wangji has long been aware that Wei Ying has never harbored such thoughts about him, and he knew that despite their closeness and Wei Ying’s joyful teasing and flirting, Wei Ying might be quite surprised at the notion. And while he still holds out hope that perhaps, if Wei Ying has time to think, the thinking might lead him to discover that he shares some small measure of Lan Wangji’s feelings, Lan Wangji also knows that it’s very possible it will not. He is prepared for that. He didn’t make the approach because he felt he was owed anything, and he doesn’t want Wei Ying to feel that either. He wants Wei Ying to be happy, whatever that means for him. He wants Wei Ying to live.

Still. The silence… is difficult.

Lan Wangji closes his left hand around his right wrist, around the rough little leather strap, and breathes through a sharp thump of his heart. He tries to think of calm snow, tranquil water, a cold so clear that it filters out the noise of the world. To let the air in and follow it out again, feel the way it balances the universe within him and the universe outside.

Lan Wangji hasn’t said anything more about it either, these past few days. He’s wondered, occasionally, if he should ask—not to pry an answer out of him, but to ensure that Wei Ying doesn’t feel he overstepped himself, made Wei Ying uncomfortable. But whenever he opens his mouth to do so, apprehension holds his tongue. For now, this is all he can do. Give Wei Ying time. Not push him towards something else he doesn’t want to give, or to be.

Not a mistake, Wei Ying said. Lan Wangji revisits the quick grasp of his fingers in his mind, that sharp swell of hope, lingering on the thought for longer than he’d like to admit. Though he has not said anything about that moment, since then Wei Ying has said many things about radishes and potatoes and herbs and mice and Wen Liu’s fried mushrooms and how quickly leaves dry, and he has seemed not at all offended. At times he seems to go out of his way to make things seem as usual. As if nothing had happened in the first place.

At least Lan Wangji was right about that. Whatever the outcome, however long it takes Wei Ying to make his intentions clear, even if they become clear through prolonged avoidance, Lan Wangji was right about that. Wei Ying seems determined not to allow anything to become awkward or strange between them. It is a true relief, and he is grateful for it.

Then again, there are moments when he finds himself wondering if Wei Ying even understood what Lan Wangji was trying to tell him, or if that one kiss pressed to the back of his hand just registered as another gesture of casual fondness to someone like him. Someone so generally free with touch and affection.

The thought seems ludicrous, but it wouldn’t be the first time that something that felt momentous and daring to him turned out to be so small and subtle as to go unnoticed to others. A raindrop in a summer storm.

But then he’ll catch Wei Ying’s eyes on him, watching him from across a room with a little frown, a caught blink, his thoughts somewhere deep and unfamiliar, and he knows—believes, hopes—that Wei Ying understood. Understands.

Lan Wangji can wait.

The calm of the stream helps, lets him feel more comfortable in his own skin. The water has nowhere near the cold or the clarity of home, but at least it isn’t too gritty and it always leaves him feeling refreshed.

A crackle of energy nearby sends the hairs at the back of his neck prickling, and he opens his eyes. Glances toward the shore where he’s left his clothing, folded into a careful pile. On top is a talisman, pinned to the stack by his leather belt, laid across it.

It’s disintegrating. A bright line of fire starting from the bottom of the paper, devouring it like a leaf tossed into an open flame.

Trouble.

Instantly he’s out of the water, pulling on his trousers and the innermost layer of his robes, grabbing his sword. His pulse is racing. He snatches up the rest to take with him, dashing back toward the camp, ears and eyes alert for any signs of the danger, branches whipping aside as he clears the path with a burst of spiritual energy for a faster run.

A few yards out he can hear it—shouts and screams, clanging steel, cries of pain.

He tears through the last layer of underbrush and stumbles to a halt at the edge of the radish patches.

There are masked men—with swords, but no clan insignia or colors Lan Wangji recognizes—all over the place, their own people scattered. The worst of the fighting is centered on Wei Ying, who stands with his flute in the middle of the courtyard, commanding Wen Ning as he goes on the attack. The camp is a scene of mayhem, upturned benches and dropped tools, a spilled cauldron and a collapsed laundry rack trampled into the ground. There’s fighting in front of the great hall too, where Wen Song, Wen Tao and one of the young Wen men are defending the closed gate, wielding farm implements. Wen Shu is lunging at a bandit with a hoe and Lan Wangji sees one man go down with a scream as Wen Qing flings a needle at him. A few masked men are up along the walkway of the eastern houses, throwing open doors, while Wen Yunlan is on the stairs of the western houses, swinging an axe at a man with a sword, trying to keep him from getting to the upper floor.

Darkness is rumbling in the air, so thick that the light seems to flicker, and there are cries of agony as Wen Ning lashes out at two attackers at once, the ground shaking with his rage. Lan Wangji can feel the crackle of it against his skin, a familiar energy from their practices. But there’s something different, a little unsteady, as if Wei Ying’s thoughts are less focused than usual, his control wearing thin.

No. No.

It’s too… Wei Ying doesn’t know, can’t know. The thought of it runs hot and cold through Lan Wangji, worse than the attack, worse than some raid. It could happen again. Not Jin Zixuan this time, not here, but someone. They’ve been practicing, but Wei Ying— the Yin Tiger Seal feeds on emotion, and these past few days— even beyond that, his control isn’t— Wei Ying doesn’t understand how badly this could go wrong. How badly it will go wrong, if Lan Wangji can’t turn him from his course. He doesn’t even know if this happened the last time, or if it’s like Ah Yuan’s scar, if it’s something new, something he’s changed, and what if…

His heart beats wildly as he thinks of Wen Qing, the people fighting, Fourth Uncle, Ah Yuan… any of them, in the wrong place at the wrong…

It’s too dangerous.

He drops the rest of his robes on the ground and leaps off toward the entrance to the cave, past Wen Qing who’s defending it, skidding inside. It doesn’t take long to find Suibian, sitting there where it always is, on the shelf. Abandoned. He shoves it into the cloth belt of his inner robes and dashes outside again, unsheathing Bichen to strike back at one of the bandits who is lunging at Wen Qing.

She gives him a sharp nod, shows him the needles ready in her fist. “They’re not cultivators, but there’s lots of them,” she reports at a rush, before she turns and takes another one down with a flick of her hand.

Lan Wangji sees Wen Song defend herself with an unfocused burst of spiritual energy as one bandit rushes at her, while two men nearly overwhelm Wen Tao and her unwieldy pickaxe. Lan Wangji pushes them back with a swipe of Bichen, and there is Wen Ning’s roar again and the fear beating in Lan Wangji’s heart, not again, not this time. He cuts down another attacker heading for Wen Qing, then tries to get to Wei Ying, trying to place himself between Wen Ning and the bandits, remind him that there is no need for this.

“Wei Ying, call him back!” he yells over his shoulder as he parries a strike.

Wei Ying’s head whips around towards him but he doesn’t cease his playing. Lan Wangji grits his teeth and tries to get to another one of the bandits before Wen Ning does. If he can just keep Wen Ning at bay… if he can diffuse this long enough to…

“Lan Zhan, what the hell are you doing, I’m—”

“Call him back!” Lan Zhan argues, one eye on the bandit attacking him from the side as he leaps over to where Wen Shu is wounded, her leg unsteady as she tries to hold on to her hoe, and he swipes away her attacker. He takes down another two as he gets back to Wei Ying, he needs Wei Ying to hear him, and he’s close enough, if he can just—

He pushes back another one of the bandits and then rounds on Wei Ying again. “It’s too dangerous—your sword, Wei Ying, please—”

He tries to offer it to him, but Wei Ying gasps out, “Lan Zhan!” and he turns just in time to block a bandit’s blade with Suibian’s sheath. Two more blows and a strike to the chin with Bichen’s hilt, and the man goes down. He turns back to Wei Ying again.

“Just let me do this,” Wei Ying says before he can get a word out, lifting the flute back to his lips. “We can argue later.”

“There’s too many people here, just take your sword, Wei Ying, please—”

“Lan Zhan, focus, we need to—fuck.” He twists away from an attack and punches the man in the face, then raises the flute again.

“Wei Ying, you don’t need to do it this way— if you lose control, someone will get—”

“Not now, Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying snaps at him, hard urgency in his eyes, something on the edge, backed into a corner. For a moment Lan Wangji can feel the roots of all the strangeness and questions that have been under the surface for the past few days churning up, dark and sickly, shot through with the power of the Yin Tiger Seal, and… no. This is only getting worse, he can’t…  if Wei Ying can’t keep a handle on himself…

“Wei Ying, please,” he urges quietly, holding out the sword again, within reach. If Wei Ying would just put a hand on it, they can— he can still get them through this. “Just please use the sword, just this once—”

“For fuck’s sake, Lan Zhan, I can’t!” Wei Ying yells, rounding on Lan Wangji with naked desperation and frustration in his eyes.

What?

There’s a breath, just the slightest space, and then something changes, the frustration turns to horror, and Lan Wangji sees Wei Ying’s mouth form the shape of his name, but before any sound makes it out a cold fire stabs him through the gut.

There’s blood in Lan Wangji’s mouth, choking him, spilling out over his lips. It slips between his fingers as he reaches for his stomach, and he feels the steel blade there for a moment, before it’s yanked out of him from behind, leaving him empty. Everything is tilting, buzzing, bleeding, something strange crackling along his meridians, and he can’t see Wei Ying anymore, can’t hear his voice. There’s only the bloodstained grass underneath his knees, and the stone and dirt and darkness hurtling up at him.

~      ~      ~

It’s raining outside the cave, and Wei Wuxian feels empty all over again.

Nothing. Nothing in his life, not losing Uncle Jiang and Madam Yu, not carrying Jiang Cheng’s unconscious body back from Lotus Pier, not having his core pulled out of him strand by strand, could have prepared him for what it felt like to watch someone put a sword through Lan Zhan’s torso, inches away, and watch him collapse lifeless to the ground.

Wei Wuxian’s pretty sure he actually lost his mind for a few minutes there.

The bandit is dead.

He doesn’t know if he actually gave an order or if Wen Ning just understood what he wanted, but in seconds the man was torn apart. After that, it didn’t take long for the others to realize this was a losing battle. Wei Wuxian doesn’t remember much more than that, just kneeling in the dirt beside Lan Zhan’s body, trying to figure out what to do, how to stop the bleeding, if he was even still…

Lan Zhan is alive.

Wei Wuxian hasn’t left him since they brought him inside, laid him out on the stone bed. He couldn’t get himself to let go of Lan Zhan’s hand, even when Wen Qing was trying to examine him, kept saying she needed to check his pulse and read the flow of his spiritual energy through his palm. They had to peel Wei Wuxian’s fingers off of Lan Zhan’s, and as soon as she moved away he grabbed on again, wanting to feel the warmth, his fingertips searching for movement, for the weak pulse at the inside of Lan Zhan’s wrist.

He’s sitting on the floor beside Lan Zhan’s bed now, his forehead resting against Lan Zhan’s knuckles. He’s not even sure how long it’s been, but it must have been hours, there was a meal a little while ago. He can’t tell if the darkness outside means it’s night already, or if it’s just the storm.

He’s so sorry. For everything, for… this, the sword he can’t use, the answers he never sorted out, the camp half destroyed, Lan Zhan lying here wrapped in bandages, his breathing thready and shallow. It presses in on him with every breath. Sorry, sorry, sorry. He should never have let Lan Zhan stay here. Lan Zhan was safer without him.

Didn’t get stabbed by fucking bandits, with some common sword, didn’t get fucking poisoned.

There was poison on the blades. The last several hours were pretty much a blur, but he caught on to it eventually, that terrifying tension in Wen Qing when Wei Wuxian wanted to know that Lan Zhan was going to be okay, cultivators recover from a stab wound, he had to be okay, and the way she went wide-eyed and snappish when Lan Zhan’s injury wasn’t responding the way she expected.

But Lan Zhan’s okay now. He’ll be okay. Wen Qing’s really smart, she was able to do things. She says Lan Zhan is stable now, it’ll just take him a day or two to wake up. His wound ran deep and he’s feverish from the poison, but his cultivation is strong and his meridians are undamaged. A couple of the others weren't so lucky.

There are footsteps beside him. A slow approach. Wei Wuxian opens his eyes, but he doesn’t look up. The footsteps shift again, and he sees Wen Qing take a seat on the floor beside him, her back against the wall just opposite.

Her hair’s a mess. She looks like she wrestled a pig for food scraps or something. There’s rings under her eyes, and either she didn’t notice her left sleeve still has blood stains, or she’s run out of spare robes. She looks down beside her, and slowly reaches out a hand to run her fingers over Suibian’s sheath, where it’s sitting on the floor next to them.

Wei Wuxian blinks away from her and lifts his head, looking up at Lan Zhan again. Apart from the dark stain on the bandages wrapped around his midsection, he looks just like he does when he sleeps. Quiet and still.

Wei Wuxian swallows. There’s an ache deep inside him, and he’s not even sure what for. Lan Zhan’s warmth, maybe, his arms around Wei Wuxian, comforting him on cold nights. His voice. Fuck, he wants to hear his voice again so bad right now, telling him everything will be okay.

Would you forgive me a mistake?

He never even gave him a fucking answer. Wasted all his time not knowing what to say.

“He’s going to be okay,” Wen Qing says softly. Wei Wuxian lets out a hitched breath, almost a laugh, though it’s too choked for that. His eyes sting suddenly, and he blinks it away, squeezing Lan Zhan’s hand a bit and making himself turn to face her.

“I know,” he says, nodding a little. He does know that. He’s just not sure he’ll be able to believe it until he hears Lan Zhan tell him himself. “Thank you.”

He’ll owe her even more after this. He’ll owe her… more than he can say.

They’re silent for another minute or two, Wen Qing staring up at the shadows flickering on the ceiling of the cave, and Wei Wuxian staring down at Suibian. The lifeless sword. His, and also no longer his.

“How are the others?” he asks finally, when his head is a little clearer, dragging his eyes up to meet Wen Qing’s again. “Wen Yunlan. How is he?” Wen Yunlan took a deflected blade to the leg, not deep, no big deal in any fight Wei Wuxian’s ever been in, but Wen Yunlan’s cultivation is low, and the poison messed him up, too.  

Wen Qing presses her lips together. Even that looks tired. “The same. I’ve done everything I can for now, and at least I don’t think he’s in pain at the moment. I think he’ll be okay. But we have to wait and see.”

Wei Wuxian takes that in on a long breath, his fingers tightening around Lan Zhan’s hand beside him.

“Wen Shu?”

Wen Qing looks down at her hands. Wei Wuxian can see how tightly she’s controlling her breath. “I don’t know,” she admits. “Her wound was closer to the heart. More like…” She nods with an almost imperceptible lift of her chin. “Lan Wangji’s. And she doesn’t have his constitution.”

Well, shit.

He’s not sure if he should say more. Or maybe pat her hand or something. His brain is full of fog and he’s still stupid with worry. “You did really well,” he tries. “I wouldn’t even have thought of poison. This could have been worse.”

Her mouth curls up a little sadly. “Who would have thought that Wen Ruohan’s little library of depravity would come in so handy one day.”

Wei Wuxian frowns. He’s not following. “What?”

“Nothing,” she says, shaking her head. “I’ll tell you some other time.”

Okay. He’s too tired to prod. Instead he tries to get his mind to focus on what she’s told him about Wen Shu, and Wen Yunlan, and… “I could see if I…” What does he have in his collection of experiments? Maybe there’s something that could be useful, something he hasn’t tried yet. It’s hard to think of anything, his mind keeps circling back to this spot, waiting here, everything out of his hands. “In my collection. Maybe there’s something that would help.”

Wen Qing shakes her head again with a small, thin smile. “I don’t think that’s likely,” she says. “I was able to get most of the poison out of their wounds. Now it’s a question of how much damage it did while it was in there. They all need time to heal.”

He stares at her, a burst of stubborn helplessness bubbling up inside him that makes him want to argue, just to have something to do—but she seems to see exactly what he’s thinking before he can even find words to put to it, and that somehow saps the energy out of him again.

Nothing to do but wait. It’s not what he wants, but that doesn’t mean it’s not true.

She glances down at the ground again—beside them, between them, where the sword lies. He knows he should put it away again, it’s not doing any good sitting here on the floor. But somehow he can’t quite bring himself to part with it at the moment.

There’s no way someone could sneak up on Lan Zhan like that under normal circumstances—not some nobody, some random fucking bandit who’s just after a few pieces of silver or what fucking ever they wanted. Lan Zhan was trying to give him the sword, trying to stop him from using Wen Ning. Lan Zhan was distracted, and it was his fault.

It was his fault.

“You have to tell him,” Wen Qing says, blunt and true, and it cuts him deeper than a blade. Shijie has never spoken to him that way, but he imagines she might if she knew what Wen Qing knows. If she knew how vulnerable he had made himself.

If she knew he’d put Lan Zhan in danger, just to hide his own weakness.

It’s not just that, he knows that. There were other reasons. Jiang Cheng can’t ever know, and the only way to make sure of that is to make sure as few other people know as possible. But that’s not all there is to it. Wen Qing and Wen Ning have known all along, have been sworn to secrecy, and it’s not like they all have a lot of casual contact with the cultivation world these days. And Lan Zhan is… Wei Wuxian trusts him more than anyone, knows he would never speak out of turn, or break a promise if he had any other option. It was one thing to place his loyalty to Jiang Cheng above giving Lan Zhan an honest answer when they were still in the thick of things, when telling him would have been asking him to lie for him every damn day, and he thought his best option was to just hold Lan Zhan at a distance—but that’s not the case anymore. That’s not their reality anymore, and he knows now that he can’t keep holding back this piece of information in the face of proof that Lan Zhan’s ignorance puts him in danger.

But. He’s afraid.

What will Lan Zhan think of him?

As far as Lan Zhan knows, he and Wei Wuxian are still equals in every way—Wei Wuxian is one of the strongest cultivators of their generation, the only one who can match him. The same man who fought him to a draw on the roof of the Cloud Recesses, who helped him slay the Xuanwu. What will he say when he finds out they’re only equal now when Wei Wuxian props himself up with resentment energy? What will he think when he knows Wei Wuxian chose to give up any chance of making a name for himself as an orthodox cultivator, in favor of his brother? Will he still want to be here?

Will he still want… anything from him?

“Wei Wuxian,” Wen Qing says, and Wei Wuxian blinks unsteadily from his thoughts, from the memory of Lan Zhan’s mouth, warm against his skin. The way awareness of it fluttered through him like finding a hot spring in a dark forest—always there, out of sight.

It feels gone now. Out of reach.

“I know,” he says, his voice a bit rough, sticking to his throat. “I know. I have to tell him.”

It takes him a moment, but then he meets her eyes across the small space. There’s sympathy there, softer than she shows when other people are around. It rattles him, almost more than if she scolded him for how long he’s put this off, how much he’s put at risk. Not even just Lan Zhan, the others too.

“I’ll tell him,” he mumbles, and she gives him a quiet nod.

He wonders if she understands—really understands—why it’s taken him so long. Why, even now, he wishes he could just keep pretending, making up the difference with clever tricks and lies.

But Lan Zhan’s hand is warm and limp in his, and he knows that’s not an option anymore. Even if Lan Zhan can’t forgive him, even if he chooses to go and never come back—Wei Wuxian can live with that. If he has to, he can live with that. What he can’t live with is the fear that Lan Zhan will get hurt again someday, some way that no one can mend, all because he believed—trusted—that Wei Wuxian had abilities that aren’t there anymore. If that happened, Wei Wuxian would never forgive himself.

~      ~      ~

It’s dark when Lan Wangji opens his eyes.

The air is dim and cool, blue with moonlight, and it seeps under his skin. It feels close and sluggish like the resentment energy hovering just outside the barrier, like some of it has sunk inside him and is making him slow, heavy. He has the vague feeling he should be doing something, needs to do something, but he’s not sure what it is.

It’s night. It’s quiet.

Silent.

It comes back to him in a rush then, the battle, the bandits. Wei Ying’s face when Lan Wangji was wounded, just before he blacked out. He pushes himself up to sit, breath leaving him in a panicked rush, and his limbs are tingling, some shiver in his blood. “Wei Ying.”

Where is he? He’s not in—it’s Wei Ying’s bed, and there’s no one around, no sound. What happened, have they all been—

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying’s voice says from somewhere to his left, and he blinks into the darkness, to focus past that strange itch he can feel along his bones. There’s a scramble, feet on the stone and something skittering across the floor, and then Wei Ying is there, sitting down on the edge of the stone bed and reaching for his shoulders, eyes searching his face, his torso for something Lan Wangji can’t identify.

“You’re awake,” Wei Ying murmurs. His eyes are dark, his face lit with the blue shadow of night, and he sounds so relieved, shaking with it, but he’s alive and apparently unharmed. Lan Wangji feels almost dizzy from his own relief. “You shouldn’t move too much,” Wei Ying says, clearing his throat. He pats down Lan Wangji’s arms lightly, carefully. “Just take it easy, yeah?”

There’s a dull ache on Lan Wangji’s right side, where the sword pierced him, and his skin feels not quite settled, his body heavy with fatigue, probably from healing. “Are you…” he tries, and his voice feels scratchy, disused—he wonders exactly how long he’s been asleep. “Is everyone all right?”

Wei Ying blinks, a moment’s hesitation enough to send a flare of worry though Lan Wangji. “We had a few injuries,” Wei Ying says. “Wen Yunlan was hurt but he’s on the mend, just sleeping a lot. Wen Shu is still out, she got more of the poison. But Wen Qing thinks she’s going to pull through. She’s doing what she can for her.” Then he pats Lan Wangji’s arms again, with a reassuring smile. “Everyone else is okay. And Ah Yuan’s fine! He just thinks it was more ghosts, and he wasn’t even that scared.”

“Poison?” Lan Wangji says.

Wei Ying nods, his lips pressing together tightly. “Whoever those assholes were, they came prepared. I guess some people out there aren’t all that crazy about the Yiling Patriarch.” There’s a bitter twist of guilt underneath his words.

“It’s not your fault,” Lan Wangji says, but in his mind’s eye he recalls the attackers. Masked, ordinary, unidentifiable. Equipped with poison that can weaken a cultivator. What normal person could get their hands on that? And what would a band of ordinary thieves want from some refugees living in seclusion, in near poverty, regardless of the Yiling Patriarch’s reputation?

No, this was most likely no ordinary raid.

But Wei Ying is looking at him with a forlorn expression, and Lan Wangji decides that the situational analysis can wait. “It’s not your fault,” he repeats. “I was distracted—I should have been paying attention. If I had been, this never would have happened.”

Wei Ying just keeps looking at him, and if possible, he looks even more helpless. But then he nods weakly, pulls his hands into his lap.

Lan Wangji isn’t sure what else he can say that might help.

“How long have I been asleep?” he asks finally.

Wei Ying seems to be swallowing, finding his voice. “Two days,” he says. It sounds haunted. Then his eyes go sharper with a new focus. “Oh—you haven’t… you should eat something,” he says in a rush. “We were able to get you to drink a little, but we didn’t really have anything that seemed safe to feed you while you were out like that.”

Lan Wangji doesn’t feel hungry at the moment, but he knows that the body can lie when it’s in the process of mending itself. A careful return to ingesting food will help him keep his strength up, now that he’s awake. He nods, starts to turn his legs sideways, and feels a tilt of dizziness rush to his head.

“Wait, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, with a quick hand to his shoulder. It helps. It’s steadying. Lets him breathe, and he finds his equilibrium.

“It’s fine,” he says. “I will move slowly.” Poison. Lan Wangji has no prior experience of being poisoned like this, as cultivator poisons are tightly controlled substances and widely forbidden, but some lingering effects of weakness are probably not surprising.

Wei Ying still hovers at his side, as if the gentle breeze from the vent might blow Lan Wangji over.

It’s strange the way Wei Ying stays close, can’t seem to keep himself from reaching out, keeps making contact with some part of him, here or there. Lan Wangji feels a mixture of guilt and warmth to know that Wei Ying has been so worried about him. He has to will himself not to lean into the touch.

“You can stay here,” Wei Ying says. “I’ll heat up something and bring it to you. I’ll just go get Wen Qing so she can check you out, now that you’re awake.”

Lan Wangji shakes his head slowly. “Please don’t wake her. I’m perfectly all right.”

“But Lan Zhan—”

“It’s very late,” Lan Zhan says gently, recognizing the stubborn tilt of Wei Ying’s brow. “I know my own condition, and I presume she has examined me while I slept. Another examination can wait until morning.”

Wei Ying narrows his eyes as if he’s going to argue further, but seems to see the reason in Lan Wangji’s position. “Fine. But first thing in the morning, okay?”

Lan Wangji nods tamely. “First thing in the morning,” he agrees. “For now, I feel I’ll have a better sense of my condition if I can breathe in the fresh air for a bit. And you should rest as well.”

Wei Ying stares at him like he just said something crazy. “Are you kidding? No way am I sleeping now,” he says, with a little half smile, the worn look of the past few days showing through. Then he tilts his head and almost looks stern. “I’ll let you go outside if you really want. But I’m coming with you, and if you start to feel worse, you have to tell me.”

There’s a small, stubborn part of Lan Wangji that considers trying to argue—it’s clear that Wei Ying hasn’t gotten much rest recently, and he doesn’t want him to fall ill. But it’s also true that this unsteadiness he feels is unfamiliar, and it would not do anyone any good for Lan Wangji to collapse in the middle of the courtyard because he refused the help being offered him. And indeed he knows he would find it difficult to sleep peacefully if their positions were reversed.

Wei Ying helps him up from the bed, and then supports his arms as he adjusts to standing. The dizziness fades, and when he nods, Wei Ying steps close to his side and keeps a steadying hand under his forearm as they slowly make their way out into the darkened courtyard. The wound stretches uncomfortably with his movements, and there’s a weakness in his limbs from the poison and from not moving for two days, but even that ache fades slightly the more he moves against it, works it out of him.

When they reach the steps of the great hall, Wei Ying helps him to a seat on the smooth stone, underneath the cloud-dappled moonlight. A tiny glimmer of light through the closed gate says there are candles lit inside, for the wounded. The ground is moist from rain, but as far as Lan Wangji can tell in the blue sheen of night, the traces of the attack have been cleared up.

When Wei Ying is satisfied that Lan Wangji is capable of sitting by himself, he gets a small fire going in the fire pit in front of them. From somewhere he procures a pot of leftover radish stew, which he props up on the little rock that keeps it close to the flames, letting it heat up.

Then Wei Ying settles down next to him, and they sit quietly for a while, taking in the air—Lan Wangji’s eyes on the stars, while Wei Ying seems lost in thought as he stares into the fire, shooting Lan Wangji assessing glances now and then.

When the stew is warm enough, Wei Ying dishes it out into a small bowl and hands it over to Lan Wangji carefully. He’s watching Lan Wangji as he eats, as if he isn’t quite trustful of Lan Wangji’s eating capabilities either. Lan Wangji finds him unusually quiet, but the silence doesn’t bother him, and if he’s honest, neither does the watching. He appreciates being able to be with Wei Ying like this. Everything peaceful and calm around them, everyone safely in their beds, the injured kept warm and taken care of.

He eats slowly, quietly. After a while, the night cooing and whispering around them, his eyes drift to the outline of the houses on the eastern wall. Towards the end of the walkway, a solitary lantern is lit. “What happened?” he asks.

Wei Ying’s eyes are dark when they meet his, an odd shadow in them.

“I saw the bandits race up there,” Lan Wangji clarifies. “Has anything been destroyed?”

Wei Ying blinks. “No,” he says, sounding rougher than Lan Wangji expected. “They ransacked a couple of rooms, and people were a bit freaked out, but nothing was actually destroyed.” He lowers his gaze again. “Wen Qing tells me Wen Zian made some bolts for the doors and it’s helped them calm down,” he says, with an awkward lift of his shoulders. “I wasn’t really involved in that.”

It makes Lan Wangji sad to think that people who have been through so much have been made to feel afraid again. But he hopes this new uneasiness will fade in time.

They should discuss the matter of the poison at some point. Lan Wangji wonders if Wei Ying is aware of the most probable implications. But it’s still night, and Wei Ying must be exhausted. That haunted edge still lingers in him, and something about the way he moves almost looks like he, too, has an itch under his skin, the remnants of corruption.

It can wait until tomorrow.

Lan Wangji finishes the last of his stew, thinking that it’s the most quiet meal he’s had here. Wei Ying’s closeness feels warm, solid. At the back of his mind is the hazy whisper of the unaddressed questions that were still lingering between them, but in this clear night, against the shadow of worry and injury, Lan Wangji lets the questions stay a murmur in the background, lets himself enjoy the relief and the companionship.

He’s just set the bowl down beside him on the step, turning his body gingerly, when Wei Ying says quietly, “Lan Zhan. I need to tell you something.”

The slight waver in Wei Ying’s voice puts him instantly on edge. When he glances over, Wei Ying is still staring into the fire, and there’s a fixedness to his gaze, his eyes wide.

“You can tell me anything, Wei Ying,” he says, and he’s disconcerted to see Wei Ying huff a skeptical breath, still not looking at him.

“You won’t like it.”

Now he’s starting to get worried. Has Wei Ying shielded him from something? He doesn’t think Wei Ying would have lied to him about who was injured or what happened in the aftermath of the battle, Wei Ying would not lie about Ah Yuan being safe, or anyone being dead, but… he doesn’t understand this tone he’s using. Is there something more? Something Lan Wangji didn’t think to ask?

It rushes to the front of his mind then, the kiss he pressed to Wei Ying’s hand, the question there, and he wonders with a sinking feeling if that’s it. If Wei Ying is trying to tell him it’s impossible. That he can’t return any of Lan Wangji’s affections. It feels so small in the face of everything that’s happened the last few days, and he doesn’t really think Wei Ying would… with this sort of… here, tonight. But he can’t think of anything else.

“Tell me,” he says, quietly, hardening his heart for whatever comes. Whatever it is.

Wei Ying blinks into the fire for a little bit longer. Lan Wangji notices that his fingers are picking at a loose thread on the edge of his sleeve wrappings. “I’ve been lying to you, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Wangji frowns at him, his concern deepening. That isn’t… that wouldn’t be the kiss. What could Wei Ying possibly mean? “I don’t understand.”

There’s a pause, Wei Ying waiting, everything about him looking taut as a bowstring. Then he says, not rushed, but meticulous, unhalting, “You asked me why I turned away from cultivation of the sword, why I started practicing unorthodox cultivation. I told you it was because I wanted to. I told you that it was a power that I thought could be stronger than the sword, and I wanted to cultivate it, and that I just didn’t feel like carrying the sword around anymore.”

A cold, creeping feeling slips into Lan Wangji’s chest, and he watches Wei Ying’s profile as he speaks. Wei Ying doesn’t take his eyes from the fire.

“But that was a lie,” Wei Ying says, and it catches somewhere, weak and a little bit lost. “I didn’t choose the Tiger Seal because I wanted to. I stopped practicing sword cultivation because I couldn’t anymore.”

What?

Lan Wangji’s breath presses in and out of him, a ghostly chill. What could that possibly… how?

“Wei Ying, what are you…”

He remembers the fight. That wild, desperate stare in his eyes as Lan Wangji pressed Suibian at him.

Wei Ying shifts and straightens a bit, tugging the frayed and abused sleeve wrapping up until his wrist is exposed. He holds it out in front of Lan Wangji, palm up. Still not looking at him.

“See for yourself,” Wei Ying murmurs.

Lan Wangji doesn’t move. He knows somehow—understands what it must be, what Wei Ying is saying, but he still can’t… he can’t believe. Doesn’t want to believe. It’s impossible.

Wei Ying just waits patiently, and finally Lan Wangji forces himself to lift up a hand, extend it forward. Press the tips of his fingers against the soft underside of Wei Ying’s wrist.

There’s a strong, healthy pulse there, the blood surging through his veins. Maybe a little fast, a little faltering for a man sitting still, but that’s to be expected. But beyond that…

There’s nothing.

Lan Wangji can’t breathe. Can’t speak. Just stares at his fingers, at Wei Ying’s wrist, and the emptiness.

Wei Ying doesn’t have a golden core.

How?

“I don’t understand,” he breathes out, and it’s shaking, everything in him is shaking. He can’t believe… all this time… when?

His hand falls into his lap again but he keeps looking at Wei Ying, his mind turning in the same frenzied circles. Wei Ying steals a glance at him out of the corner of his eye as he places his own hand back on his knee, straightens out the fabric. He doesn’t meet Lan Wangji’s eyes.

“It happened right before I ended up here the last time,” he explains. His voice sounds hollow, resigned, but calmer now that the truth is out. Now that Lan Wangji knows. “Jiang Cheng’s core was destroyed by Wen Zhuliu. So I gave him mine instead.”

Fury like fire rushes into Lan Wangji’s veins. How could he—how dare that— “Jiang Wanyin?” he seethes.

Wei Ying shakes his head quickly, turning to him and putting up a placating hand. “He doesn’t know,” he says, looking nervous, a hand hovering near Lan Wangji’s shoulder as if he thinks Lan Wangji is about to disappear and go strangle Jiang Wanyin in this very moment. “He has no idea about any of this. He thinks… I told him that I knew of a way to cure him, I did a whole thing where I led him up to a mountain to see my Grandmaster, and then… Wen Qing put him to sleep. And we made the transfer.”

The words put a sick feeling in the pit of Lan Wangji’s stomach. He didn’t even know it was possible to do such a thing, but he knows the pain of a core being damaged or suppressed for an extended period. He can only imagine… it must be agony to have it removed.

“Why?” he asks, barely a breath.

Wei Ying looks back at him with something almost like sympathy, and that seems perverse given the circumstances, given that it’s him who…

“I didn’t want to lose him,” Wei Ying says, swallowing hard. “He was so… he was in really bad shape, Lan Zhan. You should have seen. And he was supposed to be the heir, and I was just—”

“Don’t,” Lan Wangji says, hotly enough that Wei Ying looks a bit startled. “Don’t you dare. You stand second to no one.”

Wei Ying lets out a small, surprised breath, an uncertain smile tugging at his lips. But he doesn’t try to say it again. “Anyway, I figured I’m… I could handle it. I’ve always been good with talismans and things, things you don’t need a core for. I could get by without one, I could figure something out, but Jiang Cheng… Lan Zhan, I don’t think he would have survived.” It’s a dark statement, and Lan Wangji looks to him to see if he means it how it sounds.

There’s a furious part of him that says who cares, better him than you, but he can’t voice it. It seems clear that Wei Ying does not regret his choice, does not realize how insane—

Wei Ying doesn’t have a golden core anymore. Wei Ying gave up the sword, and his abilities, to save his brother. A brother who doesn’t even know. Who discarded him, tried to kill him—

There’s resentment energy coursing through Wei Ying, taking the place of righteous cultivation, of safe power, and it’s because Wei Ying is kind. Too kindhearted for his own good at times. To make that choice, to give up everything...

“Lan Zhan?” There’s an unsteady hitch in Wei Ying’s voice, and it pulls Lan Wangji back from the brink of his roiling confusion. He meets Wei Ying’s unblinking, guarded stare, and realizes he’s been clenching his fists.

“Yes,” he says.

“Are you okay?” Wei Ying is asking, and there’s worry in the way he looks at Lan Wangji, worry—that Lan Wangji might become angry?

“Yes,” he repeats. He’s fine. He’s the one who still has a golden core, after all. He’s feeling dizzy again with the enormity of this revelation, of Wei Ying’s sacrifice…

And then he’s cold suddenly, an imagined gust of wind shivering down his back, the sting of snowflakes on his skin.

Wei Ying is still looking at him like he’s braced for anger of some kind, and Lan Wangji’s heart constricts.

If that had been the price. If that’s what it had cost him, to come back here and make up for his past mistakes.

Would he have chosen differently? For Wei Ying?

No. And yet, he can’t imagine…

Wei Ying blinks and turns his head towards the fire. His hands are fidgeting with each other, elbows resting tensely on his knees, and his brow is furrowed.

“Wei Ying—”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” Wei Ying says, frowning into the fire. “If I had, you wouldn’t have… you know. You were trying to get me to use my sword during the fight, and that’s why… you…”

“That wasn’t your fault.”

“It was though,” Wei Ying says, part stubbornness, part anger, though both seem directed inward. “I never should have let you… I should have told you before, so you’d know what you were getting yourself into. You didn’t sign up to be the one fucking cultivator around here with an actual fucking sword.”

Lan Wangji’s heart beats hotly, realizing that Wei Ying blames himself, that Wei Ying thinks Lan Wangji might have regrets. About this, about here. “Wei Ying,” he says sharply. “It doesn’t matter.”

Wei Ying gives him an incredulous look. “How can you say that?”

Lan Wangji takes a tight breath and lets it out slowly, trying to put his thoughts in order, calm his mind. He will not let Wei Ying blame himself for Lan Wangji’s injuries, nor portray himself as some kind of liability. “I wish I had known, yes,” Lan Wangji agrees. “I would have been better able to protect you if I had known the truth.”

There’s something wild in Wei Ying’s stare. “I’m not asking you to protect me.”

“Nonetheless,” Lan Wangji says. “I intend to, whether you like it or not. Whether you have a core or not, I will always do what I can to protect you.”

Wei Ying stalls at that, looking caught, like he doesn’t know how to argue with that. Lan Wangji takes advantage of his momentary speechlessness to make himself very clear. It helps him, too, to remind himself. This, he isn’t confused about. This will never change. “If you had told me earlier, it would not have changed my decision to follow you. To be here, with you.”

Wei Ying stares back at him. He looks not entirely stable, like he’s tempted to collapse into Lan Wangji’s arms and be held, like those winter nights when he was cold and found warmth in Lan Wangji’s embrace. When he was cold, because he didn’t have a core to help him maintain his body temperature, Lan Wangji realizes, and it makes his throat go tight on him, remembering how long Wei Ying always went on shivering before he would give in and invade Lan Wangji’s space. Such a small, lowly hurt, alongside that great loss. Lan Wangji has the sudden urge to reach for him himself and pull him in, hold onto him, tell him he’s insane, that he should never keep a secret like that ever again. Never suffer in silence when Lan Wangji would give anything to keep him safe and make him happy.

He thinks of Wei Ying in his despair in the wreckage of Nightless City. Wei Ying, who had hollowed himself out to save his brother. Who’d stripped away every piece of himself and given it to someone else, to Wen Ning, to the Wens, one by one, until there was nothing left of him. Nothing but a hole in the world, where once he had stood.

“It wouldn’t?” Wei Ying says, and it puts a hard twist in Lan Wangji’s heart to realize he’s even struggling with that. That after everything, Wei Ying still thinks he matters so little.

“Of course,” Lan Wangji says, his throat tight around the words. He forces himself to meet Wei Ying’s eyes. “I did not choose this lightly.”

For a moment, something hovers on the edge. Wei Ying looks into his eyes with something that’s… Lan Wangji doesn’t know, he isn't feeling steady with all that he’s just learned still trembling through his veins. Every heartbeat is a wound, and the one thing he knows is that Wei Ying can't be allowed to think that Lan Wangji will leave him, would ever leave him for his perceived weakness, when he's the strongest, the best man Lan Wangji has ever known. Wei Ying feels close, a chasm finally closed, and it’s like a flame in the dark the way he's looking at Lan Wangji, and suddenly Lan Wangji wonders if perhaps… a week ago there was a question, and it’s still unanswered, and now it’s here again, shivering over his skin, and maybe now, maybe…

No. Lan Wangji’s heart beats thickly when he comes back to himself, catches up with his stumbling thoughts. Wei Ying feared that Lan Wangji might abandon him. Wei Ying just laid bare to him something that he never wanted to reveal. That shimmer, that softness—Lan Wangji mustn’t misread it. He hears his own breath, a little ragged, and blinks as he clears his mind, sorts what he wants from what he knows.

Then Wei Ying’s eyes fidget away again, seeking out the ground, the fire, everything but Lan Wangji.

A week ago, yes. Lan Wangji spilled his own secret, and for a week Wei Ying said nothing. If it takes another week, another month—better that than to make a mistake, now of all times.

“You should really get some sleep,” Wei Ying says, with an apologetic little shrug, his eyes darting to Lan Wangji and away, then back again. “You still need to heal. You can keep the stone bed if you want, or have your cot back, whichever is better for you.”

Lan Wangji nods slowly. The world still seems tilted underneath him, dark disorder unfurling in the pit of his stomach whenever his mind bumps up against this truth, this secret, this lie. As things he knew reshape themselves, begin to make more sense, and then less sense again, all of it quietly horrifying.

But Wei Ying is right. Lan Wangji’s body will heal itself in time. With rest and meditation, and the care of a good doctor. He must allow it that. He must rest.

If it had been Wei Ying’s body, run through with the sword. Wei Ying’s body infected with a poison strong enough to bring even the most powerful cultivator to his knees…

Wei Ying is vulnerable in ways Lan Wangji never realized. Wei Ying needs him, and not for the reasons Lan Wangji might have secretly wished for. So Lan Wangji must be well. He must be strong. He must accept this knowledge, accept what can no longer be changed, and never let Wei Ying doubt his allegiance.

Lan Wangji breathes in against the weight on his chest, letting his determination settle, waiting for the ground to right itself. He nods slowly, into the fire. “The cot is fine,” he says. “I will leave the bed to you.”

Chapter Text

When Lan Wangji next awakens, glimmers of daylight are shining through the cave. It isn’t morning anymore, must be well into the afternoon. His limbs are still tingling with weakness, and it takes focus for him to sit up, like something leeched the strength out of him while he slept.

Strength, or power, or a golden core pulled out of yourself, leaving a black void behind. Wei Ying has no core. Wei Ying gave it up.

It rests on him like a grey, suffocating weight. He stares at the cluttered mess of the worktable and it blurs before his eyes, fades behind Wei Ying in his mind, a flurry of memories he hasn’t forgotten. Wei Ying’s bold challenge on the roof, his effortless power with the sword, his brightness. Wei Ying was always shining.

He dreamed of Wei Ying dying. Wei Ying was alone, drawing his sword to defend himself against a tall, faceless opponent, his arm sagging from the weight, unable to deflect any attack. Wei Ying shaking his head and saying, It doesn’t really matter, I’ll be fine, as the sword runs him through.

He draws in a deep breath to stop himself from reeling. Squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. He should get up, find Wei Ying. It is… it is good that Wei Ying hasn’t spent however many hours Lan Wangji has been asleep by his bedside. But now Lan Wangji needs to know where he is, see that he’s fine.

Fine.

It’s such an enormous thing. How did he never see it?

Wei Ying is… Wei Ying is himself, brave and optimistic. Here in the Burial Mounds, making another sacrifice. How hard he must have worked. How hard it must have been to conceal…

He tries to stand, and after a moment of his mind spinning, he finds his balance. Now that he’s properly awake, he can tell that he’s healing, still not quite there yet but stronger already than last night, his body mending itself, his spiritual energy putting him back together. He’ll be all right. He’ll be whole.

It beats in his chest, worse than that poison. Wei Ying will never heal from that. From what he gave away.

A creeping horror reminds him that Wei Ying was here in the Burial Mounds the first time, having just given up his core. Lan Wangji can’t even imagine what strength it must have taken to hold off the evil of this place without the shield of his spiritual power. Wei Ying’s will must be incredible.

Lan Wangji steadies himself against the edge of the worktable and takes a cautious step forward. It goes well, and he is mostly steady. But it’s good that Wei Ying can’t see him right now. Wei Ying would worry. Wei Ying worries too much, gives too much. The things he’s done for everyone here, for all of them…

Wei Ying remade himself here, with darkness and desperation, and they all feared him for it, they all judged him. A wild cultivator, unorthodox, a rulebreaker, a traitor. They gathered to hunt him. How alone Wei Ying must have felt.

He pulls himself straight and takes another step, his fingertips brushing the worktable as a safety, but he manages without actually putting his hand down. That’s good. Wei Ying did not tell him the truth so he could be despondent and hide away in the cave. He needs to get his feelings under control so his horror and his fear on Wei Ying’s behalf don’t come spilling out of him where Wei Ying might feel awkward or pitied, and he needs to see Wei Ying now.

Lan Wangji’s goal hasn't changed. He reminds himself of that. Nothing is different now from what it was yesterday. Wei Ying didn’t have a core then, and not the day before that, and not— not for a long time.  Lan Wangji will protect him. That hasn’t changed.

Their lives here haven't changed. And now that he knows, at least he understands. The weirdness, the Yin Tiger Seal, Wei Ying letting in that darkness because he had his power taken out of him, because he thought he'd be fine and that everyone else mattered more, Wei Ying thought this was right. Wei Ying believed that the man who'd throw him away and move to kill him in his weakest moment mattered more than he did.

Wei Ying tried to argue that, to Lan Wangji. That he’s worth less, he’s not the heir, he didn’t need his core to win his battles or to live like a cultivator.

And Jiang Wanyin let him go. Jiang Wanyin let him go and doesn’t even know the kind of sacrifice Wei Ying made for him, for that whole damn clan.

Lan Wangji takes a ragged breath, gathers his strength. He’s just taken a cautious step away from the worktable when he feels a shift in presence, and then hears soft steps on the cave floor. He schools his face, and looks up as Wen Qing comes to a stop a few feet away, a rolled up robe under her arm and a basket of herbs in her hand. “You’re up,” she says, standing still.

Wen Qing put him to sleep.

Her gaze sweeps over him, evaluating, quick.

And we made the transfer.

“How are you feeling?” she asks, and there’s something careful about it but she’s examining him anyway, weighing the way he stands, the way he holds himself. 

Because she’s a doctor.

The doctor who made this happen. Who cut Wei Ying open and drew out his core as if it were a splinter and gave it to someone else.

He stares at her worn farmer's robe and her herb basket and her pretty hair and her clever guarded eyes, and black fire pools in his stomach.

He hates her. It rises inside him like a flood, the flute and the lies and the darkness and Wei Ying’s fall, and he hates her, more than he’s ever hated Jiang Wanyin.

She’s Wei Ying’s friend and she did this. She hurt him like this, she listened to that horror of a request and then she maimed him, and for a moment Lan Wangji can't breathe at how no one, not a person in the whole fucking world has ever stepped between Wei Ying and danger.

How could she. How could she.

"Lan Wangji," she says, her voice calm and flat and Lan Wangji takes a stumble forward and grabs Bichen from the shelf, the sheath flying off in one swift motion, and he takes a step towards her, the blade shaking by his side.

She flinches back and he doesn't care, it's good. Let her. Her eyes flicker briefly over his sword, before she looks back at him, and her face is that calm doctor's expression again. She doesn’t move further.

Lan Wangji shudders as he's breathing through his rage. The sword is pointing low, heavier than it normally feels to him, but even injured and in shock he can still wield it better than Wei Ying, whose core she cut out of him.

He wishes she had her sword on her.

"How could you do it," he says, low and brittle. Something ghosts across her face, the question hitting her more than him standing here with his sword. "How could you harm him like that."

He can see the swallow in her throat, but she keeps her shoulders firm, her eyes clear. "It was—” She swallows again. “He asked me to.”

He takes another lurching step towards her and she blinks.

“All this time,” he says, his voice from somewhere deep and rough and alien. “All this time we’ve been here. You knew.”

“I'm sorry," she says, with just a tiny shake of her head. "It was what he wanted."

"Is that your excuse?" He can barely recognize his own voice, a low hiss that still seems to fill the cave. How could she, this—this doctor.

"I make no excuses." She even has the gall to look strong, to look brave, refusing to shy away. He's so angry and he wants her to fucking cower, and then it's rushing around his head that it wouldn’t even do any good, that nothing’s going to do any good after what she did to Wei Ying. "We were all in a difficult situation. There were no good outcomes. He thought this was better than the alternatives."

His hand jerks around the hilt of his sword. That’s not making excuses? A difficult situation?

"I didn't want to do it, Lan Wangji," she says, and his blood runs hotter. She stands as straight as he's ever seen her, her chin up, her gaze dark with understanding, regret, and he doesn't care, he doesn't give a damn. "I thought it was a terrible idea. But he was persistent. I'm sorry that I hurt him. I have no expectation that you will understand or forgive."

He stares at her, his blood coursing hot and wild, and he wants— something, some way to cut off this pain, throw all of this at her and watch her reel, because she’d deserve it. He's out of words. He's burning on the inside and his anger is leaking through his skin but he's never had the right words, never in his life. Not for Wei Ying, not for the world. He couldn’t protect Wei Ying and he never even knew why, Wei Ying never told him…

"I felt sympathy for his position," she says, her voice cracking at the end. Then she falls silent, her posture still as straight as ever. Her gaze is calm. If he didn't hate her so much, he might call her expression kind.

Wei Ying never told him. Wei Ying died and left him and Lan Wangji never knew how damaged he was, what set it all in motion. His chest feels like it might give from the weight, just cave in around his heart.

He can't fight her. There's no point, nowhere to take this anger. No one will be helped if he grabs her and shouts at her, or makes her dodge a helpless, pretend swing of his sword. Even if he was in possession of his usual strength, he wouldn’t harm her, so what’s the point.

He takes a step back, and suddenly something cramps in his abdomen, a shot of pain from where the attack pierced him.

She moves towards him even though he is still holding the sword, though she stops before she actually touches him.

"Stay away," he grates out, hunched around the sting in his side. If she dares—if she comes near him…

Her hand sinks down, but her eyes scan him again for more signs of trouble. She wants to ask him, diagnose him. Treat him.

His motions are slow. The pain in his abdomen doesn't matter, he's healing, he doesn't care. But he doesn't want to wince again and give her a reason to want to help him. Carefully, he bends down for Bichen’s sheath, then needs a moment to focus to slide Bichen back home, his weakened arm tense from his concentration.

"If it starts bleeding again, please let someone know," she says evenly. "He wouldn't want for you to hurt yourself."

An aftershock of fury ripples through him at that, but it fades quickly, turns grey and tired.

He wants her to go. He needs to sit down.

He stares at the ground for a long moment, until he hears her steps moving away. She hasn't even gone to stow away her clothes or her herbs, and Lan Wangji's knees have a weakness in them as he lowers himself back on his cot, his anger sinking and fading, and his heart sore.

~      ~      ~

Luo Qingyang,

Four days ago, the Burial Mounds were attacked by a group of bandits. There were at least two dozen of them. They wore no robes or insignia that would identify them as members of a clan, and they kept their faces masked. Indeed, they did not seem to be cultivators, which begs the question why they would attempt such a foolish confrontation. It became clear after the attack was put down that their swords, which were otherwise quite ordinary, were anointed with poison, and our doctor has determined from its effects on the wounded that it is the Poison of Withering Vine. As you surely know, this would be quite difficult for common criminals to procure, as all the clans enforce a ban on cultivator poisons.

For that reason, I am confident this was not a random attack, and that the bandits were not here merely to steal from us. They certainly obtained nothing of value, and five of them lost their lives.

As always, I do not wish you to put yourself in danger, but I would be deeply appreciative if you would stay on the lookout for any rumors or substantial indications of who might be behind this attack.

Please contact me immediately if you uncover any information.

Lan Wangji

Lan Wangji puts his brush down carefully, but keeps the letter on his writing board, so it can dry properly. He is sitting on the steps outside the great hall, staring out across the bright and busy courtyard, exactly where he sat two nights ago with Wei Ying. On the night  Wei Ying told him of his horrible secret.

The wound in Lan Wangji’s side still twinges and tingles sometimes, and he still gets dizzy when he moves too fast, but he can tell that his body is healing. The air is pleasantly warm around him, summer’s heat tempered by the chill of the Burial Mounds, though the temperature within his body fluctuates as it works to repair the damage done by the poison in his veins. He slept through another night, woke up at a regular morning hour, and is recovering at the speed of a strong, healthy cultivator, with a golden core.

He dreamed of the cliff last night. Lan Wangji wore purple and held on to Wei Ying with Zidian curled around his wrist. Then he let Wei Ying go, shrugging because he had what he wanted, before fire ripped his heart out and his power turned to stone in his center, shriveled and dead.

It makes him feel cold to think about it, despite the blanket he wrapped himself in at Fourth Uncle’s insistence, and despite the faint glow of the noon cooking fire in the great hall behind him.

Wei Ying is sitting on one of the benches in front of the western houses, some distance away, working on something involving wood carvings and metal scraps. It’s the sort of thing he would usually do at his workbench inside, and Lan Wangji isn’t sure why he’s chosen to do it out here. Perhaps he feels it makes too much of a mess, all the little wood shavings littering the ground at his feet. Every once in a while, Wei Ying seems to cast a small look in Lan Wangji’s direction, as if he’s expecting Lan Wangji to swoon or collapse without warning.

He doesn’t move closer though, doesn’t hover. Lan Wangji isn’t sure if he appreciates that, or finds it troubling.

Wen Yunlan is also taking in the air, sitting up on his stretcher at the other end of the great hall steps. He is recovering well, though he seems to be less tolerant of the poison’s chilling effects than Lan Wangji. He’s wrapped up in three blankets and still shivering slightly, despite the gentle noon sunlight overhead. Wen Liu keeps bringing him little snacks and samples from the lunch cooking process, and he seems more warmed by the sight of her than by the blankets.

Wen Shu is still unconscious. They’re still keeping her inside, close to the cooking fire to promote better circulation. Wen Guang has hardly left her bedside since the attack, her hands busy weaving a small basket and her voice silent, just as Wen Shu has always been silent when working in the fields. Lan Wangji wonders if perhaps they are mother and daughter after all, though they don’t address each other as such.

A little while ago, Lan Wangj heard Wen Qing speaking quietly to Wen Guang, checking on Wen Shu’s condition. Not much seems to have changed. He heard her move away again after she had finished, but the footsteps disappeared into the distance, and she didn’t pass by him on her way out. He suspects she must have gone through the connecting passageway to the cave, and the thought leaves him with a strange mixture of regret and relief. She seems inclined to stay out of his sight, and Lan Wangji feels that she is right to do so. It still rolls through him in waves when he least expects it, the sense of anger, of betrayal, at her part in all this. He doesn’t know that he will ever be able to forgive her.

He blinks out across the courtyard towards the radish fields and takes a steadying breath, resists the urge to glance in Wei Ying’s direction, just to remind himself that he’s still there, still alive. Wei Ying was so worried while Lan Wangji was ill. Lan Wangji doesn’t want to look his way when he his caught up in his own feelings and give Wei Ying the wrong impression, make him feel that there is more to worry about.

Lan Wangji is still forbidden from participating in any of the farm work, so he’s been keeping himself busy with his writing in the meantime. He would like to get this information to Mian Mian as soon as possible, in hopes that she will be able to help him confirm his suspicions. And in any case, he wants someone on the outside to be on guard, to know what happened.

He waits for the ink on his letter to be properly dry. Then he folds it up carefully and unpeels himself from his blanket. The sudden cool of the normal air is bracing against his fevered skin, and he takes a deep breath as he stands. He doesn’t feel so shaky anymore, and adjusting to standing only takes him a moment.

“Everything okay, Hanguang-jun?” Wen Yunlan asks, eyeing him with a frown. “Do you need something?” He looks about ready to call Wen Liu over.

Lan Wangji shakes his head. “I’m quite all right,” he says. “I have something I need to take care of. I’m feeling much better now.”

Wen Yunlan looks for a moment like he might argue, which is the oddest feeling, but then he nods. “You shouldn’t overdo it, if I may say so,” he says. “That poison was pretty wicked.” There’s a lingering shudder in the way he says it.

Lan Wangji nods reassuringly. He tucks the letter into his robes. Wei Ying is absorbed in his project, distant enough that Lan Wangji can’t see all the details of his face, but his dedicated squint as he scrapes a small hatchet along the edge of the little wooden contraption he’s building is enough to bring a wistful ache to Lan Wangji’s heart.

Wei Ying was so powerful. That mind, and that kindness, combined with his raw talent. He could have accomplished so much, he could have been the strongest cultivator of his generation. He could have been anything.

Not someone who lives tucked away in the Burial Mounds, farming radishes. Who withdraws from everyone close to him to cultivate dark energy that will eat away at his soul from the inside out. Who faces off with the whole of the cultivation world, stoking fear and suspicion, until it—

Lan Wangji blinks against the darkness stirring in his mind, and swallows. This is no good. The radishes feed them. The dark energy allows Wei Ying to protect himself, even as it takes from him. The letter in Lan Wangji’s robes might lead him to information that will help him ensure this situation does not get out of hand. At least he knows, now, what the situation truly is.

He needs to focus his mind on what can be done now. What can actually help.

He starts to make his way across the courtyard, toward the path to the village, and is pleased to find that such movement feels like no great exertion.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying calls from behind him.

He stops and turns back carefully. Wei Ying is hurrying towards him, his ponytail swaying with the speed of his steps, red ribbon fluttering gently. Lan Wangji feels the strangest urge to pull him close and put more distance between them all at the same time, and he isn’t even sure why. It’s as if his body is still too weak to bear up under Wei Ying’s undivided attention.

“Lan Zhan, where are you going?” Wei Ying asks him as he comes to a stop, eyes wide. He’s leaning forward, pressing just a little too far into Lan Wangji’s space.

“I have something to do in town,” Lan Wangji says.

“In town? Are you crazy?” Wei Ying looks him up and down with those big eyes and a deep frown. “You’re not going anywhere, you’re still recovering. Whatever you need from town, I can get it for you. No way are you going all the way down there right now.”

“You’re needed here,” Lan Wangji points out, a strange flutter in the pit of his stomach. He had not expected to have to argue his way out of the camp, though perhaps he should have. “I’m not of much use right now.”

“You’re not supposed to be useful right now, you’re supposed to be sitting over there eating yummy snacks and not doing anything that could make your injury worse,” Wei Ying says, sounding sharp and authoritative. Like a clan leader. The thought nudges its way to the surface of his mind, slightly disorienting in light of all that’s changed in his understanding over the past few days, and leaves him feeling quietly bereft all over again.

Wei Ying was so adamant that the role wouldn’t suit him. Was that about this too? Is that why Wei Ying doesn’t want the title—because he has no core? He feels that disqualifies him somehow?

He was supposed to be the heir, and I was just…

Just what? Someone ordinary? Someone who didn’t deserve…

 “We were just attacked, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says quietly, stepping closer and pulling Lan Wangji from his thoughts again. “I don’t think they’re keen on coming back, but we don’t even know why they were here in the first place, and I’m not having you go down that mountain by yourself in your condition.”

The reminder of the attack sends an answering surge of protectiveness towards Wei Ying through him. He knows that Wei Ying defended himself quite successfully with the help of Chengqing and Wen Ning, and he must have been a terrifying opponent when he wasn’t distracted by Lan Wangji’s interference. Fourth Uncle told Lan Wangji in secret that they’d found parts of the bandit who stabbed Lan Wangji spread out as far as the southern field the next day. But nonetheless, the knowledge that Wei Ying’s sacrifice has left him more exposed than Lan Wangji ever realized, even in the other past, has taken an icy hold on his insides. Poison or no poison, if Wei Ying didn’t have the Yin Tiger Seal, even an ordinary blade could threaten his life.

The sight of Jiang Wanyin driving his own sword into Wei Ying’s side, using Wei Ying’s own core to wound him so deeply that it took weeks for him to recover, when he gave it up…

Lan Wangji knows it wasn’t like that, knows in the rational part of his mind that Jiang Wanyin didn’t know, couldn’t have known, but… still. The cruelty, the injustice of it burns inside him, simmering beneath his skin like a poison all its own.

Wei Ying gave up so much.

“What do you want from the village?” Wei Ying asks in a decisive sort of voice. “I have one thing to wrap up here and then I could go.” He’s wiped the frown off his face and is looking at Lan Wangji invitingly, and Lan Wangji feels suddenly crushed with how much he wants to embrace him, make sure he’s alive and uninjured all over again.

But he is being foolish. Wei Ying is alive, is right in front of him, and he’s no different from how he was yesterday, or ten days ago, or six months ago when they rode into this forest. No different from ten years ago when he died, and Lan Wangji had no idea…

“Paper,” Lan Wangji says, not quite catching up fast enough. “But I still have some. You don’t have to go. I merely thought, since I have the time.”

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying scolds, shaking his head. “Go sit down. The only thing you have to do right now is get better. I can pick up some paper for you next time I go into town, if there’s no emergency. Okay?” He tilts his head, his smile a little more careful and twitchy than it normally is.

Lan Wangji takes a deep breath and nods, conceding defeat. The flicker of relief that crosses Wei Ying’s face puts a dull twist in the pit of his stomach. Wei Ying shouldn’t have to spend his energies worrying about Lan Wangji’s condition, when he has so much else to concern himself with.

So, for now Lan Wangji will rest. He follows Wei Ying’s instructions and retreats back to his perch on the steps of the great hall, pulling the blanket up around his shoulders again. The letter remains tucked into the front of his robes, for at least a little while longer.

~      ~      ~

“And then, the dragon wakes up.” Ah Yuan is craning his neck back to look at Wei Ying over his shoulder, his fingers spreading open like a sunrise. He’s sitting in Wei Ying’s lap this evening, because Ah Yuan came charging energetically towards Lan Wangji as soon as he took his seat beside the fire, and Wei Ying intercepted him by scooping him up and sitting them both down next to Lan Wangji, at a safe distance. “The emperor boy gives him milk.”

Lan Wangji wasn’t aware that dragons like milk, but this one apparently does. He also wonders, with a touch of melancholy, if Ah Yuan even knows what milk is or if it’s merely a word he’s picked up.

There are several of them clustered together around the fire, but Ah Yuan has been the primary source of conversation during dinner. Lan Wangji keeps looking over at him, warming his heart on Ah Yuan’s energy and on the happy little smiles he keeps sending Lan Wangji’s way.

On Wei Ying’s other side is Fourth Uncle, and next to Fourth Uncle are Wen Qing and Wen Ning. Wen Ning is always a quiet sort, and Fourth Uncle is most comfortable speaking when spoken to. It’s unusual for Wen Qing to be silent at mealtime, but Lan Wangji cannot muster any concern for the change in her habits. It’s only because Wei Ying is here that he has not politely removed himself from her presence already. Perhaps she too feels that silence is the best alternative.

But Ah Yuan’s story is sweet, and better than any other conversation that might be had in this group tonight.

“Sounds better than radishes,” Wei Ying says, with a sideways glance at Lan Wangji, a tiny quirk of his mouth. Lan Wangji’s mood is still dark and unsettled, but the sight of Wei Ying dipping gently back into his teasing ways brings a glimmer of light. Then Wei Ying looks back down at Ah Yuan. “The dragon likes that, huh?”

“Yes,” Ah Yuan nods. “The dragon is very thirsty. Because it was asleep.”

“But now it’s awake and ready for more adventures,” Wei Ying deduces, his arm firm around Ah Yuan’s middle. Wei Ying has put aside his own bowl of radishes in favor of coaxing Ah Yuan to eat a few more bites between plot points, but he seemed to be mostly finished anyway. It’s only dusk, as the evenings are getting longer, but despite the remaining light and the mild weather they have the fires going for warmth. Wei Ying insisted, wanting to make sure that those recovering from wounds would be comfortable.

Lan Wangji feels the glow of the flames on his face, his eyes lowered to his bowl of radishes and his mind on the letter still hidden in his robes. He knows it’s unlikely that Mian Mian would be able to catch any bandits red-handed regardless of when she receives it, but not being able to post the message to her has him even more on edge than the fading effects of the poison.

“Yes, because when you’re asleep, you wake up again,” Ah Yuan tells Wei Ying very seriously, nodding. For a moment Wei Ying seems to go a little still, and then steals another glance at Lan Wangji, even as he keeps Ah Yuan engaged by tickling their fingers together.

Lan Wangji understands, a new warmth in his face as he realizes that Ah Yuan must have been confused by Lan Wangji’s illness and is now echoing the reassurance he received. He gives Wei Ying a very small nod of thanks.

Since their talk in the middle of the night, Wei Ying has seemed a constant presence in his peripheral vision, as though he wants to keep Lan Wangji within sight but hesitates to get too close. Lan Wangji must admit to being preoccupied, his thoughts wrapped up in all he didn’t know, but… a lot has happened, not only in the last few days. A lot still feels unsettled, not quite sorted, questions thrown into disarray by the shifting of the ground underneath them. Lan Wangji feels a brief stirring of wondering, a current beneath the stream, if there was anything more that would have happened, should have happened, if the attack hadn’t occurred. But if Lan Wangji was determined not to press the matter of his feelings before Wei Ying made his confession, he certainly will not put any pressure on him now.

“Hey,” Wei Ying says quietly, almost a whisper in his ear. “Everything okay with you?”

Lan Wangji looks up, but finds with mild dismay that Wei Ying isn’t looking at him. His concerned frown is directed across the curve of the circle, towards Wen Qing. A familiar flare of irritation makes Lan Wangji look away.

“Yes?” Wen Qing says, a tired challenge in her voice.

“You’re just, I don’t know. Really quiet.”

There’s a pause, and the resentment rolls on in Lan Wangji’s stomach.

“You’ve already got the expert on dragon care over there,” she says finally, an appeasing humor in the words that make Lan Wangji take a slow, calming breath. “I’m fine.”

“Okay,” Wei Ying says, still sounding a bit uneasy. “Just wondered, if you’re worried about…”

Lan Wangji looks over at him again, and it takes him a second to read the tilt of Wei Ying’s head, the anxious frown on Fourth Uncle’s face. Wei Ying is referring to Wen Shu, still unconscious in the great hall.

“No,” Wen Qing says. “Not more than I was in general.” It’s odd to hear the shift, how she suddenly sounds firm and real and confident. “I haven’t seen anything to suggest she’s not getting better, I’d just like it better if she woke up.”

“Yeah, okay,” Wei Ying says.

“I’m not hiding anything from you,” Wen Qing says.

The air turns cold, sharp. Lan Wangji wonders if she’s aware of it. Or perhaps this is just the way to fool people. Easy and smooth, tell them that everything’s fine, over and over, and even if they don’t believe you at first, eventually…

“Cool,” Wei Ying says. He does something that makes Ah Yuan laugh and Lan Wangji tries to unclench his hand around the radish bowl, to let go of the sudden tension in his shoulders.

Ah Yuan continues to be happy and squirmy, keeping Wei Ying’s attention occupied. Now and then Lan Wangji looks at him, a sting in his heart as he remembers how deeply Wei Ying has been hurt, though even that is soothed by his laughter and his nearness.

Eventually, Fourth Uncle picks up Ah Yuan to take him to Grandmother Wen so she can put him to bed. Ah Yuan squirms towards Lan Wangji and says, “Brother Zhan can take me, he can tell me about the emperor boy.”

Lan Wangji feels a smile pulling at his mouth despite his gloomy mood.

“Your Brother Zhan still needs to recover a little from his fight with the ghost,” Wei Ying says.

Ah Yuan stares at Lan Wangji, and it hurts to recognize worry in Ah Yuan’s wide eyes. It’s late enough in the evening that Ah Yuan is tired, his emotions more easily stirred. “Tomorrow,” he promises, ignoring Wei Ying’s quietly disapproving huff. “I still have something I need to take care of today. Can you wait until then?”

Ah Yuan nods obediently, and Fourth Uncle bounces him gently as he gives Lan Wangji a nod.

As Ah Yuan is being carried towards the great hall, Wei Ying gives Lan Wangji a look. “Were you just trying to distract him or do you really still have something to do?”

“I would like to take a bath,” Lan Wangji tells him. “It has been a few days.” The walk down to the town is longer than the walk to the pool, but he feels well enough that he will be able to shorten the trip with an intermittent sword ride. The postal exchange is at an inn and should be open late into the night.

Wei Ying’s eyes go almost comically wide. “No way.”

“Wei Ying, I am not bedridden,” Lan Wangji points out.

“Yeah, but,” Wei Ying protests. “I’m not having you walk around by yourself in the forest in the dark after you’ve just been injured.”

Lan Wangji fixes Wei Ying with an even look. “I was not actually injured by a ghost.”

“I know that,” Wei Ying says, glaring at him. “But still, it’s far and there’s… things. Out there.” He waves a hand vaguely at the forest.

“I will be perfectly safe.”

“You got stabbed,” Wei Ying says, and Lan Wangji is surprised to see something like guilt flare up in his eyes. It pulls him up short. “So, no, you’re not going out to the pool. Or if you absolutely have to, I’ll go with you.”

Then he blinks, as if he’s only just hearing the words from his own mouth. For a moment, they both look at each other in silence. The memory bubbles up in Lan Wangji’s mind, an unaccustomed lightness in the dim of his despondency, Wei Ying stalking awkwardly through the cold water, settling down next to Lan Wangji in his wet, clingy robes, his hair curling on his shoulders. His closeness easy, unencumbered by any awareness of Lan Wangji’s feelings for him. The strange intimacy of sitting together in the forest pool in the dark, close, but not touching.

He could say yes. It makes his heart beat furiously, frantic with danger, but it might be the normal thing to do, the way to show Wei Ying that the revelation of two nights ago hasn’t changed how they should be around each other either.

Wei Ying was so careful not to act differently around him after Lan Wangji’s confession. It’s hardly the same, but…

Then again, that unencumbered ease would not be there now. Wei Ying clearly spoke without thinking, and Lan Wangji knows he’s been trying to maintain normalcy for both of them. But it’s difficult to deny that it would be different now. Feel different.

“Though, actually,” Wei Ying says, blinking down and away. Lan Wangji isn’t certain if he’s imagining the self-conscious fidgeting before Wei Ying meets his eyes again with a stubborn focus. “I don’t know if you should be sitting in the pool at all, even if I… you know, with your wound and everything. I mean, it’s not the Cold Spring, that river’s got dead foxes and bones in it instead of healing properties.”

This is, perhaps, a valid concern.

Just as Lan Wangji opens his mouth to answer, Wei Ying looks over to Wen Qing again. “It’s probably not a good idea, right?”

That prickly thump of anger is back in Lan Wangji’s throat, but it’s reflex to shift his gaze in her direction. He meets her eyes for the first time since the dinner arrangements became clear and they both realized it was too awkward and noticeable for either of them to do anything about it. He catches just a flicker of uncertainty, resignation maybe, on Wen Qing’s face, before her expression smooths out to become blank and self-contained. “I haven’t looked at the river specifically,” she says. “But I wouldn’t assume it’s especially beneficial to wounds, no.” Then she looks away.

“See, Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying says. For a moment he looks as if he’s going to elbow Lan Wangji in the side, but he stops himself just in time with a sheepish half-smile. “You can wash up here though, okay? I’ll make sure no one bothers you.”

~      ~      ~

The washing area is tucked away along the curve of the mountain near the forest’s edge, where no one ever goes at night. There isn’t much to it, just a small wooden bench and a few wooden buckets for rinsing, with one large barrel to store the water they ferry up from the stream throughout the day. It’s shielded on three sides by screens they fashioned out of the cheapest of fabric, which provides a reasonable amount of privacy, with a narrow gap between the end screen and the mountain for the user to slip inside.

Wei Wuxian has got the small space lit with the glow of a fire talisman stuck to the rock, and a gentle haze of steam is diffusing in the air from the three buckets of water that Wei Wuxian filled from the barrel, first purifying them, then heating them up and ensuring they’ll stay warm with a few more talismans. He turns in a small circle, trying not to bump Lan Zhan with his elbow as he surveys the setup. But there’s nothing else he can think of. This should do it.

“Right, so,” Wei Wuxian says, turning back to Lan Zhan and clapping his hands together noiselessly in front of himself. “You have everything you need?”

Lan Zhan sweeps his gaze over the buckets, the fire talisman, the small bench, and the little upturned crate that serves as a place to put dry clothes. “Yes,” Lan Zhan says quietly hands folded primly in front of him. “Thank you.” He seems reluctant to meet Wei Wuxian’s eyes, but Wei Wuxian tries not to read anything into that. Lan Zhan has always been a bit private about stuff like this, and anyway… well. Yeah.

Anyway.

“Cool,” Wei Wuxian says, with a smile he hopes looks easy, and a little nod. “Okay then. I’ll just be out there making sure nobody bursts in on you, or whatever.” He gestures towards the outside. Lan Zhan nods again, but doesn’t say anything more.

It’s much darker outside the little bathing area, and Wei Wuxian has to blink a bit to get his eyes to readjust as he wanders around the screens, away from the gap that serves as the door. He knows he should probably have a seat or something—Lan Zhan will be in there a while, he’s still moving a bit slowly with his injuries—but somehow he feels too twitchy to relax. So he falls into a slow, short, pacing circle, back and forth in front of the screens, glancing up every so often as he hears the rustle of fabric, or something shifting against wood.

By the light of the talisman shining through from the other side, Wei Wuxian can see the soft-edged shadow of Lan Zhan’s outline, moving this way and that. When Lan Zhan’s arms seem to clutch at his side for a moment, Wei Wuxian feels his stomach drop with nerves, wonders if Lan Zhan has irritated his wound somehow, if he needs help. But then something shifts again, slips free from the shape of him, and Wei Wuxian realizes it was just Lan Zhan undoing his belt.

Right. Probably should stop watching now.

He knows Lan Zhan would probably really have preferred the pool. But the idea of Lan Zhan wandering around in the haunted woods by himself had made Wei Wuxian’s insides twist with panic. And then the idea of the two of them going to the pool together… well. That was a bit of a brain accident. Probably not something they need right now.

It’s not that… he doesn’t actually think he’d mind, personally. It’s not like bathing together is inherently immodest or anything, at least not if you’re not a Lan, and it was nice that time. He likes being alone with Lan Zhan. But, it’s just… Lan Zhan is a Lan, and he worries about stuff like that, and Wei Wuxian doesn’t want him to be uncomfortable. They’ve got a lot of complicated things piled on top of each other at the moment, all sorts of unanswered questions, and just… maybe just some stuff that’s better not to mess with right now.

Regardless of what any of the answers are or aren’t, or if the question is even still… relevant, or whatever. Maybe mixing that with being wet in a bath together, even with their robes on, is not such a good idea.

Lan Zhan would still keep his robes on, wouldn’t he? He always did before, so… probably. Maybe.

Wei Wuxian isn’t even sure where that question came from, but it’s weirdly distracting now that he’s thought of it, and that’s not helpful. He still feels kind of stupid, agonizing for days about what to do or say about the hand kiss, when Lan Zhan didn’t even know… anything. The truth. Like mopping up a spilled water jug when there are flood waters lapping at the porch.

Wei Wuxian was honestly so relieved after their talk that first night. He hadn’t even realized how much it was weighing on him to keep the secret from Lan Zhan until it was finally out there, done. And Lan Zhan had been so great about it. Like, freaked out obviously, that was to be expected, but not… He was just so good about it. He didn’t even make a big deal about the fact that it was all to save Jiang Cheng, which Wei Wuxian had half expected, considering the fact that they don’t seem to like each other very much. But there was none of that. Lan Zhan said he wanted to protect him.

And then there was nothing.

Well. Not nothing. It’s not like Lan Zhan has been giving him the cold shoulder or anything, he hasn’t run off into the woods and made Wei Wuxian worry, this could totally be way worse, it’s just… he seems out of sorts. And maybe it’s just the poison, Wei Wuxian doesn’t know. Maybe it’s because he’s still recovering. Lan Zhan can be prickly when he’s injured, so maybe he just doesn’t like feeling weak or whatever.

Wei Wuxian breathes a shallow laugh. He can sympathize with that.

But, still. It seems like Lan Zhan is trying, like he really doesn’t want to worry him or anything, but… it’s also not quite the same. As before.

Wei Wuxian doesn’t know what he can do to make it be the same again.

He glances over at the screen and sees Lan Zhan’s outline shift and melt as he shrugs off a layer of robes. Holds them up to straighten them, and then folds them over neatly, setting them down on top of the upturned crate.

It gives him an odd pull in his stomach. They’re close, close enough Wei Wuxian can hear the soft sounds of Lan Zhan’s bare feet shifting in the grass, but also separate, and he doesn’t know if that feels safe for the moment or just… distant.

“So you’re okay?” he asks again, quite brightly.

He sees Lan Zhan’s shadow pause, his hands at his waist again. “Yes,” Lan Zhan says. “Thank you for your help with the water.” He seems to be moving to take off his second layer of robes, and the slowness of it brings another lump to Wei Wuxian’s throat. Wei Wuxian’s cowardice did that. Got Lan Zhan hurt like that.

Then he looks away again, because it’s clear Lan Zhan has stripped off his underrobe and Wei Wuxian is pretty sure that even through the screen it’s not polite to stare.

He looks around, and confirms that the courtyard is still deserted. A couple of lanterns are on in the houses, and there’s the light in the great hall, but Lan Zhan has his privacy for this. And it’s not like there are ghosts or bad guys anywhere near or anything, he should probably… he could go. Back to the cave, or wherever. Let Lan Zhan have his bath.

But Wei Wuxian doesn’t like the idea of him being all alone either.

“Do you—” He feels himself twitching. “Do you mind if I sit here? Just in case. If you need something after all.”

He can’t see Lan Zhan’s reaction because, well, there’s a screen in between, and Lan Zhan wouldn’t have taken off his clothes like that if there wasn’t.

“I don’t mind,” Lan Zhan says after a moment.

Okay, great. The ground is dry enough here and he settles down cross-legged, facing the same way Lan Zhan must be facing behind the screen, towards the darkness of the forest. He hears the creak of the bench as Lan Zhan lowers himself to sit, and the distant murmurs of ghosts and rustling leaves, but it’s a nice quiet, even with all the complications hanging in the air.

There’s more gentle splashing, and Wei Wuxian glances back briefly to see the silhouette of Lan Zhan wetting a washcloth in one of the buckets and running it up his arms. Wei Wuxian wriggles his toes and doesn’t look too long, he’s not stalking Lan Zhan. Just making sure Lan Zhan doesn’t move around too fast and tear his wounds open, or whatever.

“So,” he says. Somehow he can’t just sit here and listen to the water splash either. “You really think you’re okay again?” He licks his lips and doesn’t look over. “I mean, your injury. And the poison.”

There’s a moment of quiet. Some night bird makes a bird noise. “I really will be all right, Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, an unexpected warmth in his voice, like a talisman lit just for Wei Wuxian’s benefit. “At this point, my body is merely tired from healing itself. I’ve been injured before.”

“Not with cultivator poison,” Wei Wuxian points out.

“No, not like that,” Lan Zhan admits. “But my spiritual energy has not been damaged. I assure you, I’ll be quite all right.”

Yeah, but would Lan Zhan tell him if he weren’t?

Oh, fuck. He nearly laughs, in a sad, helpless sort of way, but cuts himself off in time. Thank fuck he didn’t say that aloud. Even for him, that would be an exceedingly stupid objection to make right now. “Yeah, okay,” he says instead. “That’s what Wen Qing said too.”

Lan Zhan doesn’t reply. There’s more gentle splashing, and Wei Wuxian can see Lan Zhan is shifting one of the buckets around.

“In a way, we were really lucky,” he says, turning away again. They haven’t talked this through yet, the timing’s just never seemed right, and admittedly it’s not like they’ll be able to do a whole lot with any conclusions they might draw. “Wen Qing says she recognized the poison from something she saw in Wen Ruohan’s collection of evil artifacts. Even he didn’t dabble in actual cultivator poisons, that stuff’s so vile, but he had a book about it.”

He hears Lan Zhan make a noise that he takes as agreement.

“We were lucky she thought of it that fast,” he says, and it brings on another shudder. “If she wasn’t so smart or if she hadn’t been curious enough to snoop around in Wen Ruohan’s library, it might have been too late.” He doesn’t add that in a way, Lan Zhan getting injured had been the thing that tipped off Wen Qing that there was something weird about the swords in the first place. Wen Yunlan and Wen Shu might be dead already if Lan Zhan’s reaction to the injury hadn’t told Wen Qing that something else was going on. Wei Wuxian knows this intellectually, and he’s grateful that everybody seems to be on the mend, but he still can’t bring himself to be glad Lan Zhan got stabbed through the gut.

“It is good that further harm could be prevented,” Lan Zhan says. He sounds a bit hushed, but he’s also sitting naked in the washing area facing the woods, so it wouldn’t be surprising if he’s feeling a bit flustered and exposed.

“I’m really glad you’re okay, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says. It comes out quiet, not much better than Lan Zhan himself. “I’m…” It’s on the tip of his tongue to ask if Lan Zhan knows that he’s okay too. That he’s the same, basically, as he was a week ago, and even before that. Ask if Lan Zhan still thinks of him the same way, or if now he just sees him as… less somehow. Damaged. Weird.

He wonders suddenly how Lan Zhan’s going to feel about the sparring now. If he’ll be even more creeped out by the Tiger Seal’s power than he was before, or if his recent easy-going attitude is going to start to ring false, feel like pity.

He turns his head. Lan Zhan’s shadow has gone still, and though the lines aren’t quite clear, Wei Wuxian traces them with his eyes anyway. There’s something warm about Lan Zhan’s outline like that, softly lit, the steam rising overhead.

He doesn’t really know why he’s feeling so glum. Lan Zhan has been really nice the last couple of days, more than he had any right to expect, especially after the stabbing business. Like Lan Zhan is trying to get things back to normal too. Wei Wuxian will gladly take normal.

Maybe it’s just that he’s kept the secret for so long, and it’s hard to believe that all of a sudden it’s out, and Lan Zhan is basically the same old Lan Zhan, helpful, quiet, steadfast. Currently naked behind a screen.

He sees when Lan Zhan bends over to pick up one of the buckets, trying to lift it up higher than looks comfortable. The hair, Wei Wuxian realizes. Okay, Lan Zhan’s all right, and he’ll know what he’s doing, but Wei Wuxian’s always found this a pain in the ass to do on his own with the buckets and the leaf paste even without having just been stabbed through the side.

“Are you washing your hair, Lan Zhan?” he asks, and feels his neck turn warm, because it feels oddly intrusive now that he says it out loud.

“Yes,” Lan Zhan says after a moment.

“Do you—could I help you with that?” It makes sense, it’s practical, it’s just… unusual. Suddenly his heart is beating fast.

Lan Zhan doesn’t say anything. He’s still holding the bucket.

“Or, sorry if that’s weird. Forget I said anything.”

He watches Lan Zhan put the bucket back down, feeling like an idiot. It’s the damn pool all over again. They have so much going on, Lan Zhan’s injury and Wei Wuxian’s unfortunate medical history and maybe also things involving dicks that Lan Zhan wants from him, or used to want anyway, and they were just going to have a normal evening while Lan Zhan is recovering, and Wei Wuxian had to go and— he’s so dumb.

“Sorry,” Wei Wuxian says again, pressing two fingers into the corners of his eyes and wishing he could reel back the last two minutes somehow. “I really didn’t mean anything by it.”

“It would not be… weird,” Lan Zhan says, carefully.

It rings in Wei Wuxian’s ears, seems to hang in the air like the steam from the water buckets, a little soft, a little glittery in the light of the talismans.

“It would be all right. If you wanted to help me.”

Wei Wuxian blinks over at the screen, Lan Zhan sitting very still behind it. The bucket is resting on his lap now. “Okay,” Wei Wuxian says.

There’s a small nod of Lan Zhan’s head. “Give me a moment, please.”

Wei Wuxian is still a little stunned, but through the screen he can see Lan Zhan setting aside the bucket and getting to his feet, slipping back into his robe. It’s oddly comforting and familiar, and that little pang of disappointment in the middle of his chest is very silly, really. It makes sense that Lan Zhan should be comfortable, and he’s always been more comfortable like this. When Lan Zhan takes a seat on the bench again and stops moving around, Wei Wuxian figures that’s his cue to step around the screens.

It’s just the underrobe, he realizes, and that makes sense, yeah, that’s just like in the pool. He gives Lan Zhan a sheepish smile. Lan Zhan meets his eyes briefly before lowering them to the ground in front of him.

In the flickering light, Lan Zhan looks a little flushed, but maybe that’s also the combination of the cool night air and the cocoon of warmth that the hot steam is creating in here, the glowy shine of the talisman contrasting with the darkness around them. There’s something soft and vulnerable to his face that makes Wei Wuxian think of the stab wound again, of Lan Zhan lying on the stone bed, fighting off the poison, deep in sleep. It gives him a shiver.

“You don’t need to trouble yourself,” Lan Zhan says. “I would be able to manage.” He sounds a little hoarse again, and Wei Wuxian shakes his head quickly.

“It’s no trouble at all. I don’t want you to doing too much twisting and lifting and, well, I’m here anyway.” He shrugs lightly, and then waits because, okay, he’d like maybe one more explicit clue that he’s allowed to get on with it.

Lan Zhan nods. His hands are resting on his knees, and he sits very still as Wei Wuxian reaches down to pick up the nearest bucket.

When Wei Wuxian steps closer, he feels a tremor of nerves run through him looking down at Lan Zhan, not sure what to do. But then he reminds himself how Shijie used to do this when he was little. It can’t be that hard.

And anyway, nobody’s actually naked.

He gives a tiny nod towards Lan Zhan’s underrobes. “They’re probably going to get a little wet,” he says, making sure to make it sound absolutely neutral, not at all like a suggestion that Lan Zhan shouldn’t be wearing them.

“That’s all right,” Lan Zhan says. “I will change into new ones before going to sleep.”

“Okay,” Wei Wuxian says, breathing calmly. “Can you tip your head back a little then?”

They aren’t touching, but with the thinness of the underrobes, and the warmth of the light, and Lan Zhan’s eyes closing as he tilts his head back, it’s as if Wei Wuxian can feel Lan Zhan's presence seep through his own rough robes and press against his skin. He glimpses the tiniest bit of Lan Zhan’s chest down the gap where the robe folds over itself, and that along with Lan Zhan’s contained face in the talisman light, the dark sweep of his eyelashes and the pink of his mouth, makes Wei Wuxian’s throat go a little dry.

“Okay,” he says, tipping the bucket carefully until a mild trickle of water sinks into Lan Zhan’s hair. He does it again here, there, careful to keep it out of Lan Zhan’s face as much as he can. He can see Lan Zhan’s chest rising and falling with each careful breath, a hitch every now and then when a few drops slip down the side of his neck and beneath his collar.

Yeah, totally not weird. At all.

And this guy claims lying is forbidden.

Wei Wuxian swallows hard and puts the bucket down. “Stay like that,” he says, then goes for the little jar where they keep the cedar paste. The gentle scent as he scoops out a bit of it with his fingertips isn’t as nice as the fancier mixtures Shijie always had, probably the ones Lan Zan used to have too, but it’s better than nothing and it’s for sure good enough for Wei Wuxian.

When he turns back to where Lan Zhan is sitting with his head tipped back, he realizes he can’t just drop the dollop of crushed leaf paste on Lan Zhan’s head and be done with it, he… yeah. All right then.

Lan Zhan holds himself very still, and doesn’t startle when Wei Wuxian starts rubbing the fragrant paste into Lan Zhan’s hair. Wei Wuxian is barely breathing, his fingers tingling as they slip between and underneath the wet strands, his brain entirely empty except for how he’s not supposed to let stuff run into Lan Zhan’s face, and he’s not supposed to treat this as weird.

He’s more thorough with this than he usually is with his own hair, and after a little bit, his nervousness starts to fade more into the background. Lan Zhan is still recovering, and he’s helping Lan Zhan out. The fact that he feels almost drunk on Lan Zhan letting him close like this, letting him run his fingers through Lan Zhan’s hair at the scalp and all the way down the length of it, just shutting his eyes and letting him deal with things, is probably beside the point.

Lan Zhan’s hair feels good. Heavy, when it’s wet like that, and the contrast of where it’s cooled by the night air and where Lan Zhan’s skin is warm is intriguing. He actually wouldn’t mind doing this for a little longer.

But soon he’s got the cleansing paste spread around pretty thoroughly, and he doesn’t want to risk things turning weird again just because it feels nice, so he lets his hands sink. Lan Zhan keeps holding himself still, though Wei Wuxian can trace the faintest shift of his breath.

Wei Wuxian bends down to pick up the bucket and checks that it’s still the right temperature—warm but not scalding. Should be fine. “This is going to splash a bit more,” he warns Lan Zhan. “When Shijie used to do this, I always covered my eyes with my hands.”

As if responding perversely to a cue, Lan Zhan opens his eyes and looks over at him. They look dark and shimmering, and with his hair wet and a little scrunched up from Wei Wuxian’s efforts and his mouth even more pink than usual, he looks… kind of young, actually. Like the side of him that isn’t all strong and stoic.

It does something funny to Wei Wuxian’s chest.

“All right,” Lan Zhan says, with a small movement of his head that’s a nod even at this weird angle. He turns forward and covers his eyes with one hand—unlike Wei Wuxian when he was little, Lan Zhan only needs the one to cover half his face—then tilts his head back again.

Wei Wuxian feels distracted, somehow, and he doesn’t want to be, he wants to do this right.

For a totally bizarre moment he thinks of Jiang Cheng, and thinks with comedic clarity how, if he was helping Jiang Cheng with something like this because the idiot broke his arm or something, the next thing he’d do would be to dump the whole bucket over his head and find his spluttering hilarious.

He feels a little uneasy as he tips the bucket slowly, more water needed this time to wash the leaf paste and its oils out. Only a little bit runs down Lan Zhan’s hand and around his long, graceful fingers, and a slightly larger trickle goes down his neck to seep into the front of his robes. Wei Wuxian is quite careful, lifting the hair a bit here and there to get at everything, and when he’s done, smoothing out a few crumpled strands at the top of Lan Zhan’s head, he’s feeling jitters like he just mastered some out there spell, a little breathless from his own tension.

“Okay,” Wei Wuxian says. “I think we’re done.”

Lan Zhan straightens up again and wipes his face with the heel of his hand, left and right, then blinks his eyes open at Wei Wuxian. There’s something odd in them, not surprise exactly because, hey, Wei Wuxian announced himself at every step, but something like wonder, something tilted and distant that Wei Wuxian doesn’t understand.

He wishes it didn’t worry him. That he could just enjoy the reassurance that Lan Zhan is fine letting him so close, and that everything is as it was before. Mostly.

~      ~      ~

Lan Wangji wakes up in the middle of the night with a start, the slickness of blood on his hands, in his mind, his throat raw and his heart pounding.

Wei Ying was falling.

The cave is ghostly in the moonlight, and for a moment Lan Wangji feels the old void, that empty yearning that had been with him every day, all those years, spreading out from his chest again.

He saw the blood dripping down. The slippery leather, the terror of the give, Wei Ying’s smile as he fell away. This time, he was all in white. There wasn’t even a blade, no swirl of purple beside him. Wen Qing was long dead by then, turned to dust. There was nothing but Wei Ying, his eyes growing distant even as Lan Wangji held onto him with everything he had.

Lan Zhan. Let go.

It puts a lump of something cutting, hard in his throat. He can still hear it whispering in his ears even now, staring up at the dim shadows of the rock ceiling overhead.

He turns his head slowly, almost fearfully, for the top of Wei Ying’s bed, where he can see him past the stone worktable. That little mound of messy hair, and when Lan Wangji concentrates, he can see the slow rise and fall of Wei Ying’ shoulders as Wei Ying breathes.

Lan Wangji concentrates for a while. Watches for a while. Part of him wants to go over there and wrap himself around Wei Ying, keep him warm, keep him safe. But something heavier and colder keeps him anchored where he is, the lump settling at the center of his chest where he can’t swallow it away, and in the raw darkness it feels as if nothing is quite as it should be. He reaches for the familiar anger that’s been running hot inside him for days, at Wen Qing and her medicine, at Jiang Wanyin and his new golden core, but he can’t make it hold its shape. He watches Wei Ying for a long time in the dark, the space between them heavy with an old, fragile hurt, and the memory of how he could never keep Wei Ying safe, because he didn’t know.

Because Wei Ying wouldn’t let him.

Chapter Text

The rain falls hard outside the great hall, the sky dark even though it’s only mid-afternoon. Inside everyone is bustling around the fires, spreading out to dry a few mats and blankets that got caught out in the sudden storm. Lan Wangji sits on the steps at the edge of the room, watching people scurry this way and that, and Wei Ying over in the corner where he’s wrestling Ah Yuan into a dry shirt.

He managed to post the letter, finally.

Wei Ying insisted on coming along. Normally Lan Wangji would find that no hardship, but he still can’t seem to shake the sense of unease that’s been crawling underneath his skin since early this morning, when he awakened in the dark. He’s tried not to let Wei Ying see it, tried not to flinch away when he gets too close, but he suspects he hasn’t been successful. There’s something uncertain in Wei Ying’s eyes whenever they catch Lan Wangji’s across the room, and Lan Wangji wants at once to soothe it away and to turn his back to it. Keep his distance.

Jiang Wanyin’s latest reply is tucked into the front of his robes. He skimmed it briefly after they returned from town, halfheartedly expecting a burst of anger to run through him, but whatever ill feeling he could muster felt muted, weak, dulled by the words themselves. The tone was grudging and short-tempered as always, but even that reminds him that Jiang Wanyin is not writing to him out of any sense of deference to Lan Wangji. He writes because Lan Wangji asked for his help in keeping Wei Ying safe. Because he wants to keep Wei Ying safe.

Jiang Wanyin doesn’t know. He has no idea about Wei Ying’s sacrifice. Wei Ying went to live in the Burial Mounds, Wei Ying died, and still Jiang Wanyin never knew what had driven Wei Ying to cultivate the darkness that overwhelmed him in the end.

It’s enough to drive one mad, when things slip through your fingers, and you don’t even know why.

Wen Qing is kneeling at Wen Shu’s bedside on the other side of the room, speaking to Wen Guang in a low voice. The roiling hatred he’s grown accustomed to by now stirs weakly in the pit of his stomach, but even that seems to have lost the energy to sustain itself.

She should have refused. He still believes that, firmly. She is a doctor, doctors aren’t meant to tear things out of a healthy body and leave it forever weakened. But if she had said no…

What would have been different?

Wei Ying told him that he did not believe Jiang Wanyin would have survived the loss of his core. Wei Ying did not survive the loss of his sister. Would he have survived the loss of his brother any better? What would it have done to Wei Ying to see Jiang Wanyin wither away like that, knowing he could have done something to stop it?

Lan Wangji could have lost Wei Ying anyway, and not even have had an anchor point in the stream of time to go back to.

Wei Ying’s voice, boisterous and friendly, laughing with Wen Yunlan, cuts into his thoughts. It makes his heart leap forward and go cold again, as if the old fever of the poison has settled itself deep inside him, where his devotion lives.

He doesn’t want to think of it. He wants to push it all aside and live in this time, in this place, where he knows now. Wei Ying is closer than he’s ever been, only just out of reach. He can still feel the echoes of Wei Ying’s fingers on his skin from last night, as Wei Ying helped him clean his hair, as Wei Ying tended to him and made sure he wouldn’t overexert himself. He can’t change the way things happened before, but he can change what happens now. That should be all that matters.

It should be.

His eyes fall again on Wen Qing and Wen Shu, and for the first time he notices the slight pinch of exhaustion around Wen Qing’s eyes as she feeds a small stream of spiritual energy to Wen Shu, nodding reassuringly in response to whatever question Wen Guang is asking.

Three patients for days on end, with limited supplies and no other help to be had. There is a stubborn press against the inside of his chest, but he must admit that she is bearing it well. And Wei Ying was right. Without her insights, Wen Shu and Wen Yunlan would not have survived. Perhaps even Lan Wangji would have succumbed.

Then too, if Lan Wangji had not been distracted by a fool’s errand, if he had known the truth, perhaps he would have been able to end the attack sooner, and Wen Shu and Wen Yunlan would not have been injured in the first place.

He pushes himself to his feet slowly, crossing the room and approaching Wen Shu’s bedside. Wen Guang notices him first, but he catches a spark of some mixture of surprise and alarm when Wen Qing looks up, registering his attention. Perhaps she worries that he is seeking another confrontation. He bows his head slightly in acknowledgment, not quite up to words just yet, though he hopes she will accept this truce.

“Excuse me, Wen Guang,” he says, nodding to her as well. “I don’t wish to interrupt. I only wondered if I might offer your daughter some of my spiritual energy, to supplement her healing.”

Wen Guang looks surprised at this, her eyes flickering toward Wen Qing. Wen Qing also looks taken aback, though her gaze sharpens with a doctor’s concern.

Lan Wangji turns to Wen Guang again, though he knows his words are not primarily for her benefit. “I assure you, I am feeling quite well. I will not offer more than I can spare.”

Wen Guang glances over at Wen Qing again questioningly, and Lan Wangji sees her give a small nod out of the corner of his eye. “Very well,” Wen Guang says, gesturing toward the empty space at Wen Shu’s other side, and Lan Wangji takes a seat. “That’s very kind of you, Hanguang-jun.”

“I am glad to be of help,” Lan Wangji says. He still doesn’t meet Wen Qing’s eyes as he takes Wen Shu’s hand, turning it over to expose the underside of her wrist and direct his spiritual energy there. But Wen Qing remains, continuing her examination, and doesn’t seem worried that Lan Wangji will make trouble for her.

That’s good. For now, at least they are able to exist peaceably around each other. That’s enough.

Wen Shu has a feverish pallor, her face almost peaceful. She is a strong woman with broad shoulders, but the injury makes her look smaller and younger.

“She’s not my daughter, you know,” Wen Guang says, a bit absently, her eyes on Wen Shu’s face.

Lan Wangji looks up at her in surprise. “My apologies. I had only assumed.”

“My daughter… she didn’t make it when they took us from Qishan to Lanling.” She’s shaking her head slowly, mouth twisting in an old sadness. “She didn’t make it.”

There’s an old hurt underneath the words, and Lan Wangji’s skin prickles with the ghostly feeling of blood between his fingers. Was it like that, then? Did she choose?

Perhaps not. Most people don’t.

“Wen Shu is all I have left of her,” Wen Guang says, almost to herself, and Lan Wangji follows her quiet, haunted gaze to Wen Shu’s face. It’s more than he’s ever heard her speak. “She wanted to go wherever my daughter would go.”

It skitters through him like a stray spark from a talisman, the meaning underneath her words. A feeling he recognizes, old and deep. The one who slipped away, and the other left behind.

The others, in fact, bound by a shared loss. For Lan Wangji, it was Ah Yuan he kept close, in remembrance.

“I’m sure she will recover soon,” Lan Wangji says, hoping the tremor in his voice won’t be audible to her ears. “Her spiritual energy is stable. Lady Wen has provided very good care.”

He can feel Wen Qing’s eyes on him at that, but he keeps his gaze on Wen Guang. Wen Guang looks back at him, her hard face softening in a way that he’s not sure he’s seen on her before.

She nods, a grateful smile at the corner of her mouth. “Thank you, Hanguang-jun.”

~      ~      ~

There was a darkness in him.

Lan Wangji looks at the words, dread weaving itself into a tight tension inside him as the past unfurls, hovering over the page. Unwritten.

His face feels blank. He sits at the foot of the stone statue, his back straight and his writing board on his lap. He is alone today, still barred from working. Ah Yuan is with Grandmother Wen inside the great hall. Around him are the rhythms and sounds of farm work, people moving at the edge of his vision, the scent of upturned earth and radishes.

He’s decided that it’s time.

His brush starts moving again, smoothly over the paper, his strokes short and careful, barely disrupted by the breeze.

It was in his eyes, and the smiles that didn’t reach them, that hardly even seemed to try. The tortured lump of Wen Chao still huddled, shivering, in the corner, but he seemed untroubled by what he had done, by the manner in which he had chosen to bring this living creature to justice. The powers he was bending to his will, without a care for the ways in which they might corrupt his soul. Had, it seemed, already done so.

He lied to us with the truth.

He looked at me like I was a stranger, bowed to me and called me Second Young Master Lan. Every question I asked, he answered with one of those infuriating smiles, holding me outside the walls of his heart. I couldn’t even see enough to know that it was still there. That there was anything left of the man I had known. My Wei Ying.

His brush hesitates over the paper.

He’s put this one off. It isn’t precious, it isn’t warm. It is an open wound, and perhaps he was a coward, writing about rabbits and lanterns and loquats, secretly gambling that the sacrifice he’s made would blur it before he had to put it into words.

“Why did you forsake the righteous path of swordsmanship?” I asked him.

He refused to answer.

He smiled so coldly. I asked him again, and again, and he kept me at arm’s length, he allowed me to believe that he was…

His mind is full and blank with the chill of it, with the darkness in Wei Ying’s eyes. Wei Ying against a sunset sky, and then down, away, falling forever out of reach.

…gone.

His fingers are too tense around the brush, the strokes trembling, unclean.

That everything he was had been left behind in the Burial Mounds, and all that had walked out again was this shell, this man who would kill so cruelly, and smile through it.

He lied to me.

He let me believe that I had lost him, forever. When the truth was…

He stops. His hand is shaking now, his grip too tight, making the strokes bend and slant in all the wrong ways, barely legible.

This isn’t what he meant to write, this is wrong, it’s not… it’s not what he knew at the time. This isn’t how he writes his memories down. At the time, he had truly believed that Wei Ying might be lost forever, that all that was left of him was this body, this evil. Corrupted by the Burial Mounds. He had wanted so desperately to reach him, to call him back to himself, make him understand what this power was doing to him. Make him stop.

With his other memories, he’s tried not to soften or explain, even when the recording would document his own mistakes, his own foolishness. But now he can’t help himself, can’t look back at this without seeing it through the prism of the truth he knows now. Wei Ying had not lost himself, had not been called back.

He had hidden himself. He had knowingly, consciously hidden himself from Lan Wangji. Pushed him away.

His throat draws tight around the knowledge.

How can someone else know the true nature of my heart? And what business is that of an outsider?

Who do you think you are?

His brush still hovers. He can’t bring himself to write down the words, though he can hear the chill of Wei Ying’s voice so clearly in his mind.

He should. It’s all part of it, where so much first went wrong. He’s written down his own most shameful moments, his own lies, mostly to himself, and this—it is the truth. It happened.

He stares down at the paper, the words blurring and spreading into nothingness in front of his unfocused eyes.

Do you have any idea how long I searched for you? What I would give—have given to have you back?

And you were willing to cast me aside so easily. Knowingly, with your own mind and heart.

If I hadn’t followed you here, you would never have told me at all.

He wants to reach through time, grab him, ask him, instead of uselessly spilling his anguish onto the paper. Do you not know what you are doing to me?

Not Wen Qing. Not Jiang Wanyin.

He stares at the page, the paper he doesn’t wish to waste with foolishness. The Wei Ying of the past won’t answer him, even if he pours all his shaking questions out in dark ink. But he doesn’t know how to continue. How to just write this down as it was, the way he felt, with no explanation…

He knows it’s selfish.

He also knows Wei Ying, knows that for all his carefree nature Wei Ying has always been the type to shoulder others’ burdens silently, pretend not to hurt. It’s not a reach to think that that was all he meant this to be—all he thought it was, to sacrifice the core of himself for the sake of his brother, and to go on as if nothing had happened. To keep Lan Wangji at a distance, because of course it would make sense to think that someone of Lan Wangji’s cultivation level would figure out what he had done. It makes rational sense, he knows that.

And yet, he never had figured it out. Wei Ying had allowed Lan Wangji to play him his music and never said a word, and Wei Ying had taken down Wen Ruohan and disappeared into the Burial Mounds with the Wens, and still he had said nothing. Wei Ying had met him in Yiling and worked with him to revive Wen Ning and showed him around this little world he was building for himself, cast out by his brother and far from the cultivation world, and still. Nothing. He hadn’t even tried.

Further and further away, until finally, he really was gone. Forever.

Lan Wangji stares out across the gardens, past the people working there and into the dark and churning depths of the resentful forest, all too aware of the broken and stuttering beat of his own heart.

He shouldn’t be allowing himself to feel this way here. Resentment attracts resentment, and although Wei Ying’s talismans have held up well for the past few months, it’s unwise to put them to the test. He needs to calm himself.

Perhaps the darkness is already inside him. Perhaps that’s why he’s feeling this way, why he can’t just write, accept, move on. He turned his own back on the righteous path of cultivation a long time ago, chose the price of darkness to come here and rescue Wei Ying. It’s not the same—he has a core, he can still fight with a sword, he doesn’t use the powers of the Burial Mounds to fight his battles. And yet.

Maybe it is corrupting him, more than he knows. Disrupting his ability to remain calm, to focus on the rational in the face of his personal feelings. His selfish desires.

You have more of your mother in you.

He closes his eyes, lets it all out on a long breath.

He can’t this overtake him. He needs to stay anchored, here, in what he came to accomplish, not spiral away into an unchangeable past, an old hurt, Wei Ying slipping away from him with a smile and a lie.

~      ~      ~

“Ow, fuck!” Wei Wuxian hisses, pulling his hand away from the wooden rack and shaking it out, inspecting his thumb. There’s only a small prick. Must have caught the tip of an exposed nail.

“A little higher,” Wen Qing says, pushing up on the other end of the rack, stretching toward one of the anchors they’ve driven into the cave wall.

Wei Wuxian mumbles back at her irritably and adjusts his grip on his end of the rack, pushing it upward easily until she can direct one of the hooks at the top over the metal anchor in the wall. Once her side is secured, he looks to the anchor on his side and gets his end of the rack affixed too.

“Got it?” she asks, and he nods, still watching the top of the thing as they both carefully let go of the wood, making sure it won’t fall right back down.

Okay, so it’s not one of his more stylish inventions.

It’s basically just a couple of layers of wooden latticework, lying flat and sticking out from the wall a foot or so—but it’s got little metal wires attached in all the corners of the latticework. Wen Qing has been complaining about all the string they end up wasting and having to buy new because she has to hang her herbs to dry from whatever hooks and anchors she can find. He figured a two-layered rack would be more efficient, and he’s hoping the little wires will be more reusable than the string.

“Not bad,” she says, stepping back with her arms crossed over her chest to inspect the results of their handiwork.

“You’re sure you can reach it up there?” Wei Wuxian says.

She nods absently, still inspecting the apparatus. “I got it up there, didn’t I? Anyway I want to leave room underneath in case we want to add another one.”

“Another one?” Wei Wuxian says, giving her a pained look. He has mostly avoided all the fucking woodworking until now, leaving that to the experts. Building this rack has reminded him why.

She sends a mild glare his way. “If this one works, why not?” she says. “Saves us money on the string, and the way things have been going lately we need all the medicinal herb stock we can get.”

Wei Wuxian blinks, an uncomfortable shiver running through him at the reminder. She seems to catch herself too, and gives him a slightly guilty shrug.

“If you say so,” he says, avoiding her gaze. “Better if we could do something fun with the money saved.”

But she doesn’t take up the offer of distraction. “He’ll be all right,” she says, with a restrained firmness. “And Wen Shu’s getting stronger. We’ll be okay.”

Yeah. Everyone is okay. Everyone’s healing. That’s the most important part.

If Lan Zhan is maybe a little quiet—more quiet—then that’s okay, too. If he needs a bit more time. A bit more space.

Wei Wuxian is just a little at sea with how Lan Zhan is fine letting him close one moment, and then doesn’t seem to want to be around him much at all. He thought Lan Zhan was getting better, getting used to knowing that Wei Wuxian’s not the cultivator Lan Zhan thought he was, and he let Wei Wuxian help him with the bath stuff, but then he was almost standoffish when they went into town. And now he’s been looking sort of gloomy all day. Wei Wuxian didn’t even set up to do his experiments outside, it sort of felt like maybe that wouldn’t be welcome.

Maybe he’s worrying himself over nothing. Maybe he’s just being a little too clingy.

It’s just making him anxious, not knowing where Lan Zhan’s head is at.

He really hopes that Lan Zhan just needs a bit more time to… get over it, or whatever. To deal with what he knows now and decide it doesn’t change anything. Or if it does, well. To get used to that, he supposes. Because if Lan Zhan actually wakes up one morning and realizes he’s made a mistake after all, that Wei Wuxian being this way changes too much and this is a problem he can’t get over or get used to or whatever… Wei Wuxian has no idea what he’s going to do about that.

He thinks of Lan Zhan, tense and pale in the flickering light of the talisman, but tipping his head back, letting Wei Wuxian run water through his hair. How close that felt, even though it was just a practical favor. He thinks of the warmth of Lan Zhan’s fingers against his palm, the whisper of his breath over Wei Wuxian’s knuckles, and soft…

“Wei Wuxian,” Wen Qing says, and he blinks, realizes she’s peering up at him with eyes that are half impatient, half concerned.

“Sorry, what?” Wei Wuxian says, glancing around them, trying to recover some memory of what she might have been talking about. “I got… sorry, I wasn’t…”

But her eyes just narrow, briefly glancing towards the doorway as she steps closer to him, lowers her voice. “Are you all right?” she asks, and he knows from the way she keeps it secret even though they’re alone that she has some idea of where his head is.

I’m not sure.

He hasn’t talked to her about his conversation with Lan Zhan about the core, but he’s sure she’s pieced together what happened. In fact she probably would have kept hounding him if she thought he still hadn’t told Lan Zhan the truth, and she’d—she’d be right. So whatever she’s been observing, she must know he followed through, finally.

He swallows, nods. He doesn’t really want to get into it now, either. “Yeah, fine. Sorry, I just got distracted.”

She peers at him for a moment longer, clearly not convinced. He wonders for a moment if she can see it too, that Lan Zhan is just… not closed off, exactly, but. Farther away than usual. That something is lingering.

Is it weird that he notices? That he catches himself tracking Lan Zhan’s mood and his silences so much? Is it all in his head?

He’s not even sure what he wants Lan Zhan to do differently. Keep telling Wei Wuxian it’s okay, reassure him at every turn? Keep saying he’ll protect him, no matter what? That’s not reasonable. It’s not Lan Zhan’s job to hold Wei Wuxian’s shit together.

It just feels precarious like this. Not quite the way it was, not really on solid ground, but with everything that’s wrong flickering just outside his field of vision, morphing and hiding, not really real enough to brace against it. 

“I need to check on Wen Shu,” Wen Qing says, apparently repeating herself, based on the tone of voice. “Can you start racking up the bundles laid out on the table? I’d like to get those drying as soon as possible.”

“Sure, of course,” Wei Wuxian says, nodding at the collection of herb bundles that are piled up on the low worktable at the back of the alcove. It doesn’t sound too hard. Doesn’t involve discussion of golden cores, or hair washing. Or hand kisses. “I’ll take care of it. No problem.”

“Thanks,” she says, still looking like she wants to pry into his welfare further—but fortunately her doctor’s instincts prompt her to prioritize the more serious patient.

As she leaves the cave, Wei Wuxian picks up the first bundle of herbs and reaches up to secure it to the rack by one of the little wire hooks. They’re a bit fiddly, and they might start breaking if they’re bent around too often, which could be a problem. If that starts to happen, he might have to look into reshaping them into permanent, non-bendable hooks instead, so they can just loop the strings tying the bundles together over them. That would even be easier, probably—he should have thought of that before…

There are footsteps in the doorway, and Wei Wuxian glances up, wondering what Wen Qing forgot—but it’s not Wen Qing. It’s Lan Zhan.

Lan Zhan stops in the doorway for a moment, meeting his eyes across the room.

“Hey,” Wei Wuxian says, giving him a smile. He thinks it comes out normal, relaxed.

Lan Zhan lowers his eyes, responding with a curt nod and moving across to where his bed sits, out of Wei Wuxian’s line of sight.

That's—that hasn’t happened before. Wei Wuxian’s stomach sinks a little, but he tries not to jump to conclusions. He finishes tying up the bundle he’s working on, and then dusts his hands off, following Lan Zhan over to the main area of the cave. He finds Lan Zhan standing over his bed with that box he keeps all his papers in clasped between his hands, seemingly deep in thought. A frown between his brows.

“Lan Zhan? Is something wrong?” he asks. Part of him doesn’t want to know the answer, but at the same time he feels like not knowing will be worse.

Lan Zhan doesn’t look at him.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says again, and it comes out a little bit weaker.

Maybe here it is. The thing that’s been hanging in the air between them, too big to politely step around. The sword coming down. Maybe Lan Zhan’s finally had enough time to really think it over, and decided this is one shitty thing too many.

Lan Zhan’s hands curl tighter around the box of papers, the ones he’s always poring over.  It’s never felt like he was hiding himself in them before now, but maybe that’s what it is. Or maybe it’s what it is now. Wei Wuxian swallows. “Lan Zhan.” His mouth is all dry and his stomach is tight with trepidation. But he can’t just stand here and— “Please talk to me.”

Lan Zhan’s eyes stay on the box, his expression impassive.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Lan Zhan says quietly.

It’s not angry. It’s not even imploring, really, just sort of quiet. Almost sad, and it scares Wei Wuxian suddenly.

“I—Jiang Cheng. It was. He’s the sect leader, and it’s… it’s such a big secret.” He even hears what a load of shit it is.

Lan Zhan’s shoulders are rising, falling, on a tight, constricted breath. “You think I would have betrayed your confidence?” He sounds small, and it hits him harder than if Lan Zhan had punched him in the face.

“No,” Wei Wuxian rasps. “Of course not.”

“Then why?”

“I didn’t want to burden you,” Wei Wuxian says.

Lan Zhan drops the box onto his bed and looks over at him—and his face barely changes, but Wei Wuxian can see it anyway, can feel Lan Zhan’s anger, seething under the surface. “When have I ever treated you as a burden?”

It’s reflex, that indignant throb of self-defense, and he knows it’s bad, knows it’s not going to get him what he wants, will just make things worse, but he can’t— “When? Lan Zhan, you looked at me like an insect for the first six months we knew each other.”

Lan Zhan almost flinches. His mouth opens slightly before any sound comes out. “I— that was before. You’re asking me to believe that you thought I would look at you like an insect if you told me the truth? Then?”

Wouldn’t you?

Wei Wuxian doesn’t know what to say. He’s not so good with details normally, but he remembers everything about that meeting, the way Lan Zhan’s face twisted in fury when he saw what Wei Wuxian had become. What he’d had to become. If Lan Zhan had known the depth of it, known there was no way back, wouldn’t that just have made it worse?

Lan Zhan looks hurt, like even Wei Wuxian’s silence reopens the wound. “I asked you so many times,” he says, his voice low and cracking slightly, his eyes wide and boring into Wei Wuxian’s. Wei Wuxian wants to look away, but he can’t. “I was desperate to bring you back. You promised to let me help you. Why couldn’t you trust me with this?”

There’s a pain there deeper than Wei Wuxian can make sense of, as if… as if he’s speaking to Wei Wuxian across the divide of a decade, not just a few months. Lan Zhan’s hand has curled into a fist at his side, trembling as though holding onto something, knowing he will not be able to.

“I was just— it had all just happened, Lan Zhan. I didn’t want to make trouble for you and I was protecting Jiang Cheng, and, I don’t know, maybe, in time…”

Lan Zhan just stares at him, sharp as an accusation, and the words dry up in Wei Wuxian’s throat, his skin turning hot and clammy. Somehow, Lan Zhan knows. Wei Wuxian would have kept silent about this for the rest of his life, if he’d had the option. 

He looks at Lan Zhan’s hurt expression, tries somehow to muster another lie. But it’s the truth that tumbles out, quietly. “I didn’t want you to pity me.”

Lan Zhan’s eyebrows twitch inwards, and his gaze falters.

Wei Wuxian swallows. “I wanted things to be normal again. Like this.” A weak laugh as he glances at their surroundings. “I mean, not like this, I wasn’t exactly planning for this, but… you and me. The way we’ve been. Fighting back to back.” It’s cutting off his air how much he wants it, and he sees the flicker in Lan Zhan’s eyes too, grief and anger and loss. “I wanted you to still let me hang around you, even if you thought I was annoying. I wanted you to keep seeing me like—like me.” The truth is kind of a bitch. “I wanted to still be worthy in your eyes.”

Lan Zhan is silent for a long time, his lips parted as though on the verge of speaking, all his thoughts shimmering behind his eyes as he looks at Wei Wuxian. Wei Wuxian can almost feel the warmth of him halfway across the room, and he feels laid bare, like he’s just shown Lan Zhan a map of all the reasons he shouldn’t bother with Wei Wuxian anymore. All the things Lan Zhan should have seen. Must be able to see, now.

When Lan Zhan takes a step forward, Wei Wuxian’s heart sinks through the floor, sure he’s reaching for Bichen on the shelf, heading for the door—is this it, is this how it ends? He promised he’d stay, he promised he’d—

But Lan Zhan doesn’t pass him. Wei Wuxian is barely breathing, he’s that tense and that scared, but Lan Zhan is suddenly right in his space with those dark desperate eyes and is reaching for him, one hand on Wei Wuxian’s shoulder and the other curling around the back of his head, warmth and shock dizzying as Lan Zhan pulls him in. His mouth presses hard and firm against Wei Wuxian’s, a stiff, sudden heat that stops his heart for a second, doesn’t even register as a kiss until he lets out a shaking breath through his nose. It’s a bit off-center, and it doesn’t move, but it’s not an accident either, Lan Zhan didn’t trip or whatever, he is actually…

Wei Wuxian lifts a hand to brush against Lan Zhan’s elbow, and he feels the shuddering breath against his lips as Lan Zhan slowly pulls back. Looks at him. It’s hard to focus at this range—holy fuck, Lan Zhan is so close—but Wei Wuxian can see how overwhelmed he is from here, the want and the apology and the worry and the anger all warring in his eyes. Lan Zhan opens his mouth again to say something, his breath hitching, faltering, and Wei Wuxian can’t…

Wei Wuxian gives a quick, rough shake of his head. “Don’t, just—” He leans in, brushes his lips against Lan Zhan’s again and doesn’t think about that, just wants to know. What that is. What it’s like. There’s a shudder all through Lan Zhan. The touch of their mouths is softer this time, and Wei Wuxian can feel Lan Zhan’s fingers curling tighter in his hair. Suddenly Lan Zhan presses closer until Wei Wuxian can feel the rough cave wall at his back, and his hands find their way to the back of Lan Zhan’s robes, grabbing on and holding.

It’s getting harder to breathe, trapped like this between Lan Zhan and the wall, Lan Zhan’s hold on him clutching and frantic, but Wei Wuxian doesn’t want it to stop, doesn’t want to ask why it’s happening or what it means. He may not know what he’s doing, his breath getting fast with Lan Zhan’s mouth pressed to his, his hands rough and awkward at Lan Zhan’s back, but right now he doesn’t fucking care. Lan Zhan was two wrong words from being gone a second ago and now he’s here, pressed close, and he’s kissing Wei Wuxian like a condemned man grasping at salvation in the dark.

If this is the end, it’s one hell of a goodbye.

When Lan Zhan shifts his weight and his hip rubs up between Wei Wuxian’s legs, Wei Wuxian gives a startled gasp into the kiss. He hadn’t even—he wasn’t paying attention, when did he…

Lan Zhan stills, pulling back just far enough to breathe, and Wei Wuxian can see his eyes wide with questions again, but he doesn’t want that— no more fucking questions— just this. This is good, this works. They can settle all the rest of it later, and maybe Lan Zhan won’t leave, maybe it can still be okay.

The kiss itself makes his skin heat, whatever anyone might think about his shamelessness, but he feels even more strange, outside himself, when he actually presses his hips up, away from the wall, pressing himself against Lan Zhan. The sensations are dulled through all the layers, not like when he touches himself, but there’s something wild about the feeling of another person there, pushing back. The shape of Lan Zhan’s body and the way it moves against him, the little stuttering breath when his hips jerk in response to Wei Wuxian’s thrust, and Wei Wuxian realizes Lan Zhan is hard underneath there too. Lan Zhan.

He remembers Lan Zhan’s kiss, soft against his knuckles, and okay, he’s an idiot, it took him a while to figure out exactly what that was, but he had it eventually—had the theory anyway. Now they’re here like this and Lan Zhan is up against him, and it somehow dawns on him that he’s never thought of Lan Zhan actually being turned on before. Not in the abstract, some random dicks pulled out of hypothetical pants, or Lan Zhan kissing some lady on the hand, somebody finding him beautiful, someone wanting to please him. But this, Lan Zhan in his rough-edged robes with his hair so simple and his forehead bare, and his dick secretly hard beneath his clothes where no one else can feel it except Wei Wuxian. It shouldn’t seem strange by now, how human and real Lan Zhan is underneath it all, but it is.

He could do it, right now—drop to his knees and let Lan Zhan have his mouth, like in those pictures, like he thought about. Maybe that would feel good, maybe Lan Zhan would like that. Maybe that’s what he wants, maybe it would be enough to keep him here, maybe Wei Wuxian would like it too.

But there’s no room here for anything like that—Lan Zhan has him pinned, his mouth soft and fumbly against Wei Wuxian’s, lips parting slightly like he’s not sure if that’s how these things are done. And Wei Wuxian doesn’t know either, never had the chance to find out, but he likes the warmth of it, and the way the softness spreads through him. How the grind of Lan Zhan’s hips against his makes him feel hot and anxious inside his clothes. Lan Zhan’s hand slips down his side, over his belt and onto his hip, fast and jerky and then hesitating, Lan Zhan’s breath fanning over his face and his thumb pressing inward, rubbing close to where Wei Wuxian is hard underneath the layers. Wei Wuxian lets out a harsh breath through his nose and nods frantically into the kiss, yes, hoping Lan Zhan will get it, understand, come on, it’s okay.

The hand moves, sliding between them and yanking at his outer robes, clumsier than Wei Wuxian has ever seen him as he fumbles deeper, until he’s got his palm pressed against Wei Wuxian’s cock through the trousers underneath, and it’s so fucking hot Wei Wuxian might spontaneously die. He makes a noise as he presses up against it. Eight months in this place and Wei Wuxian has only managed to sneakily get himself off a couple of times, and suddenly that is seeming like a huge oversight, because he’s about to come in his pants just from Lan Zhan having his hand there for five seconds.

“Fuck,” he whispers, and his hips keep moving, keep pressing, and Lan Zhan is holding him so close and huffing out sharp wet breaths against his mouth and is hard against his hip and this is not going to take—

“Wei Wu— oh.” Wen Qing’s voice, somewhere near the cave entrance.

Wei Wuxian’s eyes fly open and he jerks his head around, the air cool on his wet mouth. He doesn’t have a clear view of the door because the shelves are in the way, but they’re definitely not hidden. Wen Qing meets his eyes briefly between the shelf beams, looking startled and apologetic.

“Sorry, I just needed…” she starts, still hovering near the door, gesturing vaguely toward the alcove, past where they’re tangled up against the wall.

Lan Zhan snatches his hand back from Wei Wuxian’s robes a bit belatedly, and straightens up with a jerk. He’s not looking at Wei Wuxian, but he doesn’t completely move away either. His eyes look dazed and his throat is working as he swallows. He seems shaky, even with their bodies no longer pressed together, but he keeps— Wei Wuxian realizes Lan Zhan must be trying to shield him from view, and when he glances down he sees that his robes are all rumpled and tugged out of place, gapping low at the front. He pulls them closed again, tries to flatten them out while his heart is still racing and his skin is flushed, and it’s obvious from the way everyone is acting what was going on, what Wen Qing saw.

Fuck. This is awkward.

Okay, Lan Zhan’s not going to be much help getting them past it. He looks like he’s just had a Lan silencing spell put on him, and there’s something helpless about his stunned stare.

So Wei Wuxian gets with it. He pulls on a sheepish smile and squeezes out from between Lan Zhan and the wall, around the shelf, scratching his fingers into his hair—god, that’s a mess too, how did that even happen? “Sorry, that was just… nothing. I had a… Lan Zhan’s sleeve got caught on my belt, and we were trying to… untangle it.”

It’s an extremely obvious lie, and Wei Wuxian can feel it burning along the sides of his neck as Wen Qing stares back at him, clearly knowing it’s a lie—but what the fuck is he supposed to say here?

After a moment, she nods slowly. Playing along. “I see. Well that’s… all right. I just needed some…” She gestures again toward the alcove, toward the small medicine chest near her bunk. “For Wen Shu. She just woke up.”

“Oh! That’s great!” Wei Wuxian says, possibly a little bit too enthusiastically. He sees Wen Qing’s eyes flick from him to Lan Zhan, who’s still standing behind him, but he doesn’t dare turn around to see what Lan Zhan looks like right now. Might be counterproductive to this whole acting totally normal plan. “Anything we can do?”

She shakes her head quickly. “No, no need, everything is under control,” she says with a little smile and a nod, and then she turns to go to the medicine chest and find what she’s looking for.

While Wen Qing is focused on her medicines, Wei Wuxian chances a glance over at Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan still looks a bit untidy himself, but less than he did a few minutes ago. Almost normal, apart from the flush in his cheeks and the rattled expression. When Lan Zhan finally meets his eyes too, there’s a question in them, and Wei Wuxian isn’t sure how to answer it. He flounders for a moment or two, trying to find something he can say—not sure if it should be about before, Lan Zhan’s disappointment in him, or about the way it felt to be touched like that. He thinks— he would probably like more of that, but he’s also not sure how—what that was for Lan Zhan, what it was for him—and all of it is caught up somewhere deep in his throat, leaving him speechless.

Whatever he doesn’t say seems to give Lan Zhan his answer though, and Lan Zhan lowers his eyes to the ground. “Please excuse me,” he says quietly. Before Wei Wuxian can reach out to keep him here, to ask him to just wait a little longer until he can think, until they can talk, Lan Zhan slips past him and out the door, and Wei Wuxian is left behind in the cooling damp of the cave, his pulse still stuttering and his clothes rumpled, his mouth feeling warm and strange from from the heat of Lan Zhan’s kiss.

~      ~      ~

The water is cool at best, clouded and gray, the dark reflections of haunted greenery shading the edges of the pool. The cool does its job at least, calming Lan Wangji’s blood and slowing his thoughts, letting him breathe. Live in the silence.

Perhaps it is the action of a sulking child or an embarrassed youth, running off into the woods like this. He’s still glad nobody stopped him this time. His wound is healed enough, and the quiet is necessary.

He can still hear Wei Ying’s hitched breath in his ears. Feel the shape and the heat of him against his palm, the way he leaned into Lan Wangji’s touch. Let him touch.

No. No, that is not helpful. He needs to release those thoughts from his mind, let them float away on the river.

That was just… nothing.

He knows it was expediency, knows it wouldn’t be fair to take to heart Wei Ying’s fumbling cover for Lan Wangji’s recklessness, when Lan Wangji couldn’t even open his mouth to speak for himself. To take proper responsibility for the awkward situation they’d all found themselves in. It was selfish, a casting aside of all his careful reasoning and determination to allow Wei Ying to decide when and if he wanted more from their relationship, to not foist his own feelings on him and make him feel obligated. It was the stupidest thing he could have done.

But. When he heard Wei Ying say that he worried about being worthy in Lan Wangji’s eyes, as if the knowledge that Wei Ying did not have a golden core could in any way diminish the depth of feeling Lan Wangji has for him…

It was the only thing beating inside him, to show him how completely untrue that was.

Now it leaves him unsettled, how hurried and uncontrolled he was. He hopes that Wei Ying did not feel violated by what just passed between them. He seemed encouraging in the moment, and Lan Wangji is flushing again, remembering the heat of him, the strain of his body, the softness of his mouth.

But Wei Ying is impulsive, reckless by nature, and he clearly felt vulnerable in that moment. If Wei Ying… if he allowed that to happen only because…

The thought makes him feel hollow, unsteady.

He needs to be more careful. It felt like something burst inside him, but he can’t let himself go like that. He can’t let his personal feelings and selfish wants keep overruling his judgment like this.

Most of all, he can’t turn his own hurt into a demand that Wei Ying divulge all his secrets as a price of this… this closeness, this friendship between them. Especially when Lan Wangji is keeping so many secrets of his own. Sitting here in the water, his body cooling, his mind snapped out of the despondency that has hung around him ever since he began to realize who he was really angry at, he can admit that Wei Ying would probably be angry with him, too, if he was aware of some of the knowledge Lan Wangji is keeping from him.

He draws in a deep breath and lets it out slowly, listening to the rustling of demonic energy through the trees, just beyond the protections Wei Ying put up for him. The water is a cool weight against his skin. He tries not to think of Wei Ying’s mouth, or the way it felt to have Wei Ying in his arms. Finally, like that, the way he’s wanted for so long.

It was an illusion. A rash act in the heat of the moment, and he will not expect more, not demand more. Wei Ying alive, close, within the range of Lan Wangji’s protection—that is enough. He needs to focus on the things he can still change, and as for the rest, whatever comes will come, and it is not for him to rush or pressure.

He wishes Wei Ying had told him the truth sooner. But as he’s sitting here, cooling off from that rush of recklessness and feeling the anger finally drain away as if his despairing outburst has cracked him open, he also wishes he had been able to show Wei Ying that he could be trusted to stand by him sooner.

He thinks of his diary entry, the feelings he could hardly put to paper. Thinks of the look on Wei Ying’s face in the cave as he remembered, too. All the things Lan Wangji could have done differently, even then. It’s easy to forget that the man he is now is a hard won result of events that haven’t happened yet.

Maybe the man who stood before Wei Ying when he first returned from the Burial Mounds wouldn’t have understood—couldn’t have understood. Maybe Wei Ying had good reason to hide it from him. From the man who could not accept change. The man who stood aside, and let Wei Ying ride off into the night. The man who could not follow.

~      ~      ~

Wei Wuxian sits back on his heels and brushes the dirt from his fingers, then reaches out to flick a fingertip against the end of the talisman he’s mostly buried in the dirt, making sure it will stay put. The radishes in this one garden always seem to grow a bit smaller than the others, which is weird, because it’s not like they’re in the shade particularly or anything, and they get as much water as everywhere else. Fourth Uncle even tried putting some extra fertilizer on them with the last planting, but they still came out tiny. Wei Wuxian is hoping this talisman will give him more information about the soil composition, so they can see if maybe that’s the problem.

He glances up across the courtyard. The sky is overcast, but bright, and everyone seems to be finding ways to do their work outside, soaking up the warmth and light. Wen Yunlan and Wen Liu are huddled together near the edge of the porch of the western side houses, Wen Liu apparently doing some mending and Wen Yunlan mostly watching her. Those two hang around each other a lot lately, and the way he smiles at her, head bent close as she shows him something about the fabric, makes Wei Wuxian feel oddly empty.

Ah Yuan is running circles around the radish garden nearest the entrance, his little wooden horse raised above his head and making swooshing noises—it flies now, too, apparently—while Granny tries to coax him over to the bathing area to have his hair washed. On the steps outside the great hall, Wen Shu is out for some sunlight in a cocoon of blankets, Wen Guang by her side. Lan Zhan is sitting next to her with a nest of reeds perched on his lap, bits poking in every direction. There’s a concentrated frown between his brows as Wen Guang talks him through how to weave the reeds together, carefully pushing here and tightening there to make sure the basket keeps its shape. Wei Wuxian feels a smile tugging at his lips as he watches Lan Zhan’s hands working the materials, slow and careful, using his fingertips like he’s trying not to grab on too hard and snap the delicate wood.

They were cool last night, after Lan Zhan came back from wherever he disappeared to. Probably the pool—Wei Wuxian didn’t like that thought, once he realized where Lan Zhan probably went, but he had to admit that if a guy can shove you against a wall and kiss you and almost make you come through your pants, he’s most likely okay for unsupervised bathing.

Still makes him a little warm to think about that. It was a slightly weird night, and he’s not sure if he actually kept having boners throughout the night or just dreamed about them.

But anyway, Lan Zhan seemed better. Smiled at him a little shyly at dinner, almost like he’s not even mad anymore.

Wei Wuxian really doesn’t like it when Lan Zhan is mad at him.

And today here they are, both out in the courtyard, doing their respective useful things. Lan Zhan seems happy when he makes himself useful. Building things with his own two hands, letting his sleeves get dirty and his brow sweat. He seems… real, like this. Not some floating apparition, untouchable, unreachable.

Real. Like, with a hard dick and panting noises, all warm and solid and... good.

He looks away from Lan Zhan and his basket weaving, turning his warm face towards the radishes.

They haven’t talked about what happened in the cave yet. Which, okay, maybe keeping a lid on it for now is for the best. There’s not a whole lot of privacy around here anyway, as yesterday made completely obvious, and as much as he’s finding it difficult to put it out of his mind—not think about what it felt like to have Lan Zhan pressed up against him like that, or the tremble in his lips as they kissed—just now he doesn’t want to rock the boat any further. He needs Lan Zhan here. He needs Lan Zhan to be happy. The last two weeks have been a fucking mess and maybe everyone is better off if they all get to cool off some.

Wen Qing crosses his vision, between him and where Lan Zhan and Wen Guang are sitting, and he blinks up at her. She’s got a bunch of bedding in her arms, too much for laundry day—it’s a whole cot’s worth, there’d be nothing to sleep on. She’s taking… she’s heading for the houses?

He gets up off the ground, dusting off his knees and following her. Up onto the porch on the eastern side, and down along the row to the smallest house on the end—they’ve been using it as storage space.

“Wen Qing?” he says, ducking through the doorway into the shade of the bare room. The barrels and storage baskets that were in here the last time he looked have been removed, though a few sacks of radishes have been left behind. Aside from those there’s just one cot, against the long wall of the room, and an improvised bed on the floor on the far side. Wei Wuxian glances from one to the other of them, and then up at Wen Qing, who’s unfolding the bedding onto the cot.

She glances over at him. “There you are. You can bring the next load if you like.”

“The next load?” he says, with a twisting feeling in his stomach as she snaps a blanket in the air, shaking it free of sand and grit before spreading it out.

“From the cave. I’ve collected everything from my cot, but I’ve still got my spare robes and Wen Ning’s stuff. Just grab whatever you can.”

“What are…” Wei Wuxian says—but he thinks it’s pretty obvious, really, he just feels like he’s still catching up. “Is this about yesterday?”

She gives him a look that says he really should know the answer to that.

“Shit,” he says, a familiar warmth creeping into his face again. “Shit—I’m so sorry, I wasn’t… It just sort of happened. We really didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable. It won’t happen again, I swear.”

She breathes a small laugh, smiling down at the blanket as she smooths out the edges. “Thanks for the consideration, but I’ve been meaning for us to move out for a while now. There’s no point having four of us crammed in there when there’s plenty of space here now, and anyway the alcove will be much more useful as a workspace if it doesn’t have all our personal things crammed into it.”

“But…” The reasoning makes sense, he can see that—but he still can’t help feeling uneasy about this whole thing for some reason. It’s like they chased her out, or something. He and Lan Zhan. With their—incident. “You really don’t have to do this. If you do your work in the cave and you sleep in here, won’t you just be running back and forth all the time?”

“It’s like twelve steps, I think I can manage.”

“But—”

“Wei Wuxian,” she says, rounding on him with a stern look. “Stop being ridiculous.”

Wei Wuxian swallows. “Ridiculous?”

Her eyebrows rise mildly, almost indulgently. “It is obvious to anyone with eyes that Hanguang-jun cares for you a great deal. It is also obvious to me, based on recent observations, that you have affection for him. Do with that what you will, but the way things are going, it looks like we’re going to be here for quite a while. If you don’t want it to feel like an eternity, you might want to consider accepting what he is clearly offering you.”

Wei Wuxian opens his mouth to say something back—or maybe just, like, breathe—but no words come to mind.

All right, he knows. He does know, he’s not—yes, Lan Zhan was the one who started it, and there was the hand kiss, and Wei Wuxian’s increasingly helpless but frantic imagination, so… okay, yes. This didn’t come completely out of nowhere, apparently. But when she puts it like— is that really what Lan Zhan wants? Is that really what he…?

He’s never really thought of it this way, but. Eight months is a long time. No end in sight, not even an exit strategy, and… Wen Qing has a point. What if this is just the way things are, forever? Wouldn’t it be nice to have… something? Someone?

Lan Zhan?

The thought sends a flush down the sides of his neck. He’s really not sure it’s a good idea to contemplate that in any more specific terms at the moment, standing in Wen Qing’s new rooms that she moved to so she wouldn’t stumble over him and Lan Zhan pushing each other against walls, but. After all the tension and the wondering, he can’t say that he finds the idea entirely strange. Like—could it actually be the answer to all the stuff that’s been floating around?

Wow.

“Are you going to help, or aren’t you?” Wen Qing says, and Wei Wuxian blinks, realizes she’s over by the door now, one hand on the doorframe.

“Uh, sure,” he says. “Yeah, I’ll help.”

He follows her back to the cave and collects an armload of small boxes and baskets from what’s piled on the floor where Wen Qing’s cot used to be. She heads back toward the houses with her own load, and he follows behind her at a slightly distracted pace. Over by the western houses, Wen Liu is putting a second blanket around Wen Yunlan’s shoulders. When she sits down in front of him and tugs the blanket closed, Wen Yunlan leans forward and steals a quick kiss from her lips. Wei Wuxian just catches a glimpse of her surprised eyes before they turn scolding, but there’s an unmistakable happiness underneath.

It’s a moment before he realizes he’s stopped walking, is just staring over at them. He looks away again when he notices, not wanting them to feel spied on or anything. It’s a crowded little camp, they should have their private moment to themselves, even if it’s out in the open like this. As he shifts the weight of his load a little higher, he catches sight of Lan Zhan sitting on the steps, and for a split second he could swear that Lan Zhan’s eyes are on him.

But then they’re not. Lan Zhan now seems focused on his basket weaving, as if his hands had never paused in their work. And after a moment, Wei Wuxian isn’t sure if that was real, or if he just wanted it to be.

Chapter Text

Lan Wangji has finished the base of his basket, and Wen Guang nods approvingly at his progress. He knows he’s made a few mistakes, his attention divided between the work and various comings and goings happening in the courtyard in front of them. But he is also simply inexperienced, and perhaps for that reason Wen Guang doesn’t seem to have noticed his lack of focus.

Wen Qing hasn’t yet returned from the eastern houses. He thinks she went into the smallest one, at the far end. He caught Wei Ying’s eye a few moments ago when Wei Ying was helping Wen Qing carry her possessions, and Wei Ying seemed nervous again.

Things have been good between them, considering. Lan Wangji still feels echoes of his anger and confusion sometimes, like his body is stinging from all this upheaval. But the shock of kissing Wei Ying, having all his emotions come tumbling out in that act of desperation, has in a way brought him back to his senses, allowed him to focus again on what he’s doing here.

He’s grateful Wei Ying is alive. He’s glad he knows the truth, finally. Understands that missing piece, even if understanding hurts. He still has his chance to avert what went wrong the last time, and that is what’s important.

He’s grateful Wei Ying doesn’t seem to hold his loss of control against him, and is still the same as he’s been ever since their conversation about the golden core. Nervous, but close.

Lan Wangji stands up, still watchful of himself, but with a reasonable confidence in his body. There’s no dizziness now. He’ll be fine, due to Wen Qing’s conscientious and timely treatment of the poison.

She’s mostly stayed out of his way the last few days, eating her meals with some of the other younger women instead of with Wei Ying and Fourth Uncle. Wei Ying thinks it’s because she is giving them advice on female health issues, and Lan Wangji has not corrected him. Lan Wangji didn’t expect her to move out of the cave, though. It puts a new weight on their dance of avoidance.

Swallowing his discomfort, Lan Wangji straightens his shoulders and pulls his hand behind his back. Then he heads across the courtyard, to the far eastern houses.

Nobody pays him any mind, since nobody knows what has transpired between them. Lan Wangji has had a few days to put his anger in perspective and acknowledge the true source of his anguish, and he heads up the wooden stairs with an old and slightly sick feeling that’s somewhere between having to tell his brother he did not do as well as expected on a task and having to be fair to a disciple who should have known better, but whose transgression does not exactly warrant the punishment Lan Wangji instinctively feels is appropriate.

The camp is suffused with the warmth of summer, and the door of the small house, which is a bit rougher around the edges than some of the others, is open. He hears shuffling inside, and knocks on the doorframe as he steps into view, his stomach tight and his shoulders squared.

Wen Qing is kneeling on the floor, her hands sorting some small jars into a wooden box. She looks towards the door. Restraint settles over her features, in her posture.

“Lady Wen,” he says, before he falls victim to his habit of silence. “Am I interrupting?”

“Hanguang-jun,” she says just as politely. “Nothing that’s urgent.” She stands up, brushing over the front of her robes briefly. Her face is blank. “What can I do for you?”

The things Wen Qing does… he looks at her hands, can’t help the thoughts. She’s healed all of them in some capacity or other. She’s healed Ah Yuan, from injuries caused by Lan Wangji’s meddling. She pulled out Wei Ying’s golden core with those hands and gave it to another.

She went to Unicorn Tower to die, in the hope that her and Wen Ning’s sacrifice might be enough to save Wei Ying.

She doesn’t even know it. But Lan Wangji remembers, even though he forgot, briefly, the same way he forgot all he’s learned about Jiang Wanyin when he was wrapped up in his rage and hurt feelings. If Lan Wangji succeeds in his mission, she will never have to make that decision, but Lan Wangji will remember that she would. It isn’t true that nobody ever tried to shield Wei Ying. Of the few people who ever bothered, two are living here alongside them. 

“I’d like to speak with you,” he says. For a moment he wants to point out that he isn’t carrying his sword, but then that feels stupid and exaggerated.

She nods readily and takes a demonstrative step back. “Of course. Please come in.”

The inside… is a shack. Wen Qing’s cot, constructed for the cave, feels slightly large, while a make-shift bed has been squeezed in at the top of the room, presumably for Wen Ning. There is a small wooden chest at the top of Wen Qing’s cot, and candles have been arranged on two protruding boards on the walls. Some simple spare robes are hanging from a row of nails, and Lan Wangji feels a jolt of impropriety to realize that there are two sets of her underrobes, even though he knows he might well have washed them when he was on laundry duty at some point. One corner still has a couple of radish sacks stacked on top of each other, from when this room was used for storage. Wen Qing has a few of the pouches she uses for herbs spread out over the top one, as though she’s been using it as a worktable.

Her expression is politely open, though the ongoing silence suggests that despite the general confidence he always perceives in her, she isn’t at ease either. She looks at him like a fighter who isn’t sure what kind of creature he is facing but who has young disciples to keep calm.

Or something of that sort.

If only she’d said no… If only…

Wei Ying died, and Lan Wangji still didn’t know what had changed him so. The pressure is back on his chest for a moment, and he blinks down, grapples for his focus. She was an instrument. It was…

A difficult situation.

“I came to speak with you about our conversation four days ago,” he says. The floor boards aren’t polished like they would be at any reputable clan’s lodgings, but they look freshly swept. He remembers building these houses, lifting wooden pillars and taking turns with the other men to drive them into the earth. “I wish to apologize for my conduct.”

It’s quiet in the hut. When he looks up, trying to reveal neither his self-consciousness nor his remaining resentment, he finds her eyes attentive and focused, though he thinks there is a flush in her cheeks. “That’s… you don’t have to. You really don’t have to.”

“I do,” he says. “I didn’t mean to—” He catches himself, sees the small twitch in her eyebrows. “It was wrong of me to want to frighten you. We all live here, together. I should never have drawn my sword, regardless of how angry I might have felt.”

There seems to be some quick calculation going on behind her eyes. “I knew you weren’t going to use it,” she says then. “Sorry if that messes with—” She cuts herself off, an awkward twist to her shoulders and a quick press of her lips, as if she is irritated by herself. “I accept your apology.”

“Thank you,” Lan Wangji says.

“I don’t assume there’s any apology I can give that is really yours to accept, but for what it’s worth, I understand how horrible this is to you,” Wen Qing says. “If you wanted to be angry with me for all eternity, I wouldn’t blame you.”

He thinks she said something similar to him the first time they had this conversation, but he was so angry he couldn’t even keep history straight, and he’s not sure he remembers the things she said correctly. “I think it would be better for all of us here if I wasn’t,” he tells her.

She gives him a short, jerky nod. “I agree with that too.”

All of them, here. Where Wei Ying brought them… It comes back to him through years and more. Wei Ying’s stand in the banquet hall at Unicorn Tower, demanding to know where Wen Ning was kept.

“He feels he owes you a debt,” he says, so obvious it leaves him stunned. “Both of you.” Lan Wangji has known for a long time that Wen Ning was the one who brought Jiang Wanyin out of the occupied Lotus Pier, but only now does he realize what condition Jiang Wanyin must have been in at the time, and— Wen Qing took out Wei Ying’s core and Wei Ying thinks he owes her for it.

“I didn’t consider it so,” she says, and he can tell she’s drawing herself up again as if someone in this room might have a weapon at the ready, facing him with her chin up. “But I accepted his gratitude anyway, to save my brother and my family, yes.”

Wei Ying… Oh, Wei Ying.

“Why didn’t you refuse to perform the procedure?” It comes out in a whisper this time, not an accusation. “You care for him. I may be angry with you but I know that you do.”

For the first time since he stepped in, she blinks away. There’s a heave to her chest, a small shake of her head. “He didn’t want to see his brother die,” she says. “I understood that.” She hesitates, and there’s something rueful in her gaze as she makes a general gesture at the room, the camp. “I think you know that there’s very little I wouldn’t do to protect Ah Ning.”

It rustles the pages of a past in his mind. His own brother, murdered as a small child, and a love so fierce that it is worth crossing the boundaries of righteousness, to change the course of time. His chest constricts with how hard it is to draw that connecting line, even though it is right here in front of him, in his life in the Burial Mounds, in his mother’s diary, in the papers squirreled away under his bed. That to Wei Ying… it was worth it. In the same way Lan Wangji does not regret his own sacrifice. The same way his mother willingly gave up her memories and her freedom to save Xichen. Wei Ying thought Jiang Wanyin worth that much.

Wen Qing is facing him again, and with the remnants of his mother’s writings in his mind, he feels exposed under her uncompromising stare. But she doesn’t see his thoughts, hold them up for him like a mirror. Instead she says, “I accepted his choice. I didn’t want to at first, but I’m not going to tell you that it was someone else’s responsibility. I chose to go along.”

“Did it hurt?” he asks, regretting the question as soon as he imagines the answer, then feeling like a coward.

“He wouldn’t want you to know,” she says. Is she saying she has to guard Wei Ying’s secret, or that she wants to spare his feelings?

“He didn’t want me to know that he gave up his core in the first place,” he says, that ache of bitterness back in his mouth.

She seems to think. Quick thoughts, and she doesn’t let him see the arguments for her decision. She says, “It took two days and one night. He was in pain for all of it.”

His knees feel like they took a blow. The horror of it sweeps over him as if he’s right there to see Wei Ying scream. Lan Wangji knows pain, every man who fights knows pain, but days… days, and to know how you’ll end up…

“I couldn’t sedate him,” she goes on, that same curt voice. “We had a one-in-two chance it would even work. It hurt him badly.” There’s a hard flicker in her eyes and her words are cruel in their exactness. But he understands. If he’s going to forgive her for her part in it, she wants him to know what her part truly was.

He’s working to keep his breathing calm, stem the tide of blame. Wei Ying’s choice… Wei Ying thought it was worth it.

“You must be…” He looks away, doesn’t know where to focus his eyes for a moment. His hand is on the door frame and the rough wood feels solid, distracting. The floor underneath his feet with all its imperfections, for the hard work that went into it. Somehow that grounds him. Reminds him where he is. “You must be a very skilled doctor.”

He needs a moment longer to get himself in order so he doesn’t see her immediate reaction, but when he pushes back his shoulders and turns back towards her, there’s something unsteady in her gaze.

He gives her a respectful, deliberate bow of his head. It seems to hit her with surprise. But you can’t ask for the truth and then be a coward about it.

That goes for her, and goes for Wei Ying. And as spitefully satisfying it was to yell at her and see her flinch, to take petty pleasure in her guilty avoidance, he realizes as he’s standing in this little shack with all her belongings distributed on the floor and along the walls that he took far too long to clear up what was his responsibility to clear up.

“You needn’t…” His throat his dry, but he swallows the scratch away, facing her again. “I’m sorry you felt you had to move here,” he says. “You don’t have to. I will not lose my temper like that again.”

He’s confused when she seems taken aback. “You think…” She falls silent again. She has that inclination too. To not speak when she isn’t sure her words will carry her meaning.

He holds her eyes, wanting to prod, but he isn’t very used to it. “What do I think?”

She lets her eyes flick up and down his stiff posture. There’s a hint of indulgent understanding in her expression that oddly reminds him of his own brother again. “I didn’t decide to move because you were angry at me,” she says.

“Then why?” he frowns.

She’s thinking again, not terribly long, but she’s weighing things he isn’t quite following. “I felt it was time,” she says. “I felt a little more privacy all around was in order.”

A flush comes crawling up his neck to his ears. The thought of Wei Ying kissing him, touching him, has not been far from his mind since yesterday. But in terms of his interactions with Wen Qing, their earlier confrontation loomed so large in his thoughts that beyond his initial embarrassment in the moment, he hasn’t stopped to think that walking in on that display might have made her uncomfortable.

Another apology is almost automatic, but it sticks in his throat. To apologize for that feels tantamount to a lie, even though taking such action in a shared space was surely not polite. And she has never seemed to be the sort of person who would be easily scandalized, though he knows it’s perhaps shameful to presuppose good will from the person he threatened with a sword four days ago.

“Please don’t worry, Hanguang-jun,” she says, stinging him with sudden gentleness. “I think it was time. I did not feel threatened, and I am not shocked.”

It won’t happen again, is right there in his mouth, the other platitude, but he presses his lips together because he doesn’t want it to be true, and he doesn’t want her to believe it.

She gestures around. “This is quite cozy, don’t you think.” She looks very matter-of-fact.

“Cozy,” he repeats.

“I like it,” she adds. “The cave is a little too dramatic for me, if I’m honest.” Now there’s a hint of a smile, an experiment with friendliness.

He will be living alone with Wei Ying. Just them, in the cave. Where they kissed.

He’s still reeling from learning the details of the core transfer, his respect and resentment of Wen Qing intertwining like nettled string, and… she’s moving, to give them privacy.

She thinks they should have privacy. She thinks they will make use of it.

“If you feel that it is too small eventually, I think there should be ways to extend this side of the cabin,” he says, hoping it sounds friendly in return. Even at the best of times, when he isn’t feeling off balance with the sudden sense of possibility, he struggles with that.

The small smile flickers up again as she nods. “Thank you for the offer.”

He nods back at her, and something seems to settle.

~      ~      ~

Wei Ying is no longer in the courtyard when Lan Wangji comes down from his conversation with Wen Qing. Perhaps he has taken his inventions back inside at last. 

Lan Wangji’s mind is full and restless from their talk, and it would be good to have a task to distract himself with. There is some work happening in the radish fields, but he is still officially banned from doing any heavy lifting for a while, and even if he were allowed to help with the harvesting, he admits the constant bending might not be good for his wound. Lan Wangji knows that no one will be served if he injures himself further because he is too impatient to follow doctor’s recommendations.

The sun has started to sink, but there’s still enough of the broken light to work in the courtyard without needing torches. The resentment clouds in the sky are only a thin veil today, letting through warmth and early evening colors. Wen Guang is still sitting on the steps of the great hall, sorting through reeds, Wen Shu propped up on her stretcher, pale and quiet but alert. Wen Yunlan and Wen Song are by the edge of the radish fields, a collection of tools piled up by their feet. They appear to be sharpening the knives and hoes. Wen Liu has settled down next to them with two buckets and the dinner radishes, scrubbing them clean.

Lan Wangji heads over to them. Once he gets a little closer, he can see Fourth Uncle in discussion with Wen Ning at the other end of the radish field. With both Lan Wangji and Wen Shu out of commission, the plowing crew has been severely diminished, and Wen Ning has been putting his strength to good use there. Fourth Uncle raises his hand in greeting when he sees Lan Wangji.

Wen Yunlan and Wen Song seem pleased to see him, though they really only have the necessary sharpening equipment for two people, so he can’t be of much use, and Wen Liu laughs when he offers to help with the radishes. They invite him to sit anyway. Wen Yunlan is still holding himself stiffly and there is a pallor to his skin that must come from how much the poisoning took out of him, but he’s in good spirits at having something to do, teaching Wen Song how to handle the sharpening stone and then nodding approvingly when he tests the blade of her knife.

Fourth Uncle comes over after he’s set Wen Ning to work. When Lan Wangji asks him if he has some suitable task, Fourth Uncle waves him off, tells him to have a rest for a change. He and Wen Yunlan exchange some opinions about the southern garden where the radishes are still growing unusually small, and Wei Ying’s recent attempts to improve the soil there, and Lan Wangji listens with nothing to do.

He finds it strangely comforting to sit here and just let the conversation happen around him. There’s something calming about the fact of ordinary life things continuing around him even when he has nothing to contribute, isn’t expected to contribute. He’s always been used to being alone and things being quiet. He still likes it quiet, sometimes. But there’s a warmth and fullness to the world around him here that he never expected when he followed Wei Ying into the Burial Mounds on his single-minded, desperate mission.

The things they built here. It matters that he and Wen Qing don’t feud, because they are both needed. Everyone is needed. All of these people have fed Ah Yuan, protected each other with pitchforks and hammers, made this a home.

Fourth Uncle inspects Wen Song’s work and gives her a fatherly pat on the shoulder when the edge of the well-used hoe she’s been sharpening meets his approval. “Wen Ning’s doing good,” he then says to Lan Wangji, and Lan Wangji realizes it’s to reassure him over missing out on work.

“I’m glad,” Lan Wangji says. “I’m healing well, but I must trust Wen Qing’s judgment.”

Fourth Uncle nods wisely. For a moment, Lan Wangji thinks Fourth Uncle is going to pat his shoulder too. It’s a strange thought. He wouldn’t even mind.

It wasn’t only Wen Qing who went to Unicorn Tower. They all died. He saw them hanging over the gates of Nightless City. It nearly turns his stomach, a memory faded under the terror of Wei Ying’s fall. But he saw them. The young woman next to Grandmother Wen’s body was Wen Liu, he just didn’t know her name then.

They all would have died long ago if they’d been left in that squalid, malign camp. Wen Ning already had, and Wen Qing probably would have been arrested as part of her search. Ah Yuan and Grandmother and Wen Yunlan and Fourth Uncle, all of them. He saw the condition they were in when they arrived here. An injustice, yes. He always knew that. But it didn’t make him pick up his sword against the forces that wanted to destroy them, it didn’t send him to seclusion, it didn’t send him through time.

It flows up like a phantom pain now, a whisper in the chasm of his hurt over Wei Ying’s death. That he failed them then as surely as he failed Wei Ying. That with this second chance, he wants to save them too.

~      ~      ~

Wei Wuxian pokes at the wine jar, careful in case it’ll cause another exploding incident. He didn’t explode wine, it wasn’t as heart-breaking as all that, but he’s not supposed to make things go bang after dark, and also he’ll feel pretty stupid if he has to go to Wen Qing with a gushing headwound from some flying shard, the very day she moved out, like he can’t be left alone for a night.

Alone.

It’s cool. Not like they don’t have their routine, not like they haven’t spent eight months’ worth of nights sleeping in this very room, not like Wen Qing threw them against each other naked and told them to get on with it. Or whatever. And last he checked, Lan Zhan was still upset about Wei Wuxian being a sadly substandard cultivator and a pathetic liar to boot, and he doesn’t know if they’ve fixed that yet. They might have been kissing and Lan Zhan might have been the most amazing thing he’s ever felt on his body and he might have been wondering what exactly Lan Zhan would like them to do together, assuming he does in fact still want that and it wasn’t just some kind of random brain event, but… it’s not settled.

He pokes the jar. The clay surface feels… normal. No heat, no cold. There’s only water in it, though the more jars he destroys, the more trouble it’s going to be for Fourth Uncle to keep the booze coming, and Wei Wuxian has a vested interest here.

He hears the quiet rustle of Lan Zhan taking off his coarse outer robe, and his heart beats a little faster in his throat. He sneaks a glance, finds Lan Zhan doing the normal things of getting ready for bed.

Okay, Lan Zhan isn’t going to be weird about this. That’s good. That’s actually a relief.

Lan Zhan moves a little more slowly than usual, still, and Wei Wuxian’s stomach pulls tight at the reminder of the injury. To imagine… Lan Zhan all pale on that bed…

No, he’s really grateful that all went the way it did, and if he dwells now, he’s just going to make himself freak out again. He unpeels the talisman from the bottle and puts it aside, pulls up another blank one. Okay, so outright reversal isn’t doing anything…

He writes out his next attempt. He has a good feeling about this one.

“What are you making?” Lan Zhan asks him. When Wei Wuxian looks up, Lan Zhan is sitting on the side of his bed, his letter writing box next to him. The calm curiosity in his face does something weird to Wei Wuxian’s chest, like it’s another reminder of Lan Zhan’s steady presence and how much he’d fucking miss it. How much he couldn’t do without it.

He considers making something up for a moment—he wanted it to be a surprise, if he can get it to work—but his brain is a little off from the reminders of Lan Zhan’s injury, and the view of Lan Zhan in his underrobes, which reminds him of how firm Lan Zhan’s dick felt pushing against his hip, so he pivots to truth. “It’s for your pond,” he says, to a rising eyebrow. “I mean, if it works. I was thinking how the water is a bit muddy? And not as cold as you like it?”

“It’s really fine,” Lan Zhan says. “I like the pool just the way it is.”

“Yeah, but.” Wei Wuxian makes a face. “So you know how I’ve got those talismans for heating water all figured out? I’m trying to create the opposite now,” he explains. “I haven’t figured out the anti-mud one yet but I’m sure I can come up with something.”

Lan Zhan looks thoughtful and a little concerned.

“Don’t worry!” Wei Wuxian says. “This is just a side project, I’m still working on all my regular stuff for the benefit of everyone.” He flashes Lan Zhan a smile. Now that Lan Zhan is recovered enough to use the pool again, it occurred to him that he’d give a lot for Lan Zhan to have the healing powers of the cold spring available to ease the last of the stiffness. Which, he’s not going to be able to recreate that, no matter how much he might like to, but he thinks Lan Zhan might like the improvements anyway.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says gently.

Wei Wuxian snaps into nervousness. “Sorry,” he says. “Do you, like, mind?”

“Of course I don’t mind,” Lan Zhan says. “You’re being very thoughtful.”

“Oh,” Wei Wuxian says. “Good.” He doesn’t even know why he is nervous, why he feels so caught. He wasn’t even thinking or doing anything dirty.

“You don’t have to do things for me,” Lan Zhan says. It brings a flush to Wei Wuxian’s neck to have Lan Zhan say it all blunt like that. There’s a tiny line between Lan Zhan’s brows, as if he’s having thoughts he’s not sure he likes. 

“I thought you didn’t mind,” Wei Wuxian tries, tilting his head. It doesn’t come out as light as he’d hoped.

“I’m sorry if—” Lan Zhan is pressing his lips together, and something drops in Wei Wuxian’s stomach. Is he taking back the kiss? Or even—the hand kiss, all of it? “I’m sorry I got so angry. You don’t have to do things for me because I lost my temper.”

Oh, okay, that’s—that’s better. Maybe a little strange how much better it feels, when it’s not like he’s sorted out his own head about the rest of it, but he can figure that out later. He kind of wishes this jar was wine after all, though. He wants most of all to know that they’re okay, and the question is right there on the tip of his tongue, but. “That’s not why I started on this.”

Lan Zhan gives a small, contained nod.

“Lan Zhan, are you still mad?” It rushes out of him and he feels kind of stupid, but the moment he can see the answer in Lan Zhan’s face, his expression going soft and rueful, he feels his heart beating loudly with relief.

“I’m not,” Lan Zhan says. 

“You were pretty upset,” Wei Wuxian says hesitantly.

He can see Lan Zhan swallow. “I was,” he admits. “I was quite shocked. I didn’t react well to my distress. I wish you had let me help better, sooner. But I am sorry I let my feelings become such a weight on your shoulders.”

Wei Wuxian bites his lip. “I didn’t mean to hurt you with it, ever.”

Lan Zhan nods again. “I understand better now. I know you were in a difficult situation.” He holds Wei Wuxian’s eyes. “You’re very loyal, and very brave.”

This time he’s flushing all over, and he doesn’t really know where to look either. It feels good to think that Lan Zhan isn’t pissed off anymore, and seems to be forgiving him the subterfuge. But, this…

“Is everything all right, Wei Ying?”

“Yes!” He looks up, tries a smile. He feels it come out crooked and a little drunk. “So, but, like. Can I want to do things for you?” He holds up the talisman with slightly nervous fingers, just so Lan Zhan knows he’s not talking about, like, crazy stuff.

Then he gets caught on that, belatedly, a different tingle racing over his skin. What are the things he could do for Lan Zhan, if Lan Zhan…

…accept what he is clearly offering you.

If Lan Zhan is offering.

He sees Lan Zhan’s eyes flicker down in that way they do when he blushes, though in the candlelight a blush would be hard to see. It’s always been cute when he gets flustered, and this is just a normal and fairly light response to teasing, but right now it hits Wei Wuxian weirdly, a swivel in his stomach and a whisper under his skin.

“You may,” Lan Zhan says, sounding both warm and somewhat exasperated. Wei Wuxian keeps watching him for a moment, questions and decisions beating unevenly behind his eyes. But then Lan Zhan takes a sheet of paper from the box and settles in to write, and Wei Wuxian swallows, focusing on his spells.

~      ~      ~

Lan Wangji helps with the clean-up from lunch, mostly by keeping Ah Yuan out from under everyone’s feet. It’s been five days since he woke up, five days since the fight with Wen Qing, and he’s spent a night sleeping alone in the cave with Wei Ying. At one point when he is absent-minded and Ah Yuan almost trips, he scoops him up and settles him onto his hip without pausing, and is relieved when it barely elicits a twinge.

He’s practically fine now. But it reminds him that despite their truce, Wen Qing hasn’t tried to check on him since he lashed out at her and told her to get away from him. It occurs to him that with how things were, and how Lan Wangji wants them to be again, that probably isn’t quite right.

After the clean-up is finished, he leaves Ah Yuan with Grandmother Wen and heads for the cave. Wei Wuxian is in the fields still coaxing radishes to grow larger, and Wen Qing went to her work station after lunch.

She’s poring over some notes as he walks in, her back to him. 

“Lady Wen,” he says from a respectable distance. It makes her turn. He holds himself straight, a little nervous because he’s never been good at these things, even without a recent history of conflict. “I think my wound is healing well. But I wanted to ask if you’d like to confirm my progress.” He really couldn’t think of a perfectly smooth way to indicate that he’s ready to accept her guidance as a doctor again, but the surprised flutter of her eyes seems to tell him that she understands his meaning.

“Of course,” she says, putting down the scroll. She stands and gestures to the stool she’s been sitting on. “Please.”

He sits.

“From the way you’ve been moving, I don’t think I have to have you lie down,” she says, “but can I see the wound?”

Without great self-consciousness, he undoes his robes enough that she can see his abdomen. The skin has grafted together, though the cut still looks like a whip’s welt, and would leave quite a scar on an ordinary person.

Her fingers are cool and gentle as she examines the red line. It only tickles a little. “Looks very good to me,” she says, and he feels the gentle wisp of a tiny trace of her spiritual energy as she soothes over the prodding. “It might still scar a bit from the poison, but we won’t know that for a while.”

“A man can have a few scars,” he says. It brings a brief smile to her mouth as if she knows he must be quoting someone else. She can have no idea how many scars Lan Wangji acquired in his first life, when he was a coward and let it all go wrong.

When she feels his pulse, the satisfied nod implies she confirms her general impression. “I’d like you to leave the plowing to Wen Ning for a while longer, just to be safe, and even men don’t need to invite the scars,” she says with a forbearing tilt to her smile. “But you’re almost back to normal.”

He nods in acknowledgment, and begins to tighten his robes back up. As an examination, it was both very unnecessary, and quite relevant.

He has to give himself a little push, but he asks, “How are you liking your new lodgings?”

She leans against the edge of her desk, her hands at her sides. Gives him one introspective look, before she says, “You know, I kind of like it, if I’m being honest. I wasn’t thinking in those terms initially but it feels nice to have Wen Ning living somewhere that wasn’t essentially his hospital bed.”

“I can imagine,” Lan Wangji replies.

“It’s like… a small thing,” she says, raising one shoulder. “But remember what I said about hunkering down?”

He nods.

“It feels weirdly like we’re moving now,” she says, a quirk to her mouth. “Even if it’s just across the courtyard.” The quiet look she gives him doesn’t make it clear if she is solely thinking about her moving out of the cave, or if she’s wondering if anything else has… moved.

Lan Wangji lowers his gaze for a moment. It does indeed feel like things might be in motion, but he cannot quite tell in which direction, or if he really understands where all the pieces currently are.

“That’s good,” he says. He could leave it there. He was even cordial. But he takes a breath and gives himself another push. “I was thinking of our conversation a short while ago.”

Her eyebrows rise slowly.

“About Wen Ning,” he clarifies. When her mouth quirks up, he’s surprised he almost finds a similar spark of humor inside himself, but perhaps that’s merely nerves. “I’ve noticed he’s seemed to take quite well to cooking duties.”

Now there’s a real smile on her face, though she tries to rein it in. “I thought so too.” She also takes a moment to pause. Perhaps to consider if she wants to proceed. “I’d never really thought this might be something for him. But maybe I should have.”

“It might suit him well,” Lan Wangji says.

“He was the easiest child when it comes to food. He doesn’t even have a lot of preferences for himself. But he likes helping people, so maybe feeding them could be a way for him to do that.” She shrugs, with a little bit of wonder.

Lan Wangji looks at her. It feels better to talk to her than to hate her. And as he finds his way, he recalls that he has always appreciated her reasoned approach to practical matters.

“On the subject of helping people,” he says. “I spoke to Wei Ying a couple of weeks ago about perhaps letting the people in the town know that they can turn to us if they need a cultivator.”

Her eyebrows rise. “They can?”

Lan Wangji lets his face give nothing away. “That would still seem up for debate,” he says.

She gives a little snort, but there’s focus in her eyes. “It’s a good point,” she says. “I’ve been wondering about offering medical help, myself.”

It’s natural, Lan Wangji thinks, that she would. She’s a good doctor. 

~      ~      ~

There’s a big campfire tonight. The summer evening is still fairly warm, but someone must have been in a mood for it. Wei Ying and Wen Ning’s radish sales in town brought the expected amount, already earmarked for practical purchases, so tonight’s dinner is based on the usual radishes and a couple of fish Wen Xiaobo caught in the river. It’s pleasant though, the Burial Mounds falling dark around them, the low conversations in the flickering light of the circle. A small group sitting closest to the fire is roasting an apple on a stick, Wen Liu leaning into Wen Yunlan’s side.

Wei Ying and Lan Wangji are sitting a little further away, though the glow of the fire is still warm on Lan Wangji’s face. After those days of avoidance, Wen Qing and Wen Ning have joined them, and Wen Qing brought a half-empty jar of wine, of which she’s had two small cups and Wei Ying three. She must have had it tucked away somewhere for herself, because Fourth Uncle’s next batch is  not officially done yet. Wei Ying hasn’t even tried to charm the bottle off her, accepting portions only as offered. 

“I think we should offer to help out in town, by the way,” Wen Qing says. She casually chases a final piece of radish around in her bowl, then pops it in her mouth. She doesn’t even look at Lan Wangji as she says it.

Wei Ying pauses with his wine cup at his bottom lip. The soft light reflects so beautifully off him as his mouth tightens a bit, a brief flash of defensiveness. Then, he sighs. “I really don’t think we need the extra hassle.” He sends Lan Wangji an accusing look, though unfortunately for him, the pout only makes Lan Wangji’s heart beat more fondly.

Lan Wangji gives him a calm look back. Wei Ying is already well aware of Lan Wangji’s thoughts on the matter.

“It’s not that much hassle,” Wen Qing says. “We’re here, we have three strong cultivators, I’m a doctor. I don’t see how helping a few pregnant women, setting some broken bones and performing the odd exorcism will do anything but create us some good will and maybe make us some money.”

Lan Wangi blinks over at her. Money?

“Yeah, sure,” Wei Ying says, “until something goes wrong and there’s a sick baby you can’t save, and then people will be petitioning Jin Guangshan to come root out the rogue evildoers who go around stealing children.”

Wen Ning ducks his head over his bowl with a little frown, though Lan Wangji isn’t sure if that’s because of the mention of dead children or the sense of disagreement.

“Wei Wuxian,” Wen Qing says, cocking her head and fixing him with a penetrating stare. “You are not seriously making an argument against helping people because of what some assholes in Lanling or wherever else might think. You.”

Wei Ying makes an embarrassed face. “No,” he says floundering a bit. “I’m not— You just— that was a trap.” He slides another look at Lan Wangji, then back to Wen Qing. “I can see what you’re up to.”

“You know we’re right,” Wen Qing says, with the air of a kindly older sister.

“Excuse me, Lady Wen,” Lan Wangji interrupts, drawing the attention of them both. This isn’t quite what he had in mind. “You want to charge fees for our help?”

Wen Qing looks at him with raised eyebrows. “Well… yes?”

The thought itself is… alien. He travelled a great deal after Wei Ying had died, and it never would have occurred to him to accept payment for his services. “Would that not be… unseemly?”

Wei Ying’s eyes narrow with unexpected mirth. Wen Qing’s eyebrows stay in their doubting position. “I don’t see what’s unseemly about being able to buy some tea if we clean out someone’s haunted barn,” she says. They are still being a little cautious with each other, but wine has always made her more relaxed. Lan Wangji is on the one hand glad that she is confident in their ability to civilly disagree with each other, and baffled by her suggestion.

His neck is prickling with a small flush, though he doesn’t see why he should be embarrassed. It’s having to explain himself, probably. “It’s our duty as cultivators to assist those in need,” he says. “If someone comes to us for aid, wouldn’t it be mercenary for us to expect payment?

Wen Qing rests her chin on the hand that isn’t holding her wine cup, a small smile on her mouth.  “I have a feeling you’ve never been involved with the accounting side of the Cloud Recesses.”

His flush deepens at the truth of it. Does Brother… do they get paid?

“Hey, don’t make fun of him,” Wei Ying defends him.

Wen Qing’s mouth is still twitching as she peers back at him. “You sure you’re on his side? There could be potatoes in it for you…”

Wei Ying makes a helpless, scandalized face. “That is so dirty, Wen Qing.”

When she looks back at Lan Wangji, a mild question in her eyes, he says, “I don’t think you’re mocking me. I just would do this… differently.”

“I’m not talking about gouging anyone,” she says very matter-of-factly. “Or withholding help until someone’s coughed up the fee. But we work hard here. We eat mostly radishes and I haven’t had a real cup of tea in ages. Some contribution to the welfare of this community in exchange for our assistance isn’t too much to ask.”

Lan Wangji thinks that over. She has a pragmatic worldliness that he appreciates, and his instinct after all these months together is to trust her, as odd as the concept feels to him. “Do you mean it? We would not turn anyone down?”

“Of course we wouldn’t,” she says, a light frown flickering over her face. “I’m a doctor.”

For a moment, the word lingers in the air between them. Then he nods. “Then we can think about it.”

“Hey, what about my objections?” Wei Ying says.

“Your objections were crap,” she says. “Please be reasonable.” She holds up the bottle, tilting it appraisingly and looking at him sideways. “This may be the last cup…”

Wei Ying purses his lips in terribly conflicted longing. The silliness of it soothes every strand of worry in Lan Wangji. “Bribery,” Wei Ying says, holding up his cup. “Absolute bribery.”

So that, Lan Wangji thinks, would appear to be that.

He gets up when everyone’s bowl is empty, collecting them. Wei Ying tells him he doesn’t have to go do the dishes, but while he’s still not supposed to work in the fields, Lan Wangji considers helping with clean-up to be one of his tasks.

He helps Grandmother Wen and Wen Liu in the great hall, gratified that they seem confident he’s recovered enough to be allowed to scrub the pot. There aren’t any leftovers. Maybe, now that he and Wen Qing have outvoted Wei Ying on the prospect of interacting more with the town, and Lan Wangji himself has been outvoted on the question of fees, there can be a little more food soon. It doesn’t feel so wrong now that the idea has had some time to settle.

It’s gotten darker still by the time he comes out of the Great Hall. A few people have disappeared into their houses, but the group around the campfire is still going strong. Fourth Uncle appears to have nodded off by the fireside, and there is a warm, hushed tone to people’s conversation.

Peace in the Cloud Recesses was clear and quiet. The peace here is one of murmurs and giggles and making light against the darkness.

Lan Wangji heads back towards his spot, noticing that Wei Ying has lit a tiny fire talisman in the center of their little circle, supplementing the glimmers from the campfire. In the gentle light, even Wen Ning’s pale face looks like that of any other human. Wen Qing is just prodding Wei Ying in the shoulder like he said something rude, and she was either lying about how much alcohol she had left in her bottle or Wei Ying insisted on sharing his last cup, because they are both still drinking.

Sometimes it seems that Wei Ying doesn’t even know what he’s accomplished here. Lan Wangji wonders if he sees it as something ordinary, saving all these people, building them a home. He steals apples from the shrine because there’s nothing to revere. He gave up his family, let Jiang Wanyin cast him out of the clan so the clan would be safer. He walked that narrow bridge all the way to the end, the first time, and never asked for help.

Lan Wangji’s heart is beating with love and regret, and more resolve than he ever thought could fit in his chest.

He only realizes that he’s been standing there, watching Wei Ying delight in his wine and shake his head at Wen Qing’s friendly scolding, when Wen Qing notices him. For a moment they look at each other, a flash of sharpness in her eyes that he doesn’t understand. Then she lowers her head, empties her wine cup in one, and pats Wen Ning on the back.

“I think I’ve had enough for tonight,” she says.

“I thought you were out?” Wei Ying asks. “Don’t tell me you have another secret stash somewhere!”

Lan Wangji loves him so much. If those acceptable fees Wen Qing wants to charge work out, he will… they will buy more food and more clothes, and better tools, and shoes for Ah Yuan as he grows, but maybe, maybe one day, Lan Wangji can buy Wei Ying all the liquor he wants. Just for a change.

“I’m tired and I’m going to bed,” she says, with a decided little nod. She sends Lan Wangji another sideways look, then motions curtly at her brother. “Ah Ning, come on.”

Wen Ning rushes to his feet, not because there is anything urgent, but because that’s how he reacts to requests from the people he cares about.

“Good night, Lan Wangji,” Wen Qing says. He lowers his head in acknowledgment, not so hapless that he doesn’t see her intention. His pulse skitters with it, even if she can’t know what he was thinking when he got lost in thought.

Wei Ying turns a smile on him. Lan Wangji knows him well enough to see the nervousness at the edges. The firelight gives him a secret glow, and the way he’s patting Lan Wangji’s former seat is insistent and genuine.

Lan Wangji sits down. Breathes in the warmth from the fire, the gentle tang of wood smoke.

“Just you and me, huh,” Wei Ying says. 

Lan Wangji nods slowly. “Yes. Indeed.” 

Wei Ying’s hands are turning the empty wine cup around, as if that would conjure up more drink. He looks a little nervous. “It’s nice,” he says, sneaking Lan Wangji a look. Meaning it, despite the tension.

“I agree,” Lan Wangji says. There is uncertainty in the air, but right now, Lan Wangji isn’t even afraid. “Wei Ying, I wanted to tell you something.”

There is a small hitch in Wei Ying’s movements. But he turns to Lan Zhan with a decided, calm expression. “Yes, Lan Zhan?”

Lan Wangji faces him directly. “You were right,” he says. It isn’t what Wei Ying expected, but that’s all right. “You were right about saving the Wens. Bringing them here. I never told you before. But I wanted you to know.”

There’s a flicker in Wei Ying’s eyes, confusion, a question. Disbelief.

“I came here for you,” Lan Wangji says, the bluntest of confessions. Wei Ying doesn’t know all the ways in which this is true, but the most immediate one, he’ll understand. “Because I didn’t want to leave your side. But I know now that I should have followed you out of principle, too, because you were right. You saw the wrong that was being done and you stood against it.”

Wei Ying is blinking, a strange shine in his eyes. “Lan Zhan…”

“I’m grateful to you,” Lan Wangji says, the weight of his memories pressing on his throat, the memory of rain. Of stepping aside. “You… following you… It allowed me to keep my promise.” The lantern, with his perfect rabbit, rising up into the sky. Yes, he still remembers. Wei Ying was as beautiful then in his artless dedication as he is now, his mouth a little open, his eyes wide. “To protect the weak.”

Wei Ying’s unsteady gaze flickers over him, his eyes, his chest… his forehead. “But, Lan Zhan…”

“You allowed me to be good,” Lan Wangji says, his voice rough with the truth of it. “I wanted to thank you.”

There’s a moment, a silent hovering as the air is heavy and rich between them, when his words hit in Wei Ying’s eyes. Wei Ying opens his mouth as if he’s going to say something, but no words seem to come. Then, with a huffed sigh, something snapping, Wei Ying rushes forward, his hands clutching at Lan Wangji’s shoulders, and in a mess of hair and heat and rocky aim his mouth lands on Lan Wangji’s, and all the air is pressed out of Lan Wangji as Wei Ying kisses him.

The kiss is hard and firm. Lan Wangji’s entire body seems to shudder with the impact, with shock and sudden heat. Wei Ying’s lips are soft and insistent at the same time, a sharp trace of wine there as they shift slightly, press closer. Lan Wangji opens his mouth on a silent gasp, the warmth of the kiss rushing in as his fingers grope blindly, weakly, find Wei Ying’s elbow, the folds of fabric at his waist, his belt. One of Wei Ying’s arms slides around Lan Wangji’s shoulders, a real embrace, and Lan Wangji breathes through the tingle of intimacy as Wei Ying presses in on Lan Wangi’s open mouth, a touch that he never— only that once before.

The kiss slows, and Wei Ying lifts off just enough to breathe, to stare at him. His eyes are shimmering in the firelight, a sharp rise to his chest. Something like a question in his eyes, surprise at his own action perhaps. Asking if it’s all right, if he can…

If it’s a question, Lan Wangji answers it, putting his lips there against Wei Ying’s where they’re a little wet, and so beautiful. He twists his fingers in the side of Wei Ying’s robes, feeling the warmth of him through the layers, the stutter of his breath as he sinks into it again, leaning into Lan Wangji.

Lan Wangji’s other hand finds its way up to Wei Ying’s face, his hands tingling with the touch of warm skin and Wei Ying’s hair catching between his fingers, the movement of Wei Ying’s jaw against his palm, the tilt and sway as Wei Ying fuses their mouths together. He’s dreamed of kissing Wei Ying like this, dreamed of touching him, and here he is, no accidental brushing, no wild burst of anger, no stolen furtive warmth from innocent contact. Wei Ying’s hands are running down his back, skittering here and there and making knots in his robes, in the hair at the back of his neck, and Wei Ying grabbed him, took him for a kiss, he’s invited.

Lan Wangji runs his hand deeper into Wei Ying’s hair. Somewhere in him there thrums a desire to hold on hard, pull them together, but he is shivering with the slowness of it, his body tripping over each newness, each unknown touch.

It is still strange to him to have his mouth on another’s like this, but he’s learning, with slow brushes and a startling closeness, heat simmering beneath. His skin feels light with it, the evening air around them and the strength of Wei Ying’s body, the sheer aliveness of him.

Wei Ying shuffles closer, his hands spreading over Lan Wangji’s back, and something about the shift forward nearly tips him off his seat, has Lan Wangji grabbing him by the arms and shifting to balance him out. Wei Ying huffs a laugh, a secret smile against Lan Wangji’s mouth, and Lan Wangji feels it curl deep inside him as he kisses Wei Ying through the little wobble.

They’re kissing. Not once, sudden and desperate, not interrupted, but soft and slow, and Wei Ying wants this. Wei Ying reached for him. Wei Ying is sliding both arms around Lan Wangji’s neck now, and there’s an excited hitch in his breathing, and he’s kissing Lan Wangji back. Again. More. With want and impulse and also with thought. Wei Ying doesn’t need to open his mouth like that, but he does it. He doesn’t need to hold on to Lan Wangji, the sweetest claim in the touch of his palm against the back of Lan Wangji’s neck, but he does it. He wants to.

After a long, tight press, Wei Ying’s arms strong and possessive around Lan Wangji’s shoulders, the kiss eases up again and Wei Ying pulls back. Not far, still close enough to feel his breath skate over Lan Wangji’s chin. Close enough to see the slow sweep of his eyelashes as he opens his eyes, looks into Lan Wangji’s with something shivering in them, something deep and decided.

Wei Ying’s tongue darts out over his lips. He glances down between them again, eyes shifting like they do when he’s hunting for a talisman on his overloaded worktable, until they land on Lan Wangji’s arm where it rests at Wei Ying’s waist. Wei Ying shifts back slightly, drawing a hand down along Lan Wangji’s arm until it curls around Lan Wangji’s thumb, the edge of his palm, and gently pulls Lan Wangji’s hand away from Wei Ying’s waist, lacing their fingers together as he draws it up between them. Bows his head just slightly, and presses his lips chastely against the back of it.

Lan Wangji’s breath leaves him in a rush. When Wei Ying’s eyes lift, meet his again, question and answer all in one, a slightly nervous tilt at the corner of Wei Ying’s mouth, Lan Wangji knows he hasn’t misunderstood.

It’s yes. It’s… Wei Ying is saying yes.

Lan Wangji’s pulse is loud, drumming hard through his limbs. He swallows, still searching Wei Ying’s eyes, but the answer doesn’t change, doesn’t fade away. Lan Wangji curls his fingers tighter around Wei Ying’s hand, his mind and body feeling slightly adrift. “Wei Ying,” he breathes, and the smile there spreads, a bit shyly. Warmth blooms in Lan Wangji’s stomach and spreads through every part of him, through his fears and worries and that aching loneliness, frozen into his skin.

It’s time. He’s invited.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says under his breath, and Lan Wangji cups the side of his face again, which makes him fall quiet. Then, with a gentle brush of his thumb over Wei Ying’s cheek, Lan Wangji stands up.

Wei Ying blinks at him in surprise over their linked hands, but he doesn’t let go. Everything is new. Everything will be a surprise, in some ways. Lan Wangji strokes his fingers over the back of Wei Ying’s hand because he doesn’t have the words, they are dancing somewhere inside him in sparkles as bright as Wei Ying’s exploding talismans, and there’s want in them and love and thank you and yes, and if he could pluck them all out of the air he would line them up well, say it right.

But Wei Ying is the one who always has all the words, even if half of them are… decorative.

He holds Wei Ying’s eyes, the gleam of the fire an echo of their shared warmth. When he tugs lightly, Wei Ying slides to his feet.

Lan Wangji feels himself smiling, as if something outside himself took control of his face, but he doesn’t bother to hide it. He’ll do far more important things tonight that might make him blush, but that he wants anyway, and he won’t let such false reasons stand in the way.

Wei Ying follows when Lan Wangji takes him across the courtyard. The tug of Wei Ying’s hand against his arm is like a delicate crackle in the dark of the night, running through Lan Wangji with every step, every beat of his heart.

There are murmurs by the campfire, quiet voices. He doesn’t know if Wen Qing really turned in for the night, or if she’s just joined one of the other conversations, but he doesn’t search for her. Whether anyone saw them embracing in the shadows, or is seeing their joined hands now as they slip away, he doesn’t check. He doesn’t care.

It’s unusual for Wei Ying to be this quiet, but when they reach the cave, there is a tighter press against his hand. Lan Wangji doesn’t stop at the entrance, leads them all the way inside, to the main room where Wei Ying works and where they both sleep.

There’s one candle lit for them to find the way, but it is gloomy now after nightfall. Lan Wangji gives Wei Ying a brief look, reassured to still find wonder and just a hint of nervousness in his expression. “I’m going to light the candles,” he says, gently letting go of Wei Ying’s hand.

“Sure,” Wei Ying says, the roughness of it racing over Lan Wangji’s skin.

So he lights the candles perched on the boards mounted on the rock wall, one by one, until the room is suffused with a warm, flickering glow. His body smoulders with the promise, the conviction, that they will go to bed together and he will be seen. He can’t help the bright burn inside him, the habit of so many years of restraint, but he has nothing that he wants to hide anymore.

Not about this. Not about what he wants.

Wei Ying is even more beautiful with the shine of the candles. Lan Wangji goes back to him and takes his hand again.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, an urgent pressure behind it, perhaps the weight of not speaking for an extended period. “What—I mean. Your plan, you— Do you want…”

Lan Wangji doesn’t ever like seeing Wei Ying under stress, but that he finds it hard to muster his usual barrage of words tugs at Lan Wangji’s heart. Another way they are coming together.

His plan, though. Wei Ying is right, he’s started this, it should probably be his responsibility to have a plan for them. He doesn’t know, he just… he’s spent so long trying not to think of it, blocking such thoughts from his mind so as not to torture himself with them. Now the door is open, and there’s so much he could want, so much he could ask for.

What does he want? What might Wei Ying find it easy to give?

He pulls gently, until Wei Ying follows him to the edge of Wei Ying’s bed. Lan Wangji stops right alongside it, the stone edge just perceptible against his leg, and the rush of awareness, of being caught between Wei Ying and the space where he sleeps, nearly steals his breath.

Wei Ying’s eyes are big with a strange innocence, but there’s want there too, eagerness tempered by questions.

“I want to be with you,” Lan Wangji says. “In that way.” In any way Wei Ying wants, is the whole truth of it. In every way.

Wei Ying is swallowing fast. Lan Wangji wants nothing that Wei Ying isn’t ready to give, but he knows enough about Wei Ying now that he doesn’t take it as doubt. Wei Ying kissed him by the fire, because something shifted, tipped the balance.

“Yeah,” Wei Ying says. “Okay.” And then, as if he’s waking up from something, “Me too.” He shakes his head once quickly. “Wow.”

Lan Wangji closes his eyes for a moment, the shudder at the confirmation taking him by surprise. Wei Ying moves closer with a slow deliberate step, and when Lan Wangji opens his eyes again Wei Ying is right in front of him, a dark flicker in his gaze and a coiled tension in his body. It’s intoxicating to be this close to him, to see Wei Ying… interested. Worried and hesitant but not wanting to turn away. He took the leap. Now they’re both flying.

“Would you kiss me like before?” Lan Wangji says.

Wei Ying exhales shakily. “Sure,” he says, an unsteady hand reaching up for Lan Wangji’s face.

“Not like by the fire,” Lan Wangji clarifies. “I meant before. With you holding me close, like when we were in here. Before we were interrupted.”

“Oh,” Wei Ying says, eyes blinking wide. “Sure.”

It isn’t lewd or particularly daring, and it is the same start, the same gesture, Wei Ying taking hold of his face, pressing his mouth on Lan Wangji’s. But when Lan Wangji shudders, Wei Ying knows not to take it as fear or hesitation, just pulls him tighter, taking, claiming. Lan Wangji lets the urgency run through him and guide his hands, his grip on Wei Ying’s waist approved, welcome. Invited.

He holds on harder, and pulls Wei Ying in, until their hips touch and the huffed noise Wei Ying makes between them rushes in his ears. Wei Ying’s lips move on his, in a way that makes it easy and natural for Lan Wangji to open his mouth, and the light hot touch of Wei Ying’s tongue makes his stomach flutter and his clothes stuffy and his hands clench tight in Wei Ying’s robes.

“Oh Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying mumbles, of course he does, and Lan Wangji almost smiles, but there is another kiss and Wei Ying’s breath fanning over his face and Lan Wangji pressing back against Wei Ying’s tongue, a wild rush in his blood that he is doing this.

And they’re going to do more this time. He feels Wei Ying’s arousal pressed against his hip, only the second time he’s ever felt someone like this. The first time it’s allowed. It makes him dizzy, in a clear-eyed way, like the glimmering air of a hot summer day. He only touched it through fabric, that one tantalizing moment that left him with a shiver each time he remembered and another hollow of want carved into him, and there’s a hot pulse all through him when he thinks that he will get to touch it plain and naked, he will feel it.

Lan Wangji must be so much harder than Wei Ying by now. His arousal aches between his legs and there’s a jerk to the movement of his hips that has Wei Ying making a soft noise into their kiss. The demanding press of Wei Ying’s body against his is almost enough to topple them backwards. It’s only Lan Wangji’s ingrained strength that keeps them standing.

Lan Wangji slows to a halt, gathering his focus with Wei Ying right here in his arms. When he draws his hands back from Wei Ying’s hips, Wei Ying blinks at the change, but he doesn’t seem thrown, he’s… waiting. He seems to understand what Lan Wangji means, what he’s doing, and settles back on his heels, making the slightest amount of space between them without truly retreating.

Lan Wangji lowers his eyes and moves his hands to his belt. The leather one, the one that says Strength and that Wei Ying would have say Pretty. The memory sends a giddy shock through him now, with Wei Ying so close, and only a few moments and a little bit of undressing keeping them from being truly against each other. He undoes the first buckle.

Wei Ying inhales sharply, a hint of true shock in his expression.

“No?” Lan Wangji asks, looking up again, the heat of uncertainty rippling over the lingering heat of Wei Ying’s touch.

Wei Ying’s eyes go wide. “No! I mean, not no, yes. Yes. Sorry. I just—”

Lan Wangji leaves his hands on his belt. Waits, with the embarrassment fading and his heart finding a steady rhythm, as Wei Ying’s chest rises and falls on unsteady, hot breaths.

“Yes, please,” Wei Ying says thickly.

It curls into him like the hot lick of Wei Ying’s tongue in his mouth or the weight of Wei Ying’s arousal pressing against his leg. He pulls the thin part of the belt free from the second buckle, feels the loosening of his clothes like a gust of air. His coarse outer robe falls down in straight lines, only the thin inner one held closed underneath, and though they feel somehow not appropriate to the occasion in their simpleness, the ease of removing them is a relief. He shrugs the outer robe down over his shoulders, pulling one arm free and then the other.

“I was just surprised,” Wei Ying says, his eyes tracking the fall of the robe. Skimming the loosened gap at the front of the lighter inner robe.

Lan Wangji rolls the outer robe loosely over itself and lays it down on the bench of the worktable, the belt placed on top. “I cannot claim to be greatly experienced at this. But I have always understood nudity to be one of the more common features.”

Another start flickers in Wei Ying’s eyes at that, and he laughs breathlessly, his attention still nervous, sharp. “I suppose so.” The unsteady smile on his face as his eyes sweep over Lan Wangji fills Lan Wangji’s heart with certainty, with trust.

Lan Wangji’s fingers catch once on the fastenings of his inner robe, the small hitch driving heat to his ears. But then he pulls the ties loose, feeling the cool night air against his skin as he shrugs out of the soft linen. The sleeve presses the leather bracelet into his wrist as he pulls his right arm free, and for a moment his pulse trips over itself as he wonders if Wei Ying will notice, if Wei Ying will see. But as he sets the inner robe aside, only his thin trousers remaining, he feels awareness burn warm down the back of his neck as he realizes that Wei Ying’s attention is elsewhere.

Wei Ying can certainly see that he’s erect now, it’s impossible to hide. Lan Wangji breathes deeply as he holds his hands steady at his sides. Lets him see it.

Lan Wangji has always assumed that Wei Ying has not been with a man before. The faltering look in his eyes as he skims them over the shape of Lan Wangji’s body, over the shape of him inside his trousers, seems to confirm that. But Lan Wangji also knows that Wei Ying becomes aroused from Lan Wangji’s touch—he wanted Lan Wangji’s hand on him, that last time. There is anxious wondering in his stare but the tension seems to hold him close, not scare him away.

He doesn’t move, though, and Lan Wangji wonders if he’s still worried about Lan Wangji’s sense of modesty even as Lan Wangji has shown him how little he cares for his purity anymore.

Lan Wangji pulls loose the ties at the front of his trousers and eases them down, far enough until they fall. The exposure is sharp, tight, and his erection sways heavily as he steps out of them, straightens again slowly. He faces Wei Ying with his face hot and the air thick and enveloping around him. No one has ever seen him like this. Bare like this, in such a state. It would not have been appropriate to reveal himself like this to someone who was not a spouse, to a man no less, any more than it would have been to allow such a person to touch his sacred forehead ribbon. But he has no sacred ribbon anymore, and he’s never wanted to be like this with anyone who was not Wei Ying.

The last time he offered himself up to Wei Ying like this, put so much of his yearning on display, it was on his knees right here in this cave, with an oath, and Wei Ying said no. But now Wei Ying regards him with what is clearly fascination, and the pull of it is almost as captivating as his touch would be. 

“Lan Zhan,” he says, and Lan Wangji can see him swallow, his mouth moving like he feels as dry as Lan Wangji.

“Is it all right?” Lan Wangji asks.

“Fuck,” Wei Ying mumbles, and pulls him in with both hands for a searing, dizzying kiss.

Lan Wangji closes his eyes, overwhelmed by the speed and the hunger in it. It pulls his scattered focus in towards the center again—what he wants, what Wei Ying wants. What he’s asking for. Closer, more, Wei Ying touching him everywhere. His knees feel weak with it, with how close it is. He reaches for Wei Ying’s shoulder, for his waist, lets his weight sink slightly and pull Wei Ying with him towards the bed.

“Wait,” Wei Ying says, pulling back before Lan Wangji can lower himself to sit. “Shouldn’t I…” Wei Ying gestures along his body, at his robes.

“Yes,” Lan Wangji says, glancing down between them. For a moment he imagines Wei Ying pulling him in just like this, all the way against him, his naked skin against Wei Ying’s robes, and finds he wouldn’t be put off by that either.

But Wei Ying taking his clothes off to be with Lan Wangji is its own kind of intoxication. In all these years, even when he succumbed to desperation and indulged in forbidden dreams and images, he barely imagined Wei Ying’s naked body. Now he doesn’t even have to look away.

“That would…” Lan Wangji swallows, and remembers to meet Wei Ying’s eyes again. “Yes. Please.”

Wei Ying moves a little nervously as he steps back, gets rid of his belt and squirms out of his robes, but he seems to feel no real hesitation about revealing his body as such. Wei Ying has always been freer like that, barely restraining himself in the face of Lan Wangji’s prim foolishness.  

The scar of the Wen brand that mars Wei Ying’s chest is uncovered, even more distorted than he remembered it. For a moment Lan Wangji can feel the throbbing ache of it on his own skin. He remembers waking up burned and ashamed and with so much despair clogging up his mind, he could barely think through the fog.

That scar, too, is gone now. His body is younger, his skin smoothed out and healed by this second chance. The only scars that remain are carved into his soul. And Wei Ying is here now, standing before him completely naked, giving him a twitchy smile. There are goosebumps along his smooth skin, and a small trail of hair leading down from his navel to the hair there, a little thicker than Lan Wangji’s own. Wei Ying’s bared stiffness stands out from his body between them, and a flurry of heat spreads up along Lan Wangji’s back at the sight of it, yearning shot through with echoes of some old embarrassment.

The urge to grab him again, to bury all his disorganized feelings in a kiss, is nearly overwhelming. But Lan Wangji gets his body to cooperate, takes Wei Ying by the hand again and sits down on the edge of the bed, holding Wei Ying’s eyes as he shifts himself backwards, drawing Wei Ying along with him. His pulse feels so sharp, Wei Ying must be able to see it in his throat.

He wants to be lying down properly, feel all of Wei Ying against him. Wei Ying follows his lead and climbs onto the bed with a knee between Lan Wangji’s thighs, crawling forward as Lan Wangji shuffles backwards. Then Lan Wangji shifts a hand to Wei Ying’s shoulder and pulls him the rest of the way along, until Wei Ying is hovering over him on his hands and knees. Even though they’re barely touching, there’s a wobbly intensity in Wei Ying’s eyes and Lan Wangji breathes deeply a time or two. Even at this distance, the acute intimacy of having Wei Ying here, naked, his erection swaying heavily, his skin flushed with excitement, settles low in Lan Wangji’s belly.

Lan Wangji slides a hand around the back of Wei Ying’s neck and pulls him down for a kiss. This time Lan Wangji opens his mouth into it right away, and he can feel it send a small shudder through Wei Ying’s body. Wei Ying responds readily, kissing Lan Wangji deeply, and Lan Wangji doesn’t hold himself back, doesn’t clamp down on his need when his body arches towards Wei Ying and his eyes fall closed.

He wants this so much, and finally now, after all these years, he will have it. Wei Ying wants him, wants his nakedness. Wei Ying desires him.

His skin comes alight everywhere they touch. The incidental contact of Wei Ying’s legs on either side of Lan Wangji’s thigh, Wei Ying touching Lan Wangji’s face with the hand he doesn’t need for balance, the jittery brush of Wei Ying’s erect member against Lan Wangji’s stomach when Wei Ying leans down. Every touch makes him feel greedy and shameless, and he wants more of it. Lets his hands roam over Wei Ying’s back, his strong shoulders, the dip of his spine. Feels completely brazen as he runs his hand all the way down Wei Ying’s flank, a thrill of skin and strength. He squeezes Wei Ying’s hip, presses him down, until their bodies are flush together. Wei Ying makes a little noise, and the trapped heat between them sends a flare though Lan Wangji, the unfamiliar shape of another man’s hardness pressing into his stomach, that weight and friction against his own.

He digs his heels into the straw mattress and lifts his hips into the weight, his skin burning with his own boldness. Wei Ying jerks against him, his mouth is panting against Lan Wangji’s cheek, his fingers hot and disorienting in Lan Wangji’s hair.

“Oh, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, “fuck, that’s so— you feel…”

How? How does it feel? Does Wei Ying feel like a fire is coiling in his belly, like he’s never felt his own body so alive? He wants to hear it, even if it’s crude, even if it makes his ears burn, but the question sticks in his throat as he holds Wei Ying closer to him, turns his head into an untidy kiss.

Wei Ying’s mouth spreads wetness over Lan Wangji’s lips and his short breaths make Lan Wangji’s heart skitter and jump. They move against each other in a way that must surely be base and immature, pushing and twisting, and Lan Wangji feels like he could lose himself in it entirely.

He wonders for a fleeting moment if Wei Ying finds them silly, artless like this. But there’s a tremble to Wei Ying as Lan Wangji grasps him harder, holds him closer, and there are soft, keening noises from his throat when Lan Wangji pushes against his tongue and against his hardness, and it seems like it must be all right. It seems like he’s enjoying this. Lan Wangji’s hips move almost on their own and he thinks he could find release like this without much difficulty, and the thought itself feels a hundred times more wanton with Wei Ying’s skin on him, Wei Ying able to feel him all over, than it ever would have when he was alone.

There’s a moment where Wei Ying seems to gather focus, a shift in his weight. He’s blinking like he’s struggling for orientation, looking to Lan Wangji for guidance, and his hand feels warm and light on Lan Wangji’s chest, a tiny slip down as if— Wei Ying is going touch him. The way they never got around to that first, frantic time they touched. Lan Wangji is wound so tight that it wouldn’t take much, his release might come sooner than he wants if… he wants…

Lan Wangji wants… closer than that. More than that. He doesn’t know what Wei Ying will think of this in the morning, if there will be more chances after this or just the one, and he can’t… he doesn’t want to waste it. He wants to feel Wei Ying as close to him as it’s possible to be.

There’s room enough between them that Lan Wangji can see Wei Ying’s stiffness down between them too, and it looks firm, and very ready. It makes the back of Lan Wangji’s neck prickle how much he wants to touch it, but the space, this break, it’s also useful, helps him sort his thoughts. His plan. Surely Wei Ying will find that… similar to what he’s used to. Won’t he? And Lan Wangji wants so much to feel him, to know what it’s like. To feel his desire in the most intimate way.

He curls a hand around Wei Ying’s wrist gently, trapping it against his ribcage and drawing Wei Ying’s attention back upwards. There’s a twitch of a question between Wei Ying’s brows, and Lan Wangji doesn’t leave him to wonder. He nudges his leg against Wei Ying’s inner thigh, grasps him by the hip to shift him over, towards the center. As in all of this, Wei Ying follows Lan Wangji’s lead, lets Lan Wangji shift his own leg out from between Wei Ying’s knees and draw him down again, until Wei Ying lies between Lan Wangji’s thighs.

Spreads his legs, Lan Wangji thinks with a shudder, and the part of him that still knows where the rules are carved into him, is aware of how he would look in a mirror right now, trembles to the core with it as he meets Wei Ying’s eyes, makes his meaning plain. 

Wei Ying stares at him, his lips damp from kissing, stunned surprise in his eyes.

“I want to be with you,” Lan Wangji repeats, his fingertips stroking along Wei Ying’s side, and he tries not to let the tremors come through in his voice. “I want to feel you.”

Lan Wangji can see it hit home, see Wei Ying swallow. The thought is arousing to Wei Ying. There is some conflict underneath it, but Lan Wangji can tell that it isn’t rejection that glazes his stare.

“Yeah, but…” Wei Ying is licking his lips. “Like…”

“Like that,” Lan Wangji says, and the flush is back in his face. 

“Are you sure?”

Lan Wangji nods, with his eyes closed. If Wei Ying finds this strange or unseemly then no matter how much proof there is in his arousal of his attraction to Lan Wangji, or at least of his interest in the offer of intimacy, Lan Wangji will sink through this stone bed and not face him again until…

He reminds himself to breathe. To be fair. An offer cannot be a demand, and his anxious fear is no reason to demand too freely, or make assumptions.

He’s just been waiting for so long.

He opens his eyes. Wei Ying is still watching him, and the shock has faded. This kind, clever man is lying between his legs and patting a gentle circle over his chest as he’s thinking, his body flushed and tense and his gaze sweeping over Lan Wangji as if he’s both mesmerized and scared at the same time.

Wei Ying’s needed time for every step that led them here. Lan Wangji reminds himself that just because he is burning up with need, because he wants them to be the closest they can be, it doesn’t mean Wei Ying has to feel the same way.

“If the thought doesn’t please you, I apologize,” Lan Wangji says, his voice dry. “You needn’t worry.”

Wei Ying’s eyes are wide even as he’s blinking. “Oh, it, um, pleases me,” he says. “Believe me, you nearly gave me a qi deviation or an early… uh. You know, just— I never thought… I mean, when I wondered. I assumed…”

It pleases him. The confirmation pulses through Lan Wangji so sharply, he is embarrassed by his own neediness. “You assumed?”

Wei Ying leans back down over him with a deep exhale, shuddering around the edges. “I assumed it might be something else,” Wei Ying says softly with a little half-smile. “You surprised me.”

Lan Wangji can feel the prickle of self-consciousness threatening to break out over his skin again at that. He didn’t think he was a very surprising person, but Wei Ying is looking back at him with nervous excitement, and perhaps it’s not such a bad thing, to be surprising. To step outside the boundaries of safety into uncharted territory.

Wei Ying leans in and kisses his mouth again, then his cheek, then down to his ear, and buries his face in the bend of Lan Wangji’s neck.

For a moment it’s that same pressure of Wei Ying’s body on top of him, Wei Ying’s stiffness digging harder into his stomach. But then, while Wei Ying’s hot breathing against his skin stays, the weight lifts, enough for Wei Ying’s hand to slip from his loosened grip and slide down between them.

All right, Lan Wangji thinks over the leaping heartbeat in his ears. If what Wei Ying wants is this, Lan Wangji will take it. It’s enough. Wei Ying’s hand gently brushes over Lan Wangji’s erection, and Lan Wangji shivers helplessly at the contact. But… no, it’s not that, Wei Ying’s hand moves… further down, slipping along the inside of his thigh and… hesitating.

Wei Ying raises himself up more, just slightly. Has to, Lan Wangji realizes, to reach where he wants to touch Lan Wangji. Lan Wangji also realizes quite suddenly that he’s never properly thought through the practical questions of how this is done, his legs have made space for Wei Ying but it seems… difficult. To reach. Does he need to turn around?

He’s burning at the thought, and at the thought of asking. He knows so little. Maybe this is what he gets for not finding courage to face himself much earlier in his life. For not allowing himself to think those unbidden desires through, instead pushing them just under the surface to twist and burn uselessly inside him.

Wei Ying is regarding him with concentration. Is he wondering the same things? He looks like he’s holding his breath as he moves his hand up between Lan Wangji’s thighs, between his buttocks, a slip of less than a hand’s breadth but Lan Wangji’s eyes snap shut and his heart pounds as if Wei Ying had grabbed him and leapt into freefall with him.

He hopes Wei Ying won’t let him go.

It’s… strange, probing, and he didn’t expect the touch of fingers. He doesn’t know what the difference would be either, but he’s never thought of his skin there, how it clings a little.

All he knows is that one image, and a few rarest whispers of crude talk that were not muffled fast enough when Hanguang-jun entered a place, during his years of traveling. Enough to know that this is a thing people do, no matter how strange or unclean it might seem to the naïve and the inexperienced, so he gives himself up to it, trusts that this is necessary.

Wei Ying is shifting his weight between Lan Wangji’s legs. The touch is a small, gentle rub, and Lan Wangji’s face feels on fire but he thinks Wei Ying can’t mind, because Wei Ying is… doing things, touching him there, and it has to lead to more.

Then he feels the smallest bit of pressure, but what it does, Lan Wangji can’t tell. Nothing moves much. Lan Wangji holds himself still, tries to relax into the strangeness of it, let Wei Ying pay attention to what he’s doing. After a moment, through his own uneven breathing, he hears Wei Ying say, half to himself, “This isn’t going to work.”

What? Lan Wangji blinks his eyes open, cold trickles running over him. Somehow Wei Ying pulling his fingers back makes him even more aware of how exposed he is. “What?” he says, his voice cracking on dryness, his eyes seeking out Wei Ying’s. He’s changed his mind? He doesn’t want to…?

“I don’t see how that’s not going to hurt,” Wei Ying says, shaking his head with a puzzled little frown. “It’s not going to…” Wei Ying makes a peculiar swooping gesture with his hand that makes Lan Wangji think of either a bird taking flight or a ghost attack. Lan Wangji keeps staring at him, confused but too tense to sort out how much is the situation and how much is his state of mind.

People do this. It can’t… it can’t just hurt. There has to be more to it than that. Even if it does hurt, somewhat.

Would he mind?

“Hang on, just…” Wei Ying says, shaking his head thoughtfully. “Just let me think this… wait.”

“Wei Ying?”

But Wei Ying isn’t looking at him now, he has that inventor’s focus in his eye. The way he gets when his mind is conjuring up a new talisman. “I think it needs something…” 

“What?” Lan Wangji asks again. He isn’t scared exactly but—Wei Ying leans over him again, kissing him briefly, and that helps a little. It’s awkward because Wei Ying doesn’t have his balance right, but when he sits back on his heels, his hands pat Lan Wangji’s thighs, squeezing gently and reassuringly, and that helps a lot. Sinks right into him. 

“Don’t freak out, just wait a bit, okay? Just give me a moment, don’t run away.”

Lan Wangji breathes deep into is stomach. “I live here. Where would I go?”

There’s a sparkle in Wei Ying’s eyes. “Well, sometimes you sit in the radish fields when you’re upset, so…”

Lan Wangji feels a snort forcing its way out of his lungs like an overpowering hiccup, anxiety and inexperience intertwining with the warmth and care in Wei Ying’s voice, the little smile on his face.

“So don’t be upset, okay?” Wei Ying says.

“I will wait,” Lan Wangji promises. “And not be upset.”

He isn’t. He feels like he’s floating, regardless of sudden challenges. Like the straw mattress under his back is made of silk, and the air on his skin is a caress. He’s naked and exposed, on his back in a cave, and he doesn’t care, he’s about to be taken and his body might not know the first thing about how to handle that, but he is vibrating with the prospect of it.

He hears Wei Ying rustle around in the alcove, some sounds of objects clinking against each other, Wei Ying muttering to himself, and somehow the worry seeps out of him. If Wei Ying is off to find something he thinks they need, he seems to have made up his mind to go through with this.

“Wen Qing’s going to kill me,” Wei Ying says as he comes back, with a small shake of his head. Watching him move without his clothes on, nothing but the red ribbon he still wears in his hair, makes Lan Wangji’s throat dry all over again.

“What is it?” he asks. He does not particularly wish to offend Wen Qing, but under these circumstances he is willing to make allowances.

Wei Ying gets back onto the bed, Lan Wangji’s stomach tightening in a flutter as he feels the heat of Wei Ying’s body moving back into position between his legs. “That oil she uses as a base for things,” he says, sitting back on his heels. He unselfconsciously holds up his free hand and rubs two fingers against his thumb. “I tried it, there’s nothing else mixed in with it yet.”

Oil. It makes sense. Something he should have realized. Guessed, perhaps. Even if he knows less than nothing.

He stares at Wei Ying with his vision flickering at the edges, and his chest too shallow, his skin strange with heat and cold, and it’s a little overwhelming all of a sudden. He doesn’t know why it’s this, Wei Ying’s gentle teasing and the thought of the stolen oil, the simmering awareness that Lan Wangji is asking Wei Ying to put oil on himself so he’ll fit better into Lan Wangji’s body. None of these things are bad… None… He wants…

He doesn’t even see Wei Ying moving closer, gulps in a breath when Wei Ying’s hand is suddenly on his face, the whole warmth of him pulling Lan Wangji back to himself.

“Hey, are you okay?” Wei Ying asks. His eyes are concerned, focused. Close.

“Yes,” Lan Wangji says, grasping Wei Ying’s wrist and holding him there. He closes his eyes for a moment, taking in a slow, calming breath. When he opens them again, he finds Wei Ying still there, his expression full of worry, so he adds, “I want this very much.”

Wei Ying stays hovering over him for a moment, stroking over his cheek. “Okay,” he says then. “Just… let me know if something’s wrong, okay?”

“I will,” Lan Wangji promises. Wei Ying holds his eyes for a moment. Then he nods, as if to himself, and that line of concentration is back on his forehead as he takes in Lan Wangji, the bed, the little vial of oil that he set down on the mattress.

He reaches for the oil first, pours a good amount of it into the palm of his hand. Then he spreads it on his stiff member, and Lan Wangji’s blood rushes hot to his groin, his breath catching on the sight of Wei Ying touching himself so casually, knowing what it’s for. What Lan Wangji asked of him.

“I think,” Wei Ying says slowly, “if you move up your leg a bit…” He taps the inside of Lan Wangji’s knee vaguely and Lan Wangji carefully pulls up one of his legs, uncertain what exactly Wei Ying means. But then to his relief Wei Ying nudges him a little more, grasps his thighs gently here, there, and shifts him how he wants him. His skin tingles where Wei Ying’s oily fingers leave a sticky trace.

Wei Ying surveys the way he has Lan Wangji arranged and seems to give things another longer thought. Then he shuffles closer on his knees—not elegant, somehow deeply endearing.

When he’s close enough that his knees push against the underside of Lan Wangji’s thighs, Lan Wangji lets a shudder roll through him and briefly closes his eyes again.

Wei Ying takes hold of Lan Wangji’s thighs from underneath, pressing even closer, raising Lan Wangji’s hips a little. It feels strange and entirely new, but Lan Wangji knew that it would. Everything will be.

“Okay like this?” Wei Ying asks.

Lan Wangji wets his lips, looking down at Wei Ying between his legs, Wei Ying’s hardness resting against Lan Wangji’s thigh. Wei Ying will probably have to lift him a little more. “I’m ready,” Lan Wangji says, nodding. “I want you inside me.”

Wei Ying shudders, his grip nearly faltering. “Holy fuck, Lan Zhan,” he breathes, his hands tightening as he stabilizes.

There’s a dazed look in Wei Ying’s eyes as they sweep over Lan Wangji’s torso, and for a moment Lan Wangji worries he’s said something he shouldn’t have. “Is that all right?”

Wei Ying nods quickly. “Yeah. Yes, absolutely, just… I don’t know if I’m still going to be able to get inside you in a minute if you keep saying things like that,” he says, lip catching between his teeth and face flaming as though he’s just heard what he said, and… oh. Oh, that’s…

Oh.

Lan Wangji breathes out slowly, surprised when he feels the pull of a smile on his mouth. “Then you’d better hurry.”

“Right,” Wei Ying mumbles, with a stumbling little laugh. But he rallies, and then with the next shuffle forward he holds on to Lan Wangji’s hip with one hand and his own member with the other, gets it into position. Right there, Lan Wangji can feel it. Lan Wangji holds his breath.

It feels nothing like when it was Wei Ying’s finger. Even with his heart beating like that of a rabbit taking flight, Lan Wangji can feel the slickness, and an unexpected softness as Wei Ying presses forward, until suddenly it turns blunt and big. Bigger.

There’s a push. He can feel the way it stretches him, the way his body gives underneath it this time, albeit unwillingly. Can’t be far now. Not much farther, he can… it can’t be this bad, after. Beyond. Just enough, enough… to open him.

There’s more. Opening further.

Wei Ying is breathing hard and Lan Wangji forces his own exhale, tries to loosen the grip of his hands on the frayed edges of the mattress beneath him. His stomach hollows out, and the push becomes harder, wider.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying rasps, swaying. “Lan Zhan, are you okay, I…”

He nods wordlessly, his eyes squeezed shut. Makes himself breathe on some instinct, shudders from how that tiny shift of his own body makes him more aware of Wei Ying’s stiffness entering him.

“Lan Zhan…”

“Yes,” he mumbles, “yes.” And more, there’s a sharp shallow sting and he hears Wei Ying gasp, Lan Wangji’s body seizing up instinctually at the strange slip. But on his next ragged breath, it feels slightly easier, only the echo of the pain still there, like something fit somewhere.

Lan Wangji opens his eyes slowly and finds Wei Ying still kneeling between Lan Wangji’s legs, holding himself very still. The tension is evident all over him, in his arms, in his face, even the careful shallow movement of his chest as he breathes through the hold Lan Wangji has on him. Lan Wangji can’t help wondering what it feels like. He would ask if he could find the words.

But instead he only nods again, shifts his hips to let Wei Ying know he can continue. His own movement sends a flush of awareness through him. Wei Ying gives a tiny gasp, and when the pressure picks back up, he can feel that some part of Wei Ying is inside him now.

Wei Ying moves slowly, and it burns, that… stretch. Not increasing like before, but deep and persistent, a steady ache. Wei Ying is panting, a sheen of sweat on his skin and a line of focus twisting his forehead, but he doesn’t look away from the place where they’re joined. Lan Wangji’s heart is nearly beating out of his chest, but he can breathe away pain, this is nothing, this is less than the cut of a poisoned blade, less than a lash, less than a lash after six months of healing. He can endure. 

His legs are spread over Wei Ying’s thighs, Wei Ying’s body holding him open. It feels obscene and primal, like something that was always lurking underneath the surface of him, dark and engulfing, only he didn’t know the shape of it, he didn’t know it would swallow him up, break him open from the inside, leave him trembling.

“Lan Zhan,” he hears, a soft whisper in the mists of his upheaval.

Trembling, and wrapped up, and if it’s darkness then it is a very cozy one. He breathes again, to endure, but then it helps. The ache endures alongside him, but he is used to focusing through the deepest hurt, shaping his thoughts and his spirit around it, and that helps him find the embers of his arousal. Fold the pain inside of it and give in to the stretch. It’s worth it to feel Wei Ying close like this. To take Wei Ying into his body.

He doesn’t know when he closed his eyes again, but when he opens them Wei Ying is watching him with almost frantic concentration, and it’s near overwhelming to see him this close, naked and beautiful, and feel him like this at the same time. Then the last of the slide is there, Wei Ying flush against him, inside him, his hips holding Lan Wangji more open than he’d ever thought he could be, and Lan Wangji doesn’t hide his shiver.

“Wei Ying,” he breathes, and, then he doesn’t know what comes next, how to say that it’s strange and painful but good that way, frightening and fitting, that he was never ready and it feels like a breath at the end of a long, lonely day, finally.

“What?” Wei Ying asks. “Is it okay? Is it bad? Are you okay?”

“Nothing is bad,” he says, breathing through the fullness of it, feeling Wei Ying in every part of him. He shifts his hips into it slightly, feels every pull and stretch of the change in angle and hopes Wei Ying will understand. “Please…”

Wei Ying exhales noisily, but he doesn’t ask for clarification. His hips move, shift back just slightly, and then forward a little unsteadily, pausing again when Lan Wangji arches his back. Good. It’s good, it’s still strange and he can feel the strangeness, but this is what he wanted. This is what this is. Lan Wangji doesn’t mind. He keeps nodding, shifting, and Wei Ying does it again, still watching him for any sign of trouble. Lan Wangji gives him none.

The pull gets longer on the next go, the strangest sensation, a different sort of ache as the tension eases in the depths of him, but Wei Ying holds on to Lan Wangji, never leaves, comes back. A slow, long swoop, the ache dull and all-encompassing, a constant reminder of what he’s doing. What he’s opening up for.

Another long push, and Lan Wangji can feel himself becoming more accustomed to the stretch, the strange lewdness of his body reshaping itself. Wei Ying seems to be finding his balance as well, trusting Lan Wangji to accommodate him, the tense frown easing. His mouth is flushed and damp and his eyes dark and deep, and the snap of hard contact at the end of another thrust sends a bright jolt through Lan Wangji, as if every coming together marks a little claim. It’s silly, he’s silly, but Wei Ying is inside him and his body is losing itself in the sensations, the hard grip on his legs, the soft shiver of Wei Ying’s gaze, the sharp anchor of the foreignness of penetration.

“Is this,” Wei Ying starts, sounding a little breathless, his voice unsteady. “Are you okay? Is this okay?”

Lan Wangji nods against the mattress, the persistent invasion of Wei Ying inside him making it difficult to think, to move in any way that isn’t about taking him in. “Yes. Keep going. You can… take your pleasure, however you wish,” he says breathlessly. “Bring yourself to completion inside me.”

“Fuck,” Wei Ying breathes out harshly, and the next thrust is a little bit off-kilter, Wei Ying’s grip on Lan Wangji’s hips faltering before he rights himself. Lan Wangji sees Wei Ying’s eyes fall shut for a moment, as if he can’t keep them open.

There’s a strong impulse in him to touch all of a sudden, to feel the way Wei Ying’s body is holding onto him, taking from him. When Lan Wangji feels steady enough, he reaches out and puts his hands to Wei Ying’s forearms, and whatever clumsy pull it exerts on the angle between them, it seems to be the right one. Wei Ying’s whole body goes even more taut, the sweat on him beautiful and shining, his hair tangled over one shoulder. Wei Ying moves into him harder, faster, and it all begins to blur together, the sight of his own spread legs, Wei Ying between them, taking his pleasure in strong steady thrusts, and it’s raw and perfect, turns something loose and breathless inside him.

Wei Ying gives a gasp, his hands going tighter with struggle, fighting for control, and Lan Wangji tilts into it, some shameless instinct telling him how, and he burns with that too. Wei Ying’s hips jerk roughly and when Lan Wangji nods at him again, his dazed eyes flutter shut and he falls into a frenzy, a rough demanding pace that makes Lan Wangji shake to the tips of his fingers, so much strength that he just lets in, lets roll over him.

Lan Wangji sees it, feels it, when Wei Ying goes tense all over, a small keening noise escaping as his hips slam against Lan Wangji in a failing rhythm, a shudder of heat that sears Lan Wangji inside and out, everywhere they touch.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying pants, his head fallen forward, unseeing, the hands on Lan Wangji’s hips tightening and easing, trying to find balance.

Lan Wangji strokes down along his arms and over his fingers, to tell him that it’s fine. It was what he wanted, just this. Exactly this. Slowly, Wei Ying loosens his grip on him. As he moves backwards gently, Lan Wangji feels Wei Ying’s shrinking member slide free of him, a sticky slip that makes Lan Wangji hold his breath in shock. But then that, too, is as it’s supposed to be.

Wei Ying shifts out from between Lan Wangji’s thighs and lets him straighten out his legs. They feel weak and trembling, even though Wei Ying was the one in charge of all the exertion. Somehow feeling his body this wobbly just from being taken now brings a flush to his face.

Then Wei Ying slumps down on the mattress next to him, close enough that Lan Wangji can still feel his body heat. For a moment Wei Ying just lies there, completely flat and limp, his face covered by tousled hair, before Lan Wangji sees a grin forming under the sweaty mess. His heart gives a squeeze.

Wei Ying swipes the tangle of hair out of his face then, his head rolling back lazily as he shifts up onto one elbow, propping himself up and over on his side. The look he casts over Lan Wangji’s form is curious and fond, and still a little dazed, and it leaves a tingle under his skin.

Lan Wangji wants to touch him. Feel the heat of his flush, the slickness of sweat. All the evidence of how Wei Ying felt as he was moving inside Lan Wangji’s body. “You are very beautiful,” he says.

Wei Ying’s breath leaves him in a rush, a smile flashing bright and sleepy across his face. “I don’t…” Wei Ying mumbles, forehead flickering with a bemused frown, as if he’s still trying to grasp all his faculties. “I don’t even know what to say about you.” He says it with wonder.

“You don’t need to say anything,” Lan Wangji tells him, to ease that worry.

But Wei Ying’s smile deepens with a trace of wickedness. The way that always lets Lan Wangji know he’s in trouble. “Maybe, but there’s something I still need to do…”

With how lax he looks, it’s hard to imagine how—oh. Wei Ying is reaching down, his palm skimming across Lan Wangji’s stomach, and Lan Wangji almost flinches from shock at how hot and hard he is when Wei Ying’s palm curls around him.

“What was it…” Wei Ying is wearing that sleepy, but sneaky smile. Like he found some Emperor’s Smile somewhere and still thinks he can get away with it. Needs to get away with it. “Bring you to completion?”

Lan Wangji’s breath is fast instantly, and he doesn’t know if he’s supposed to confirm or say—oh. He jerks into Wei Ying’s grip, so unfamiliar and so intense, not just someone else’s hand but Wei Ying.

When he thrusts his hips up he still feels the slickness behind. Wei Ying’s hand is sticky with the oil, the slide tight, demanding, and he feels like a youth with how wildly his need grips him, how crudely he’s moving his hips. He can still feel the remnants of the ache inside him. He hears Wei Ying hiss, “yes,” next to his ear and that’s all it takes—he’s gone, lost, spilling all over himself with his lips pressed tight around the most helpless moan. 

“Oh, Lan Zhan, you are the most amazing,” Wei Ying is saying, and through the rush in his ears and the noise of his panting, it sounds not teasing, but sweet. Then Wei Ying leans over him, his mouth soft, hot even though every part of Lan Wangji is burning already, a secret little kiss.

Lan Wangji stares up at him as he waits for his breathing to settle, for his body to regain control. Wei Ying settles back down next to him, a sleepy giddiness in the way he curls in, and the glimmer in his eye. His fingers brush against Lan Wangji’s shoulder where they’re curled against the mattress, almost accidentally.

Wei Ying took him to bed, and now he looks slack from pleasure.

Lan Wangji lets himself look at him, sweaty and tousled, happy. In his mind he sees the bunny lantern, and his heart clenches in that same beautiful, awful way it did back then, watching Wei Ying murmur his dedication to the heavens, and joining him in his promise. 

There’s semen on his stomach and he’s stretched from penetration, and his lips are wet with saliva and his own desperate panting. Anyone with the rules written under their skin would find this deeply sordid and impure. He’s never been happier.

“May I stay?” Lan Wangji asks. “I mean to sleep.”

Wei Ying’s smile deepens. In an unexpected gesture, he brushes back a stray strand of Lan Wangji’s hair with his fingertips, before curling his hand on the mattress in front of him again. “You know I like it when you keep me warm,” he says.

So Lan Wangji stays.

Chapter Text

Diffused sunbeams reflect gently off the cave walls, drawing Wei Wuxian out of sleep. The dewy air is pleasant and familiar, and Lan Zhan’s arm where it’s draped loosely around Wei Wuxian’s waist is familiar too, and yet… not quite. Wei Wuxian has never felt this warm waking up in Lan Zhan’s arms before.

Lan Zhan was so nice about it during the winter, when Wei Wuxian kept crawling in with him because he was so fucking cold—and Lan Zhan didn’t even know about the golden core thing then. He was just… he was really great about it. Wei Wuxian knows Lan Zhan likes his space, but Lan Zhan let him stay there all night, just held onto him until he stopped shivering.

Now it’s summer. It’s warm enough they barely needed the one blanket Wei Wuxian tugged over them before they fell asleep, and Lan Zhan’s arm is resting directly against his skin, Lan Zhan’s quiet breath fluttering against the back of his neck. They’re both completely naked. That’s also new. He can feel Lan Zhan’s warmth everywhere, pressed up against him, and the memory of what it felt like to be inside him, what Lan Zhan looked like all opened up and spread out and naked, his skin flushing and his breath coming short and—

No, right, okay. No. Probably better not to think about that too much right now, or he’ll end up with a problem to take care of.

He takes a deep breath, feeling the gentle press of Lan Zhan’s fingers against his stomach.

Maybe Lan Zhan would take care of it for him?

No, no, no. Stop. It’s not even breakfast yet. No asking to be jerked off before breakfast.

Anyway, Lan Zhan is probably not the type. The Lans do wake up ridiculously early, but presumably not for that.

Suddenly he’s got that image in his head, Lan Zhan the way he was when they were teenagers, all serious and perfect in his proper Lan robes, waking up at torture-o’clock in the morning and sneaking in a little illicit self-pleasure. He has to bite his lip against a grin to keep from making any sound, the thought sending another warm flush washing over him.

Yeah, no, he should definitely not be thinking about things like that, not with Lan Zhan pressed up against him. But it’s sort of… sweet and cute and intriguing all at the same time. Straightlaced Lan Zhan, secretive and flushed. Letting go a little.

Last night still feels kind of surreal, like something he dreamed. Lan Zhan taking him by the hand and leading him into the cave. Lan Zhan getting undressed and pulling Wei Wuxian on top of him. Lan Zhan asking him to…

Not like it came completely out of nowhere—he knows that, he’s known that, for a while now—but it still felt strange as it was happening, like even though he knew on some level that Lan Zhan wanted this, that Lan Zhan was attracted to him, the idea of it felt unreal somehow. Lan Zhan wanting him. Him wanting Lan Zhan. It was like leaning against a wall and suddenly falling through a door.

It feels nice. Nicer than he was expecting.

Bring yourself to completion inside me.

Wei Wuxian squirms at the sound of Lan Zhan’s voice in his head, turning his face to bury his grin in the pillow and holding Lan Zhan’s arm tighter around him. This is not helping his situation at all. But the warm shiver all down his spine where Lan Zhan’s weight presses into him, and the brush of… that’s the morning, just the morning. Lan Zhan is human too, it doesn’t mean anything. But it’s definitely there against the back of his thigh, and it makes it hard to wish the thought away.

He feels Lan Zhan’s fingers flex underneath his hand, a slightly deeper breath against his neck, and instantly Wei Wuxian stops squirming, holds still. Shit—shit, he’s not used to waking up first, he didn’t mean to…

There’s a press against the back of his neck, a gentle, tentative kiss against his shoulder. “Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, and the low rumble of it so close to Wei Wuxian’s ear makes his body ripple with it again, with Lan Zhan like this, Lan Zhan letting him do all the things they did. Being so trusting and beautiful, captivating in a way Wei Wuxian never could have imagined. None of his flailing attempts to picture Lan Zhan doing stuff like this even came close to the real thing.

“Morning,” Wei Wuxian says, and his mouth spreads with a smile he can’t do anything to hide. He has to stop himself again from pushing Lan Zhan’s hand down to where he needs it, because that wouldn’t be polite. Lan Zhan will want tea, and possibly a bath. And he’ll want to get up and go push the plow, or mend baskets, or do any number of the very important and community-serving tasks he does each day to keep them going here. He won’t just want to roll around in bed naked with Wei Wuxian all day. Lan Zhan is too disciplined and conscientious for that.

He squeezes Lan Zhan’s hand where it is instead. Tries to think calming thoughts.

“How are you?” Lan Zhan asks, and Wei Wuxian isn’t sure if the slight waver of trepidation he hears is actually there, or if it’s just what sleepy Lan Zhan sounds like. He doesn’t usually get to hear that.

“I’m great,” Wei Wuxian says, and only stretches into Lan Zhan’s hold a little bit, because he really can’t have Lan Zhan noticing how turned on he is and feeling like he has to do something about it. He twists around slightly, just enough to be able to see Lan Zhan’s face over his shoulder, while keeping his hips safely angled away. Lan Zhan looks soft and rumpled, calm as if he’s just had a good night’s sleep after a very long day. “How about you?”

The sweetest, softest little smile tugs at Lan Zhan’s lips, and it’s all Wei Wuxian can do not to lean up and press his lips against it. Lan Zhan is so cute. How did Wei Wuxian never notice how cute he is? Like, not just with the rabbits or with Ah Yuan, but like this.

“I am very well,” Lan Zhan says. There’s something deep and tender in his eyes, and Wei Wuxian flashes back on the night before again, the way Lan Zhan’s bare thighs slipped underneath his fingers, the way he shifted his hips into Wei Wuxian’s when Wei Wuxian was moving inside him, the way he looked when Wei Wuxian took him in hand, and he was so hard, so… he wanted. Lan Zhan wanted him.

Does Lan Zhan want… would he want to do this more?

It would make sense, right? It was— it felt good. Lan Zhan liked it. Lan Zhan liked it a lot, and, wow, there’s a thing that still takes some adjusting to. And they’ll be here a while. Like Wen Qing said. So why… why not, really.

Still doesn’t mean it’s got to be right this second—Wei Wuxian can totally wait. They’ve been living here for like nine months, and sex hasn’t been a thing for that whole time, so… yeah. And, it’s Lan Zhan. Like, who knows what he’d be up for, how often he usually… um. Anyway, Wei Wuxian can wait, he can absolutely go a few hours or days or more, if necessary. Until whenever Lan Zhan wants him again. It’s good. Whatever this turns out to be, it’s good.

He needs to get out of this bed though. Lan Zhan is so warm and so… everywhere. Wei Wuxian’s not going to be able to hide that his body is totally up for a morning round if he stays here much longer, and he doesn’t want Lan Zhan to feel responsible. So. And anyway, breakfast.

“We should probably, you know,” Wei Wuxian says, his gaze catching on Lan Zhan’s mouth for a long moment before he remembers to drag it up to Lan Zhan’s eyes. “Breakfast.”

Lan Zhan nods vaguely, though his attention seems to be a little hazy, his eyes meeting Wei Wuxian’s in that way that makes it hard to think about anything except him. He wets his lips with his tongue, his lower lip catching briefly—and then he ducks down and presses his mouth against Wei Wuxian’s, a sweet, chaste kiss. It somehow still takes Wei Wuxian’s breath away.

It’s over too soon, and Wei Wuxian has to stop himself from grabbing at Lan Zhan’s arm when Lan Zhan turns away and slips out from underneath the covers. Wei Wuxian only watches a little bit as Lan Zhan retrieves his underrobe from the pile of clothing he’d shed last night and starts to put it on.

Later, maybe, he thinks, and it puts a sharp heat in his stomach. Sometime, again. If Lan Zhan wants, Wei Wuxian will be up for it.

No rush.

~      ~      ~

The sun seems brighter, somehow.

There’s a strange mixture of satisfaction and self-consciousness crawling just beneath Lan Wangji’s skin, shifting with every step he takes down the street, every press of a stranger’s shoulder against his when the crowd grows thick. He feels aware of parts of himself he’s never been aware of before—not as a cultivator regulating the flow of his energy, but as a man, as a human. He can feel all the places he’s been touched now, everywhere that Wei Ying’s mouth and hands and other parts have been. Places no one else has touched him, even innocently.

It’s strange. Like when he put away his Lan robes and started wearing baser fabrics, there’s a roughness to it he can feel, a fall from grace that leaves him grounded. Less perfect, more alive.

He hopes Wei Ying has no regrets.

He didn’t seem to, this morning. They didn’t speak much afterwards, but Wei Ying let him stay, let Lan Wangji hold him all night, and it felt… it felt like this was right. Wei Ying seemed to enjoy himself very much in the moment, and it was his kiss that started things, and Lan Wangji thinks it was all right. He just didn’t want to miss another chance. He wanted to make sure this time.

His skin is still tingling with how sure. How clear he made himself, and how close Wei Ying was to him. How unreservedly Wei Ying took him. 

About halfway down the street he finds the shop he’s looking for—a small, sheltered stall where the apothecary sells his various tools and supplies. Lan Wangji can feel the flush rising underneath his clothes as he steps over to inspect the vials of oil base that are on display, trying to find one that matches the one Wei Ying took from Wen Qing’s supply. It seems only right to replace it. They’ve only recently reconciled, and he doesn’t want to risk troubling her.

He reaches out and picks up the familiar vial, turning it over in his fingers. The sensation washes over him again, the way it made Wei Ying’s fingers soft and slippery where they gripped him, the sight of Wei Ying running his own hand over himself to spread the oil around before shifting Lan Wangji into position. Before pushing inside.

He swallows, closing his hand around the vial and tucking the thought away at the back of his mind. It’s inappropriate. It may be all he wants to do right now, just live in that blissful space between the shadows and the candlelight with Wei Ying—but he can’t do that, not here, not with so many other people around.

Perhaps… later.

Perhaps tonight? If Wei Ying would… would Wei Ying want that? This soon?

Lan Zhan glances down at the vial again, a frown gathering between his brows while his heart is beating faster.

Could he do that again already?

It was somewhat painful, at the beginning, before he became accustomed to the intrusion. Before his muscles eased up, shifted to accommodate. He’s certainly endured worse, however, and he could endure the same again for the sake of the pleasure that followed, and for Wei Ying’s closeness. Would it be better now, having done that once before? Or worse? He can feel it a little, when he walks. He doesn’t think he’s imagining that. Wei Ying would not want to do anything that might cause him harm, but perhaps with a full day’s rest and generous lubrication it would be safe enough to—

Someone bumps into him again from behind in the cramped store, and he draws in a sharp breath, feeling suddenly crowded, too close to everyone.

This is not the place to think of such things.

He looks down at the display of vials again. Trying not to feel like a child stealing candy, he scoops up three more vials of the oil and takes the quartet to the counter. He can cover them with his paper money. He pushes the questions of timing and Wei Ying’s willingness aside for the moment. Buying medical oil is perfectly normal, and no one will have any reason to suspect what he intends it for. If it doesn’t end up being used for that, then Wen Qing will be able to make use of it herself. So there is no reason not to have it on hand in case they should need it.

The shopkeeper wraps the vials up in a square of cloth and hands them to Lan Wangji with a polite smile and a friendly bow. Lan Wangji returns the bow and pockets the oil, squeezing between the other customers until he’s back out on the street.

He keeps moving with the flow of the crowd, trying not to dwell on the weight of the oils tucked into his robes, pressing against his side, just above his belt. He doesn’t even know if Wei Ying will be interested, he has to remember that. Just because they’ve done this once and it was… gratifying for both of them, that doesn’t mean that this will become an everyday occurrence. He can’t start putting expectations on Wei Ying, making him feel like he has to want this all the time. There is pleasure in moderation too. Lan Wangji is certain there must be, in any case, given how long he’s spent wanting without having at all.

The echoes of experience beneath his skin draw him under again, and it’s a moment before he realizes he’s walked past the entrance to the postal exchange. He hurries back and ducks inside, hoping his distraction isn’t visible in the fumbling of his fingers as he collects his letters. One is from Xichen, which he tucks away for later. The other is from Mian Mian.

It pulls him awake as nothing else has since the previous night, the sight of her familiar writing and the prospect of some lead, some further understanding of the origins of the recent bandit attack. The reminder of what is brewing out there, beyond the borders of Yiling, where the cultivation world carries on without them, and malign forces are at work. As soon as he’s outside the inn again, he steps into the shade around the side of the building and opens the letter, reading quickly.

Lan Wangji,

I’ve just made it back home to Lanling. There’s so much I want to tell you, but I think I’ll have to keep it a secret for a little while longer, until I’m able to explain myself properly. I hope you understand and can be patient. In any case, I wanted to write to you briefly to let you know that I have not forgotten the question you asked me in your last letter, and I hope to be able to give you the answer you deserve soon.

I’m so glad to hear that you have fully recovered, and I hope you continue to be well. I’m not sure how long it will be before I’m able to leave Lanling again for an extended period, but I honestly can’t wait, and I’ll try to make it soon. In the meantime, if anyone should become aware of what has passed between us, I may need to set out at short notice. If you should ever write to me and not receive a reply, please don’t worry. I’ll be in contact with you as soon as I can.

Take care and stay safe.

Luo Qingyang

The fizzling tension makes him take a deep breath, release it slowly. It’s not as much information as he’d hoped for, and clearly not as much as she had hoped to find out—but then, he knows he must be patient. He does not want her to put herself at risk, and if he’s correct that Jin Guangshan was the one who hired and equipped the bandits in an effort to steal the Yin Tiger Seal, then being found to uncover that information would most certainly put her in danger. She should be careful, and proceed with caution.

There is time yet. He trusts that she will let him know what she can, when she can. 

He folds the letter away and tucks it into his robes, his fingertips brushing against the package from the apothecary as he draws them out again. The light shimmer of it, deep in his belly, is a strange contrast to thoughts of the outside world, beyond this quiet haven. Once, he would have found it troubling—the unsteadiness of it, the sense that this desire could overpower his reason, draw his attention from serious matters. Draw him down, draw him under, into a helpless longing for something that can never be.

Something that is, now. Something that has been. That might be again.

Wei Ying’s touch and Wei Ying’s smile, Wei Ying’s warm skin against his, and his tangled hair, and the sound of his gasp when his pleasure overtakes him. Lan Wangji realizes he doesn’t have to hide from thoughts of such things anymore, he knows the truth of them now. Even if it doesn’t happen again soon, even if it turns out to be an infrequent occurrence, he will now always know what it feels like to be held and kissed and taken by Wei Ying. That’s his to keep. To desire, in all its actuality.

He can wait.

~      ~      ~

Lan Zhan got back from town a couple of hours ago. Wei Wuxian saw him duck into the cave, but only briefly. He’s been out in the fields ever since, helping Fourth Uncle with several baskets of radishes that the others collected during the morning, and at one point he took up the plow again for half a field, with Fourth Uncle keeping a watchful eye on him. Wei Wuxian knows all this in detail because he’s been sitting on the porch of the western houses all morning with his notes on his lap, ostensibly trying to figure out how to get his best long-burning fire talisman to stop going out when someone sneezes, though somehow he hasn’t managed to write a single word.

By noon, Lan Zhan’s robes are slightly damp at the back, between his shoulder blades, just visible when the breeze picks up and wafts his hair out of the way. Even through the robes, even halfway across the courtyard, Wei Wuxian feels like he can see the muscles working there as Lan Zhan leans into the plow, tearing up the earth under his feet. He somehow manages to seem impossibly graceful and impossibly strong all at the same time.

When Lan Zhan reaches the other end of the field, he steps back and allows Wen Tao, who isn’t as tall as Wen Shu but is similarly strong, to take over for the rest of the plot. Wei Wuxian watches him dust off his hands, his eyes on Wen Tao as she gets started to make sure she doesn’t run into any difficulties. When Lan Zhan seems satisfied, he turns and heads back toward the cave.

Wei Wuxian doesn’t think to stop watching him until it’s too late. Lan Zhan catches sight of him, his steps slowing down, and it’s as though suddenly the air has become thicker around him. Wei Wuxian feels the heat rise underneath his collar at the way Lan Zhan is looking at him. Half surprised, half… something else. Like his eyes are drawing Wei Wuxian in, soaking up his attention. Not letting him look away.

Not that he’s sure he’d even want to.

Lan Zhan seems like he wants to say something for a moment, coming to a stop a few feet in front of the porch. But whatever words he’s got don’t come out.

“Hey,” Wei Wuxian says instead, giving him a crooked smile. He knows he’s fiddling with the corner of his notepaper, and he should really stop that, it’s getting all bent and wrinkled, but Lan Zhan’s face is just… and his eyes…

“Hello,” Lan Zhan says, and the way it comes out, a little shaky and breathless, makes Wei Wuxian smile all the more. Lan Zhan lifts a hand a bit awkwardly gesturing toward the cave entrance. “I was just… my hands, they’re…”

Wei Wuxian nods, trying to play it cool. “Yeah, I should probably put my…” He lifts the papers on his lap and flutters them a bit. “They should go back. I mean, it’s lunch soon. There’ll be food.”

“Yes,” Lan Zhan agrees, a bit too earnestly for radish soup. “Food.”

Wei Wuxian unfolds his legs from underneath him, and he thinks he catches Lan Zhan’s gaze snagging on them, observing as he hops down from the porch—but by the time he’s finished dusting himself off, Lan Zhan has turned toward the cave again, moving inside. Wei Wuxian follows him.

It’s cooler in here, the shade taking the edge off the heat. Lan Zhan is at the back of the alcove, rinsing his hands with water from the small wash bucket they keep there, and Wei Wuxian goes over to the worktable to put his notes back on the main stack, slipping them under the paperweight.

On the corner of the worktable, there’s a small bundle tied with cloth that Wei Wuxian doesn’t remember seeing there this morning. He picks it up, rolling the weight of it into his hand.

“What’s this?” he asks, holding up the bundle so Lan Zhan can see, as Lan Zhan steps back into the main part of the cave. He thinks he sees Lan Zhan’s eyes widen slightly, but it’s only the tiniest flash before it’s gone.

“A replacement,” Lan Zhan says, the barest flush appearing along the side of his neck. “For what we borrowed last night. From Wen Qing.”

Wei Wuxian blinks, the reminder hitting him low, tilting him off balance. “Oh,” he says, and as he rolls the bundle between his fingers again, he realizes he should have guessed. The shape of the objects inside feels familiar, and it’s very Lan Zhan to be so conscientious like that.

The thing is, there’s four of them in there.

“That’s… a lot of replacement,” he says, peering up at Lan Zhan from behind a strand of hair, wondering if he’s got it right. Hoping, maybe. A little bit.

Lan Zhan’s eyes are averted, and that is definitely a flush now, no question. It looks so pretty on him. Wei Wuxian has never really thought that in quite that way before and now he feels stupid that he hasn’t. It makes him want to reach for Lan Zhan again, right now, in the cool dim.

“I thought that, perhaps, we might have use for more of it,” Lan Zhan says. “Soon.”

The breath goes out of him at that. Soon. Soon like now, soon? Soon like… “You mean you… you want to again? Like… tonight, or…”

Lan Zhan’s eyes snap to his face at that, and he nods quickly, and—oh shit, that is a lot of attention to have right on him when he’s thinking of the way they… that they might… tonight. “If you are interested,” Lan Zhan says, only a little bit unsteady. “I would like that. Tonight.”

Wei Wuxian swallows, his hand closing tighter around the bundle of vials. The air feels heavier, closer all of a sudden, and Wei Wuxian wonders what Lan Zhan would say if he said what about sooner, what about now.

There’s a high peal of laughter from somewhere beyond, somewhere outside. Wei Wuxian recognizes Wen Liu and Wen Yunlan’s voices drifting past in conversation, moving in the direction of the great hall. Lan Zhan’s eyes flicker toward the entrance like a deer sensing movement between the trees.

Right. Lunch. That would be… yeah.

So. Not now, but. Tonight.

“Yeah, good,” Wei Wuxian says, and Lan Zhan’s gaze is on him again suddenly. He can feel the force of it, almost like it’s pushing him physically up against the wall. He swallows, tries to steady himself. Keep his thoughts here and not there. Still a lot of day left to get through before he can start thinking like that. “I’m very interested.”

Lan Zhan’s breath leaves him in a rush. “Good,” he says, sounding a bit raw, and it sends little ripples of anticipation down Wei Wuxian’s spine.

Tonight.

Okay, this is good, this is happening, they are absolutely doing this. Tonight.

Wei Wuxian reluctantly reaches toward the table and lets the bundle slip from his hand again, settling on its surface. When he looks up again, Lan Zhan’s eyes are on it, something unreadable and yet strangely intoxicating in them. Wei Wuxian swallows.

Then Wei Wuxian lifts a hand, gesturing over his shoulder towards the exit. “I’ll see you at lunch then?”

Lan Zhan still looks a bit distracted, but he meets Wei Wuxian’s eyes. For a moment, Wei Wuxian thinks he sees the shadow of a smile there, as Lan Zhan nods. So, that’s settled.

~      ~      ~

It’s good that there is plenty of work to do around camp.

Lunch is difficult. Lunch makes it easy to get distracted, sitting still with Wei Ying so close by. Wei Ying’s mouth is always moving, always eating or talking, and it’s only polite to look at him when he’s speaking—even if he’s speaking to someone else—but then Lan Wangji can’t stop himself from looking at his mouth. Remembering what it’s like to kiss him. Remembering that in a few hours he’ll be able to kiss him again.

Wei Ying said yes. Wei Ying wants to do it again, tonight.

Every once in a while, Wei Ying seems to catch him watching, his eyes lingering on Lan Wangji, and Lan Wangji doesn’t think he’s imagining that charge in his gaze. It makes his legs go weak even sitting down, makes him want to… he doesn’t even know what. He hasn’t allowed himself to think in this way for most of his life, especially about Wei Ying, not in detail, and now it’s like a dam has burst inside him, everything scattering across the floor. Like he’s pushed open a locked door into an unfamiliar library, and he’s not even sure what turn to take, what he should be looking for. What all he could ask for. What other answers might be yes.

Wei Ying gives him a small, secret smile, and turns his eyes back to his soup, and he’s so beautiful Lan Wangji can hardly breathe.

Wei Ying is going to touch him like that again. He’s going to be inside him again.

There’s a soft thump as Ah Yuan twists off of Grandmother Wen’s lap and lands on the ground, and then he runs across the small circle to Lan Wangji. Looking up with big eyes, Ah Yuan tugs on a handful of Lan Wangji’s robes, showing him the wooden horse in his hands whose head has fallen off again, and Lan Wangji takes a deep breath. He needs to get a handle on himself. He can’t just wander around in a constant fog of desire now that what he’s wanted for so long is in his grasp. It would be inappropriate and selfish to shirk his responsibilities in favor of wallowing in happiness like this, and the last thing he wants is to upset the balance of their lives here. This is theirs, something new and fragile, and he’s grateful for it. But he can’t let it take over his existence to the exclusion of all else.

He pulls Ah Yuan up onto his knees and takes the horse in his hands, turning it over to inspect the damage. The peg that acts as the horse’s neck has come loose again, so he wedges it back into its slot, pushing at it until it feels sufficiently secure. Ah Yuan claps his hands delightedly and accepts it back, jumping down again to go show his grandmother, and Lan Wangji picks up his bowl to resume eating. He tries not to look at Wei Ying. He pays attention instead to what Wen Qing is saying about her plans to start visiting the village to offer medical services on a regular weekly schedule.

But he can feel Wei Ying’s eyes on him after a minute or two, and when he glances over there’s that little smile, that knowing spark, and it knocks the breath out of him all over again.

So, for the afternoon, it’s going to be farm work.

Fourth Uncle still refuses to let him handle all the plowing at once, but as he proved this morning that he can manage half a field without fainting, he negotiates permission to do a whole field himself in the afternoon. Wen Tao takes over again on the third field, but Lan Wangji then insists on bringing the water from the stream.

Wen Tao is just finishing with the third field by the time Lan Wangji sets down his second load of water buckets, so he takes a seat with Grandmother Wen and Wen Yunlan to help with sorting seeds. It’s meticulous work, and requires great concentration. He only gets distracted by the sight of Wei Ying lounging on the porch again a few times. Every time he looks up, Wei Ying seems to be twirling his brush between his fingers, his eyes staring vaguely in Lan Wangji’s direction. Once or twice, Lan Wangji is pretty sure he sees Wei Ying jump.

The most difficult time comes when Lan Wangji slips away to bathe, to wash the soil and sweat from his skin. He blushes again at just how distracted he’s been when he undresses and realizes that he’s still carrying Mian Mian’s letter around in his robes.

The forest is so quiet around him, no voices to distract him from the brush of his own skin against itself underwater, or the thoughts in his mind about the night before, about tonight. He tries to tell himself that the comfortable ache in his muscles is all from the farm work, but every once in a while when he moves he can still feel it—that stretch where Wei Ying was inside him, that push just beyond comfort, beyond how his body was meant to be used.

It startles him, the rush that comes when he lets himself remember, when he doesn’t try to restrain himself anymore, lets himself feel. The echoes of Wei Ying’s hands, of his gaze, of his voice and his mouth and the hard intrusion of him. Lan Wangji wants to reach for himself underneath the water and remember, bring himself to climax remembering…

But, no.

He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, curling his fists where they rest on top of his knees. Patience. The sky is already shot through with pinks and purples, and he must have patience. It will be soon. He won’t have to settle for his own touch and a memory.

He takes his time in the water, carefully scooping it over his shoulders and feeling it run down his back. When he reaches for the cedar leaf paste and begins working it through his hair, from the scalp all the way out to the ends, his mind drifts back to a few days ago—was it only that?—when he allowed Wei Ying to help him bathe, and felt Wei Ying’s fingers running through his hair gently, catching in the tangles. It was an intense sensation even then, but the memory is somehow all the more stirring now that they’ve been closer than that, touched more than that. He can’t help wondering what it would be like to have Wei Ying here working the rich, scented paste into his hair now, like this. To have Wei Ying scooping handfuls of water over his head and his shoulders, and following the trails over his skin with his fingers, his mouth, his tongue.

He has to close his eyes for a moment, breathe through the thought of it. Let his desire ebb beneath the cool, quiet current of the water.

He’s done this many times before, cleaned himself up after a long day’s work, but this time as he rinses the bulk of the cedar paste from his hair and kneels up to spread a bit of the emulsion over his shoulders and arms and down along his flanks, he feels the acute reality of the fact that he’s preparing himself for later, making his skin and his hair clean and pleasant to look at, to touch. Pleasant for Wei Ying. It’s a strange glow, a quiver that makes his fingers tremble and snag clumsily in the long tail of his hair against his chest as he wrings the scented emulsion out of it, washes it away.

It’s almost fully dark by the time he makes his way back to the camp, and everyone has sorted themselves into the usual clusters around the courtyard. Grandmother Wen and Wen Liu are trading Ah Yuan between them, giving him bites from his bowl whenever he stops wriggling long enough to chew and swallow. Fourth Uncle and Wen Yunlan are deep in conversation with Wen Xiaobo about the arrangement of the radish seeds and whether they can fit a few more rows in if they make small adjustments to the orientation.

Wei Ying is sitting next to Wen Qing and Wen Ning, though he seems distracted from their conversation. When he notices Lan Wangji, he straightens up in his seat and gives him a bright smile, patting the empty spot next to him. Lan Wangji is suddenly not at all hungry.

He swallows. Makes himself put one foot in front of the other and collect his bowl of stew like a reasonable person at the end of a work day, before taking the seat beside Wei Ying.

“Hey,” Wei Ying says, giving him another fleeting smile. It makes Lan Wangji’s pulse jump. He wants very suddenly for no one else to be here, and his hands feel clumsy on his bowl, uninterested in doing anything that is not touching Wei Ying. He can’t stop looking at the front edges of Wei Ying’s robes, the way they wrinkle and gap a bit when he leans over his bowl to take a bite. Lan Wangji will have his mouth there soon. He’ll feel Wei Ying’s heartbeat underneath his skin as it climbs.

“Hello,” Lan Wangji says, his mouth dry and his knees weak, and Wei Ying’s smile brightens at the sound of it.

Dinner seems to go on forever. Lan Wangji tries to eat, tries to pay attention to what Wen Qing is saying about sliding scale rates and the difference in value between the herbs she can find around here and the ones she has to buy from town. But it isn’t easy. Even Wei Ying seems to be nodding and mumbling encouragement more than he’s actually participating, though Lan Wangji doesn’t know if that’s because he’s as distracted as Lan Wangji or because he just doesn’t know very much about medicine.

Lan Wangji has finished his food and set his bowl aside, and he’s busy nodding earnestly to Wen Qing’s comments about how one can increase the efficacy of spirit grass in healing remedies by slicing the stems at a forty-five degree angle when Wei Ying stretches his arms over his head and yawns loudly.

“Man, I’m exhausted,” Wei Ying says, shaking his head for emphasis. Lan Wangji is fairly sure he can see Wen Qing trying to hide a smile in her bowl. Wen Ning is looking mildly concerned, but only in the way he does when someone stubs a toe or drops their spoon on the ground. “I think I’m going to turn in early, get some sleep. Lan Zhan?”

Lan Wangji blinks at him, his heart thundering in his ears. This ruse cannot possibly be convincing. Then again, Wen Qing also seemed aware of what was likely to happen between them the night before, even before Lan Wangji was. Perhaps this will come as no shock.

“Yes,” he says, and it comes out low and soft, and a bit more earnest than he means it to be. Something flickers in Wei Ying’s eyes at that, and Lan Wangji finds that he needs to not be out here right now, in front of everyone.

“Cool,” Wei Ying says, giving Lan Wangji a little smile and pushing himself to his feet. Lan Wangji does the same, letting Wei Ying say his goodnights for the both of them and following a half step behind as they cross the courtyard. The murmur of voices grows quieter with distance, the sound of Lan Wangji’s pulse growing louder in his ears, until finally they step into the cool silence of the cave.

There’s almost no light—only a few candles lit to let them watch their footing—but Lan Wangji sees it when Wei Ying doubles back and moves toward him. Two steps and he’s there, thudding up against Lan Wangji so hard it almost knocks the breath out of him, and then they’re kissing, Wei Ying’s fingers in his hair and his arm around Lan Wangji’s waist, Lan Wangji’s stomach dropping and swirling, and Lan Wangji is grabbing onto whatever he can reach, pulling him closer, feeling him everywhere.

There’s nothing in the cave except the sound of their frantic breaths, a sharp tug at his belt here and the taste of Wei Ying’s lip between his teeth. Something hard pokes into his back as they stumble into the shelf beside the bed, making it rock and shudder against the wall, a few things clattering to the floor. Wei Ying laughs into his mouth, and it’s the best feeling, makes Lan Wangji want to shift his hips against him, to stumble and fall and bring Wei Ying’s quiet laughter down with him. He can taste Wei Ying’s smile, feel him through his clothes where he wants him. Wei Ying wants him.

There’s the shadow of an arm flailing out as Wei Ying steers him around and feels their way past the shelf, and then solid stone catches Lan Wangji in the back of the knees, makes him sit down hard on the end of the bed. His grip on Wei Ying drags Wei Ying down too as Lan Wangji lies back against the mat, and they’re a tangled mess of breath and kisses, half balanced and half falling over the edge.

“We need—” Wei Ying gasps again, tugging helplessly at Lan Wangji’s belt. His other hand dips lower and finds where Lan Wangji is aroused, makes Lan Wangji gasp at the sudden firm pressure, the taking. “It’s too dark—shit, I can’t…”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji breathes, bucking up against Wei Ying’s hand. Wei Ying’s knee is pinning down his robes between his legs, making it difficult to move, but he’s managed to loosen Wei Ying’s robes at the collar, that triangle of skin flickering temptation in the candlelight. He leans up and latches his mouth onto the join of Wei Ying’s neck and shoulder and sucks hard against the skin, feeling Wei Ying’s groan shudder through his shoulders, through the hand between Lan Wangji’s legs.

“Wait,” Wei Ying gasps. “Fuck—we need—just a sec.” The hand pressed against Lan Wangji’s arousal disappears, and Lan Wangji drops his head back against the bed, shivering from the loss.

When he opens his eyes again, Wei Ying has straightened up. His robes are in disorder, his hair falling in a tangle over his shoulder, but his focus is sharp and sure as he pulls a few talismans from inside his robes and sends them flying. One snaps across the room in a flash of fireworks that sets five more candles alight, another shoots towards the doorway where it sticks to the wall, gleaming red for a moment and sending out lightning bolts like lava flows all across the ceiling and walls of the cave, bright then fading into dirt again.

Lan Wangji can’t stop staring at him, at the unaffected power in him. It takes him a moment to realize that the rustle of leaves in the breeze from outside has become more distant, as if a thick curtain has been pulled closed around them. A sound muffling talisman, Lan Wangji realizes, self-conscious warmth shivering between his shoulder blades.

Wei Ying looks down at him then, and the crackle of his magic in the walls around them, the warm, dark gleam of anticipation in his eyes, makes Lan Wangji yearn for his touch even more than he’d thought possible.

“I meant to do that yesterday,” Wei Ying says, his smile turning sheepish and sweet. “I kind of… forgot.”

Lan Wangji nods, swallowing. He can feel Wei Ying’s gaze like a physical weight against his skin as it draws down over his face, his throat, his jumbled robes. His belt. “As did I,” he says, watching as Wei Ying sinks down to sit on his heels, and reaches for Lan Wangji’s belt. Wei Ying’s eyes flick up to his again, the slightest question in them as his hands find the first buckle, and Lan Wangji nods quickly.  He doesn’t know what the question is yet, but he knows his answer will always be yes.

The tugs get sharper this time, more purposeful now that Wei Ying can see what he’s doing, and soon the belt comes loose, leaving him feeling exposed now that only gravity and a few strings are holding his robes closed around him. As Wei Ying pushes the layers aside and bares Lan Wangji’s skin to the night air, Lan Wangji takes his cue and reaches for Wei Ying’s belt, thinking of his hardness underneath those layers and how it felt between his legs. How it will feel, if he can just… if they can just…

Wei Ying has Lan Wangji’s robes all the way open, down to the trousers now, and Lan Wangji feels a strange shimmer over his stomach as Wei Ying’s fingers pull the ties loose and grab hold of the waistband. Lan Wangji can’t seem to find the coordination to lift his hips, but that doesn’t seem to matter. Wei Ying gives a yank, pulling the trousers down over his hips and making him draw in a sharp breath at the rush of cool air.

Wei Ying looks up at him then, a little crease between his brows, like he’s worried he might have done something wrong. It’s strange how Lan Wangji feels almost more naked like this than the last time, his arms still in his sleeves and his trousers only halfway down his thighs, his erection thick and full against his stomach. It burns through him like wine, like one of Wei Ying’s talismans, the feeling of Wei Ying looking at him there, seeking him out. Wanting to see.

“Are you…” Wei Ying says, swallowing. “Was that okay?”

Wei Ying’s belt is undone, his robes hanging open at his front. But he’s still sitting up, still too far away for Lan Wangji to reach him, and Lan Wangji can’t see the shape of him underneath the dark trousers. “Yes,” he says with a nod, because he wants Wei Ying to know that. All of this is good. “It’s good. But I would like…”

“What?” Wei Ying prompts, leaning closer, looking like he wants to hear. Needs to hear.

Lan Wangji shrugs off the sleeves of his robes and pushes himself up to sit, a small thrill nearly making his arms go weak when he sees Wei Ying’s eyes flicker down to his exposure and then up again to his face. But Wei Ying just waits there, lets him get closer. Lan Wangji reaches for the collar of Wei Ying’s robes and pushes them down over his shoulders until they get caught around his elbows. On a whim, he pulls a little, and Wei Ying laughs softly as he pitches forward just enough for Lan Wangji to tilt his chin up and press their mouths together. Wei Ying’s hands can’t move much, trapped like this, but Lan Wangji feels them wrap around his elbows, squeezing gently.

Then Lan Wangji breaks off the kiss and loosens his grip on Wei Ying’s robes, his eyes falling on the smooth planes of skin along Wei Ying’s belly. From this angle he can see its shape, the dark outline of him where his need protrudes against the inside of his trousers. He hears Wei Ying let in a harsh breath when he notices where Lan Wangji’s focus is, but Wei Ying doesn’t move to free himself or cover up. They both wanted this. Lan Wangji wants to see, properly. He’s had it inside him, he’s felt it through layers of coarse fabric, but he hasn’t yet truly held it in his hand. Felt the size and weight of it, the way it responds to him.

He darts a glance up at Wei Ying, whose gaze has gone dark and focused again, and perhaps… nervous? He keeps his eyes on Wei Ying as he moves a hand to press flat against his belly, stroke gently down over the trousers until he feels the warmth of it against his palm. Wei Ying lets out a small, stuttering breath and gives him a little nod, his stomach dipping under Lan Wangji’s hand. Wei Ying wants to feel him. Wei Ying will let him touch. It makes him dizzy to think that, know it, see the haze of desire in Wei Ying’s eyes.

Lan Wangji looks down at where Wei Ying’s arousal is straining against the fabric, and reaches for the ties at the front. It doesn’t take much to undo them, just a few gentle pulls, and the trousers slip and sag, dark hair peeking out, and below that, half-exposed, flushed skin. He swallows, tries to keep his breathing under control as he pushes the fabric aside and reveals Wei Ying’s erection to his eyes. Even last night he wasn’t quite this close up to it, didn’t really have the chance to look without interruption.

The skin there is slightly darker than his own gets, even at his most desperate, and there’s a gentle upward curve that makes Lan Wangji want to run his fingers along it, follow its line from the base up to where it widens out like a gently pointed mushroom cap at the tip.

Then he realizes that he can. He swallows again, and he doesn’t even think about it as he reaches out and strokes his knuckles along the soft underside, feeling the way the skin slips a little near the head, and the strange-familiar stiffness underneath.

Wei Ying shudders out a breath as Lan Wangji finally wraps his hand around it, feeling its hot weight against his fingers, the slight resistance as he points it up a little further to look down the length of it. It’s not much different from his own in terms of length, he doesn’t think, but the shaft feels a little narrower, the widening head more protruding, not the straight line he’s used to. And the feel of it is different too, the pattern of shallow ridges underneath the skin unfamiliar.

He draws his hand up and strokes the pad of his thumb gently over the blunt head of it, feeling the wetness there as a shiver runs down his back. The breath Wei Ying lets out this time sounds halfway between a laugh and a moan, and Lan Wangji glances up to find him staring down at Lan Wangji with his lip caught between his teeth, his face bright red as he observes Lan Wangji’s inspection of his… his cock. Lan Wangji is holding Wei Ying’s cock. He has Wei Ying’s cock in his hand, erect and exposed. And Wei Ying likes it.

Wei Ying has the most beautiful cock. Not that Lan Wangji has seen very many of them, but he is profoundly certain that given any number of cocks to choose from, he would still prefer this one.

Lan Wangji watches Wei Ying’s face as he tightens his grip experimentally, using the slickness leaking from the tip to ease the way as he tries a gentle stroke of the shaft. Teases the skin there, moves it a little against the head. He feels it echo sharply through his own body, the twitch of Wei Ying’s fingers twisted in the fabric stretched over his thighs as he holds himself still.

“Lan Zhan, I won’t—” Wei Ying gasps, eyelids fluttering. There’s another little cutoff breath when Lan Wangji strokes him again, firmer this time, and he feels it with a rush, how much he wants to see more of that. “If you keep—” Wei Ying licks his lips. “I mean, you wanted…”

Oh. Lan Wangji glances down at Wei Ying’s cock again, which seems to have gotten harder still in the few moments he’s been stroking it. The slickness is everywhere, Wei Ying’s body tense all over and his breaths short and tight, and if Lan Wangji... if he keeps doing what he’s doing, they might stumble into Wei Ying’s release rather early.

The way they’re sitting it would go right on Lan Wangji’s stomach, and for a moment the thought catches oddly in his mind. Then he looks back at Wei Ying’s cock, a sharp exhale on his lips. He can’t get enough of the feeling of touching Wei Ying like this. He doesn’t want to stop, but he also— if Wei Ying reaches his peak now, he won’t be able to do the rest. The thing they both want.

Lan Wangji stares, his mouth dry and his pulse fast. He did want that. He wants that. But… he can also have that again later, some other time. There will be other times. He can feel it in his bones now, in the searing heat of Wei Ying’s cock against his palm, there will be many times. Wei Ying wants this, wants it as much as Lan Wangji does. Wei Ying wants his body and his touch, and they can both have this. There’s no reason why they shouldn’t. 

“Perhaps,” Lan Wangji says, a feverish certainty humming through him as he raises his eyes to meet Wei Ying’s, “we could do that again next time.” Wei Ying looks like he’s hanging on by a thread, it takes a moment for the words to reach him, settle. There’s a tiny blink.

“Next time?” Wei Ying asks, and the shot of eagerness in his eyes sends a sharp, visceral heat all through Lan Wangji. Wei Ying has been waiting too.

“If you are amenable,” Lan Wangji says, and lets his thumb brush against the head of Wei Ying’s cock again just to see his focus slip again, for a moment.

Wei Ying nods dazedly. “Yes, yeah. Yes, I’m very amenable. Totally and completely amenable.”

“Good,” Lan Wangji says quietly, looking down between them again and stroking a little more firmly, savoring the feel of him, that he can do this. That Wei Ying is all but trembling from his touch. “Then like this, for now? For this time.”

“You sure?” Wei Ying asks, though even Lan Wangji can tell it’s little more than a token protest.

Lan Wangji looks at him brazenly, tightens his grip around Wei Ying’s cock and draws it up to the end, just below the head, watching Wei Ying’s breath rush out of him. “Yes,” Lan Wangji says. “I want to feel what it’s like. To touch you, to bring you to release with my hand.”

“Oh fuck,” Wei Ying says, his eyes falling closed and his head dropping back as his hips shift up, his cock pushing into Lan Wangji’s grip. Lan Wangji’s body feels a yearning echo of what it felt like when Wei Ying moved like that inside him, and he wants Wei Ying to be everywhere, impossibly, somehow. “Okay,” Wei Ying says, blinking his eyes open again. “Yeah, yes, do that, okay, please…”

He’s babbling, desperate, and Lan Wangji feels a need for him so deep inside that he can’t help reaching for him with his free hand and dragging him down for a kiss. Wei Ying overbalances, loose-limbed and flushed and Lan Wangji has to let go of Wei Ying’s cock to steady them, catch him, guide them both down to the bed. Wei Ying seems happy to go wherever Lan Wangji leads them, so Lan Wangji shifts them around until Wei Ying is sprawled out on the bed beside him, his robes in a pile on the floor and his loosened trousers still sitting low on his hips, his cock dark and flushed where it curves against his stomach.

For a heady, fleeting moment, he wonders what Wei Ying’s cock would taste like if he kissed it. Put his mouth on it, somehow. If that would feel good. If Wei Ying would find it strange.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying gasps, shifting his hips up for Lan Wangji’s absent grasp, “that hand thing you said, I mean, you’re going to, please…”

It’s such a rush for Wei Ying to be yearning for him, Lan Wangji’s desire not a burden or a secret but wanted, urged on. He feels a little clumsy as he kicks his legs free from his trousers, still pooled around his knees, and doesn’t even pay attention to where they land. Then he draws Wei Ying’s down the rest of the way, watching the way Wei Ying’s cock rolls lazily against his stomach as Wei Ying shifts his hips around. Once Wei Ying’s legs are free, Lan Wangji lies down beside him and draws a hand up Wei Ying’s thigh until it wraps around his cock, still warm and eager, waiting for him.

Wei Ying bucks up into the grip, a thick plea on his lips as he writhes against Lan Wangji’s side. It’s different like this, with Wei Ying on his back, not having to hold up Lan Wangji’s weight or pay attention to the angles. His body is so lithe, so energetic and needy, and he craves Lan Wangji’s touch. Just the sight of him like this, pushing into Lan Wangji’s grip, is intoxicating, and Lan Wangji is deeply aware of how hard he is himself, his stomach tensing with rough prickly pleasure when his own cock brushes against the reed mat underneath them.

He pulls himself closer, sliding a leg over one of Wei Ying’s thighs until he can feel Wei Ying’s hip pressed up against him. Wei Ying draws in a harsh breath at the contact, his eyes snapping open and looking up at Lan Wangji with this glazed helpless desire that makes Lan Wangji need to kiss him again. He may be new to this, unguided, unpracticed, but it comes to him naturally somehow, to bring them closer, let Wei Ying feel his weight. They fit like this too.

The way Wei Ying’s hip is straining against him as he takes his pleasure from Lan Wangji’s hand, Wei Ying’s muffled panting against Lan Wangji’s mouth might be enough to undo him all on its own, but Lan Wangji gasps into the kiss when Wei Ying fumbles a hand down in between them, his fingers brushing over the head of Lan Wangji’s cock. Lan Wangji’s hips snap forward. He hears himself moan, the sensations blurring together, Wei Ying’s hard cock in his hand and the spike of pleasure as Wei Ying’s fingers find him again, and he tries to keep it all in line, move his hand in time with his hips as Wei Ying is stuttering frantic whispers against his ear, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan… Lan Zhan…

Lan Wangji leaves wet kisses down the side of Wei Ying’s throat and mouths at the bend of Wei Ying’s neck and the hollow of his collarbone. Wei Ying’s skin is almost searing against his lips. When he looks down the line of Wei Ying’s torso he can see Wei Ying’s cock move through the circle of his hand, again and again, Wei Ying’s hips working, his thigh trapped underneath Lan Wangji’s where Lan Wangji’s own cock is pressed against him. Wei Ying’s fingers have gone slack and slipped away as he loses himself in his pleasure, and Lan Wangji forgets his own urgency as Wei Ying’s takes over his focus.

Wei Ying’s breathing is going tighter now, more desperate, his babbling losing all form and shape until finally his body snaps and he gives a strangled shout. Lan Wangji feels Wei Ying’s cock pulse in his grip, watches thick white ropes release onto Wei Ying’s stomach, a shuddering wet heat staining his fingers. It steals his breath, so much the same and so much not the same at all, and it’s Wei Ying, Wei Ying convulsing in his hand because he took pleasure from Lan Wangji’s touch. Everything in Lan Wangji draws up tight and frenzied, his hips thrusting messily, desperately against Wei Ying, then it blazes over him, the sight and the heat and Wei Ying’s sweat and hitched breaths, and he spills his own release between them.

He slumps forward, holding himself up for a tense, instinctive moment, before he lets himself sink, his eyes closing on a long exhale, his forehead resting on the flushed skin of Wei Ying’s shoulder.

They stay like that for several long moments afterwards, a damp, clinging heat between their bodies. Lan Wangji feels Wei Ying soften in his hand, and even that is its own pleasure, a strangely intimate sensation. Finally, he lets go and spreads his hand out over Wei Ying’s flank to feel the rise and fall of Wei Ying’s breath as it slows and steadies.

“That was amazing, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying murmurs. “I’ve been waiting for that all day.”

Lan Wangji lifts his head and looks down at Wei Ying’s flushed, serene face, his eyes still closed and his body slack. He curls his arm a little tighter around Wei Ying’s waist, pulling him closer, feeling the warm stickiness of seed against his elbow. He’s not sure if it’s Wei Ying’s or his own. It’s strange how he doesn’t mind the mess. “All day?” he asks, feeling daring.

Wei Ying opens his eyes, looking at him languidly, his lips curving upwards with a slightly sheepish smile. “Since the moment I woke up,” he says, and Lan Wangji isn’t sure if he means it to be a joke, but it comes out sounding like the absolute truth. It makes Lan Wangji feel as if he’s floating above himself, the daze of release mingling with the thought of Wei Ying thinking of him, of this, all day. Lan Wangji has little experience with any form of closeness, much less this tangled, messy, breathtaking intimacy, and yet Wei Ying… Wei Ying is pleased with him, like this. Lan Wangji never dared to imagine.

He wants to stow it away deep in his heart, know that he can hold on to it. That Wei Ying finds this, from him, worth having. He has always wanted Wei Ying in this way—indeed, in all ways—for himself, but he never anticipated the giddy satisfaction of being allowed to give him pleasure. To offer up his desire and have Wei Ying take joy in his touch, his body.

Wei Ying shifts and stretches against him, rolling half onto his side and tucking an arm underneath his head. A few strands of disheveled hair are curling handsomely along his face. “I wasn’t sure if you’d want to, so soon,” he says, and this one comes out shy somehow, strangely. “I mean, I thought maybe you wouldn’t be that… you know. That maybe this was an every once in a while kind of thing for you.”

It takes a moment for Lan Wangji to parse what Wei Ying is saying. When he does, he finds himself at a momentary loss. To him, the notion that he would ever want less than as much of Wei Ying as he is allowed is patently ridiculous. Then again… perhaps it stands to reason that Wei Ying might not intuit as much. After all, Lan Wangji has exerted a great deal of effort in order to keep his desire from Wei Ying, to never make him uncomfortable. Indeed, for many years he exerted a great deal of effort in order to not have any such desires at all, for anyone.

Not that he was particularly successful.

Wei Ying’s brow is twitching inward curiously, and Lan Wangji realizes that his silence might signal discomfort. Perhaps make Wei Ying think he’s drawn the wrong conclusion or misunderstood. Lan Wangji doesn’t want that. He is not accustomed to talking about these things any more than he is accustomed to doing them, but he still feels the echoes of fulfillment shivering happily over his skin, and he wants to try. He wants to learn.

He takes a deep, steadying breath. “I don’t know what kind of thing this is for me,” he admits, quietly. There’s another twitch of Wei Ying’s brow, but he keeps his silence, merely listens. “Beyond what we’ve done, beyond being close with you, touching you, I don’t know exactly what I want like this. I have never been with anyone like this before.”

His gaze settles somewhere near Wei Ying’s collarbone as he says the words, and he can’t quite seem to look Wei Ying in the eye once he’s finished. But Wei Ying is not laughing at him or teasing him as Lan Wangji might have feared when they were teenagers. As the silence settles he feels something ease at the center of his chest.

“You haven’t?” Wei Ying asks, in a small voice. It’s still not teasing, but he seems genuinely surprised, which Lan Wangji would not have expected. “Like, not just the… what we did last night. But. With anyone, at all? Any of this?”

Lan Wangji shakes his head minutely.

Wei Ying lets out a breath that’s half a laugh, and Lan Wangji feels his shoulders tense instinctively, though Wei Ying still doesn’t sound unkind. It’s just old habit. “But you’re so…”

Lan Wangji feels a strange ripple run through him, a dull alarm, some old reflex that brings him up sharp, then eases out. Could Wei Ying… could he tell, after all? That Lan Wangji had these desires for a man’s touch rushing underneath his skin, even then, when they were younger?

“…beautiful,” Wei Ying finishes, his eyes wide and bemused, and Lan Wangji blinks at him for a moment, wrong-footed.

“What?” he asks. That seems rather beside the point.

“You’re gorgeous, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, still looking at him like he’s said something particularly strange. “And you’re like… you seem to really know, you know… how to do stuff.” A pretty flush is crawling down Wei Ying’s throat, and it makes Lan Wangji feel a strange mixture of pride and embarrassment. “Like, I always used to think—but then I figured that was dumb, of course you would, and I just… once we got going, it seemed—” Wei Ying cuts himself off, biting his lip as he finds his focus. “You really haven’t slept with anyone before now?”

“I…” Lan Wangji starts, still not sure he’s hearing correctly, and not sure how to answer in any case. “In the Cloud Recesses, frivolous sexual encounters are… discouraged.”

Suddenly Wei Ying laughs, ducking his head and scrunching up his nose against Lan Wangji’s shoulder. It sets Lan Wangji’s heart fluttering in the way only Wei Ying’s closeness can. “Oh, I’ll bet they are,” Wei Ying murmurs, still grinning and shining with mirth as he looks up again. “But… I mean, if you’re worried I’ll think less of you for being inexperienced or anything, you’ve got nothing to worry about. I’ve never actually been with anyone else before either.”

Lan Wangji blinks at that. What? “You mean with… with a man?”

Wei Ying gives him a prettily shy smile and shakes his head against his arm. “With anyone,” he says.

What?

Lan Wangji isn’t sure why he’s so thrown. It’s just… Wei Ying is so… He’s. He’s gregarious, he never seems to have any qualms about talking or flirting with anyone, and he’s beautiful, and he…

“Hey,” Wei Ying says. The flush along his neck is deepening, and the smile has gone a bit unsteady. “Don’t look so shocked, you’re freaking me out.”

Instantly Lan Wangji tries to pull himself together and stop staring. He reaches out to stroke what he hopes is a comforting hand down Wei Ying’s forearm. It makes the unsteadiness ease away, which seems like a good sign.

“I apologize,” Lan Wangji says. “I don’t mean to… freak you out. I just. How?”

Wei Ying shakes his head a little. “There isn’t really a how, I don’t know. It wasn’t like I made a decision or had a virginity headband or whatever.” He sneaks a glance at Lan Wangji’s forehead at that, giving him a half smile. “I just… never got around to it.”

Never got around to it. Something catches in Lan Wangji’s chest at the thought of it, of how easy it is to let opportunities slip away one by one, until there are no more chances left. But he hides that thought away, not wanting to follow it where it leads when they’re so warm and close like this, in the present.

“But let me tell you,” Wei Ying says, his voice lowering into a bit of a taunt, even as his eyes blink sleepily, and the sweetness of it dispels the shadows. “If I’d known it was going to feel this good, I might have gotten around to it earlier. I mean, think of all the fun I missed out on.” There’s a little pout at that, as if he might stamp his foot if he were standing up and in control of all his limbs.

Lan Wangji feels a smile tugging at his lips, and he gives in to the urge to reach out and stroke an unruly lock of hair away from Wei Ying’s face. “Indeed,” he says.

Wei Ying mumbles and nods in agreement, though his eyes are fully closed now and don’t seem inclined to open again. “So,” he says sleepily, interrupted by a yawn. “We can do this more then, right?”

Lan Wangji nods, though he knows Wei Ying won’t see it. “As often as you wish.”

A sly smile pulls at Wei Ying’s mouth. “That might be pretty often, Lan Zhan,” he says, and Lan Wangji’s chest feels tight with the wish to kiss him again, to pull him close and reawaken his desire, to watch him drift clumsily into sleep, just like this.

He resists the urge to disturb him, allowing himself only the gentle stroke of a finger along the line of Wei Ying’s jaw. “Then we will be in concord,” he says softly, though he’s not sure Wei Ying is listening anymore.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, curling closer with a shiver. “—’m getting cold. Are you staying?”

Lan Wangji glances at the traces of destruction all around them, clothes scattered on the floor and the tools they knocked off the shelf. There’s nothing here that can’t wait to be taken care of until morning. And there is no reason why he would want to be in his solitary cot by himself, when he’s allowed to be here instead.

“Yes,” he says, shifting around until he’s got the last remnants of his robes out from under them, folding them away onto the nearest shelf. He draws the blanket over them both, and Wei Ying huddles into the warmth, not bothering to open his eyes. “I am.”

Wei Ying snaps his fingers, and the light of the candles around them fades into darkness. With only the gentle glow of reflected moonlight brightening the dim, Lan Wangji settles down beside Wei Ying and follows him into sleep.

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian still isn’t used to this new energy thrumming through him all the time, even after days of this, nearly a week. It’s like he’s bouncing off bowstrings at every step as he strolls down the street alongside the canal, a brief moment of weightlessness with every step. And he can’t seem to stop smiling. Even for him he can’t seem to stop smiling. He’s pretty sure Wen Qing thinks he’s smuggled in something at some point—the other day he saw her check the incense burner with very suspicious eyes.

Lan Zhan has been in the cave all morning with his sewing. Usually Wei Wuxian doesn’t mind that—he likes when Lan Zhan is around, it’s nice to have someone to bother when he gets stuck on something and needs a distraction—but now it’s just, like. Too much distraction. Lan Zhan sitting there on his cot, all focused and quiet, his hands nimbly threading the needle, working it in and out of the fabric. Wei Wuxian had to talk himself out of jumping him twice, and he made absolutely no progress on the deer-repelling talisman he’s working on for the potato field.

Would be really good if he could stop obsessing over Lan Zhan’s hands for long enough to get that done. The second potato crop came due a few weeks ago, but he forgot about it what with the bandit attack and Lan Zhan getting stabbed and… everything. All the things. He never even thought to go check on it until a few days ago when he was lying in bed with Lan Zhan and Lan Zhan asked him when it was due for harvesting. But by then a few intrepid forest creatures had picked it clean, leaving nothing but a sad, upturned, potato-less patch of dirt.

Anyway, when Wen Qing stopped by the cave this morning to ask if anyone was going to the village, Wei Wuxian promptly volunteered. There was a look in Lan Zhan’s eyes just then like he wanted to volunteer to go along, and for a moment Wei Wuxian had a sudden flash of the two of them tucked into one of the narrow alleyways between the shops, Lan Zhan pressing him up against a wall in the shadows while Wei Wuxian’s hand fumbles its way underneath Lan Zhan’s robes. From the cot, Lan Zhan had met his eyes briefly, and Wei Wuxian could swear for a second that he was thinking the same thing. But then Lan Zhan returned his focus to his sewing, a light blush visible along the curve of his ear.

Wei Wuxian wasn’t sure if he was more relieved or disappointed. But, like, that’s the state of his brain these days.

Now he’s got Wen Qing’s purchases tucked safely into the folds of his robes, and he’s wandering along the stalls by the river, taking in all the treats and shiny things he can’t afford to buy.

The mooncakes look particularly good this morning, especially since he didn’t stick around for lunch before he left the camp. The next stall over is full of little sachets of tea, from the most ordinary daily variety to a few special seasonal blends. He could never hope to afford the more expensive ones, but he picks up a little box of ordinary tea leaves and lifts it to his nose, inhaling it amid all the other scents. He finds it pretty boring, but even the flat dependability of it reminds him a little bit of the Cloud Recesses. The flavor is subtle and understated, but it’s there.

He sets the box back down on the counter with a sigh.

He could. Maybe. If he scrapes together of the meager beginnings of his new potato fund, and adds to it the bartering leftovers from Wen Qing’s errands this morning. He’d probably still have to haggle the guy down a bit, though that doesn’t seem impossible. He casts a glance toward the other end of the counter, where the shopkeeper is deep in conversation with a stout young woman over one of the finer blends. The man looks a bit frazzled.

Maybe later.

Running his fingers over the edge of the tea box one last time, Wei Wuxian drifts a little further on down the row, past a stall of candied fruits and a leatherwork shop. The shop next to that catches his eye with a glint of sunlight off polished metal, the peaked roof hung with necklaces and charms. There are cuff bracelets and metal fastenings and hair ornaments spread out on the cloth covering the front counter.

Wei Wuxian picks up a small hair ornament—a pin, with a delicate silver butterfly on the end of it—and grins to himself when he imagines Lan Zhan pushing the plow and hauling water buckets with this sticking out of his hair. Not that he couldn’t pull it off. If anyone could look totally normal doing hard labor while wearing fancy adornments, it’s Lan Zhan.

He sets the pin back down on the counter, casting his eyes briefly over the rest of the collection, about to move on when something stops him. Knocks the breath out of him.

Sitting there, in the midst of all these silver butterflies and swans and leaves, is a large, single piece of polished silver, intricately worked into a very familiar shape.

He stares at it, half expecting it to disappear. He’s racking his brains now—has he ever seen anyone else wear one just like this, is this a thing? When was the last time he saw it? When was the last time Lan Zhan wore it? Not for months now, not since… maybe not since… since he gave up the headband. Left the clan.

Slowly, carefully, his heart beating in his throat, Wei Wuxian reaches out and takes the stately metal hair ornament between his fingers, running his thumb over the ends of the squiggly little lines that would point downwards toward Lan Zhan’s forehead, polished to a shine against his dark hair. The longer Wei Wuxian looks at it, the more certain he is that it’s the same one. The metal is finer than anything else on the table, and the price reflects it.

It’s Lan Zhan’s.

Lan Zhan… what, lost it? It was stolen somehow? Wei Wuxian didn’t think the bandits made it all the way into the cave, and if they had, surely Lan Zhan would have mentioned that. It would have come up. There would have been evidence, somewhere, if it had been taken by force. And Lan Zhan doesn’t just lose things.

Lan Zhan sold it.

His chest squeezes at the thought, but he knows it’s true, knows it’s the only possible explanation. Lan Zhan was the only one of them who had money to speak of when they first came here, but he handed that over to Wen Qing for safekeeping, to make sure it was spent on the right things and everyone had enough to eat and clothes to wear. Lan Zhan never buys anything for himself, except paper for his letters.

Lan Zhan sold this.

There’s no question of buying it back. Wei Wuxian could let go of all hope of potatoes or tea and save only for this for a year and still not have enough to buy this back. Still, he can’t quite bring himself to put it down and walk away, so he just stands there staring at it, tilting it between his fingers, a heavy weight settling in the pit of his stomach.

Lan Zhan gave up so much.

He forgets, sometimes. Just because Wei Wuxian didn’t have that much to lose, didn’t have a whole lot left that he hadn’t already given away or destroyed, that doesn’t mean Lan Zhan… Lan Zhan had everything. He had his family, he had a position, he had people’s respect, people fucking liked him, and he just threw that all away. For what? Radishes and Wei Wuxian? Hauling water buckets and getting jerked off in a cave?

I came here for you.

It sticks in his throat, hits differently this time, for Wei Wuxian he gave it all up. That’s… that’s a lot. That’s more than he can possibly repay. Lan Zhan has to know it wasn’t worth it. Has to realize, eventually.

He stops, closing his eyes tightly and taking a deep breath. Then he sets the headpiece back down on the table in front of him.

It’s different for Wei Wuxian, is the thing. This… this new whatever they’ve got going, this thing, it’s like an unexpected bonus for him, because he was always bound to end up here, on the outside. This is the way it goes for him, he chose it and it’s his burden to bear, but Lan Zhan— Lan Zhan isn’t built for this. Lan Zhan is so much better than this. He could have anyone, he could… he could have something real, if he wanted. Something more than just rolling around in the dark with the guy who’s there, the guy who’s willing.

Someone bumps into him from behind with a mumbled apology, and he realizes he’s stepped back from the table and into the flow of traffic. He glances around him, trying to get a grip on himself, get out of people’s way.

He wasn’t the one who started it. He needs to remember that, it was not him, he didn’t coerce Lan Zhan or whatever. Lan Zhan chose. Lan Zhan came to him, Lan Zhan wanted him. That’s got to count for something, right? Lan Zhan is getting things out of this, even if they aren’t the same things he might get if he had all the people in world to choose from. He likes the sex, and if all the rules at the Cloud Recesses were what stopped him from having any before, at least that’s something in favor of being here not there. He likes the jerking off, Wei Wuxian knows that, he tries to make sure. Lan Zhan likes touching Wei Wuxian. And there’s nothing trapping Lan Zhan here, Wei Wuxian has— Wei Wuxian told him he could go, lots of times, and Lan Zhan never did. Lan Zhan said he was right, about the Wens. Lan Zhan wants to help them too. Lan Zhan wanted him.

He takes another deep breath, feeling his pulse slow down a little bit, but the sun is still too bright overhead all of a sudden, and the people too noisy. He needs to… he needs to get back up to camp, he’s not even sure how long he’s been gone now. They’ll wonder where he is.

He turns back the way he came, and as he starts to move back toward the head of the street, his eye catches on the little tea stand again, and the box of ordinary, bland tea that smelled a bit like something Lan Zhan might call home. He stops, reaches out for it again and slides it open, taking in a deep breath.

He can’t give Lan Zhan back everything he’s given up for this. But maybe this… maybe a little bit, somehow. He can make up for it.

He pays full price.

~      ~      ~

The air is warm and balmy inside the cave. Lan Wangji has grown quite adept at sewing by now—he hardly needs to monitor his fingers as they work the needle in and out of the rough fabric, mending a long tear in the underside of the sleeve.

Usually when he’s had mending to do before it’s been the result of farm work, something catching on a tool or a seam giving out under repeated strain. This one snagged on the edge of a shelf when Wei Ying was dragging it off his shoulders, trying to reach the skin underneath. They both heard the rip, and Wei Ying looked up at him with those guilty yet unrepentant eyes and that gleam of a smile, and Lan Wangji felt a surge of need for him, tackling him onto the bed in a flurry of limbs and indignant protestations.

Even now, his mouth goes dry just remembering. The taste of him. The shiver of his laughter against Lan Wangji’s skin as he babbled out teasing laments that they should really pick the robe up off the floor and make sure it’s not damaged, after all what will Hanguang-jun wear? The way his body responds whenever Lan Wangji touches him, and how he melts easily into the embrace when Lan Wangji kisses him silent. It’s all still new and strange, though he can’t imagine that it will ever not feel wondrous.

He shouldn’t—he knows he shouldn’t, it’s unwise to allow himself to drift off on such thoughts carelessly during the day, even alone here in the cave—but he lets his mind linger over it nonetheless as he presses the needle through the fabric. How good it feels to hold Wei Ying’s arousal in his hand and feel it grow, to make him shudder and hear those little gasps, the teasing nonsense trailing off into breathless pleas in his ear. That exposed feeling of being naked with him, lying back and spreading his legs, letting Wei Ying press up in between his thighs and push inside him. It’s gotten a little easier the more times they’ve tried it, the more he’s learned what to expect, knows how long he has to breathe through it before the pain eases and the feeling of belonging ascends to prominence.

Last night, Wei Ying took Lan Wangji in hand while he was still inside him, brought him to climax just like that, while he was stretched and full, and Lan Wangji can’t even remember the sounds he must have made, just remembers the way the world went white and he felt so open, so held, so taken.

He hadn’t even known that was possible.

In spite of what Wei Ying has told him about his lack of experience, it seems evident that Wei Ying knows a lot more than Lan Wangji does, at least in theory. Which makes sense. Lan Wangji was so sure, for so long, that he would never be able to have anything of what he wanted like this. When he was young, it was because it was forbidden. To desire the touch of a man, to seek it out and become infatuated, could only have been improper and shameful, an embarrassment that might be overlooked in outsiders, but would be unacceptable for a man in his position. So he trained himself not to want it. He trained himself never to think of it.

And then, there was Wei Ying.

Wei Ying tested his resolve, broke it a few times, but Lan Wangji still didn’t allow himself to make it a habit. His fantasies when he had them were abstract, obscure ideas of touch and breath, nothing too specific. The only thing he knew was possible, knew was something people did, was what he’d seen in that drawing, one man inside the other, taking him the way a man takes a woman, albeit from behind. So when he did let himself imagine, that was… everything, that was where it ended. Wei Ying inside of him. Him inside of Wei Ying.

He wonders if Wei Ying would ever consider that.

He doesn’t know what that would be like for an ordinary man—a man without a golden core. Wei Ying gets colder at night than Lan Wangji does, is more susceptible to injury, and Lan Wangji doesn’t know. Would it hurt him? The absolute last thing Lan Wangji would ever want would be to hurt him. Even with a golden core it entails some discomfort, so he hasn’t been willing to bring up the subject. Wei Ying is daring and careless and altogether too willing to throw himself in harm’s way for someone else’s sake, and the idea of asking him, of Wei Ying saying yes and then gritting through immeasurable pain just to avoid disappointing Lan Wangji is enough to make the idea lose its appeal.

After Wei Ying was gone, everything stopped. It was no longer a matter of Lan Wangji restraining himself or trying not to think of inappropriate things, it was just… nothing. There was nothing, no desire or impulse, no need for anyone or anything. Anyone but the one who was lost to him forever, and even thoughts of him were like a glacier that spread over the surface of his heart. A still, silent ache.

But now the air is warm. The sun is high, and he is in Wei Ying’s bed every night, and Lan Wangji has begun to feel as if he’s fallen far behind somehow. So many years of wanting, of trying not to want, that he doesn’t know what to do with what he has now. His desires are as scattered and jumbled as a youth’s, shot through with an impossible need to tangle himself with Wei Ying and become inseparable, to breathe his breath and feel his pulse through every inch of skin.

He thinks of how it feels to lie beside him, their bodies pressed against each other, and close his mouth around the slant of muscle at the side of Wei Ying’s throat, feel the way his breath hitches and the way his hardness… his cock grows heavier in Lan Wangji’s hand. What if he were to kiss lower, drag his mouth further down to Wei Ying’s stomach, where the skin is soft and vulnerable. Would that be welcome? Would that feel good?

What if he were to move lower still. To put his mouth there, where the shaft of Wei Ying’s cock joins his hips. To… press his tongue against it and lick upwards, between the edge of his palm and his fingertips. Is that something one can do? Would Wei Ying feel strange if he did that?

Would Wei Ying like it?

There’s a shuffle of footsteps by the doorway, and Lan Wangji nearly jumps, gathers the bundle of robes onto his lap so quickly he sticks himself in the thumb with the needle. It’s a jittery relief when he sees the silhouette take shape into Wei Ying, though he feels a burn along the back of his neck, knowing what he’s been caught thinking.

Wei Ying comes to a halt, looking a bit distracted and surprised to see Lan Wangji there. “Oh,” he says with a blink. “Lan Zhan, you’re still… I forgot.” A hand drifts to his side, almost protectively, and Lan Wangji it is instantly alert, looking up at Wei Ying’s face and wondering if he could be hiding an injury of some kind. He has been gone rather a long time.

“Wei Ying,” he says. “Are you all right?”

Wei Ying nods quickly. “I’m fine! Totally fine—you just surprised me, that’s all.” He seems unsettled, somehow out of sorts, and his hand… his hand keeps hovering over that space at his side. If it were a minor hurt, he wouldn’t hesitate to complain.

Lan Wangji puts aside the robes and gets up from his seat, crossing over to him. Wei Ying takes half a step back, but Lan Wangji is quicker, grasps him by the shoulders and casts his eyes over him, looking for signs of what might have happened. “Wei Ying, what is it?”

Wei Ying twists in his grip with a strained smile that’s trying to look bemused, and Lan Wangji lets him squirm free, lets his own arms sink while his heart beats nervously.

“I’m fine, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, with a little laugh. “Nothing is wrong, really.”

That’s what you would say if something was terribly wrong, Lan Wangji thinks. That’s what you did say.

“Hey, hey, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, and his voice is quieter all of a sudden, closer. Lan Wangji’s feelings must be plain on his face, because Wei Ying is taking him by the shoulders now and shaking him gently. “I’m not… I’m not lying to you, okay?” He’s frowning, an apologetic twist to his mouth. “I just… ah, well. I guess I was going to give it to you anyway, but…” He drops his eyes, looking caught and sheepish.

Lan Wangji watches in confusion as Wei Ying reaches into the folds of his robes and brings out a small, rough wooden box. It takes him a moment to register that Wei Ying is holding it out to him. Offering it to him. Like a present.

He looks up at Wei Ying again. “For me?”

“It’s not that much,” Wei Ying rushes on, smiling almost guiltily as Lan Wangji takes the box in his hands. “I just saw it and it seemed like something you might… and I mean, I figured you’d been missing it, I’ve thought of trying to get some for you lots of times before this, but it never quite… anyway. But, in case you want it.”

Lan Wangji looks down at the box in his hands again and slides open the lid. A burst of rich, earthy scent drifts out of it, and he sees that the box is filled to the brim with tea leaves. His breath leaves him in a rush. “Wei Ying…”

“I know it’s not one of the fancy ones—I looked at them, but I just didn’t have… well. But hey, maybe if enough people call on Wen Qing for medical services or need their barns cleared of dead squirrel spirits or something, we could work up to that. Wen Qing likes tea too, we could probably get her on board for a tea fund.”

Lan Wangji can’t keep up with the pace of Wei Ying’s reasoning, he’s too overwhelmed by the sweet familiarity of the scent and the thoughtfulness of the gesture. He knows exactly how much money passes through Wei Ying’s hands, and he knows the bit he pockets is always earmarked for potatoes and perhaps the occasional spice. This must be a few months’ worth of scrimping and saving alone.

He can’t seem to make his voice work, and Wei Ying is still babbling, so with a strange buzzing underneath his skin, like the echo of a restraint he no longer needs, Lan Wangji reaches out and curls a hand around the back of Wei Ying’s neck, and silences him with a kiss.

When he draws back again, Wei Ying blinks back at him, his eyebrows drawn into a hopeful little pinch in the middle of his forehead. “I guess that means you like it?” he says, with a flickering half smile. Some tension in him seems to ease with the next breath, as Lan Wangji nods.

“Thank you,” he says.

I love you, he thinks.

But the words don’t pass his lips. It’s enough that he has this, enough that he can reach for Wei Ying and kiss him again and feel Wei Ying smiling against his mouth, his fingers curling in the sides of Lan Wangji’s robes. That Wei Ying would sacrifice his potatoes to bring Lan Wangji a little taste of home.

This is more than he ever thought he would have.

Wei Ying laughs into his mouth and sways heavy against him, and with that, whatever thoughts were troubling Wei Ying when he first walked in the door seem to drift away on the warm, damp air.

~      ~      ~

It’s late, well after dinner by the time they’re alone again. The camp is quiet outside the cave door, even the rustling of the wind in the trees muffled by the silencing talisman, and inside their robes are piled on top of the worktable and Lan Wangji’s cot, the two of them down to their trousers. Lan Wangji is lying flat on his back on the stone bed, with Wei Ying sitting astride his thighs, bent over him and kissing him deeply, slowly. Everything feels warm and soft, unrushed. Unhurried. The kiss tastes of wine and tea.

Lan Wangji strokes his hands down Wei Ying’s chest, and Wei Ying gasps and shivers into him, just as Lan Wangji knew he would. He’s getting to know that now, know what Wei Ying will do and sound like when Lan Wangji touches him in a certain way. When he kisses him at a certain angle, or rolls his hips upward so that their burgeoning erections press against each other.

Feeling bold, he draws his hands up Wei Ying’s sides again and strokes only his thumbs over the hardened pebbles of Wei Ying’s nipples. He felt certain it would get a reaction, but it still takes him by surprise when Wei Ying draws in a sharp breath and breaks off the kiss and meets Lan Wangji’s eyes intently, like he’s debating whether or not Lan Wangji did that on purpose. Lan Wangji holds his gaze as he moves his right thumb very deliberately to circle the nipple once more, just to check, to answer yes, and Wei Ying gives another stuttering twitch. This time his eyes fall closed for a moment, and he breathes out a laugh.

Lan Wangji bites his lip thoughtfully, still sweeping his thumb back and forth, just below. He can’t deny the thrill of seeing Wei Ying like that, seeing his body react to Lan Wangji’s touch as if without his own permission. But he doesn’t want to keep doing it if Wei Ying finds it unpleasant. “Does it feel good?” he asks, looking up at Wei Ying again.

Wei Ying looks a bit dazed, but breathes the shadow of a laugh again, and Lan Wangji hopes it wasn’t wrong, wasn’t a bad question. He still feels very inexperienced at this. He doesn’t know what’s right to ask. What he has a right to know.

“It feels kind of intense,” Wei Ying says, and Lan Wangji can’t tell if he’s blushing in this light, but the way Wei Ying drops his head a bit to hide his smile is so endearing that Lan Wangji has to prop himself up on his elbow and kiss him again, deep and slow.

When he shifts and settles back down on the bed, Wei Ying is still smiling at him, his eyes sweeping down along Lan Wangji’s throat to his chest. “What about yours?” Wei Ying asks, stroking a knuckle along Lan Wangji’s ribcage, just south of his left nipple. It crosses Lan Wangji’s mind briefly that the line it makes would describe the shape of a breast if Wei Ying were with a woman.

But he lets the thought pass, doesn’t ask himself if Wei Ying would prefer that. It doesn’t matter. Wei Ying wants this. Wei Ying enjoys what they do together, that’s what matters here.

“I don’t know,” Lan Wangji says, truthfully. “I haven’t ever tried to find out.”

Wei Ying looks incredulous. “You haven’t ever touched your own nipples?”

It burns along his ears, down the sides of his neck. Not bad, never bad if it’s Wei Ying, but he’s not used to speaking aloud about his own… activities. He doesn’t know how to find the words. How to get himself to say them. “Not like this,” he says, swallowing. “Not when— I’m aroused.”

Wei Ying grins at him. “Ahh. Yeah, okay, that’s… yeah.”

“You can, though,” Lan Wangji says, and his body arches up very slightly of its own accord, making him feel the gentle press of Wei Ying’s hand against his ribs that much more acutely. The distance from where it sits to the subject of their conversation. “If you like.”

Wei Ying’s smile flickers then. He moves his hand upward, brushing his thumb cautiously over the center of Lan Wangji’s nipple. It’s a strange sensation. He can feel the slight roughness of the callous more noticeably against the delicate skin, but it’s not really what he’d call intense. Just a soft flutter, a mild sense of vulnerability, the reminder of how much of him Wei Ying can see. But it’s not like when Wei Ying touches him between his legs, or pushes inside him. Nothing like that.

Wei Ying wrinkles his nose at him. “Nothing, huh?”

“It feels pleasant,” Lan Wangji says quickly, because he doesn’t want Wei Ying to misunderstand. Wei Ying’s hands anywhere, everywhere, always feel good. “But not stimulating. The way it seems to be for you.”

Wei Ying hums in understanding, nodding and leaning in to kiss him again. Lan Wangji is relieved that Wei Ying doesn’t seem to take his body’s unresponsiveness as a criticism of his attentions, and soon Wei Ying’s hands are stroking over Lan Wangji’s chest again, not so careful as before. It still doesn’t send shockwaves through him like some other caresses, but the weight of Wei Ying’s palms against his skin makes him arch into the touch nonetheless.

Lan Wangji slides his hands down the back of Wei Ying’s loosened trousers, pushing them down over his hips until they catch around his spread thighs. He can feel the press of Wei Ying’s arousal against his stomach, the slight dampness leaking from it, and that does send shivers through him, makes him want helplessly, everything, all at once. Blindly, he feels around between their bellies and manages to wrap his hand around Wei Ying’s hardening cock, feeling the tremor in him when he gives it a little stroke. The taste of Wei Ying against his mouth and the feel of him in his hand sends his mind skittering back to this afternoon, when he’d imagined… imagined his mouth there, imagined…

Could he?

“Wei Ying,” he says, when Wei Ying breaks off the kiss to catch his breath, leaning his forehead against Lan Wangji’s. Wei Ying’s hips are still shifting a little, pushing lazily into Lan Wangji’s grip, and Lan Wangji is suddenly hungry for it, to know what Wei Ying tastes like. Everywhere.

“Yeah?”

“Can I…” Lan Wangji starts, stroking his fingers gently along his length. “Would you find it strange if I touched you with my mouth?”

Wei Ying freezes. The moment lasts just long enough that Lan Wangji begins to worry he’s made a terrible mistake, asked for something much too unusual, something no one would want. No normal person. Maybe only someone like him, who finds pleasure only in the thought and sight and touch of men. Maybe that’s what’s wrong.

“Of course,” Wei Ying breathes out unsteadily. And then he seems to hear the ambiguity, rushing on. “I mean no, it’s not strange, it’s really… um.” He swallows. “It’s cool, you can totally… I mean, if you want to…”

The relief shudders through Lan Wangji, and he realizes in its wake that his hand has gone still on Wei Ying’s cock. He starts it moving again, a bit shakily, and Wei Ying leans down and kisses him more, which helps him regain his equilibrium.

“Yes, I want to,” he breathes into Wei Ying’s mouth when he finds his voice again, and Wei Ying makes a stifled sound into the kiss, nodding.

“Okay,” Wei Ying says. “Okay, yeah. Just… yeah, wherever you… however you want me.”

Lan Wangji understands what he means. He finds this position not ideal for what he wants, for what’s in his head. He lets go of Wei Ying’s arousal and wraps an arm around Wei Ying’s waist instead, tugging gently until Wei Ying falls sideways, stretching out on his back. Wei Ying’s trousers are still tangled around his thighs, and Lan Wangji sits up to draw them the rest of the way down Wei Ying’s legs, leaving him bare.

“Yours too,” Wei Ying says roughly, reaching for him and hooking two fingers into the waistband of Lan Wangji’s trousers, giving them a little tug. “I want to see you.”

It sends a shiver through his chest. Lan Wangji nods and kneels up, casting his eyes over Wei Ying’s sprawling body and his flushed cock as he pulls the ties loose. Slides the trousers down over his hips and sets them aside.

“You’re so pretty, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, half to himself, reaching out to draw a gentle finger up along the underside of Lan Wangji’s erection. Lan Wangji feels his breath leave him, the words echoing in his ears. He has always known that his face is pleasant to look at, as that seems to be a common opinion throughout the cultivation world. But the idea that Wei Ying can look at this part of him, at his desperate need, at his nakedness and his incongruous desire, and find him pretty, reaches somewhere deep and warms him where he didn’t even know he was cold.

Lan Wangji shifts over him, bending down to kiss him again and trying to press the nameless, shapeless swirl of feelings inside him into Wei Ying without words. He can’t imagine that Wei Ying understands, but the way Wei Ying threads his fingers into Lan Wangji’s hair and arches up against him, seeking even more contact, is enough. He lets his weight settle slowly on top of Wei Ying, eases down to press kisses down the line of his throat, and then just below his collarbone. There’s an almost silent gasp when Lan Wangji’s hand finds Wei Ying’s cock again, and his hips shift jerkily up into Lan Wangji’s grip when he stops to swirl his tongue over Wei Ying’s nipple. He thinks he hears a huffed Lan Zhan from above.

He makes his way slowly down Wei Ying’s body, stroking him gently while he presses his mouth against Wei Ying’s ribs, against the soft hollow of his belly. A self-conscious tingle spreads across his shoulders as he reaches the dark trail of hair that starts just below Wei Ying’s belly button and the sharp scent of arousal fills his nose.

Lan Wangji drags his hair forward over one shoulder to get it out of the way as he settles low between Wei Ying’s thighs, swallowing hard and watching his own hand stroke slowly up and down Wei Ying’s dark and eager cock. Lan Wangji’s breath is coming short, and his own erection twitches against the rough mat of the bed, but he sets that aside, lets it fade into the background. He wants to pay attention to only this now, the smooth, elegant arc of Wei Ying’s cock and the way he imagines it will feel against his tongue. He pushes through his doubts, his nervousness, and leans in to lick a long, bold stripe from root to tip.

Wei Ying lets out a harsh breath and jolts against the mat, his hips pinned down by the weight of Lan Wangji’s body resting on his legs. That seems to be… good, doesn’t it? The taste is strong, stronger near the tip where wetness is leaking, making things slick. He leans in and does it again, and Wei Ying shudders and groans, a whisper of Lan Wangji’s name hidden somewhere underneath it.

Lan Wangji looks down at the cock in his hand again, at the way it twitches in his grip, and he’s not sure what else to do, what the right way is, what will feel… what would feel good. He leans in again and presses a soft kiss to the end of the shaft, just below the head, and then another little lick and kiss below that, and Wei Ying groans and presses up against him. “Oh— Lan Zhan, oh please…”

Lan Wangji looks up at him, and Wei Ying’s face is screwed up almost like he’s in pain, like he’s just barely holding himself back from something, and Lan Wangji wonders what it is. “Is it good?” he asks tentatively, pressing another kiss just above where his thumb rests at the top of the shaft, and running the tip of his tongue along the slit.

Wei Ying is nodding his head in all directions, fingers in his hair. “It’s good,” he huffs. “It’s good, Lan Zhan, do it, I need you…”

Lan Wangji blinks up at him, suddenly off balance. Do… what?

He tries another lick, a little stroke and a tentative swirl of his tongue around the crown, and Wei Ying lets out another demanding gasp. “Oh—Lan Zhan put your mouth on me, please…”

Lan Wangji stares up at him again, and the shiver of embarrassment creeping up on him is starting to become distracting, because he doesn’t… he doesn’t know. What Wei Ying means. What he’s asking for. He wants to do it, whatever it is, but he doesn’t… is there a certain way?

“How should I…” he starts, and then his voice dies in his throat and he has to clear it and start again. “What do you want?”

“What?” Wei Ying says. He’s blinking dazedly, but props himself up on his elbows to better look at Lan Wangji. He looks confused, like he’s having trouble processing words in general, but also these words more specifically. “You said you wanted to… you know. Put your mouth on me.”

Lan Wangji swallows, and now he’s starting to feel like he really shouldn’t have started any of this at all, because he clearly has no idea what he’s doing, and Wei Ying… there seems to be something. Something Wei Ying knows that Lan Wangji doesn’t. “I did,” he says. “I am.”

His ears are burning.

Wei Ying stares at him for a moment, still puzzled as something seems to shift and rework itself behind his eyes. Then it slots into place, and the look he gives Lan Wangji is a little careful, almost gentle. “Lan Zhan, do you… know what a blowjob is?”

Lan Wangji is mortified. He shakes his head.

“It’s okay!” Wei Ying says quickly, raising himself up higher, almost reaching out with a flailing hand. “It’s okay, I swear, don’t freak out. I just… when you said you wanted to, I assumed… But. It’s fine it you don’t, it’s fine if that’s not what you wanted, I just… shit.” Wei Ying drops down onto his back and covers his face.

Lan Wangji carefully removes his hand from Wei Ying’s erection, because it feels strange to keep holding onto it when they’re both blushing and everything is confusing and he’s not actually sure what he got wrong yet. He pushes himself up to sit in between Wei Ying’s spread thighs, the taste of Wei Ying still on his lips, and tries not to feel ridiculous. “Wei Ying,” he says, “what’s a blowjob?”

Wei Ying groans into his hands and then drops them to his sides, his eyes screwed shut and his face bright red. “You really should not sound so hot when you say things like that,” Wei Ying complains, half under his breath.

“Wei Ying—”

But Wei Ying sits up then, waving his hands at Lan Wangji to calm him, and then pets along Lan Wangji’s upper arm. “Just… shit, Lan Zhan, it’s fine, okay?” he says soothingly. “It’s not important.”

“I would really like to know,” Lan Wangji says. “Please, tell me.”

Wei Ying lets out a harsh breath, blowing a few strands of his hair out of his face and slumping forward, resigned. He swipes a hand over his face. “Okay,” Wei Ying says. He doesn’t quite seem to be able to meet Lan Wangji’s eyes, and he’s blushing far more than Lan Wangji is used to seeing on him. “It’s— a blowjob is…” He stops again, clears his throat, like he’s searching for words. Then he takes another breath and looks up at Lan Wangji with a bit of determination. “It’s when you put someone’s dick, like, inside your mouth, and you sort of… suck on it.”

Lan Wangji feels all the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end at that description. It seems suddenly strange that this did not occur to him as a possibility when he was casting his mind about earlier, trying to think of what one could do with someone else. What would be pleasurable. It does seem quite lewd, to be penetrated in that way, and he wonders what is meant to occur when the pleasure reaches its conclusion—can one allow that to happen inside one’s mouth?—but nonetheless, the potential seems obvious now that it’s been pointed out to him. He feels ridiculous for not having thought of it.

He swallows again. “Oh,” he says. “I see.”

“But like I said, you don’t have to do it,” Wei Ying rushes to qualify. “I wasn’t trying to make you, I just thought that was already what you meant. But what you were doing felt really good too, I mean, as a starting thing, like. Really good. You can totally do that more if you want, and you don’t have to feel weird about it.” He’s looking at Lan Wangji with an anxious face, and Lan Wangji knows he should answer, but he’s having trouble putting words together.

Could one allow someone to spill into one’s mouth?

“Lan Zhan?”

Lan Wangji blinks, pulls himself together enough to manage a nod that he hopes will reassure Wei Ying that he isn’t upset. Wei Ying lets out a breath, looking relieved, as if he thought Lan Wangji might be on the verge of sinking into a spiral of despair.

He needs to be clear. Wei Ying deserves that.

“I think,” Lan Wangji says, his voice sticking slightly with the anticipation of what will follow. “I would like to.”

“Okay, cool,” Wei Ying says, nodding encouragingly. “That’s great, I can just lie down again and you can go right back to what you were—”

“No,” Lan Wangji interrupts him, nerves pooling in the pit of his stomach. “I mean that I would like to do a blowjob.”

Wei Ying’s eyes go wide. He lets out a breath that sounds like it’s been punched out of him. “Wow, Lan Zhan. I need to stop teaching you words if I’m going to last through an evening.” His eyes are darting over Lan Wangji’s face, and his hand reaches out to tangle around a strand of hair near the side of Lan Wangji’s neck. The gentle caress sends shivers through Lan Wangji, and the desire in Wei Ying’s eyes helps settle his nerves, just a bit. Makes him more determined.

“How do I do it?” Lan Wangji says, settling his hand on Wei Ying’s thigh, and it pleases him when that puts a small hitch in Wei Ying’s breath. Just that lightest touch.

Wei Ying swallows. “I’ve never actually done it,” he says in a tone of confession, his fingers still playing notes along the side of Lan Wangji’s throat. “I’ve just seen pictures and heard, um. Stories. From people.”

“What do they say?” Lan Wangji needs to know. He wants to do this right. He doesn’t want to have to fumble along blindly if there’s a right way to do this.

“That you, um,” Wei Ying’s eyes flutter over Lan Wangji’s mouth. “You put it in your mouth, and, like. You have to be careful about your teeth, because that can hurt. And you move up and down like when you’re—you know, but, with your mouth. And I think you use your tongue, maybe? And then you’re supposed to sort of suck on it, because that’s… it feels really good. They say. The people.”

Lan Wangji nods seriously, trying to think his way through how that could work, how to suck on something of that size without his teeth causing pain. It’s difficult to imagine.

“I could try to show you, if you want,” Wei Ying says quietly.

Lan Wangji blinks up at him. Feels his heart stutter in his chest. Wei Ying with… like that… He may be unfamiliar with the mechanics but there’s a sharp tug of heat in his belly at the thought, an intuitive grasp of the appeal of it, rough and hazy as it is.

Wei Ying is looking nervous too now, though not reluctant. There’s a spark in his eyes that seems daring even, alert like he’s just waiting to be asked, and he’s so beautiful, his hair an unbound mess spilling over his shoulders. Wei Ying clearly knows more than he does about all of this. Maybe it would be good to let Wei Ying try to show him first, so he can understand what Wei Ying expects. What he wants. So he can understand how it’s supposed to make Wei Ying feel.

He nods slowly. “All right.”

Wei Ying leans in and kisses him fiercely, and there’s something steadying in that. He can feel a slight tremble in Wei Ying’s hands, and it gives Lan Wangji back some of his calm, the reassurance that he’s not the only one who is a little bit lost here.

He lets Wei Ying twist them around and shifts back until he’s the one lying down on the mat.  Wei Ying hovers over him, still kissing him, his hands stroking down Lan Wangji’s sides. Lan Wangji can feel his erection coming back swiftly at the closeness, the promise in his touch. Soon Wei Ying breaks away gently and trails warm little kisses down the side of Lan Wangji’s throat, and Lan Wangji feels a sudden sense of drifting, floating beneath the inexorable shift of Wei Ying’s weight as it settles lower and deeper between his legs. Lan Wangji breathes into that swooping lightness as Wei Ying takes him in his hand and pumps him a couple of times, bending low to scatter kisses across Lan Wangji’s hips.

After a moment, Wei Ying opens his eyes again and really looks there, at Lan Wangji’s cock in his hand, and the way his skin shifts when Wei Ying strokes it. Lan Wangji feels the close scrutiny burn down the center of his spine, has to suppress the urge to hide himself, and yet he can also feel himself getting harder, aching for Wei Ying to do it, to let him feel his mouth there.

Wei Ying pushes his thick unruly hair behind his shoulder with his free hand, the determination in the gesture making Lan Wangji’s stomach go tight. Then Wei Ying’s eyes flick up to meet Lan Wangji’s, his tongue darting over his lips nervously. “So, like I said. I’ve never tried this before either, there’s going to need to be some, you know.” He runs his fingertips lightly over the inner join of Lan Wangji’s hip, almost distractedly. “Figuring out and stuff.” Lan Wangji shivers into the touch, tries not to buck against it. “Tell me if something’s bad or, I don’t know, not enough, or if something could be better or… just, anything. There’s probably not one perfect way to do this, I don’t think. But it’s supposed to feel good. So tell me if something’s good or not, for you. Okay?”

Lan Wangji nods clumsily. He means it, he will try, though privately he’s not sure he’ll be able to say or do much of anything coherent if Wei Ying really takes him into his mouth.

Another breath, a little nod, a little kiss nipped against his hip. Then Wei Ying is shifting up again, opening his mouth, and Lan Wangji watches himself disappear into the warm, wet heat, and suddenly he can’t breathe at all.

It’s almost unbearable, the first shock of heat, and knowing, seeing, that he’s inside Wei Ying’s mouth. It isn’t as tight as Wei Ying’s hand when they do it like that. Wei Ying’s tongue is an incredible wet softness against the end of Lan Wangji’s cock as Wei Ying feels out the shape and size of him, stretches his jaw to fit. There’s a light scrape of teeth here, there, just for a moment before Wei Ying adjusts, and Lan Wangji can see why that’s something you wouldn’t want, though it’s never hard enough to hurt.

He stares at the way it stretches Wei Ying, his jaw overextended and his lips red, wet against the darkened skin. There’s a fluttering, swirling feeling as Wei Ying starts to suck around the head, pulls his lips over it until they slip off, just touching the end like a sweetly lewd kiss. He must be able to taste it, the same sharp wetness Lan Wangji felt on his tongue when he was down between Wei Ying’s legs, blundering around. When Wei Ying’s eyes flick up to meet his again, the slightest pull of a smile at the corner of his mouth says he must be pleased with what he sees.

“Okay so far?” he asks softly.

Lan Wangji can’t find words. Wouldn’t know how to say them if he could without sounding greedy or senseless or both, so he just nods.

“Good,” Wei Ying says, a light flush sprinkled over his cheekbones. Then he closes his eyes and goes down again, the wet heat coming back, making Lan Wangji tense and shiver.

He can tell Wei Ying finds his way more quickly this time, feels the suction slightly sooner, slightly stronger, like he’s understanding how to do this. Wei Ying starts bobbing his head a bit too, just lightly, and Lan Wangji watches his hair slip from his shoulders and tangle between them, feels it brushing the inside of his thighs as Wei Ying sucks him. He’s never felt anything like this before, the way Wei Ying draws him in, a rush of pleasure at each hollowing of Wei Ying’s cheeks.

He feels a long, deliberate slip of breath over his wet skin before Wei Ying slides down, a long far slide, and Lan Wangji’s hips nearly buck at the shock of pleasure when his cock hits resistance. Wei Ying makes a huffing, choking noise, pulling back, and Lan Wangji freezes.

“Wei Ying,” he gasps out. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, fine.” Wei Ying sounds like he’s concentrating, wrapping his hand back around Lan Wangji’s cock. “Pictures were kind of misleading…” There’s a small cute frown flickering over his face, before he looks up. His eyes rest on Lan Wangji’s face for a moment, and something about that makes Wei Ying’s swollen lips curve into a smile. “But feels good, right?”

Lan Wangji swallows at the sight of him. The warmth of him. “Yes,” he manages, his trembling tone turning Wei Ying’s smile into a grin.

“Great,” he says. Then he licks over the head almost teasingly, and Lan Wangji draws in a breath so harsh it seems to echo off the walls.

Wei Ying takes him in again, sucks him more, and as Lan Wangji tenses and shivers, it filters through that Wei Ying is falling into a rhythm. Slow at first, maybe mindful of before, but Lan Wangji can tell he isn’t worried. He’s attentive, figuring out this strange and exhilarating thing, and Lan Wangji gets more lightheaded at the thought of it. Wei Ying’s hand starts to stroke him beneath the reach of Wei Ying’s mouth—too dry at first, Wei Ying must feel it too, because as Lan Wangji watches with his breath in his throat Wei Ying pulls off again for a moment, just long enough to stroke his hand over the head, gather wetness there.

The slide goes easier then, Wei Ying’s hand and his mouth falling in sync with each other, warm and slick and blending, and Lan Wangji starts to wonder if it would feel as if Wei Ying was taking him all the way in if he closed his eyes.

He can’t though. He can’t stop watching, doesn’t want to take his eyes off the shift of muscles in Wei Ying’s neck and shoulders, or the glisten of saliva between his mouth and his hand, or the deep red of his lips as they work over the length of Lan Wangji’s cock, up and down, over and over. The sight and feel and slippery sound of it sends jolts of sensation all through his limbs, and he knows very suddenly that he’s about to lose himself. He’s inside Wei Ying’s mouth and barely hanging on and he forgot to ask beforehand if that’s meant to be part of this, if that’s something other people do, or if he should—

“Wei Ying,” he croaks out, groping for Wei Ying’s hair, trying to catch enough breath to make words. “I’m—I need to—”

Wei Ying pulls off again with a light popping sound. “It’s fine,” he says breathlessly. “You can finish.” Then he goes down again, and Lan Wangji feels weak with relief, because the sound of him like that, saying that, when Lan Wangji can see his own cock going into Wei Ying’s mouth and feel him everywhere, the pleasure winding tighter inside of him with each stroke, with each hard breath Wei Ying takes through his nose as he exerts himself, very quickly sends him over the edge.

His whole body reels in and arches up into the heat. He thinks he feels Wei Ying choke again at the sudden spill, but there’s nothing he can do to stop it, and he can’t stop his hips from bucking either. Everything is white and shimmering behind his eyes, his breaths helpless, and he still feels himself pulsing, held in the heat of Wei Ying’s mouth, everything about him jittering.

The warmth slips away when he’s finished, nothing but gentle touches against his buzzing skin and a small kiss against his hip. When he finally starts to drift back to himself, he blinks open his eyes to find Wei Ying looking up at him from between his legs with a vaguely accomplished smile on his face, his lips thick and reddened. He wipes over them with the back of his hand, and Lan Wangji feels an aftershock of arousal in his blood.

“So,” Wei Ying says. There’s a raw scrape of his voice that nearly makes Lan Wangji hard again immediately. “I think that would be a blowjob.”

Lan Wangji gasps out a breath, staring at Wei Ying, and Wei Ying’s smile only grows the longer he looks. Apparently Wei Ying is content to wait for Lan Wangji to find his words. “Good,” is what Lan Wangji finally manages. “That was… very good.”

Wei Ying grins, his lower lip darting between his teeth. “Pleased to hear it,” he says softly.

Lan Wangji looks down at him with his heart barely calmed, and he realizes he would give anything to make Wei Ying feel like that, the way he felt just now. Everything still feels slow and shattered, his mind spread out across the room, but the sight of Wei Ying sucking his cock in tight, rhythmic strokes, the way he used the wetness of his mouth to ease the way for his hand, the way he pressed his tongue against the head... all of it is there, burned into his memory. If he just tries, if he does what Wei Ying did, imagines that he is Wei Ying and remembers what it feels like… perhaps. Perhaps he can figure it out.

“May I try now?” Lan Wangji asks.

A briefly startled look crosses Wei Ying’s face, and suddenly he seems almost shy again. “Are you sure you want to?”

Lan Wangji nods, as steadily as he can with his breath still short and his muscles shivering. “I am very sure.” That much, at least, is the truth.

“Okay,” Wei Ying says, a nervous warmth in his voice.

There’s a bit of fumbling as they move around each other, trading places, Wei Ying’s limbs a little gangly and Lan Wangji’s still clumsy from climax. Wei Ying seems hesitant to kiss him as they face each other, and Lan Wangji doesn’t know why until he remembers what Wei Ying has just done with his mouth. Perhaps that has made him self-conscious.

Lan Wangji leans forward that last little bit and steals a soft little kiss from Wei Ying’s lips, feels how they are still warm and pliant from how Wei Ying took him in, swallowed him down. Wei Ying’s stunned blink gives him pause, and he wonders suddenly if perhaps he’s not supposed to want that. Is it strange, to kiss someone after this? To want to kiss them, still?

No, he can’t… it doesn’t matter what someone else would want. He wants Wei Ying, all of him. His old rules, the old ways of thinking he learned in his youth, do not serve him here, and if there are new rules about this, then he doesn’t want those either. He wants to kiss Wei Ying after Wei Ying has brought him to completion like this. He wants that, and it doesn’t matter what someone else would want. It only matters what Wei Ying wants.

Wei Ying gives him a slanted smile. Then he lifts his chin a bit and they’re kissing fully, unreservedly, a deep, slow sway. He can feel a shivering exhale from Wei Ying, and a tense anticipation, Wei Ying’s excitement blatant underneath his restraint, and determination settles in Lan Wangji’s bones.

He coaxes Wei Ying to lie back again, and settles himself where he was before, in the space between Wei Ying’s thighs, his head low enough to reach.

Wei Ying has been aroused for a long time, Lan Wangji realizes when he has his hand around him.  Wei Ying shudders as Lan Wangji strokes him gently, gets reacquainted with the feeling of such intimate proximity. He bends his head for what he already knows and likes, licks and nuzzles at the shaft, with images of Wei Ying with his mouth around Lan Wangji’s cock replaying themselves behind his eyes. He wonders if he’ll have enough wetness in his mouth to ease the way, if Wei Ying will like it, if he can properly cover his teeth. Or if, perhaps, it will be like when Wei Ying touches his chest, a pleasant yet distant sensation, not enough. Can this be different for different people, the way that is?

Wei Ying’s shiver as Lan Wangji flicks his tongue against the head and tastes him properly seems to ground him, bring him back to the moment. Figuring things out, as Wei Ying said. Wei Ying knows he hasn’t done this before. Wei Ying will be patient with him.

He takes a deep breath, letting all the nerves and lingering remnants of shame ripple over him and away. There’s nothing here but Wei Ying. No one here but the two of them.

He takes Wei Ying into his mouth.

It’s somehow more than he expected—a strange intrusion, and he can’t fit as much of him as it felt like he would be able to just from looking at it, gauging the size of it. The skin feels soft against his tongue.  He has to concentrate more than he would have thought to keep his teeth out of the way, but the sensation sends a shiver down his back, intimate in a way that even letting Wei Ying take him the usual way somehow isn’t. The smell of him is stronger this way, when he’s forced to breathe through his nose, and the taste of him is everywhere.

It’s not the same as lying back and allowing Wei Ying inside. He has to decide to take more of him in, decide to move his head down, decide to hold him against his tongue and suck. He hears Wei Ying gasp when he does it, and it burns through him hot and heady. He feels aware and flushed to the tips of his toes when he pulls back, letting himself feel the slide of Wei Ying’s cock over his lips, how it’s wetter when he pushes back down to find out how far he manages before there’s a warning pressure on the back of his throat. When he realizes he needs more wetness if he’s going to use his hand the way Wei Ying did, to stroke the shaft of him while he’s sucking on the head, he works his tongue and his throat and lets the wetness spill out from the corners of his lips, and it feels utterly debauched. This is not how he was ever meant to act, not how he is meant to be in his body. Something deep at the core of him knows that, feels the shame of it, but something else even deeper, more primal wants it.

Wei Ying’s hips jerk up when he loosens his grip and sucks again, and it’s startling for a moment, sudden and a little deeper than is comfortable. Lan Wangji flattens a hand against Wei Ying’s hip to keep him steady and makes his other hand tight again around Wei Ying’s shaft, to stop him from going far, but Wei Ying’s cock is long, long enough, and Lan Wangji wonders suddenly what it would feel like to let him. To just let go, give up control even like this. Let Wei Ying take him the way he does when Lan Wangji spreads his legs for him. Even like this he has to hold his breath when he pushes on farther, takes Wei Ying as deep as he can without reaching the point of gagging. But, perhaps with practice and a little concentration… could he let him? He has stretched and challenged his body in other ways, and as he feels the trembling tension in Wei Ying’s hip under his hand, he wonders if this would this be so different.

He sucks harder once he finds his way again, keeps his mouth tight, and starts to sink into a rhythm with his movements, the same way he does when he uses a hand on himself or on Wei Ying. The soft little moans and sighs from above help him along, leading him toward a speed that works, a rewarding gasp of yes telling him that that flick of his tongue is appreciated, that Wei Ying wants more. His lips feel hot and stretched as Wei Ying slides between them, the feel of him hard and soft at once, the scent in Lan Wangji’s nose rising sharper as Wei Ying’s breath quickens.

He wishes he could see what Wei Ying looks like while he’s doing this, but he has to concentrate so hard,  he won’t manage to turn his face without losing the rhythm, and he doesn’t want to slip or cause him pain. But he can imagine. He can imagine all of it, and it burns all down his back, makes his body heavy with renewing arousal, what he must look like, what he’s doing. Wei Ying’s cock is in his mouth, and he wants it there, wants to take Wei Ying in, be filled this way too. Wei Ying is going to release and let him taste the evidence of the pleasure he takes from Lan Wangji’s mouth. He doesn’t know if this is something that those who sleep with men casually do—perhaps so, if Wei Ying has heard stories—but he knows it’s not something that he was ever meant to do.

He’s glad he doesn’t have to care anymore, what’s allowed and what’s not. He’s glad he can have this. He’s glad he can be this for Wei Ying.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying is murmuring above him, his body undulating as Lan Wangji moves over him, tries to keep his mouth tight even as it starts to feel sore, tries to keep his strokes steady. His body isn’t used to moving in this way, he still needs practice loosening his joints and his mind, and it is an altogether unfamiliar exertion. But he’ll get that. He’ll have practice. He’ll do this more, he wants to. “Oh, Lan Zhan, are you—oh fuck—”

It snaps through him like a bowstring, and sticky salty heat fills Lan Wangji’s mouth, makes it hard to breathe, too much to swallow. His body shudders with the force of it, the strangeness of it, with his own shamelessness for wanting it, and he pulls off a bit, just enough to clear his airway before he takes it in again for the rest. The bitter flavor is strange and intoxicating, and he laps softly at the head of Wei Ying’s cock as the convulsions slow, feeling the last of it against his tongue.

Wei Ying is breathing hard by the time Lan Wangji pulls off, feeling the sweat trickle down between his shoulder blades.

“Oh my god, Lan Zhan, that was… oh my god…”

“Are you all right?” Lan Wangji says, looking up at him. His own cock is half-hard again, but his body is singing with satisfaction. He wants to bury his face in the crook of Wei Ying’s hip and stay here. He wants to stroke him back to hardness and make him fall apart again. If he had known that this was possible when they were younger, when he was dreaming helplessly of even the most chaste touches, he’s not sure he would have made it as long as he did without succumbing to temptation.

Wei Ying’s head rolls against the pillow, and Lan Wangji isn’t sure if that’s supposed to be a no or just some sort of delirium. “You just made me come my brains out, Lan Zhan, what do you think?”

Lan Wangji still isn’t completely fluent in the language of post-orgasmic Wei Ying, but he is fairly certain this is meant to be a good thing. He presses one last, lingering kiss against Wei Ying’s hipbone, feeling the shiver against his chin, and then crawls his way back up Wei Ying’s body and kisses him softly on the cheek. Wei Ying doesn’t even open his eyes, just reaches out blindly and tugs him down on top of him, kissing him everywhere he can reach, fervent and uncoordinated.

“Lan Zhan,” he says, breathless, another kiss in between, and Lan Wangji feels drunk on him and entirely happy. The combination of Wei Ying’s taste in his mouth and his own taste in Wei Ying’s mouth feels deeply intimate, a secret shared just between the two of them. “That was really—you are a very quick study, you know that?”

Lan Wangji feels as if he should answer, but all he has is an ineloquent huff. He holds Wei Ying a little closer, kissing him again and letting the warmth and strangeness of it all spread to his every limb. As he feels the sweat cooling on his skin, feels Wei Ying’s breath evening out against him where they’re pressed skin to skin, he finds he doesn’t even wonder much anymore if this is what other people do.

It’s what they do. It’s what he does. And he likes it.

Chapter Text

The sky overhead is a bright, unencumbered blue, all the colors around them sharpened by summer. The air is warm and a little humid, and Ah Yuan is taking a few hopping steps across the patchwork of bright green grass within the paddock, laughing when the small, shaggy goat jumps away from him.

“Don’t chase him, Ah Yuan,” Lan Wangji says gently. “Let him come to you.” He stands just inside the gate, ready to intervene if necessary, but the two little goats really are quite small, barely tall enough to stretch up and nibble at Ah Yuan’s elbow, and they don’t seem fierce. Ah Yuan is fascinated with the dainty-limbed creatures, tilting and cantering as if trying to mimic their playful jumps.

Lan Wangji is still partial to rabbits, but these small animals have something heart-warming about them as well. He didn’t expect to find such joy in watching Ah Yuan be delighted by them.

The farmer’s wife is hanging back outside the paddock, leaning against the fence as they both watch Ah Yuan with the baby goats. From a little further away, on the other side of the farmhouse, they can hear the gentle strains of Wei Ying’s flute soothing an angry tree. The farmer’s wife is a young woman, currently well into her first pregnancy. Lan Wangji knows from Wen Qing that she’s had a rough time of it so far, but whatever the difficulties were, she seems much better now. The woman’s belly is round and her smile fond as she watches Ah Yuan stretch out a careful hand towards the little goat’s soft white coat, perhaps imagining her own child doing the same at some point in the future.

Lan Wangji hopes she will be blessed with a child as sweet and beautiful as Ah Yuan.

“They can spend hours like this, sometimes, chasing each other in circles,” she says when the white goat notices Ah Yuan’s approach and darts away skittishly. She shoots Lan Wangji a grin. “He’d fit right in.”

The black-haired baby goat seems a bit more intrepid than the white one, and particularly curious about the human visitor. It totters over as Ah Yuan turns to it instead, dropping into a placating crouch. “I just want to pet you,” Ah Yuan promises the black goat. “No chasing.” He takes a tentative step forward and Lan Wangji can see the excitement in him, the way he’s barely managing not to bounce.

It was Wei Ying’s idea to bring Ah Yuan along on this outing. Lan Wangji initially argued against it, conscious of the worry in Grandmother Wen’s expression, which Wei Ying did not seem to see. Lan Wangji knows that even in the original course of events, when they were without the added protection of Lan Wangji’s powers, Wei Ying thought little of taking Ah Yuan on trips into town. This morning, as Wei Ying reassured them both that no harm would come to Ah Yuan, it occurred to Lan Wangji that Grandmother Wen must have trusted Wei Ying greatly to let him take Ah Yuan down to the village by himself, despite her obvious concerns.

With Grandmother Wen’s assent, Lan Wangji reluctantly agreed to bring Ah Yuan with them. And now, seeing Ah Yuan here under open blue skies, running around an unfamiliar meadow and getting to pet soft, lively animals that they could never keep at the camp, he’s grateful that Wei Ying’s confidence outweighed his own caution.

It’s a delight to watch him. The black goat wriggles gleefully as it allows Ah Yuan to pet its little head, and now even the white goat seems willing to consider the possibility that Ah Yuan is not a threat. After a moment or two, it takes a few careful steps over to where Ah Yuan is bending over the black goat and bumps its head against his stomach. Ah Yuan gives a startled giggle, but reaches out to offer gentle pets to the white one as well. The white goat pushes up against his hand shyly, and the black goat, now neglected, bleats in protest.

“Lady Wen will be in town again next week,” Lan Wangji says to the farmer’s wife. He has already delivered the herbs Wen Qing sent along to tide her over until her next examination. “She plans to come to see you then.”

“Lady Wen has been a gift from the gods,” the woman says with true adoration. “I felt so sick the first few months. My husband had to call in a few of the neighbors’ children to help him keep the farm going, because I could barely move.” She shakes her head with a shudder.

Lan Wangji feels a prickle of unease at the back of his neck, not sure what he can offer on the topic of a difficult pregnancy. Though he realizes that feeling awkward with a conversational topic no longer makes him want to hide himself the way it once would have. “I’m glad Lady Wen was able to help you,” he says with a careful nod. “We are very fortunate to have such a good doctor among us.”

The woman gives him another smile.

Ah Yuan makes a little giggling squealing sound, and Lan Wangji turns back to him to find him trying to pull the tail of his tunic out of the little black goat’s mouth. It seems to have become jealous of the attention being paid to the white goat. With a brief nod of apology to the farmer’s wife, Lan Wangji steps away from the fence and crouches down to pry the little black goat away from Ah Yuan’s clothing. Another woeful bleat pulls at his heart, and he finds himself sitting down in the grass beside Ah Yuan and settling the black goat in his lap, placating it with gentle strokes of its head.

The white goat seems to have been startled away by the black goat’s antics, but now that the black goat is wriggling happily in Lan Wangji’s arms, it hops back over again and pokes its nose tentatively against Ah Yuan’s wrist. Ah Yuan laughs and turns back to it, resuming his pets. “Good goat,” he says, crouching a little lower, as though trying to make himself less threatening to the small thing. Then he turns to Lan Wangji. “What’s his name?”

“I don’t know,” Lan Wangji says, turning back to the farmer’s wife. “Do the goats have names?”

The farmer’s wife seems to be trying to bite back a smile, and she hums to herself as though taking a moment to think. “Her name is Snowflake,” she says then, nodding toward Ah Yuan’s charge. Her eyes flicker to Lan Wangji in a manner that makes him think these goats did not have names until this very moment. “The other one is Rascal. And they are both girls.”

Lan Wangji gives her a small, conspiratorial nod. New or not, the names seem rather apt. The little black goat is shifting around in his arms again, her tiny hooves poking into the crook of his elbow. She doesn’t seem to want to be released from Lan Wangji’s hold, exactly, but she never quite seems to settle either. It reminds him of one of the rabbits he used to keep at the Cloud Recesses. He was always the first to hop over to say hello, but his little legs wouldn’t stop kicking while he was being held.

“Seems like it suits her,” Wei Ying’s voice says, with a smile around the edges.

Lan Wangji looks up to see Wei Ying coming to lean against the fence beside the farmer’s wife, his flute held loosely between his fingers. The look Wei Ying is giving them, Ah Yuan with the shy goat and Lan Wangji holding Rascal in his arms, seems almost… fond. It sends a secret flush up Lan Wangji’s neck.

He hadn’t noticed that the music had stopped. If Wei Ying is finished already, it must be time for them to be on their way.

“Ah Yuan,” he says, placing the black goat on its feet again and mollifying it with a little scratch between its ears, “we must say goodbye to the goats now. It’s time for us to leave.”

Ah Yuan gives him a pitiful look for a moment, but he doesn’t complain. He leans over to pet both goats on the head very softly once more. “Goodbye, goats,” he says. “Be good goats, okay?”

Lan Wangji takes Ah Yuan by the hand, and the two of them trail after Wei Ying and the farmer’s wife as she leads them back around to the front of the house.

“It should all be fine now,” Wei Ying is explaining to the farmer’s wife, and Lan Wangji can’t help smiling at the little bit of pride he can hear in his voice. This first cultivation commission of theirs hasn’t turned out to be a terribly complicated matter, but Lan Wangji gets the feeling that Wei Ying is enjoying the opportunity to exercise his skills like this, despite his earlier protestations. “The soil was fine in the end, it was just this one tree at the corner of the field that had… uh. It’s complicated, but anyway it had gone a bit evil, is all. But I was able to cheer it up, no problem.”

Lan Wangji had been present for the initial assessment, while the farmer’s wife took Ah Yuan to see the goats, and he has a feeling he understands why Wei Ying is choosing to gloss over the details in this case. The tree had gone evil because it was haunted by the spirit of a thief who had been murdered rather gruesomely by some fellow scoundrels near here some weeks back. Apparently this thief had hidden some of his ill-gotten gains at the root of the tree and wanted them back, though Lan Wangji and Wei Ying had found no sign of the little sack of silver pieces the ghost described. He was an unpleasant spirit, but not terribly powerful, so Lan Wangji had left Wei Ying to deal with the task of enlightening him and gone to see to Ah Yuan.

“How long until we can grow things there again?” the farmer’s wife asks as the farmer emerges from the house to join them, a small cloth sack in his hands.

“Pretty much right away,” Wei Ying says. “The crops might still be a little runty for a while, but I think within one or two rounds of planting it will be back to normal.”

The farmer and his wife both look greatly relieved at this, and the farmer bows to them gratefully, offering up the sack. “Thank you very much, Young Masters, you don’t know what a help you’ve been to us. Please, I know this isn’t much, but we’d like to offer you some goat’s cheese as payment.”

“Oh,” Wei Ying says, affecting surprise, though Lan Wangji can see the flicker of desire in his eyes at the mention of such a luxury. “No really, you don’t need to do that.”

“Please, we insist,” the farmer’s wife adds, looking from Wei Ying to Lan Wangji. “There are a few pickled cucumbers in there as well. I’m sorry it isn’t more, we know you have a lot of mouths to feed.”

Lan Wangji shakes his head reassuringly. “This is quite sufficient, thank you.”

“Lady Wen also sometimes accepts a bag of millet or a few turnips in addition,” she says. “Would the Young Masters have a preference? Or something else, perhaps? We’ve just harvested a field of potatoes as well, though I don’t know if you would find those as useful.”

Wei Ying’s eyes go wide with want, and Lan Wangji can see him holding himself back. He seems to quite like the young couple, and Lan Wangji suspects he does not want to appear greedy. Lan Wangji thinks of the tea, and of all the many things Wei Ying has done for all of them, without any promise or expectation of payment.

“If you truly do not mind,” Lan Wangji says, “three or four potatoes would be greatly appreciated.” He can almost feel Wei Ying holding his breath.

The farmer’s wife’s smile brightens. “Of course we don’t mind,” she says. “We’re very grateful to you both. We’ll be able to grow twice as many potatoes now that we’ve got that field back. Just give me a moment.”

She hurries into the storeroom beside the house, while Wei Ying works hard to not vibrate across the courtyard like a summoning song. Lan Wangji feels a smile tug at his mouth.

The woman emerges again with another small sack. From the size and weight of it, Lan Wangji assumes it is slightly more than four potatoes. He accepts it with a grateful bow.

“Thank you very much again, Hanguang-jun, Yiling Laozu,” the farmer says, bowing to each of them in turn. “You’ve been a great help to us.”

“No problem,” Wei Ying says, a shine in his eyes as they skitter over the potatoes Lan Wangji is holding. “And feel free to call on us again if any of the other trees start getting ideas.”

They take their leave then, heading down the sloping path to where it meets the road that leads into town. The terrain is a bit rough and the road winding, and there’s always the possibility of passing riders, so Wei Ying relieves Lan Wangji of the potatoes and Lan Wangji lifts Ah Yuan up onto his hip for the walk. It’s a pleasant way to spend an afternoon, strolling through the countryside like this with Ah Yuan’s fingers toying with a tail of his hair against his chest, listening to Wei Ying’s enthusiasm at the prospect of a new potato crop and all the marvelous things that can be done with a bit of cheese.

Wei Ying didn’t bat an eye when the farmer persisted in calling him Yiling Laozu. Indeed, he wore the title very respectfully, restraining himself from shrugging it off the way he does when he steals fruit from the offerings left at the entrance to the forest, or when once, in another life, he referred to his cave as the place where a demon sleeps peacefully. Lan Wangji can’t help wondering if perhaps meeting people like this—people who look on him without fear or disdain, people he can help—will help to allay Wei Ying’s fear of declarations, of belonging.

But Lan Wangji is also determined to not read things into it that are not there. These are very specific circumstances, and it is in Wei Ying’s nature to not intentionally make a friendly farmer feel ill-at-ease. It could be nothing more than that.

Somehow, even in Lan Wangji, the need for definition is no longer as strong as it once was. They might not be called a clan, but there is belonging nonetheless. There are no promises, no declarations, and yet Lan Wangji has more of what he always wanted than he ever thought possible.

“Hey, did you want to go to the postal exchange?” Wei Ying says as they reach the crossroads. It’s such an abrupt change from the subject of deer feeding habits that it takes a moment for Lan Wangji to recognize the relevance of the question.

Wei Ying nods to the right, where the first few houses of the town are just visible beyond a little copse of trees. “I thought you might want to check if your brother sent anything, or whatever,” he says with a hopeful smile. “And Ah Yuan hasn’t been to the town yet, maybe he’d enjoy seeing a little more of the world. What do you think, Ah Yuan?”

“What’s a world?” Ah Yuan says, blinking from Wei Ying to Lan Wangji curiously.

Wei Ying laughs. “See what I mean?”

Lan Wangji gives him a small smile, but turns his attention to Ah Yuan. “The world is everything around us,” he explains. “All the places you can see and go, and many, many more places that you haven’t been.”

“And we have to see all of it?” Ah Yuan says, sounding awed.

Wei Ying laughs again. “One bit at a time,” he says, hefting the potato sack onto his shoulder. “For now, just the village.”

As they continue on towards town, Lan Wangji begins to catch Wei Ying giving him little sideways looks as he muses about the potatoes. “You didn’t have to ask for them, you know,” Wei Ying says eventually, a bit sheepish. “I know we probably could have had more of the turnips, and they’re easier to grow where we are.”

Lan Wangji takes in the soft shine of him and remembers how happy he was the day he first brought Lan Wangji to his secret potato field. How much he savored the feast that followed. “But the potatoes are more enjoyable,” Lan Wangji says very reasonably, and Wei Ying’s beaming smile makes his heart warm. “I look forward to eating them when the crop has matured.”

It’s odd to realize how true that is, too. He doesn’t mind the radishes, and he would of course always look forward to Wei Ying’s happiness, but there is pleasure in anticipating a different sort of meal on the horizon as well. Something out of the ordinary, more distinct. It’s like the sharpness of the sunlight when they’re out from under the cover of the resentment clouds, or the dark flicker of desire in Wei Ying’s eyes across the campfire. A shock to the system, stirring him from his natural complacency. Lan Wangji has always been inclined towards the tried and true, the predictable, never one to seek out adventure or difference purely for the sake of it. But he can’t deny that as he becomes more accustomed to change, to strangeness, to uncertainty, it’s as if all the colors in the world are a little bit brighter somehow, and all the tastes and smells are a little stronger. It’s like stepping out of an ice-cold pool and feeling the sensations of the outside world return one by one as the numbness recedes.

Once they reach the main shopping street, Wei Ying quickly becomes distracted looking over all the various stalls and their wares, tea leaves and crockery and leatherwork. Ah Yuan seems a bit overwhelmed at the press of strangers at first, shrinking into Lan Wangji’s shoulder as they move through the crowds, but soon he too is attracted by the smells and sights around them, pointing out unfamiliar foods and stalls overflowing with brightly colored silks and asking what each one is in turn.

It’s a strange feeling, being here with the two of them—an echo of a memory he held so close to his heart for so many years. They pass through the square where he first encountered Ah Yuan, a strange child who clung to his leg and drew attention he did not know how to cope with. He remembers so vividly the sight of Wei Ying coming to his rescue, his smile as bright as when they were young, no longer bitter and twisted with secrets, with pain. And then later on, when the light grew dim and Lan Wangji no longer had any excuse to stay, he remembers how he turned his back on Wei Ying for the second time. For the last time.

It almost takes him by surprise, the ease with which he thinks of that now. The sharp pull of regret he once felt when he would draw that memory to the surface and turn it over in his mind has faded now, itself an echo. He has changed that. Set it right.

He knows there are hardships still to come, but right now, right here with the two of them, he feels down to his bones that he made the right choice, that he was right to choose this. Perhaps it is unconventional, not the sort of existence he ever would have imagined for himself—but there is an ease to it nonetheless, a peace, like floating with the current of a gentle river. He can spend the afternoon here in the sunlight with Wei Ying and Ah Yuan, he can follow them home to their haven in the forest.

They stroll past the toy stall with the paper butterflies, and Lan Wangji’s gaze catches on it briefly, a small shadow of wistfulness fluttering through his heart. He knows this is better in so many ways, even Ah Yuan’s life, he thinks, has more stability now. But the same impulse to bring a smile to Ah Yuan’s face is with him now as it was then, even if he no longer has the means to do so.

Wei Ying casts him a curious look, almost knowing as he follows Lan Wangji’s gaze to the toy stall, and for a moment it gives him a start, as if that other world is dipping through the void and peeking out at him, through Wei Ying’s eyes. But then Wei Ying gives a small, sympathetic sigh, shrugging one shoulder. “Would be nice, right?”

Ah Yuan isn’t actually paying attention to the toys—all the excitement of the stalls and the goats seems to have worn him out, and he’s currently dozing against Lan Wangji’s shoulder. But Lan Wangji can recall clearly the brightness of his smile when he was handed the paper butterfly and told that he could keep it. When he learned that sometimes wanting and having can go together after all. Lan Wangji knew even then that gifts must be a rare occurrence for him, but now, having witnessed firsthand the way the adults around him must scrounge and repurpose to give him things to play with, he understands all the more.

Wei Ying takes a step closer, running a hand over the edges of the various delicate birds and horses and butterflies fashioned from wood and reeds and string. “I wonder if Wen Zian could build something like this,” he murmurs thoughtfully, glancing back at Lan Wangji. “Or Wen Guang, maybe?”

Lan Wangji nods, thinking of the little wooden horse Wen Zian carved for him not long after they entered the Burial Mounds. And the stick with the ribbon on it, that Wei Ying has made to float. Somewhere in his collection, Wei Ying has a half-finished horse that’s meant to float as well, though other projects have taken his attention away from it time and time again. Perhaps if Wen Guang could fashion a butterfly like this one from reeds, Wei Ying could make it fly.

“I will ask her,” Lan Wangji decides, drawing his eyes away from the butterfly and meeting Wei Ying’s eyes beside him. He knows Wei Ying can’t know what he’s thinking, where his memories have carried him off to, but there’s something vividly pleased in Wei Ying’s expression, and it brings him back. To here. To now.

Wanting and having. It’s strange how even the having still doesn’t make him want any less.

The crowd thins out around the postal exchange, and Lan Wangji must rouse Ah Yuan and set him back on his feet so he can go inside and retrieve his letters in privacy. There is nothing new from Lanling or Lotus Pier, but there is indeed a letter from his brother, which he tucks away inside his robes.

They take the side streets back to the other end of town to avoid the bustling midday rush in the marketplace. Ah Yuan seems much revived after his nap, and he totters along between them with one of each of their hands in his, asking questions about the buildings as they pass and weaving the answers seamlessly into his universe of dragon tales. Occasionally he picks his feet straight up off the ground, and Lan Wangji and Wei Ying must lift him swiftly as he swings between them.

They let him go again once they’re back on the road up the mountain, safely out of range of any riders, and Ah Yuan seems to gain even more energy the further they climb, as if he’s soaking up the very sunlight. He races back and forth across the unfamiliar path, craning his neck up to look at the bright green of the trees, chasing the paths of butterflies and insects as they flit across his vision. They come across a scattering of delicate purple flowers along the side of the path at one point, and Ah Yuan tears a few handfuls of them out of the ground, some of the roots still attached.

“For Granny,” he says, as he gallops over to them again and holds them out for Lan Wangji to take. Lan Wangji accepts the little bundle, brushing a few clumps of dirt from the ends of the stems as they resume walking.

When he looks up again, he finds Wei Ying watching him with bright amusement in his eyes, and it curls through him strangely—as if his body still feels the embarrassment, even as the rest of him feels drawn to the warmth. “What?” he asks.

“You look very cute with flowers,” Wei Ying says, bumping his shoulder against Lan Wangji’s as they walk. The solid realness of him through all the layers brings a gentle shiver to the surface of Lan Wangji’s heart. It’s still new and intense, this closeness.

The echo of a memory rises to the surface of Lan Wangji’s mind, the drawing Wei Ying once gave him of himself, adorned with orchids. He knows it turned out to be a ploy then, meant to distract him so Wei Ying could trick him into looking at that erotic illustration—but he remembers Wei Ying’s smile without pique or disappointment now, the way his laughter spilled from his lips in spite of Lan Wangji’s reticence. “Perhaps I should wear them in my hair sometime,” he says, a rush of daring spreading through him with the wish to see it here, now. Draw out that spark of brightness in the Wei Ying standing next to him. “If you think they would suit me.”

There’s a flicker of surprise, and then Wei Ying’s smile goes wide, his eyes darting up to the crown of Lan Wangji’s head as though imagining the purple blooms tucked in a cluster around the tie that holds his hair back from his face. “I do,” Wei Ying says. Lan Wangji doesn’t think he’s imagining the low simmer underneath it, the small tilt of shyness to his mouth. It makes Lan Wangji want to kiss him, and he feels again the rush of knowing that he can.

Though he also knows that if he starts, it might be difficult to stop. And they must get Ah Yuan home to wash up from their travels, as it will be dinnertime soon.

When they get to the edge of the haunted forest, the light turns grey and the trees take on the glimmer of darkness. But the familiar dark does nothing to quiet Ah Yuan’s laughter as Wei Ying swings him up into his arms, or dim the vibrant glow that has found an unexpected home within Lan Wangji’s heart.

~      ~      ~

It’s late in the evening, and they’re finally, finally alone again, tucked away in the cave with only a few candles shimmering off the walls. Wei Wuxian has been aching to be alone with Lan Zhan ever since the walk back from the village. Actually, if he’s honest, he thinks he’s probably low-level aching to be alone with him pretty much all the time now, even after a month of this, and it’s somehow simultaneously still new and strange, and also hard to remember what it was like not knowing what this felt like, being tangled up with Lan Zhan, skin on skin.

How did he ever not know how great this is?

Lan Zhan’s fingers are in his hair, stroking softly down the back of his neck. Wei Wuxian is leaning over him, looking down at the way Lan Zhan’s hair fans out across the pillow and his eyes glow a deep brown in the candlelight. He runs his fingers through the strands, brushing an unbound lock away from Lan Zhan’s forehead, his finger catching in the curl that lingers from having it tied up all day at the back of his head.

He remembers the flowers, visions of Lan Zhan with brightly colored blossoms braided into his hair, and he has to duck down and kiss him to hide the smile.

Lan Zhan lifts his chin into a kiss, and Wei Wuxian can feel his hips roll up against Wei Wuxian’s, feel the hardness growing there. He loves how comfortable it all is, how familiar, even as it lights a fire underneath his skin.

“What do you want, Lan Zhan?” Wei Wuxian murmurs against Lan Zhan’s mouth, and Lan Zhan trails his fingers down the length of Wei Wuxian’s spine until they settle in the small of his back.

“You, inside me,” Lan Zhan hums, pushing up against him again. A faint echo of the way he moves when they’re together like that. Wei Wuxian feels the thrum of it, the urge to be with Lan Zhan like that, to feel the weight of his legs around Wei Wuxian’s hips and the heat of him around Wei Wuxian’s cock. But there’s also something else, underneath all of that, like a string curling tight around his midsection and drawing him back. Reluctant.

It’s just… he thought it would get easier.

That first time was great, it was amazing, and Lan Zhan— Lan Zhan was so good, and it was great once they got going. But the thing is, Wei Wuxian could tell it hurt him at the beginning. He’d thought it was just because it was the first time—he’s heard it works that way for women too, and that the first time usually hurts, but then it gets easier and it’s not supposed to anymore. But it doesn’t seem to have worked that way with Lan Zhan. There’s maybe less surprise at what it feels like now, and that probably helps, and he can tell that Lan Zhan has more or less gotten used to it, so that’s good. And Lan Zhan must be getting something out of it, because he keeps asking for it—Wei Wuxian doesn’t think that’s only for his benefit, he thinks it gets better, later, for Lan Zhan too, and at the very least it doesn’t stop Lan Zhan from… feeling good. Eventually.  But, still. Every time, when Wei Wuxian pushes inside him, no matter how much of the oil he uses, he can tell it just… it hurts. It’s hard to hurt Lan Zhan. To feel responsible for that. It’s hard to enjoy it as much as he feels like he could—should—when he knows Lan Zhan is in pain.

“Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan says, peering up at him with a little concerned wrinkle between his brows, and Wei Wuxian realizes he’s been silent too long.

“Yes? I mean, yeah!” Wei Wuxian corrects himself, swallowing down the feeling of reluctance. If it’s what Lan Zhan wants, he can do that—it’s cool, it’s great, he can totally… yeah. They can do that. “Yes, good, let’s do that.”

The wrinkle doesn’t go away, and Lan Zhan seems to be searching his face for whatever is hidden behind that answer. “Is something wrong?”

Fuck. Wei Wuxian shakes his head quickly, trying to keep his expression light and easy. “What would be wrong?”

This only makes Lan Zhan look more uncertain, and… shit, this isn’t working, now Lan Zhan thinks there’s really something wrong. “We don’t have to,” Lan Zhan says, carefully. “If you’d rather…”

“No,” Wei Wuxian stops him, stroking a hand along the side of Lan Zhan’s face. He lets out a sigh. “No, it’s not that I don’t want to—seriously, I do, it’s… it’s great for me. You feel so great. It’s just…” He presses his lips together for a moment, trying to find the words. “I know it’s still hurting you,” he admits, finally.

Lan Zhan’s expression evens out, the tension draining away, understanding taking its place. “It really isn’t very painful, Wei Ying,” he says. “I find it worth enduring.”

“It is painful though,” Wei Ying presses. “I can tell.”

Lan Zhan seems reluctant to respond to that, his eyes flicking away to the wall beside them, towards the nearest candle up on the shelf.

“Look, I…” Wei Wuxian starts, not quite sure how to put this. But he can feel it like a knot in his stomach, and they won’t be able to find a solution to this one way or another if he doesn’t get it out. “Lan Zhan, you know we don’t have to keep doing it like this, don’t you? If it… if it hurts, if you don’t actually like it and you’re just doing it because you think I—”

“I do like it,” Lan Zhan says suddenly, a startled urgency in his eyes that flickers and fades beneath a slight flush. His gaze seems unsteady for a moment, but something makes him hold Wei Wuxian’s eyes. “Wei Ying, I like it. I don’t want it to stop.”

The tension in him is a little overwhelming, and Wei Wuxian finds himself stroking Lan Zhan’s side gently, trying to calm him. “I don’t mean stop everything, I just—like, the other things we do are great too, and if this one hurts…”

“No,” Lan Zhan says again, shaking his head firmly. “This too. Unless— unless you are saying that you don’t wish to have relations in that way anymore, I don’t want to stop.”

Wei Wuxian’s heart sinks. “But Lan Zhan—”

“It does hurt,” Lan Zhan says, with a slight frown around his mouth, as though allowing the admission itself annoys him. “But only at the beginning. After a while, when you are fully inside me and my body has adjusted, it does not hurt anymore. It feels…” He swallows, and the dusting of red along the sides of his throat grows darker. “It feels good. I take pleasure from it.”

The words send a shimmer of desire down Wei Wuxian’s spine. He knows deep down that Lan Zhan isn’t lying, Lan Zhan doesn’t lie. He still has trouble thinking his way into it, imagining how that could feel good in a way that makes up for how much it clearly hurts him, but… if Lan Zhan says so. If Lan Zhan wants it, Wei Wuxian wants him to have it.

“Okay,” he says, with a little flicker of a smile, and the relieved breath that Lan Zhan lets out helps to settle him a little bit, tells him Lan Zhan really means it. It’s really what he wants. “Okay, yeah, if you really want it, I can… we can do that.”

Lan Zhan’s fingers tighten in his hair and at the small of his back just slightly, drawing him down into a kiss. Wei Wuxian can feel the relief in that too, and it’s steadying, reassuring. The strength in Lan Zhan’s arms is really reassuring, almost like Wei Wuxian is the one who needs soothing. He trails kisses up and over Lan Zhan’s cheekbone and feels Lan Zhan let out a quiet breath against his cheek. It just feels so good to be with him like this. He wishes it didn’t have to feel so tense and fumbly in the middle, while they push through the pain.

He’s tried using more of the oil, making sure it’s spread all over his length—but there’s only so much of it that will actually stay on, and anyway, he’s not sure that’s where the pain comes from. It’s not the slide that’s hard, it’s the size of him. It’s always so tight around him when he first pushes in, and it takes ages before things seem to loosen up.

Maybe if he had something smaller than his dick that he could put inside there first, maybe— Would that help? Or maybe a lot of somethings, each time a little bigger, so it wouldn’t be one big stretch all at once, but like, a series of smaller stretches.

“Like training…” Wei Ying murmurs to himself, settling back slightly and blinking into the space between them. Of course. They don’t just hand you a massive sword and tell you to swing it around on the first day, right? They start you off with a lighter practice sword, and then when your muscles are strong enough they let you have a normal one.

“Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan says, looking perplexed, and possibly uneasy again.

Wei Wuxian meets his eyes, a plan taking shape in his mind. “Lan Zhan, I want to try something. I think I have an idea that might help it not hurt. Or hurt less, anyway. Do you mind?”

“What is the idea?” Lan Zhan asks, his eyes still a bit round, though he seems determined to agree to whatever it is if he possibly can.

“I want to put my fingers in you.”

Lan Zhan looks a bit startled at this. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Why?”

“Because, it’s… the thing is, you’re really… tight,” Wei Wuxian says, not really sure what words to use to explain it. He sort of doubts that Lan Zhan has ever touched himself there, and he doesn’t know how much Lan Zhan can tell about what’s going on from his side. “I think you’re… when it hurts, I mean, I think it’s because you’re just… really tight, there. Like, the muscles. And once we get going somehow you get looser. Which means it’s obviously possible for you to get looser, it just takes time, and when I put my cock in you all at once it seems like it’s kind of a lot. So I thought maybe if I put my fingers in you and like, move them around a little, maybe I could stretch you out more gently before I put my cock in you, and then it wouldn’t. You know. Hurt.”

Lan Zhan is bright red by the end of this monologue, his breathing a bit short and his eyes fidgety. But he nods, nonetheless, acknowledging the logic in what Wei Wuxian is saying.

“So,” Wei Wuxian says, running his tongue over his lips to wet them. “Can I try it? You can tell me if you want me to stop.”

Lan Zhan nods again, slowly. “Yes,” he says then, his voice a bit of a croak. “If you like.”

Wei Wuxian smiles, relief settling over his shoulders. “Cool,” he says. Okay, great—good, this is perfect, he can totally—they can totally figure this out. He just needs…

He casts his eyes around them, trying to remember where they left the oil. It’s not on the shelf where they usually keep it, but then he looks over toward the worktable and finds it sitting on the edge of the bench, like it’s been set out in easy reach. He glances down at Lan Zhan again, whose eyes are demurely averted, and it spreads a burst of warmth all through his chest.

He has to stuff down the urge to tease him—normally he wouldn’t bother restraining himself, but, under the circumstances—so he just bends down and steals a soft kiss from Lan Zhan’s lips instead, feeling Lan Zhan tilt his chin up into it and open for him willingly. It distracts him again for a little bit, Lan Zhan’s strong body so soft and pliant underneath him, and the way his fingers skim up Wei Wuxian’s ribcage as if they’re still not completely sure they’re allowed. A slow warmth spreads through him at how he can feel the tension in Lan Zhan’s arms, in his body, easing away the longer they kiss. It reaches something deep inside of him that he can’t quite grasp, the same part of him that resonates when Lan Zhan loses himself in pleasure at his touch, when Lan Zhan says it feels good to have Wei Wuxian inside him.

Wei Wuxian gropes blindly along the surface of the bench, feeling his way until his fingers brush against the side of the vial. He curls it into his fist, bringing his arm back in without breaking the kiss. Keeping everything slow and relaxed, until he can feel the tremble of Lan Zhan’s breath against his tongue, and his hands gripping a bit more firmly at Wei Wuxian’s sides. Wei Wuxian could kiss him forever.

He can’t, in fact though. He has to pull back a bit, shift up to his knees so he can open the vial of oil and spread it over his fingers. Lan Zhan’s hands are playing nervously at his sides, and he seems to be watching Wei Wuxian work with a mixture of fascination and trepidation. But when Wei Wuxian sets the vial aside and checks in with him again, Lan Zhan gives a tiny nod. Confirmation. Encouragement.

Wei Wuxian settles himself back down, this time alongside Lan Zhan, tucked into the crook of Lan Zhan’s shoulder with one leg hooked over Lan Zhan’s thigh, a little renewed nervousness shivering between his shoulder blades. Lan Zhan keeps his eyes on Wei Wuxian’s face, and Wei Wuxian can see him swallow as Wei Wuxian moves his hand down, trying not to touch him too much and get the oil everywhere when he needs it to stay where it is. Keep his hand slick.

He nudges the inside of Lan Zhan’s unencumbered thigh with the back of his hand, gently. “Spread a little wider,” he says, and Lan Zhan pulls up his knee and opens out his hip, a slight tremor in his chest as Wei Wuxian moves his fingers down, back behind and underneath. Feeling around.

He’s touched him there before, a bit—needed to in order to get this working—but he’s never… not with intent like this. He’s just done it to find him, not to put his fingers inside. To touch him inside like that. It makes him a bit lightheaded when he runs a fingertip around the edges, feeling the entrance right there, how closed up it is. No wonder it hurts Lan Zhan when Wei Wuxian puts his cock there.

“Breathe,” he says, a reminder, because that’s important in training too, not to get too locked up. Lan Zhan knows that, of course, but it can be hard to think of it when you’re out on a limb, hard to apply it to something new. “I’m going to push in now, okay?”

Lan Zhan lets a short breath out through his nose and nods quickly, fervently.

Wei Wuxian takes that as his cue. He slides the first finger inside a little, and it’s… it is tight, fuck, even around his finger. Not as tight as around his cock, but still closer than he expected. The guilt pulls at him all over again for not having tried something like this sooner. Not even realizing.

Lan Zhan shudders out a breath, his mouth falling open and his eyes falling closed. There’s a small shift of his hips against Wei Wuxian’s hand, just barely.

“You okay?” Wei Wuxian asks.

Lan Zhan nods again, doesn’t open his eyes. “Yes,” he says, low and breathy. “It doesn’t hurt.”

“Good,” Wei Wuxian says, sliding his finger out and then back in again gently. Nothing catches, and even that initial tightness seems to be relaxing a little. Experimentally, Wei Wuxian pushes against the sides a little bit, seeing if that does anything. Lan Zhan makes a tiny, stifled noise in the back of his throat—but when Wei Wuxian’s eyes snap towards his face again, he still doesn’t look like he’s in pain.

Wei Wuxian can’t do much to stretch anything with only one finger in there though. He needs something to push against.

“I’m going to try a second finger, okay?” he says, and Lan Zhan is already nodding before he’s finished the sentence.

“Yes,” Lan Zhan says. “Good.”

Wei Wuxian nods back, even though Lan Zhan can’t see it. He pulls his hand back out and curls his middle finger up next to his first finger, sliding both in slowly, feeling it grow tighter again.

Lan Zhan moans. Softly, but still.

Sweat breaks out over Wei Wuxian’s skin but when he looks, checks, Lan Zhan is already nodding and saying, “Good, good,” shifting his hips into Wei Wuxian’s steady, gentle thrusts. A rush of want spreads through Wei Wuxian as he carefully, slowly works Lan Zhan open. He can’t help pressing his own cock against Lan Zhan’s hip as he starts to move his fingers, pushing outward against the resistance of Lan Zhan’s body. He can feel Lan Zhan’s breathing speeding up, and the fluttering heat in Lan Zhan’s skin.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan gasps, and he pulls his leg up a little further, seemingly unaware of how shameless he looks when he spreads himself like that. Wei Wuxian leans in and kisses distraction against Lan Zhan’s shoulder as he cautiously slides in a third finger.

The angle and mechanics of this make it a little more difficult to move—but he can feel Lan Zhan’s body yielding to the slight increase in pressure even without a lot of movement. Lan Zhan is making little cutoff noises with each breath, his hand fluttering into Wei Wuxian’s hair and down the length of his back, and Wei Wuxian is pretty sure this is working, it’s actually working.

He keeps going for a little while even after he can feel the tightness ease up, enough that he’s able to spread his fingers a little again and there seems to be an easier give. Lan Zhan is shivering in his arms, letting him do as he pleases—and when Wei Ying glances down between his legs again, he notices that Lan Zhan’s cock is deeply flushed against his stomach.

He’s… it wasn’t like that when they started, he was… not soft, exactly, but not. Not like this. Lan Zhan isn’t just opening up more, he’s actually getting hard from this. He likes it. It puts a shiver in Wei Ying’s belly, realizing he can make Lan Zhan feel this good with just his hand, just like this.

Wei Wuxian swallows. “I’m going to try now, okay?” he says, and Lan Zhan nods blindly, looking somehow loose and wound up all at the same time, like one touch in the right place could send him over the edge.

Lan Zhan gives a ragged exhale as Wei Wuxian pulls his fingers out, and Wei Wuxian doesn’t waste any time in shifting around to settle in between Lan Zhan’s legs. He tips some more of the oil into his hand and slicks himself from root to tip, then hooks his arms underneath Lan Zhan’s thighs and starts getting himself lined up. Lan Zhan’s eyes open at the brush of Wei Wuxian’s cock, and he watches, hips arching upwards, as Wei Wuxian slides himself inside. Wei Wuxian can still feel the slight pressure at the entrance, a tiny slip as he pushes through the narrowest point—but it’s so much easier, so much smoother, and Lan Zhan lets out a shuddering breath when he’s able to push all the way in almost without stopping, without waiting.

“Wei Ying,” he gasps, pushing his hips insistently against Wei Wuxian’s, and Wei Wuxian’s pulse is going a mile a minute, that hot, familiar grip all around him. The anxiety is gone this time, that feeling that he’s taking something he shouldn’t, forcing himself into somewhere he doesn’t belong. He’s just here now. Exactly where Lan Zhan wants him.

“How does it feel?” Wei Wuxian asks—knows he shouldn’t ask it like that but he can’t help himself, all he can see is Lan Zhan, spread open around him, his body welcoming him in like he’s the piece that’s been missing.

“Good,” Lan Zhan trembles out, nodding helplessly as Wei Wuxian takes a first cautious thrust. “You feel good inside me.”

It weaves deep into the center of him, and he wants to give Lan Zhan more somehow, make him tremble softer, feel undone. Feel the way Wei Wuxian feels when Lan Zhan tells him what he wants, when Lan Zhan asks for things that Wei Wuxian can give him.

It’s so much easier like this, so much freer, the way Lan Zhan shifts his hips into Wei Wuxian’s thrusts. Lan Zhan makes another stifled sound when Wei Wuxian takes him in hand, his dick harder than it ever is when Wei Wuxian has just pushed inside. Lan Zhan’s breath starts coming faster, needier, as Wei Wuxian matches the strokes to his thrusts, and it’s a struggle to keep up with him, to keep everything coordinated. He’s gotten good at it, but usually he gets a chance to work up to it because he starts slow and careful, and this is a little like starting a footrace right in the middle, already at full speed. But Wei Wuxian doesn’t want to make him wait now, wants to give him what he needs. What he’s been waiting for. He loves it when Lan Zhan gets swept up in urgency from his hand and he makes it tight enough right away now, pushing and driving and flicking his thumb over the head just so, just the way he’s learned Lan Zhan likes it, until Lan Zhan starts to lose track of the rhythm, his limbs weakening, fingers clenching in the mat underneath him.

A half-stuttered cry ripples through him, and then he’s coming over Wei Wuxian’s hand, his hips still twitching into Wei Wuxian’s grip with each successive wave. Wei Wuxian holds him through it, keeps his strokes gentle until it’s all out of him, and Lan Zhan melts into the mattress with a deep exhale.

He’s so beautiful like this.

Wei Wuxian’s whole body is aching to push into him deeper, more, hitch his hips up and hold on until he finds his own release—but he gives Lan Zhan a chance to breathe first. Reminds himself he wanted to make this good for Lan Zhan, better than before, and if he has to hang onto his control by the tips of his fingers, he’s going to damn well do it.

Lan Zhan blinks his eyes open again, unfocused and skating over Wei Wuxian’s skin. It seems to take him a moment to grasp that Wei Wuxian is waiting, holding himself back.

“You can…” Lan Zhan says, his voice shot and his words apparently not much better. But he lifts a hand and gestures vaguely, and Wei Wuxian thinks he gets what he’s saying.

He tries another thrust, and Lan Zhan shudders out a “yes,” like he still wants more, wants this, and that’s all Wei Wuxian needs. He shifts Lan Zhan’s hips up a bit, finds the angle that works and starts pushing in stronger, harder, faster, until the rhythm is running ahead of him and he’s chasing it to keep up. He’s clumsier chasing his own need than he was getting Lan Zhan off but Lan Zhan’s ankles are linked behind his back, holding him, and he lets Wei Wuxian drive the pace, offering up his body for whatever Wei Wuxian needs, anything, yes, so good, Lan Zhan is so open and wants him and he’s so—good—

It sweeps over him in a rush, that surge of heat that fills him to the brim and then empties him again, buried deep inside. He keeps Lan Zhan’s hips pressed tight against his own as he rides it out, his breath coming in harsh gasps. Finally all the strength goes out of him. He just manages to slip out and lower Lan Zhan’s hips back down to the bed before he collapses sideways, his face half-buried in Lan Zhan’s sweet-smelling hair.

They’re both quiet for a very long time, just breathing against each other, their heartbeats tangling and evening out, slowly.

“That was good training,” Lan Zhan says at last, his breath warm against Wei Wuxian’s ear. Wei Wuxian laughs into the crook of Lan Zhan’s neck.

~      ~      ~

“Can somebody find me a rat?” Wei Ying calls out across the courtyard.

Lan Wangji looks up from his basket-weaving and over towards the steps of the great hall. Wei Ying is sprawled there, his talismans spread out in a mysterious order around him and a thoughtful frown on his face.

Wen Qing, who is sitting nearby with Grandmother Wen, tying herbs into bundles for drying, briefly meets Lan Wangji’s eyes, then says, “I know you’re bored of the radishes, but rats feel a little desperate, don’t you think?”

“What?” Wei Ying looks up. The confusion on his face is impossibly endearing, and the huffy noise he makes when he catches up makes Lan Wangji’s mouth tug into a smile in spite of himself. “It’s not for dinner, it’s for my potatoes.”

Grandmother Wen does not seem to find this any more illuminating, and Wen Qing is biting back a grin. “I see,” she says sagely.

Wei Ying sits up and waves a talisman impatiently in her general direction. “You know how my second potato crop got eaten by the forest creatures?” he says, both to her and to Lan Wangji, though at this point their conversation has the attention of a lot of the Wens doing work in the courtyard.

Lan Wangji has indeed heard the sad tale of Wei Ying’s abortive attempt to maintain an ongoing potato supply. He nods sympathetically.

“Yes, somehow we caught wind of that,” Wen Qing says, with grave indulgence.

Wei Ying rolls his eyes impatiently. “Right, so anyway, I’m trying to test out some new spells to repel those little jerks,” he continues, gesturing at one of the piles of talismans. “And I need a volunteer.”

“I see,” Wen Qing says. “Well, no help here. I haven’t seen any rats around, and frankly I think we’d like to keep it that way.” She shares a look with Grandmother Wen and Wen Liu, and there’s a grim little edge to their expressions. It reminds him a bit of the shadow that crosses Wei Ying’s face whenever the bark of a dog can be heard in the distance.

“A little field mouse would do,” Wei Ying mutters thoughtfully.

“I could try to find you a fish,” Wen Shu offers, a shy, almost invisible smile on her face. It stands out to Lan Wangji because she doesn’t usually join in these teasing conversations. Wen Xiaobo snorts a laugh, quickly stifled into his sleeve.

But Wei Ying just wrinkles his nose pensively, biting on his lower lip. “I don’t know if fish are attracted to my potatoes…”

“I thought everyone was attracted to your potatoes,” Wen Qing says innocently, which makes all the women laugh. Lan Wangji does not understand what was funny, but he has a feeling it was rude. It sends a prickling heat down the back of his neck, not unpleasantly.

“Oi,” Wei Ying protests, shooting her a glare. “See if I let you have any of my potatoes when they’re all grown and tasty.”

“Perish the thought,” Wen Qing grins, and Wei Ying flicks a stray bit of reed in her direction.

It has turned into quite a relaxed, peaceful day. They finished with the most recent round of planting yesterday, and it will be a few more days at least before the next plot is ready for harvest. Wen Zian and Wen Yunlan are taking the time to examine the foundation of the eastern houses and see if it might be possible to build an extension onto Wen Qing’s cabin. On one of the stools next to Lan Wangji, Wen Guang is working on a new basket with a flat side that will make it easier to carry on one’s back. Wen Liu and Wen Shu are sitting beside her, working on a larger panel that looks like it might be part of a fence of some kind, asking her advice from time to time when they run into trouble.

Three of the younger women have brought their stools over to the shade near the edge of the radish fields, where they have a series of buckets laid out in front of them. Ostensibly they’re experimenting with crushing different sort of leaves to embellish the cedar paste they use for hair rinsing with other fragrances, but from what Lan Wangji can see, they’re spending most of their time watching Wen Xiaobo chop wood, and then giggling and whispering to each other. Wen Song is chasing Ah Yuan in circles at a safe distance from the wood-chopping, running after him and making hog noises until he shrieks with laughter. Whenever she catches him, she turns him upside down and lets him flail about until he says the magic phrase that allows him to be released. Not too far from where Lan Wangji is sitting, Fourth Uncle is dozing quietly at the foot of the fallen statue, a straw hat shielding his face from the sun.

“Wen Ning!” Wei Ying hollers all of a sudden.

Fourth Uncle startles. Wen Qing makes an exasperated noise. “Wei Wuxian,” she says—but Wei Ying isn’t paying attention to her, already twisting around to see Wen Ning come charging out of the great hall, a dripping ladle in his hand. He has a torn swath of old robes tied across his front to protect his day clothes from spills and splatters, and a half eager, half terrified expression on his face.

“Yes?” he says.

“Oh,” Wei Ying says, taking in the ladle and the splattered apron. “You’re busy…”

“The s-stew will be done soon,” Wen Ning says, motioning vaguely at the hall with the ladle. “How can I help, Young Master Wei?”

Wei Ying looks terribly torn for a moment. But then his face crumples apologetically. “Never mind—sorry I interrupted, Wen Ning. I’ll figure something out. Don’t let the food burn.”

Wen Ning casts an uncertain look at his sister, but Wen Qing gives him a reassuring nod. That seems to release some of the tension in his shoulders, and he nods and smiles, bustling back into the great hall.

“He’s gotten quite good,” Grandmother Wen comments to Wen Qing. “I like what he did with that goat’s cheese, it was lovely.”

“It was, wasn’t it,” Wen Qing agrees, and Lan Wangji can see the soft glow of pride underneath her smile.

The reeds Lan Wangji is working into the lip of the basket start unraveling beneath his fingers again, and he has to suppress a sigh of frustration.  He’s certain he’s doing exactly as Wen Guang demonstrated when she first taught him this technique, but the reeds are simply not cooperating. It’s like he knows all the steps, but his fingers can’t quite connect them.

Wen Guang notices him struggling and sets aside her own project, leaning over and showing him how to hold things again. Her touch is gentle and instructive, helping his fingers find the way to keep the reeds from slipping apart and losing tension before they’re secured.

“Ah Yuan,” Grandmother Wen’s voice calls nervously. “Ah Yuan, get down from there.”

Lan Wangji looks up at her and follows her gaze across to the fallen stone statue. Fourth Uncle seems to have finished his nap and gone off to do something else, and Wen Song must have tired of the chase game eventually—Lan Wangji hasn’t heard any hog noises for a while. He now sees that Ah Yuan is over by the pile of stone statue fragments,  pushing himself up to wriggle on top of the fallen-sideways stone lantern. The lantern isn’t very high, and there’s a limit to how high the pile of broken rocks gets in general—but Lan Wangji doesn’t know how sturdy they are either. Worry grows tight in his stomach as Ah Yuan gets his knees under him and Lan Wangji can’t help imagining something giving way, Ah Yuan going tumbling in the midst of all those hard, jagged edges.

He meets Grandmother Wen’s eyes briefly and sees the same concern reflected there.

“Excuse me,” Lan Wangji says to Wen Guang, who gives him an understanding nod and accepts his basket onto her lap. Lan Wangji gets to his feet and goes over to stand beside the remnants of the statue, just close enough to be of help if anything should slip.

Ah Yuan gives him a grin but doesn’t seem to take his presence as a distraction from his mission. He shuffles forward a bit, then stands up carefully, his arms outstretched for balancing, and he seems to be considering his options for the next step in his climb. Lan Wangji darts a glance over at Grandmother Wen, just to see if she would prefer that he get Ah Yuan all the way down off the statue and abort the climbing. But she seems much relieved now that he is close enough to protect Ah Yuan from a fall, and she gives him a little smile of thanks.

As Ah Yuan picks his way carefully along the pile of rubble, Lan Wangji hovering in attendance, it brings them gradually closer to where Wei Ying sits, still mulling over his talismans. He’s got one in particular in his hand, and he’s staring at it with a little frown between his brows, his eyes tracing the lines as if searching for a hidden flaw or critiquing the precise angle of a stroke.

“Is something wrong?” Lan Wangji asks him. He’s facing Wei Ying now, though he still has a hand out for Ah Yuan to grab if Ah Yuan loses his balance, and he’s monitoring the climbing progress in his peripheral vision.

Wei Ying shakes his head, making a noncommittal noise. “I think it should work,” he says, with a pout he is probably not aware of. “But I’ve got a couple of different versions I want to try out before I actually plant the potatoes. I really don’t want to risk it this time—I want to be sure it’ll do the job.”

Lan Wangji casts his eyes over the numerous different versions of a similar talisman that are spread out all around Wei Ying. He hasn’t been following the details of this particular project, and he understands that the potatoes are very important. But it seems odd to him that it would be this difficult to ensure they aren’t molested. “What is it that you’re concerned will not work?” he asks. “You’ve been able to set up a very reliable barrier to protect the camp. Surely it can’t be difficult to repel even large animals from your potato field.”

“Yeah, no, that would be easy if I just went all-out like with the perimeter protections,” Wei Ying says, darting Lan Wangji a smile. “I could seal that thing off from a herd of elephants if I threw enough power at it. But that’s just the thing, we’ve already got this whole huge area blocked off like this, and the animals that survive in this forest have enough shit to deal with with all the ghosts and evil spirits and things hanging around. I don’t want to throw up an invisible wall that will zap them anytime they get close just because they also want something tasty to eat. I just want them to sort of… accidentally never go there, without even realizing it.”

Lan Wangji feels a warm, soft glow at the center of his chest. It is forever baffling to him that anyone in the world, including Lan Wangji himself, could have missed how kind and thoughtful Wei Ying is at heart. “I see,” he says, with a little smile of his own. “Perhaps you could lure a few mice here with your flute, if you make sure that they are small and sufficiently fluffy. There seems to be a strong contingent against the idea of luring any rats.”

Wei Ying laughs, giving Lan Wangji a conspiratorial look. “I could, maybe—but Lan Zhan, think of my reputation! What will they say in the village if word gets around that Yiling Laozu commands an army of dancing mice?”

Lan Wangji nods thoughtfully, feeling the warmth of Wei Ying’s amusement like a caress against his skin. “Indeed, that might be a problem. Perhaps a tame deer or enchanted hedgehog would be considered a more fitting companion?”

“What dancing mice?” Ah Yuan asks, balanced on top of the stone plinth where the statue once stood. He looks back and forth between Wei Ying and Lan Wangji, intrigued.

“You see?” Wei Ying says, gesturing at Ah Yuan. “The rumors are starting already.”

“I want to see the dancing mice,” Ah Yuan says, looking at Lan Wangji now and bouncing slightly on his toes.

Lan Wangji meets Wei Ying’s eyes briefly, just enough to see the grin spread on Wei Ying’s face. “I do not know if we will find any that know how to dance,” Lan Wangji qualifies his statement to Ah Yuan. “But perhaps if Hanguang-jun is the one known to be luring mice, we can spare the Yiling Laozu’s reputation.”

Ah Yuan nods enthusiastically, though it’s plain he has understood little except for the fact that there will be mice. He reaches out his arms toward Lan Wangji and flicks his fingers in a grabbing motion, asking to be helped down. “I want to see the mice now.”

Lan Wangji bows to his wishes and grips him under the arms, lifting him off the plinth and settling him against his hip. “We will need something to keep them in,” Lan Wangji says, half to Ah Yuan and half to Wei Ying.

“My toy basket!” Ah Yuan says, his legs kicking excitedly. The toy basket is quite small, but it has a lid, and the weave is tight enough that it should be able to contain even a quite small mouse. Lan Wangji knows this, because he fashioned it himself.

“Isn’t it full of your toys?” Lan Wangji asks.

“We can take them out for the mice,” Ah Yuan says magnanimously, and seems to feel that the matter is very settled. When Lan Wangji meets Wei Ying’s eyes again, he finds that the grin has gone soft around the edges, watching the two of them make plans for their mouse luring operation.

Something bubbles up inside of Lan Wangji at he looks at Wei Ying watching them, watching as Lan Wangji stands there with Ah Yuan tugging at his sleeve and opining on how big a mouse they might find, or whether maybe there will be a family of mice that all know how to dance, and the tiny baby mouse will be fluffy and brown, but lighter brown than the other two. It takes him a moment to realize that it is contentment. Pure, simple, quiet, unencumbered by the sense of duty or of destination, by the need to deny himself or to push himself forward. He could stay here. He could let himself float free in this gentle river of uncertainty, of unsaidness, and remain content for a very long time. If not for the future he knows is approaching and must one day arrive, he could live like this forever, here in this chaotic, untidy, overflowing happiness.

“I await my mice, Hanguang-jun,” Wei Ying says, with a little tease at the corner of his mouth, and Lan Wangji can’t help smiling back as he nods in promise. At this moment, he wishes for nothing more or less than to play his guqin and bring mice to dance for Wei Ying and for Ah Yuan.

~      ~      ~

My father rarely smiled.

I never found this strange, as a child, but then perhaps that is because I seem to take after him in this respect. It was more difficult for Xichen. Xichen has always been a sweet and gentle soul, like sunlight that warms a frosted meadow. My father was a harsh, chill wind beneath a clouded sky.

I believe my mother was more like Xichen in temperament. But I can no longer remember for certain.

The clearest image I can recall of my father is of him in plain white robes, his hair simply bound and graying at the temples, sitting solemnly behind the desk at the center of the library. This was after my mother was gone, when those few moments of lightness I had once witnessed in him were all but extinct, and he would emerge from his seclusion only to study those texts that could not leave the library. He would sit for hours, reading and writing in silence. At times, Xichen would sit beside him, practicing his calligraphy and occasionally asking him questions about what he was writing.

I would watch from the doorway. I never went near.

I don’t think I understood, then, what I was bearing witness to. I was too young to comprehend where my mother had gone, and to some extent I blamed him for her absence.

Much later on in my life, I would spend hours, days, years, sitting in that very same place, my brush drifting silently over the paper, my eyes over the words. At times, Sizhui would sit beside me, practicing his calligraphy.

I rarely smiled, even when Sizhui would lean over the desk, craning his neck to see what I was doing. I understood, then, my father’s silence.

There’s a frustrated growl from the other side of the room, and Lan Wangji glances up from the board perched on his lap over towards the worktable. Wei Ying is hunched over it with a furious look on his face, trying to shove the pointed end of one stick into a hole bored into a thicker, rounded block. Lan Wangji recognizes the shape of it after a moment—it’s the modified toy horse that Wei Ying has been building for Ah Yuan, with a few characters carved into the belly of it that are meant to make it float. After the afternoon’s successful mouse excursion, Wei Ying seemed intent on resuming the project, to thank Ah Yuan for his efforts.

“Is everything all right?” Lan Wangji asks. A smile tugs at his lips as Wei Ying turns the wood block over and sets it down on the desk, stabbing the pointed stick into the hole like a dagger. When he takes his hand away, it falls out.

“Yeah, perfect,” Wei Ying huffs, picking up the stick and inspecting the sharpened end. “I just can’t get it to wedge. Maybe the angle is still wrong…”

Lan Wangji hums in sympathy. His natural instinct is to try to help, but he knows that Wei Ying’s intuition for these kinds of mechanical problems is better than his, and he’s learned through experience that his efforts to help usually lead to more frustration. It’s best to let Wei Ying solve the problem on his own.

He watches for a few more minutes as Wei Ying tries twisting and screwing the stick into the hole. When it still doesn’t seem to stay where he wants it, Wei Ying gives a sigh and pulls the stick out again, picking up the blade beside him to whittle the end a bit more.

Lan Wangji turns back to his lap desk. He picks up the wooden box beside him on the cot and places it on his knees so he can slip the page he’s just written in with the others. As he sifts through a couple of pages near the top of the box, he comes across a drawing of a rabbit.

Wei Ying’s drawing, he remembers, running his fingertips over the smooth lines, the little flicks of fur along its back. The darker tips of the ears. He remembers the night he asked Wei Ying to draw it, the way they sat up for hours at the table. They worked through drawing after drawing, tweaking a few features each time, until they had it just right. Perfect, like this.

But he can’t remember what it was for.

It’s a growing hollowness inside him, as if he can actually feel the gap spread wide, the darkness into which the significance of this rabbit has been swallowed up. He knows it was important. It felt important at the time, he can still feel it. They stayed up all night. Wei Ying drew so many and none of them were right, but this one was.

Lan Wangji just doesn’t know why anymore.

He tries to keep his heartbeat steady, tries to keep the distress from showing on his face as he skims his eyes over every part of it, searching for some flicker of recognition. There’s nothing.

One of the corners is folded over, and he realizes it’s caught up with the folded corner of another page, just behind it. Neat and intentional, like he’d saved it there, knotted these two fragments together within his collection. He lifts away the drawing of the rabbit and finds a memory underneath, words he must have written many months ago, though as he reads them he has no recollection of writing them at all.

I do not truly have the words to describe the feeling that came over me when he showed me what he had drawn…

…I have never felt such warmth spread through me so quickly as it did at the sight of the rabbit he had drawn on our shared lantern, like a secret wish had been plucked from inside me and was suddenly here…

…he laughed at me, in his noisy, carefree way, pulling me back into my startled, helpless self…

As we lifted our lantern to the sky, I watched him press his hands together and close his eyes, wishing for the strength to eliminate evil, protect the weak… I could feel it in my bones as the last of my resistance to him fell away…

I was, in spite of every effort…

…in love with him.

“Wei Ying,” he breathes, staring at the paper. He can’t remember any of it. Not one word.

The lantern, the rabbit. The promise. None of it is familiar, none of it stirs any images, any sense of the moment in his mind. It’s as if it happened to someone else.

This was the moment he fell in love with Wei Ying. And he can’t remember.

He reads the words again, and again after that, trying to imprint them on his mind. After the third time, he can recall bits of it with his eyes closed—not the day, not the memory, but at least the words. He can imagine what it might have been like, Wei Ying kneeling next to him in his dark robes, and that joyful laugh, his hands… pressed together, folded? Or flat? Did his hair fall around his face? Was there a breeze? Was there sunlight?

He doesn’t know. He will never know.

But these words, he must remember. They’re all he has left of this.

“Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying says, and Lan Wangji startles, eyes opening again to find Wei Ying looking at him with a vaguely concerned expression. “You okay?”

It’s strange how forcefully relief hits him, just to see Wei Ying sitting there, where he’s sat all evening. Where he sits most evenings, leaning into his elbow, one hand fiddling a pointed stick between his fingers. He’s gotten one of them to stay in the hole now, but there are three more to go. The familiarity of the sight, the reality of him here, makes Lan Wangji’s throat go tight and his eyes sting.

This is what matters. This is what he sacrificed to save. Wei Ying in candlelight, fiddling with his inventions and looking back at Lan Wangji like this is any other evening and nothing is gone. Nothing is lost.

He has this, now.

“I’m a bit tired,” he says, glad his voice only catches a little, no more than might be explained by exhaustion. “I should get some rest.”

Wei Ying nods, mouth twisting in sympathy. He seems to accept that that’s all it is, the stick still fiddling and twirling between his fingers as he casts his eyes over the remnants of his work. He looks a bit tired himself.

“Would you come to bed with me?” Lan Wangji says, before he can think better of it. Wei Ying blinks up at him, surprised.

It feels selfish. He knows it is. Wei Ying makes better use of the evening hours than Lan Wangji does, and Lan Wangji doesn’t want to take that away from him. But he also feels a helpless need to hold Wei Ying in his arms just now, to feel his warmth. Remind himself that this is real. That the memories of now will stay with him, whatever comes.

Wei Ying gives him a quirked smile and lets out a small sigh. “Sure,” he says, flicking a weary hand at the mess of sticks and wood shavings spread out in front of him. “I’m not making a lot of progress on this anyway.”

Lan Wangji should tell him it’s all right if he wants to stay up. He should praise Wei Ying’s progress on this project, his cleverness and his generosity towards Ah Yuan. He shouldn’t expect him to want or need Lan Wangji’s casual touch, his comfort and ease, as much as Lan Wangji needs those things from him. He knows that isn’t part of the unspoken agreement between them.

But instead he nods.

He tidies away his papers, tucking the rabbit and its memory safely into the back, so he’ll be able to find it again easily. He resolves to read it at least once a day from now on, in hopes that he can carve the words into his heart and remember that it was real, even if he can no longer conjure the memory of the place, the time itself. Of how he felt, as his heart turned.

Lan Wangji sheds his outer robe and folds it away. Wei Ying is still puttering around, sorting sticks into piles as Lan Wangji takes his place on one side of the stone bed. He rests his head on the pillow, watching Wei Ying put away a few things on the shelf before undoing his belt and shrugging off his own outer robe.

The shape of Wei Ying’s body, more visible as he shifts and twists in only his thin underrobe, stirs a quiet desire inside Lan Wangji, and he reminds himself again that this is here. That he won’t lose this. Even when he forgets everything, all that came before that moment in the rain, the love and tenderness he feels for Wei Ying will remain undimmed. Even when he no longer remembers any of the moments that led him to fall for Wei Ying in the first place, he will still have the spark in Wei Ying’s eyes when he is plotting a new invention, the sound of his voice when he teases Ah Yuan or becomes petulant with Wen Qing, the shiver of his body when he moves against Lan Wangji. All of these will be enough to remind him. To know the truth of his feelings, whatever their origin. It is enough, even now.

His love for Wei Ying as he is now, alive and happy in this transient refuge, is as deep and unyielding as ever, even if the moment it began has slipped through his fingers.

Wei Ying drops down beside him with a sigh, rolling over to face Lan Wangji with his head propped up on one hand. The weather is warm still, but Wei Ying tugs the blanket over himself nonetheless, as if he feels a chill that doesn’t reach Lan Wangji. Lan Wangji shifts closer and makes a space for him at his side, which Wei Ying happily occupies, one leg drifting lazily over Lan Wangji’s thigh as his head settles onto Lan Wangji’s shoulder.

“You sure you’re okay?” Wei Ying asks, punctuating it with a yawn.

Lan Wangji keeps very still, breathing in Wei Ying’s closeness and letting it calm the ache inside him. “Why do you ask?”

Wei Ying shifts around a bit, finding a more comfortable position for his arm and ending up pressing closer into Lan Wangji’s side. “You haven’t jumped me yet,” he says, and Lan Wangji can hear the cheeky grin that’s muffled against his thin robe. “Usually that’s what you mean when you ask me to come to bed.”

It stirs deep in Lan Wangji’s belly, that strange mixture of nervousness and desire that only Wei Ying seems to inspire in him. But before he can figure out how to answer, he feels Wei Ying patting his stomach with his hand, a soothing circle that dips just below the belt, but stays chaste.

“I’m just teasing, Lan Zhan,” he murmurs, reassuring. “I mean, we can if you want, but we can also just sleep sometimes, if you want to. It feels good. Sleeping like this with you.”

Lan Wangji can hardly breathe. Wei Ying sounds drowsy and casual, as if speaking without thought behind it. He probably isn’t even listening to what he’s saying, and if he is, he can’t know what it means to Lan Wangji to hear him say something like that. Closeness is different for Wei Ying, easier—he used to crawl in bed with Lan Wangji, long before they had any physical relationship, just because he was cold. Lan Wangji knows he mustn’t take it too much to heart.

But still. It stirs within him an echo of the words from the memory, already receding from his mind again like water through a sieve, unable to hold a shape.

His kindness had shaken the ground beneath me and engraved the first fragile notes of a hopeful melody onto my heart.

“I like it too,” Lan Wangji says, quietly. His arms curl a little tighter around Wei Ying of their own accord, and he can feel the quiet beat of Wei Ying’s heart against his chest. Warm and close, real.

This, Lan Wangji will always remember.

Chapter Text

“Come on, Ah Yuan,” Grandmother Wen says. “Show Hanguang-jun how tall you can be!”

Lan Wangji looks up from the dark robe he’s scrubbing and watches Ah Yuan stretch his hands up towards the sky. He’s shifting his weight from one foot to the other on tiptoe, as though trying to climb the air.

Grandmother Wen has a length of string in her hands, and she’s quick and efficient as she measures Ah Yuan from shoulder to ankle, waist to foot, and around the middle. Ah Yuan is in his underclothes, fresh from a bath, and when Grandmother Wen finishes with her measurements and tickles the little strip of belly between shirt and trousers, he shrieks a giggle and throws himself at Lan Wangji for protection. Lan Wangji scoops him up underneath the arms before he can topple into the laundry washtub and settles him on his knee, letting him laugh and cling.

Grandmother Wen is looping up her knotted string and slipping it into her robes, watching them with a smile.

“Can we go see the goats?” Ah Yuan asks, holding onto the front of Lan Wangji’s robes and looking up at him hopefully. He’s still squirming and shifting, and Lan Wangji keeps a hand at the small of his back to steady him.

Much as with Wei Ying, Lan Wangji finds it difficult to deny Ah Yuan. But there’s no helping it, the goats are a long journey from here on foot, and there is still work to do for the day. Besides, they mustn’t presume to disrupt hard-working farmers with requests to visit their animals on a regular basis.

He feels a sudden flicker of a memory, warm and bittersweet, and remembers Ah Yuan when he was a few years older than this, sitting in the snow at the Cloud Recesses and picking up each rabbit one by one, making sure they all got an equal share of his affection.

“Not today,” he says, apologetic. “I have a lot of laundry to do. Perhaps another time.”

Ah Yuan doesn’t seem terribly upset by this. He is quite full of energy today, and soon squirms in the way that means he wishes to be on his own two feet again, so Lan Wangji allows him to slide down off his knee. “I want to do laundry too!” Ah Yuan says, leaning his hands on the edge of the large washtub and peering into the water as if there might be something interesting at the bottom of it.

Lan Wangji quickly places a hand on the opposite side of the tub for counterbalance. He shakes his head. “You will need to wait until you’re a little bigger before you can help with the laundry,” he says. It’s clear that Ah Yuan is bored, and Lan Wangji finds it uncanny how much he resembles Wei Ying in that state, casting about for anything and everything to do. He wonders for a moment if he should bring him into the cave and see if Wei Ying is similarly restless, but he doesn’t want to disturb Wei Ying’s work if it turns out he’s having success with one of his projects.

“Can we go to the river?” Ah Yuan says, still holding onto the edge of the tub but now hopping from foot to foot again.

Grandmother Wen meets Lan Wangji’s eyes for a moment, both fond amusement and commiseration in her expression. He can tell she’s wondering if she should take charge of Ah Yuan and leave Lan Wangji free to do his work. But she has her own work to do, a stack of clothes to be mended sitting next to her on the bench, and Ah Yuan will only become more bored if he is left to watch her sew. Lan Wangji casts a glance out across the courtyard where a few people are working and chatting, and the fields where Fourth Uncle has a contingent helping with another round of planting, but there doesn’t seem to be much going on anywhere that Ah Yuan can help with.

Lan Wangji only has a few more robes to clean and estimates he should be finished in half an hour or so. And Ah Yuan does love the water. Lan Wangji never takes him all the way down to the pool, because it’s too far out in the woods and the path is less well protected than the main path to the river, but he’s brought him down to the fishing pier a few times and let him dangle his feet, feel the current between his toes. “If you are good,” he says, “and play quietly while I finish with the laundry, then yes. After that, we can go to the river.”

“I’ll be good!” Ah Yuan cheers, straightening up and clapping his hands together gleefully.

“Are you sure you don’t mind, Hanguang-jun?” Grandmother Wen asks, though Lan Wangji can see the hint of relief in her eyes.

“It’s no trouble,” he reassures her. “I was intending to get more water for the bathing area this afternoon in any case.”

True to his word, Ah Yuan wanders back over to where he left his toy horse lying on the ground a few feet away. He drops himself down beside it and picks it up, letting it nibble at a little patch of dry grass and settling into a quiet monologue about how tasty the grass is, and how much the horse is looking forward to going down to the river to have a drink and scare the fish by splashing around in the water.

Grandmother Wen picks up the little folded pile of Ah Yuan’s clean robes from beside her and places them in her lap, smoothing her hands over the neat edges of the stack. It’s a warm day, and she seems content to let Ah Yuan romp around in his underclothes a while longer. Lan Wangji can’t help worrying that Ah Yuan's trousers will be stained from sitting in the dirt, knowing that his spare ones won’t be dry for a while, but now that he is happily occupied, Lan Wangji doesn’t wish to disturb him until it’s time to go down to the river.

After a moment, Lan Wangji realizes that Grandmother Wen’s affectionate smile has shifted from Ah Yuan over to him. He feels slightly caught, the way he often does when he finds himself doting on Ah Yuan as though he were a principal guardian to him, instead of another helping hand. It’s an old habit, and he worries sometimes that Grandmother Wen might find him presumptuous, overstepping the boundaries of what is his to meddle in. But there’s no criticism in her expression.

“These robes should do all right for a little longer,” she says, patting the top of the little pile as she turns back to Ah Yuan. “But that shirt is getting a bit short on him. He’s had it for a while, and he’s grown at least another inch since I last measured.”

Lan Wangji hums in agreement, watching Ah Yuan stretch forward as the horse gallops through the grass. The fabric pulls a little at the shoulders too. “It might be time for a replacement,” Lan Wangji agrees. “I believe we have enough fabric still?”

“It’s not urgent, I would say,” Grandmother Wen says. “It’s just an undershirt after all. If someone else has plans for that fabric, he can still get by.”

Lan Wangji shakes his head, resuming his scrubbing. “I will check with Lady Wen, but I don’t believe it’s spoken for. I know you have much to do. I would need your advice on the appropriate size, but I would be happy to help with the sewing.”

There’s a soft little laugh beside him, warm and sweet. “You’ve become quite handy with the needle, haven’t you, Hanguang-jun.”

He darts a surprised glance at her, feeling self-conscious all of a sudden. But there’s only kindness in her smile, and he finds himself oddly pleased by the praise. He ducks his head, a memory of school days and rules against arrogance heating the back of his neck. “I had a very good teacher,” he says.

Her eyes wrinkle more as her smile deepens, and she turns her attention back to Ah Yuan. Lan Wangji pulls the heavy, wet robe out from under the water and begins wringing it dry, piece by piece, until he can fold it into the basket beside him for hanging.

“He’s grown so much since we came here,” Grandmother Wen muses, half to herself. “You hardly notice the days as they pass, but every time I pick him up he seems a little bit harder to manage.”

Lan Wangji glances over at her, then back at Ah Yuan. She’s right, he truly has grown. Lan Wangji doesn’t struggle to pick him up, of course, but when he thinks back to the small child who was crying in the great hall in the chaos and fear of their arrival, who burrowed instinctively against Lan Wangji’s shoulder when Lan Wangji first picked him up, he can see the difference. Feel it.

“Perhaps we should play it safe and make the next shirt a little larger on him,” Grandmother Wen says, ruefully. “He’ll be taller than me before long, at this rate.”

Lan Wangji agrees with a quiet nod. He’s watching Ah Yuan converse with the horse, the way he squirms and fidgets and is bursting with energy, with so few opportunities to put it to use. Lan Wangji knows that in the other future, it was another year or so before he began receiving even the most basic instruction as a cultivator, and yet by the time Lan Wangji left him… by the time Sizhui was nearly grown, he had become a promising disciple, well on the way to being one of the best young men they’d ever taught. There is time yet.

But Lan Wangji also recalls afternoons during Sizhui’s early studies when he would come to find Lan Wangji at his work in the library, wiping frustrated tears from his eyes and curling up in a corner because he felt he could not meet the standards being set by the other children. Children who had been given a gentle introduction to the fundamentals of meditation by the time they were three or four, and who had grown up surrounded by adults with the time and the means to help them build on that foundation, without the distraction of questions like where to procure the next meal or how to fend off the resentment energy in the air.

There are, of course, no other children for Ah Yuan to compare himself to here in the Burial Mounds, and that fact alone makes Lan Wangji’s heart ache when he remembers how liked and trusted Sizhui grew up to be, a friend to all his peers. But perhaps it is all the more reason to begin giving him instruction earlier this time. If Lan Wangji cannot give him the companionship of others his age, like he had in the Cloud Recesses, at least he can help him realize his cultivation ability.

“I wonder, Grandmother Wen,” he begins, turning to her again, his damp hands resting on his knees. She looks at him expectantly, open. “Would you object if I were to begin teaching Ah Yuan the basics of cultivation? Assuming he is willing, of course.”

Her eyebrows arch in surprise, but to Lan Wangji’s relief she does not seem displeased by the suggestion. “My goodness, Hanguang-jun,” she says with a little laugh. “I can’t imagine who in the world would object to that, certainly not Ah Yuan. But do you think he’s old enough?”

Lan Wangji’s pulse beats heavy with a strange pride, a strange relief. He nods. “I am experienced at working with young trainees. I would not ask him to do anything beyond his abilities. In the Cloud Recesses, children are taught the fundamentals of meditation at an even younger age than his.”

It occurs to him as he says the words that he doesn’t actually know Ah Yuan’s date of birth. Back then, in the future that won’t happen, Lan Wangji had been asked to select a day for the purposes of recordkeeping. He had chosen a date in the winter, the day he had first brought Ah Yuan to the Cloud Recesses, and had merely guessed as to Ah Yuan’s age. The Lan Clan isn’t in the habit of celebrating birthdays even for significant years or special individuals, certainly not with the sorts of lavish festivities that some other clans indulge in. But every time the day had come around, Lan Wangji had felt compelled to ensure that he and Sizhui spent it together. For him, it was a marker not only of the years that had passed without Wei Ying, but of the joy and light that watching Sizhui grow and learn had brought into his life. A day of gratitude.

“If I might ask,” he says, peering over at her again. “When was Ah Yuan born?”

She gives him a slightly sad smile. “Five years ago, soon,” she says, looking at Ah Yuan again. “It’s coming up now, in just about two months.”

Lan Wangji nods, following her eyes to the boy playing in the dry grass. Two months. That’s nearly… was it after they arrived here, the last one? Has he missed it? He knows he could not have been aware, and indeed he did not mark the anniversary of the birth date he once chose for Sizhui this year either, but it leaves an irrational sinking feeling in his chest nonetheless.

“Last time he turned a year older, we were still in the prison camp,” Grandmother Wen says quietly, as if she’s read his mind. When Lan Wangji looks over at her, she gives him a small, sad smile. “I don’t think he even remembers being there, at this point. It’s a blessing.”

“Indeed,” Lan Wangji agrees, though his chest still feels tight at the thought of it. Ah Yuan forgot all of this the last time, too. Wei Ying and all the others, everyone who made sure Ah Yuan could be happy even here in this place. So much of his childhood, smothered beneath sorrow.

They’ll all have been here a whole year soon.

Grandmother Wen goes quiet then, and when Lan Wangji looks over at her he finds something deep and still in her expression that feels somehow familiar to him. As if she, too, is seeing a different past, or a different future, as she gazes at Ah Yuan’s face.

“Is everything all right?” he asks. “I apologize if I have been impertinent. If I have asked you to recall things you would rather—”

She shakes her head at once, her smile warm but flickering, and her eyes a bit wet. “It’s all right,” she says. “It’s only… I wish my son could have known him. What a good child he is.”

Her son. Ah Yuan’s father.

There’s a flicker of something strange inside him at the thought. Perhaps Lan Wangji should be ashamed to admit it, but he never thought much about Ah Yuan’s parents in all the time he had raised him in the Cloud Recesses. For Lan Wangji, Ah Yuan was the last, closest tie to the memory of Wei Ying. Wei Ying was who he mourned, for himself but also for Ah Yuan. He knew, of course, that Ah Yuan’s last living relatives had been the Wen refugees, and that his parents must have passed away at some point before they’d entered the Burial Mounds, but beyond that he had never thought to ask who they were or what had happened to them. And indeed, there would have been no one left alive who remembered.

“He was a strong cultivator, my son,” Grandmother Wen says, her hands folded over the little bundle of robes in her lap. “Ah Yuan got that from him.” There’s a little tremble in her voice, but she holds herself steady. “I’m sure he’d be proud if Hanguang-jun were to take Ah Yuan under his tutelage and develop his talent.”

Lan Wangji dips his head respectfully. It is strange to think of Ah Yuan having a father—a father he never knew, who never lived to know him—but the surly jitter in his stomach he would half expect, that helpless sense of weakness he usually feels when faced with someone else's claim to someone he loves, doesn’t come. It is a fault he recognizes within himself—that he is quick to feel threatened, exposed in his affections, as if he might easily be squeezed out of the space he dared to claim in someone's heart. But when he thinks of Ah Yuan’s father, all he can feel is a quiet sadness for this man who died. This poor man who will never have the chance to see what a good person his child will undoubtedly grow into, even if he will not be Lan Sizhui.

Perhaps it is simply habit, formed over all those many years, when he would watch Sizhui mastering his calligraphy or his swordsmanship and wish only that Wei Ying could be there to see it too.

He should take the time to write down some of his memories of Sizhui and the Cloud Recesses, too. Those will not be harmed by the bargain, but they grow more distant with each passing day, and they are good memories. Perhaps they should be part of his diaries, even if they will never come true again.

Precisely because they will never come true again.

After a moment, he becomes aware that Grandmother Wen is looking at him again, a pensive focus in her eyes. He realizes that he’s become lost in thought, and he’s not sure if he was meant to have said something. But she speaks before he has the chance.

“What’s on your mind, Hanguang-jun?”

Lan Wangji swallows, caught in his wondering. He cannot answer the question precisely—that much, he knows. But beyond his memories of Sizhui and the Cloud Recesses, there are questions as well, things he never thought to ask. Things he had no one to ask. “I don’t wish to bring up painful memories,” he says, granting her the opportunity to decline.

She shakes her head, with a knowing little smile. “I don’t mind. They’re not all painful.”

Lan Wangji nods in return. He is familiar with that. “I was wondering about Ah Yuan’s mother and father. About what happened to them.”

She nods, clearly unsurprised. Her smile turns melancholy again, but she doesn’t seem to regret inviting the question. “My son passed away before Ah Yuan was born. He was a healer in Wen Ruohan’s army,” she says. “He was very good. Always kind with patients. Ah Yuan’s mother was from one of those small sects from the border, and she came to stay with us when the border disputes began. We’d only just learned that she was pregnant when word came that my son had died in a skirmish, south of Qishan.” She presses her lips together briefly, straightening her spine against the echo of grief. “He wasn’t even meant to be fighting, only tending to the injured.”

“I’m sorry,” Lan Wangji says, feeling acutely the helplessness of the words. She accepts them with a tight shrug. Ah Yuan is making the horse dance around on its hind legs as it speaks, and her eyes crinkle with warmth.

“His mother died when he was about a year old,” she says. “The Wen army started hassling the small sects, and when they reached her family’s stronghold, she thought she might be able to go and act as a mediator. Because she was married to someone from a Wen branch, you know?”

Lan Wangji nods silently, though he can see where the story is going.

“But, as you can guess, that didn’t work. She died in some confrontation—I don’t even know much about what happened, everything was getting so chaotic by then.” She takes a deep, controlled breath, and her eyes find Ah Yuan again. “She was a good child. It was a little strange when we were thrown together like that after my son died. We didn’t really know each other well. But she was very gracious, very respectful. I hope I was never hard on her.” She blinks, then looks over at him, a self-conscious tension in her, as if she had forgotten she was talking to him.

The sadness that has risen around them leaves him caught for a moment as to how he should reply—Lan Wangji has never been well-versed in the art of smooth conversation. But then he simply speaks the truth. “If my own experience is anything to go by,” he says, “I cannot imagine you were anything but kind.”

She seems a little startled, and he wonders if perhaps that was presumptuous in some way. But then she takes a breath and seems to let it settle, doesn’t argue or wave him off. “Well,” she says on a slightly shaky exhale, and if Lan Wangji is not mistaken there’s a pleased fluster to her expression. “These clothes won’t mend themselves, will they, Hanguang-jun?” She lifts the robes in her lap, her smile quivering at the edges. “I’d better get to it.”

Lan Wangji nods back at her. “And I am required to finish the laundry, so I can be available for my next appointment.”

She laughs in a low, hidden way, a little bit relief and a little bit chasing away shadows.

As he continues to scrub, he keeps glancing over at Ah Yuan’s play. Lan Wangji had few memories of his own parents even before his decision to return to the past, and soon he’ll have no more than Ah Yuan does of these two people Grandmother Wen just told him about. There is nothing to be done about that, for either of them, but Lan Wangji takes heart from the knowledge that at least here, now, he can guard the ones who do remember. Ah Yuan will not have his father or his mother, but he will have Grandmother Wen and Wen Liu, Wen Qing and Wen Ning. He will have Wei Ying. And he will have many happy memories here, not so soon forgotten.

Lan Wangji looks forward to the prospect of teaching him to meditate, of watching him begin to grow into himself. There is a quiet safety in this place that he could never have expected, a place where greenery flourishes and grows even from the cold, dead soil. Ah Yuan will need new shirts soon, but this one will last a while longer. They can all stay here a while longer, like this.

~      ~      ~

It’s late in the evening, and the air within the cave is gradually cooling down from the warmth of the day. Wei Ying started getting suspiciously restive over at the worktable a little while ago, but after Lan Wangji lit a fire talisman under the guise of needing more light for his writings, Wei Ying seemed to settle again. They’ve been working quietly for nearly an hour now, Lan Wangji on his reply to Jiang Wanyin’s latest missive, and Wei Ying on some device that Lan Wangji can’t identify. Whatever it is, it seems to be annoying him.

At one point, there’s a heavy sigh.

Lan Wangji looks up from his letter to find Wei Ying sitting slumped against the table, his chin resting on his hand and an irritated little frown between his brows. “Is something the matter, Wei Ying?” he asks.

Wei Ying blinks and looks over at him, then gives a half smile and shakes his head. “No, I’m fine, I’m just…” He gestures vaguely at the bits of twisted metal and wood spread out in front of him, some of which are stuck together at odd angles. He seems to find this self-explanatory.

Then he heaves another sigh and sinks back down on his elbows, looking over at Lan Wangji. His eyes flicker over the writing board and the papers sitting facedown on the cot beside him, and that frown twitches again, more curiosity than frustration this time. “How’s your brother, Lan Zhan?”

Ah. Lan Wangji feels caught as he sees Wei Ying taking in the number of papers spread out around him, perhaps recalling that Lan Wangji sits here writing like this nearly every evening. All he has ever told Wei Ying in explanation is that he is writing to his brother.

But when Lan Wangji imagines the questions that might arise from telling Wei Ying the whole truth, what other questions that might lead to, he knows he has nothing better to offer. “My brother is well,” he says, and he can feel that it comes out sounding a bit stiff. It isn’t a lie, but it is close enough to one to make his throat feel dry.

Wei Ying seems to notice his unease. “Sorry,” he says, his smile turning sheepish. “I didn’t mean to be nosy. I can… it’s fine, don’t mind me, I’ll leave you alone.”

Guilt pools in the pit of Lan Wangji’s stomach. He doesn’t want to give Wei Ying the impression that he’s imposing merely because Lan Wangji is ill-equipped to navigate half-truths with some amount of grace. “You don’t have to,” Lan Wangji says. “It’s all right.”

Wei Ying shakes his head, and the smile that comes this time is a better attempt, but Lan Wangji still gets the feeling Wei Ying is troubled somehow. “No really, it’s nothing, I don’t mean to bother you.”

Lan Wangji isn’t sure what to say to that. He does have this letter to finish, and he does not care to linger over responses to Jiang Wanyin any longer than necessary, but he also doesn’t want Wei Ying to feel he can’t confide in him. He glances down at his writing board.

Jiang Wanyin,

Thank you for your letter and your ongoing observations. I agree that it is regrettable that you have not been able to discover anything substantial about the banned substance, but I do not find it surprising. Whoever would involve themselves in such a scheme would work hard to cover their tracks.

My apologies for the apparent lack of clarity in my previous message. Everyone who was injured in the bandit attack has fully recovered, and I do not believe there was a way for Wei Ying to prevent the incident, short of never coming to live here. As for my message reaching you only two weeks ago, it was my understanding that you do not wish for me to write to you at Unicorn Tower, and time did not seem of the essence, unless there is more poison smuggling activity taking place in Yunmeng than I was aware of.

Hm. Perhaps this letter will benefit from an interruption.

“You aren’t bothering me,” Lan Wangji says. “What do you have on your mind?”

“It’s really not a big deal,” Wei Ying says. He chews on his lip for a moment, and Lan Wangji sees his eyes skitter over the pile of papers at Lan Wangji’s side again. There is a letter from Mian Mian there, and two pages of recollections, and for a moment Lan Wangji wonders if somehow Wei Ying has realized that this can’t all be for Xichen.

Wei Ying looks up at him again. “I’m sorry you can’t see your brother,” he says, an unhappy tilt to the corners of his mouth. “We’ve been here for kind of a long time now. I just… you must miss him.”

Lan Wangji feels a slight pang at the words, though perhaps not for the reasons Wei Ying might expect. He does miss Xichen’s familiar presence, his calm wisdom, and the rift aches when he prods at it, or when he thinks beyond the here and now. But it’s also true that many of the things most on his mind these days are not matters he would feel able to discuss with Xichen even if he were here.

It’s strange, and a little painful, to realize that given a free choice, he might be more likely to seek out Wen Qing’s council these days than that of his brother.

Unfortunately, Lan Wangji’s silence seems to have deepened Wei Ying’s concern. “Lan Zhan? Are you okay? Shit—I didn’t mean—”

“I’m quite well,” Lan Wangji says, with a shake of his head. Wei Ying has started to straighten up as though he intends to come closer, which would make it difficult to conceal the letter he’s writing without raising his suspicions further. “You are perhaps right,” he says, and is relieved when Wei Ying settles again. “I do miss my brother.”

Wei Ying nods in understanding, though the guilty shadow crossing Wei Ying’s face isn’t what Lan Wangji wanted, either.

“But there is no need for you to feel responsible for that,” he adds.

Wei Ying breathes a rueful laugh, glancing away.

“It is the truth,” Lan Wangji says, very clearly. “I have made my own choices. The rift between my brother and myself is not your fault.”

Wei Ying squirms at this, and although he nods noncommittally, Lan Wangji gets the feeling he does not entirely believe him. “Fine, okay—but what if… I mean, do you think maybe sometime, if you asked him… Zewu-jun could come to visit you in Yiling?”

Lan Wangji blinks at him. The thought feels strange. The truth is, he’s never really asked himself that question. For the time being, he knows that everyone is safer if there’s as little contact with the Great Sects as possible, so it would not have occurred to him to invite his brother to meet him in Yiling simply to have tea. Not that he suspects his brother of any foul play, but the idea of inviting him here, into this quiet little space in time where they’re tucked away and hidden from the complications of the outside, of the future, feels inherently disconcerting.

“He came to see me in Yunmeng once, you know,” Wei Ying says.

It pulls Lan Wangji out of his musings, resettles him in the moment. Yunmeng? Lan Wangji frowns at him, puzzled. “When?”

“After the Sunshot Campaign,” Wei Ying says, not meeting Lan Wangji’s eyes, a joss stick twiddling between his fingers. “Before the hunt.”

It comes back to him in bits and pieces, those turbulent days after Wei Ying had helped them defeat Wen Ruohan, when he was still not himself. He remembers the visit too, now that he thinks of it. His uncle had confined him to the Cloud Recesses to transcribe the rules while Xichen was sent to Yunmeng. Wei Ying is probably not aware that had he been free to do so, Lan Wangji would have gone himself.

“What did you two talk about?” he asks, suddenly curious.

Wei Ying’s eyes widen slightly. Perhaps he did not anticipate that he might prompt this line of questioning. “Oh,” he says, the stick slipping from between his fingers, and he claps a palm down over it to still it against the tabletop. “Nothing in particular. Just, you know. There was a lot of stuff going on.”

Lan Wangji raises his eyebrows in question.

Wei Ying gives him an underhanded look, and Lan Wangji wonders if he’s casting about for another lie. But eventually Wei Ying throws up his hands. “He was telling me the same thing you kept telling me, about the unorthodox cultivation,” he says. “Except he had a whole thing about how I should be careful not to do things that might hurt people who care for me with my reckless actions or… something like that.” His eyes flicker guiltily toward Lan Wangji, then toward the shadows of the cave. “Look how that turned out.”

Something warm and strange curls in center of Lan Wangji at the thought of what his brother might have guessed, might have wondered. He doesn’t think, knowing Wei Ying, knowing his brother, that Wei Ying understands the full measure of what his brother’s words meant. But Lan Wangji is not inclined to enlighten him. There would be no sense in adding to Wei Ying’s worries the weight of Lan standards of behavior that Lan Wangji himself no longer sets store by. On this, too, Wei Ying has nothing to feel guilty for.

“I appreciate his concern,” Lan Wangji says seriously. “But for my own part, I’m not at all displeased with the way it turned out.”

Wei Ying gives him a strange look, the way he might look at someone singing the praises of radishes. But then his smile turns sideways and he seems to understand Lan Wangji’s meaning, even if he did not understand Xichen’s. He breathes a laugh and looks away, a pretty flush spreading down the sides of his throat.

It has been many months since Jiang Wanyin and Jiang Yanli’s last visit as well, Lan Wangji realizes suddenly. Perhaps the volume of Lan Wangji’s letters is not the only reason that family relationships are on Wei Ying’s mind.

In the end, Lan Wangji decided not to tell Wei Ying about the pregnancy. He doesn’t know if it’s the right thing to do, but he doesn’t want Wei Ying to spend all these months living in even more regret that he can’t be with his sister. And more pressingly, if Wei Ying becomes aware that Jiang Yanli is pregnant and spends months anticipating the birth of his nephew, there might be no hope of stopping him from attending the naming ceremony, regardless of Jiang Cheng’s efforts to prevent him from being invited.

“I’m sure he misses you though,” Wei Ying says, a quiet warmth in his voice. “I mean, he must, if he’s writing you half the library of the Cloud Recesses.” With a little grin, he gestures at the expanse of Lan Wangji’s papers. “Jiang Cheng, on the other hand… he’s probably just glad I’m not around to embarrass him at all the fancy-ass dinners and things anymore, or hog any of Shijie’s soup.”

He says it as though it’s a joke, but Lan Wangji knows there’s truth behind it. Belief.

Lan Wangji looks down again at his writing. He wasn’t aware until this most recent letter that letters could shout, but somehow Jiang Wanyin manages to bring a lot of his personality to the page.

He didn’t take the news of the poison attack well. His manner and tone always bring out Lan Wangji’s impatience, and this recent exchange was no exception. But would Jiang Wanyin be writing to Lan Wangji with such frequency if he were merely glad to have Wei Ying far away from him? Would he curse and spit his anger over Lan Wangji’s delay in informing him of the poison attack if he didn’t care?

“I don’t believe that’s the case,” Lan Wangji says. Though he regrets his impulse when Wei Ying gives him a startled blink. Of course, he has rarely been less than openly hostile towards Jiang Wanyin in Wei Ying’s presence, and he feels his ears heat at the curious tilt of Wei Ying’s head.

Wei Ying opens his mouth, but Lan Wangji rushes on, “Perhaps, in time, your brother and sister will be able to visit you again.”

Wei Ying’s brief moment of hesitation is telling, and tugs at Lan Wangji’s heart, but then he sighs regretfully. “Nah. Too early, too dangerous. They shouldn’t get a reputation for hanging out with the rogue cultivators hiding in the evil forest.” He shrugs, then glances down at the table in front of him, as though looking for reassurance in the scattered pieces of his invention. “Anyway, it’s fine. They’re safe where they are, and they should stay that way. And hey, I’m fine too! I mean look at this place, could we have it any better? Everyone is healthy, we’ve got more potatoes coming in soon, we’re working our way up to tea, we’ve even got…”

His eyes flicker toward Lan Wangji with a smile that suddenly turns shy, a little tilted. Lan Wangji feels a flush roll over his shoulders, the space between them suddenly smaller somehow. It warms him from within to think that Wei Ying counts him and their physical relationship among his comforts here in the Burial Mounds.

“Anyway,” Wei Ying says with a little cough. “Sorry, I didn’t want to distract you. I still want to see if I can get a few more of these put together before we, uh. Before it gets late.” He gives Lan Wangji another twitching smile and gestures at the bits of metal, shifting his attention back to his work.

Lan Wangji likewise turns back to his writing, feeling rather more anxious to finish his work and proceed to bed. He has conveyed all of the information that Jiang Wanyin truly needs to know, but as he reads his last sentence again, he picks the brush back up.

Wei Ying is in good spirits, though he has expressed on numerous occasions that he misses Lotus Root Pork Rib Soup, and is envious of your plentiful supply.

He pauses. It feels exceedingly strange to reveal… anything to an outsider. To put Wei Ying’s feelings, even if they are about soup, on paper and send them to Jiang Wanyin, of all people. He isn’t sure he can get used to it.

I do not mean this as a suggestion that you should visit again at this point. Wei Ying would welcome it greatly, but he also wishes to keep you and your sister safe, and does not expect you to take such a risk again. Keeping everyone safe is my priority as well.

The words feel awkward on the page, a bit unusual, but there’s nothing to be done about that now. He finishes up the letter, hoping he can drop it off tomorrow.

To answer your renewed question, Wen Qing continues to be in good health.

I appreciate your continued efforts and vigilance.

Regards,

Xiao Xiang

~      ~      ~

“Can I do the ropes?” Ah Yuan asks brightly, his legs kicking a bit as he squirms on Wei Wuxian’s hip. Wei Wuxian adjusts his grip to keep him from overbalancing, grinning at Ah Yuan’s eagerness as they watch Lan Zhan and Wen Ning work. They can’t see much from this angle, but Lan Zhan keeps ducking in and out of sight as he and Wen Ning hook up their strongest ropes to the temporary construction supports underneath Wen Qing’s soon-to-be improved lodgings.

It’s a brisk fall day, and the courtyard is bustling with activity as everyone pitches in to finish the foundation for the new extension. Wen Qing fought hard to talk Lan Zhan out of the idea, but once Lan Zhan got Wen Zian on board and he started talking about how easy it would be to do, they wouldn’t even need to knock out a whole wall or anything, her dedication to austerity crumbled pretty quickly.

They finally finished the floor and the support beams yesterday, so the plan for today is to pull out the temporary supports from underneath and make sure the structure is sound, then set about boarding up the walls and roof. Wei Wuxian caught Ah Yuan when he made a break to run under the foundation to help Lan Zhan and Wen Ning, and since Wei Wuxian isn’t exactly the go-to man for heavy lifting around here, he figures keeping Ah Yuan out from underfoot is a good use of his skills.

“The ropes are kind of tricky,” Wei Wuxian says to him, making a rueful clicking sound between his teeth. “But watch and see how it’s done! Maybe Wen Zian will need an apprentice someday.” He nods over to where a few of the other men are helping Lan Zhan and Wen Ning to rig themselves up with the ends of the ropes crossed over their chests, like horses ready to pull a cart. Wei Wuxian still wishes the floating talisman had turned out to be more helpful, but he can’t help the smile as he watches Lan Zhan position himself, gripping the ropes tightly and planting his feet.

Wen Yunlan waves everyone back to a safe distance, just in case they made the calculations wrong and the whole thing collapses, and then he and Wen Zian position themselves at the side of the platform, watching the key points of the structure for any signs of problems. When they’re all set, he counts off, and Wen Ning and Lan Zhan lurch forward as one, pulling on the ropes with a burst of force. There’s a creaking, scraping sound as the temporary supports are pulled out from under the foundation, tumbling harmlessly to the ground. Just a beat of silence as everyone watches to see if the structure is sturdy—but then a cheer goes up, Wen Yunlan claps Wen Zian triumphantly on the back, and Wen Qing rushes over to hug Wen Ning.

She still has her arm around Wen Ning when they wander back over to where Wei Wuxian and the other observers are hovering, Lan Zhan trailing after them. He has his hair pulled back and bound at the base of his neck, to keep it from tangling in the ropes, and Wei Wuxian can see where a few strands have stuck to the side of his throat, damp with sweat.

“They really didn’t need to go to all this trouble,” Wen Qing fusses. Wei Wuxian is pretty sure it’s a reflex at this point. Wen Ning is plainly beaming with pride at being able to help make their living space a bit bigger and give his sister more room for her work. She’s been doing most of it in the cave still, but now that they’ll have a larger room to share as the bedroom she’ll be able to keep most of her supplies in the smaller sitting room.

“It was no trouble, Wen Qing,” Lan Zhan reassures her, also most likely out of habit, and Wei Wuxian feels a burst of affection for him. He wants to reach over and steal the tie holding Lan Zhan’s hair together, let his hair spread out and fall down his back, but he thinks that might be weird in front of all the people here.

“Do we get to use the mallet now?” Ah Yuan asks excitedly, looking from Wei Wuxian to the foundation, where Wen Zian and Wen Yunlan and their crew are starting to shift boards around and prepare to build the walls.

“Those guys do,” Wei Wuxian says, nodding towards the work crew. “If you want to get to use the mallet, you’re just going to have to keep growing up, so you can be all strong and impressive like Lan Zhan.”

Lan Zhan gives him a startled blink, and it puts a delightful thrill in Wei Wuxian’s stomach to see him a little flustered. He grins back at him cheekily.

“Something to drink?” Wen Liu says, coming by with the water bucket and offering up the ladle to Wen Ning and Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan lets Wen Ning go first, but still seems to be avoiding Wei Wuxian’s eyes as he waits his turn and takes his sip. Wei Wuxian just watches him, finding it cute the way he steadies the bowl of the ladle with his second hand, as if it were a teacup.

Wen Qing is going on about the furniture arrangements, kind of interrupting herself every time she accidentally admits she’s going to get new stuff, and Wen Guang is asking her about the sort of screens she wants for sectioning out the bedroom.

“It would not have been difficult to make this room a separate cabin with its own entrance,” Lan Zhan points out, though they’ve been over this a few times already. “There’s still the option, if we simply add a door and a small set of steps.”

Wen Qing waves him off. “Really, it’s fine like this,” she says. And she really does look happy about it, her smile wider than it usually is when she hasn’t been drinking. “I’m really happy sharing, and who knows what this one might get up to if I leave him to his own devices.” She reaches over and pinches Wen Ning’s cheek, and he laughs and scrunches up his face as he lets her.

For a moment, Wei Ying remembers the cold, the emptiness of this place when it was just him here. He made it better over time, sure, figured out how to wall out most of the ghosts and make the wind stop whistling creepily through the holes in the stone, but it was still always just… empty. He recalls the sight of Wen Qing kneeling in the rain, clutching Wen Ning’s lifeless body to her chest. Remembers the day Wen Ning brought Jiang Cheng, limp and unconscious, out of the fallen Lotus Pier for him, and how in that moment it didn’t seem like Jiang Cheng was breathing, and he thinks… yeah. No, yeah, he gets that. Why she’d want to keep her brother close.

“It’s true, you don’t want to be hasty about these things,” Wei Wuxian says, making a mock-serious face. “Jiang Cheng and I shared a room until we were teenagers, and then he suddenly wanted to be a grown-up, or whatever, so I moved to my own room. But it wasn’t long before he started to regret it—he kept finding reasons to hang out in my room until all hours, or to keep me in his. I think he was just afraid of the dark, but he denies it.”

Wen Qing’s smile goes a bit soft at the edges at that, almost wistful. Wei Wuxian wonders if Wen Ning was ever scared of the dark.

“What about you, Lan Zhan?” he asks, shifting focus over to him with spontaneous curiosity. “How old were you when you moved into the Jingshi?”

Lan Zhan makes an odd, caught face, and suddenly Wei Wuxian gets the feeling he’s put his foot in his mouth somehow. He’s not sure… Lan Zhan doesn’t seem that sensitive about any mention of home at this point, but maybe… in front of so many people…

There’s a tiny frown between Lan Zhan’s brows, as if whatever he’s thinking of is troubling him. Shit—that’s not what he wanted.

“Never mind,” Wei Wuxian says quickly, trying to laugh it off. “The Lan clan probably has some super secret written-in-stone ritual for deciding room assignments, I wouldn’t want to corner you into divulging any confidential information. Anyway, it’s nice to have a rooming buddy, right, Ah Yuan?” He gives Ah Yuan a little bounce, and Ah Yuan’s giggle helps smooth over the prickle of guilt at the back of Wei Wuxian’s neck. “You’ve got Granny to help you tie your hair ribbon, Wen Ning’s got Wen Qing to keep him from drowning us in radish soup, and I’ve got Lan Zhan in the cave making sure I don’t explode too many things. Everybody wins.”

Wei Wuxian is pretty sure he can feel Wen Qing and Wen Liu exchanging a wry look over his head, but he ignores them.

“You certainly win,” Wen Qing concedes. “Not so sure about Hanguang-jun.”

“Oi!” Wei Wuxian protests. “Hanguang-jun wins a lot.”

Wen Qing raises both eyebrows at him, and… Wei Wuxian thinks he should probably stop talking right about now.

“Lunch time!” Granny calls out across the courtyard. When she spots Ah Yuan sitting on Wei Wuxian’s hip, she comes over to collect him so she can take him to wash up.

Wei Wuxian hangs back a bit as the others drift away. They're chatting about the building progress and what’s on the menu for the day’s meal, Wen Zian narrating something about a big palace he once helped construct to Fourth Uncle, while two of the older women squabble over the laundry schedule. Lan Zhan is still looking a little withdrawn, and doesn’t seem to have been following the conversation.

“Sorry, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says in a low voice, once they’re mostly alone.

Lan Zhan seems to shake himself out of his distraction, though he looks at Wei Wuxian as if he’s not sure what he’s apologizing for.

“About the Jingshi thing. I didn’t mean to pry. Or make fun of you, or anything.”

Understanding settles in, and Lan Zhan shakes his head. “No, it’s all right,” Lan Zhan says. Wei Wuxian doesn’t think he’s lying—or doing that deflecting thing he does, anyway—but there’s still something unsteady in his voice that bothers Wei Wuxian. “I was merely trying to remember. I don’t know for sure how old I was.”

“Oh,” Wei Wuxian says, relief rushing in in a way that’s probably silly. Leave it to Lan Zhan to go all quiet just because he’s trying to remember some random detail. “Don’t worry about it, it wasn’t that important.”

Lan Zhan nods slowly. “Yes,” he agrees. “You’re right. It isn’t important.”

Wei Wuxian leans in closer, giving in to temptation and tugging the tie from Lan Zhan’s hair. Pulling back, he draws Lan Zhan’s hair forward over both of Lan Zhan’s shoulders, letting the soft ends slip through his fingers. It makes him look appealingly windswept. There’s surprise in Lan Zhan’s blink, and Wei Wuxian feels a smile stretch across his face at the soft, almost shy flicker of warmth in Lan Zhan’s eyes, the gloomy clouds puffing away into nothing.

Suddenly he wonders what would happen if he kissed Lan Zhan right now, randomly in daylight in the courtyard.

But that might really be a step too far. “Shall we eat?” he asks instead, winding the small strip of cloth he stole from Lan Zhan’s hair around his index finger idly.

A small, secret smile just for Wei Wuxian pulls at Lan Zhan’s mouth. He nods.

~      ~      ~

It will happen more often now.

The uneven light from the candles makes shadows flit and fade on the cave wall, like stories with pieces missing, and Lan Wangji breathes in the calm, the quiet. The fact that Wei Ying’s memory has never been brilliantly sharp will probably help to ensure that Lan Wangji’s own lapses will not stand out too much. Many people forget details from their childhood, and Wei Ying recalled few of them to begin with. Even from recent years, Wei Ying’s memories are often unreliable. It pains Lan Wangji to think that so many of their shared memories will be swallowed up by silence, but perhaps it is better this way, to some extent. He doesn’t wish for Wei Ying to worry.

Still, even this small thing eats at him. He knows it would not have been significant enough to write down, but after they retreated to the cave for the evening, he sifted through all his written memories nonetheless, searching for some scrap of detail that might enlighten him.

He doesn’t remember when he was deemed old enough to sleep by himself. He knows that the Jingshi once belonged to his mother, though he does not remember ever visiting her there. He does not know when it became his.

He’s finished reviewing his collection now, and has turned his attention to the lantern memory, which he reads faithfully every night. The words never quite stick. As he reads it through for the second time, trying to imprint the feeling of the memory on his heart, he thinks of his mother and her diary. He wonders if she, too, was trying to paint the words onto the faded canvas of her past. If she, like him, eventually came to understand that the spell would not be cheated so easily.

He can retain the words from one evening to the next, when he’s lucky and diligent, but it never feels quite solid. Ink that doesn’t dry, smudged by the faintest wisp of a sleeve. He can remember and recite three thousand rules, but he can’t go three days without forgetting the account of one of the most important days of his life. It’s as if the spell is in his mind, erasing his strokes as quickly as he can lay them down.

But it’s all right. He reads the entry again from beginning to end, breathing past the hollow ache in his stomach, and it’s all right.

Wei Ying is still working at the table, his brow lowered in concentration as he continues to fit the little pieces of metal and wood into each other. It seems he is having more success now than he was a few nights ago, and Lan Wangji doesn’t want to interrupt his work. So even after he has finished with his recitations, all his correspondence answered, and a few recollections of his uncle teaching him meditation brought to paper, he sits quietly on his cot and reads through his memories, over and over. Some are still familiar, bring colors and shapes and sounds to mind as if they happened only yesterday. Others fade from color into grey, the thoughts and actions like echoes of himself, rhymes, things he can feel he could have done, but does not remember.

But soon, Wei Ying will finish with a yawn and catch his eye across the room. Soon they will curl up beside each other, touching everywhere, and he will be content. Here in the present, he does not sleep by himself anymore.

~      ~      ~

The nights grow chillier as true autumn stretches itself out beneath the perpetual fall of the Burial Mounds. The mornings become laden with a gentle fog between the trees that has nothing to do with resentment energy. Wen Qing begins accepting offerings of fabric for her services in addition to grains and produce, and they set to work making sure everyone has enough warm blankets and robes to be ready for the winter.

Ah Yuan’s birthday arrives—the true one, the one Lan Wangji never knew in the other future—and Lan Wangji takes him to visit the goats in honor of the occasion. The goats have grown quite a bit by then, and Lan Wangji is a little nervous that they might knock Ah Yuan over—but Ah Yuan is gentle with them, and they make friends quite nicely. Lan Wangji will always hold the memory of Ah Yuan in the Cloud Recesses close to his heart, but seeing him happy and playful like this is a balm to his soul. He finds he can’t bring himself to lament that he is the only one who remembers that once, Ah Yuan had a birthday in winter, in the snow.

The anniversary of their arrival in the Burial Mounds becomes a somber occasion, an evening of remembrance for all those who did not make it here with them. But a few days after that, Wei Ying’s second crop of potatoes comes due, Wen Qing returns from delivering a long-awaited first son to a wealthy farmer, and they find themselves with the makings of a magnificent feast on their hands. Wei Ying and Fourth Uncle are the first to dive into the gift wine from the farmer. By the time they’re one jug down between them it has been declared Yiling Patriarch Day, which seems to necessitate everyone eating and drinking their fill of anything they please, as long as it isn’t radishes. The fact that Wen Qing does not object, and indeed accepts a jug of wine and the finest cut from the farmer’s pig all to herself, seems a clear mark of how far they have come in improving their fortunes this past year.

Ah Yuan takes naturally to the meditation techniques that Lan Wangji begins to teach him, and it stirs a strange familiarity in Lan Wangji to see him sitting quietly in the grass with his eyes closed, practicing stillness. Lan Wangji did not know him at this age for very long the first time around, but the shape of his face when he closes his eyes, lets it smooth out into quiet, is so much like the boy he knew in later years that it steals Lan Wangji’s breath away.

He finds Wen Song hovering around them sometimes when he and Ah Yuan are practicing, and eventually invites her to join them. She is one of the few Wens here in the camp with some measure of spiritual energy to speak of—she even received some early training as a child, it seems, though it was interrupted by war and strife. She catches on quickly once she is reminded of the fundamentals, and Lan Wangji takes the time to teach her a few of the more advanced techniques as well, so that she can work to cultivate her spiritual energy in earnest.

Wei Ying watches as well, sometimes, a quiet smile on his face. Lan Wangji feels he can sense a mixture of pride and of longing underneath it. He knows that Wei Ying never had much patience for meditation in his youth, and he seemed surly about Lan Wangji pushing him to do it after he began cultivating the Yin Tiger Seal, for reasons Lan Wangji now understands better. But Lan Wangji can’t help wondering sometimes if perhaps, he misses it. Quiet and serenity have never been in Wei Ying’s nature, but he must have mastered them once, to become as skilled as he was.

When the wind picks up and sneaks beneath his clothes, Lan Wangji recalls with some blushing how he once looked forward to the return of winter, in hopes that Wei Ying might once again climb into his bed at night. Now they share Wei Ying’s bed every night as a matter of course, sometimes moving together to find release, and other times just for warmth, for closeness. Lan Wangji has never before in his life experienced so much touch, so much close contact, and it surprises him again and again that he never seems to tire of it.

He used to count the years by how long Wei Ying had been gone, each feeling longer than the last. Now he wants to take this one year and stretch it out as far as it will go, make it last forever.

~      ~      ~

The air crackles with the coming storm. Wei Ying is giddy as they hurry through the woods, their last unsold radish bouncing in the sack flung over his shoulder. The weather began to turn around mid-afternoon, and with the first flicker of lightning on the horizon, the marketplace soon emptied out, everyone heading back to their homes to hole up before the storm.

“I hope they won’t be worried,” Wei Ying says to Lan Wangji a bit breathlessly, flashing him a grin. The wind is tugging at his robes, his hair tangled and licking at his shoulders. “We probably should have just given that last guy a two-for-one deal, but I could have sworn that lady with the baby was headed our way.”

Lan Wangji nods, distracted by the press of the letter tucked between the folds of his robes. It’s thicker than usual. They don’t have the umbrella with them, as it was bright and sunny when they set out that morning, and while the canopy overhead is sufficient to blot out much of the light, Lan Wangji is very aware that it will do little to protect them from the rain.

They’re nearly at the end of the forest path by the time the heavens open up, the rain sweeping over them like a waterfall and soaking them to the bone within minutes. Wei Ying is still laughing and tearing along the path, his boots splashing through puddles as though this is a great adventure. Lan Wangji would be better able to appreciate the racing of his heart and the brightness of Wei Ying’s smile if he were not so concerned about the condition of the letter. He presses a hand over his chest and hunches inward as best he can as they run, but he worries it might not do much good.

Finally they break out from underneath the tree cover and find Wen Yunlan and Fourth Uncle camped out underneath the scant shelter of the western houses walkway, damp and peering out into the darkening forest. Wei Ying pulls up to a stop in front of them, and they both seem relieved to see him. Lan Wangji hovers just behind, eyeing the entrance to the cave. But he can’t run off without explanation, particularly given that he is well and truly soaked already.

“Everything okay here?” Wei Ying calls up to them, above the rain.

Fourth Uncle waves a lantern at them, nodding back. “Everyone is fine, all tucked up safe! Just wanted to make sure you two got back all right.”

“We’re fine too!” Wei Ying says, waving back. “Stay dry!”

Then finally Wei Ying grabs Lan Wangji by the arm and they sprint together into the shelter of the cave.

Wei Ying is still laughing and shaking the wetness uselessly from his hair as he stumbles around, putting up the usual talismans to seal out the rain, dampen the sound. The quiet falls close around them, warm and safe, though it does little to relieve the clammy chill of Lan Wangji’s robes against his skin.

“Are you sensing anything suspicious?” Lan Wangji asks Wei Ying, wiping water from his eyes and glancing around to get his bearings. He hasn’t detected any resentment energy at the root of the storm, but when the weather whips up quickly like this it always makes him wary. Wei Ying is more attuned to these things.

Wei Ying shakes his head, running his hands through his hair again and shaking it forward over his shoulder. “No, it’s just rain,” he says, with a little grin. “I mean, a shit ton of it, but just normal rain.”

Lan Wangji nods, moving across to light the fire. Once it’s crackling to life, beginning to warm the damp air, Lan Wangji moves over to his cot and carefully pulls the letter out from between the sodden layers of his clothes. It appears, thankfully, to be miraculously dry, which makes Lan Wangji suspect that it’s had some additional protections placed upon it beyond the usual. It seems that Mian Mian has taken great pains to ensure that this letter arrives safely. Lan Wangji feels a surge of something, some mixture of anticipation and apprehension, wondering what it might contain.

He tucks the letter underneath the blanket laid out on his cot, out of sight, and begins stripping out of his wet robes. Once he’s pulled on a fresh, dry inner robe, he takes care of the leather belt, wiping it down carefully and checking it for damage. Perhaps he should ask Fourth Uncle for advice on how best to treat it for protection, once it’s fully dried. As he sets it aside, he hears a small, hummed sound from just across the room.

Wei Ying is hovering not too far away, at the foot of the stone bed. He’s shed his outer layers, but he’s still standing there in his wet inner robe, his hips tilted gently and his head cocked to the side, fabric clinging slightly over his shoulders and along his thigh. Lan Wangji can’t help the way his eyes skate over Wei Ying’s front, and the small stirring of desire in the pit of his stomach. It’s in Wei Ying’s eyes too, he can see that—in the way he’s looking at Lan Wangji, holding his gaze in charged contemplation. He gives time for Lan Wangji to turn away before he steps closer, reaching out to catch a lock of Lan Wangji’s wet hair between his fingers and draw them slowly down to the end of it.

“It gets so curly,” Wei Ying says, his lower lip catching between his teeth. Lan Wangji feels the flutter low in his gut, just from the sound of Wei Ying’s voice. Normally he would be more than willing to give in to it, but at the moment, even now, he can feel that his attention is divided.

“You’ve seen it wet before,” Lan Wangji says, his voice sticking slightly to the sides of his throat.

Wei Ying grins at him, looking up through his lashes, and it makes Lan Wangji’s knees feel weak. “I know,” he says. “But it’s cute. Can’t I think it’s cute?”

Lan Wangji can tell what Wei Ying wants, what he’s angling for. It’s rare that Wei Ying makes a direct approach, seeming to prefer his normal habit of flirting and waiting for Lan Wangji to make his move, lead the way. And Lan Wangji always does, he always wants Wei Ying, but… the letter…

He isn’t sure how to navigate this. “You should get out of these wet robes,” he says, hearing the hitch in it.

“Do you want to take them off me?” Wei Ying says, shifting closer and letting his hand brush over the collar of Lan Wangji’s robes.

Lan Wangji feels a surge of want warring with his original focus inside him. Perhaps he should simply give in, save the letter for afterward. He always desires Wei Ying, and the idea of turning away from him when Wei Ying is right here and teasing and clearly offering, requesting—it feels wrong to his bones, but… he’s so anxious to know what’s in the letter. What if Mian Mian has discovered some crucial piece of information about the poison? What if her information should warrant a timely reply? What if she has come to harm, in the service of Lan Wangji’s request?

He realizes he’s hesitated a moment too long when he sees Wei Ying blink uncertainly, settle back. It draws Lan Wangji’s stomach in tight, and on instinct he wants to wrap his arms around Wei Ying and tell him it’s all right, he didn’t misjudge, Lan Wangji is merely distracted. But Wei Ying is already shrugging, putting on a good face and stepping back.

“Ah, you’re so diligent, Lan Zhan, always doing everything in the proper order. I guess I should take care of it myself, huh.” There’s a restless little smile, and then he turns away and steps back over to the stone bed, his face hidden by his hair as he retrieves a clean inner robe. His movements are a little self-conscious, but efficient as he shrugs the wet robe off and pulls on the dry one, keeping his body turned politely away.

Lan Wangji feels a roll of guilt deep inside, and he has a rushing urge to apologize. But he wouldn’t have a good explanation regarding the letter, and Wei Ying is busying himself already, the brief spark of tension in the air simmering away. It might even make things more uncomfortable to assign undue weight to the matter. Lan Wangji lets it go and turns back to his cot, sitting down on the edge of it and finally opening the letter.

Lan Wangji,

I hope this letter finds you well. I must apologize for how long it’s taken me to write you with more substantial news than my last message. I was tied to my duties in Unicorn Tower, and I didn’t want to raise false hopes regarding my ability to find out anything useful.

When I last wrote to you, I had recently returned from the outer reaches of Qishan. It’s a terrible shame, among many, that the Great Clans have allowed Qishan to fall into lawlessness in their zeal to stamp out the last remains of the Wen clan—but for our purposes I thought the disarray might provide me the opportunity to contact someone with knowledge of illicit substances without being recognized. My gamble paid off.

I could not ask anyone directly about the Poison of Withering Vine, of course, so I conjured up a tale of a rare beautifying tonic I wished to procure for a former teacher of mine. In each village I passed through, I sought out those who might know how to find such a thing, plying them with wine and laments until I was certain they could not help me. It wasn’t until I reached the outskirts of Nightless City that I came upon a good prospect. At first he tried to fob me off with some sweetened water that he called a potion, but when I backed him up against a wall at the edge of my blade, he seemed to take me rather more seriously.

Perhaps he enjoyed the experience of someone not falling for his tricks and threatening his life, because after that, he was more than happy to partake of wine and food at my expense late into the evening. Once he was sufficiently inebriated, I broached the subject of cultivator poisons. I had prepared a credible story—that I was seeking revenge for my brother, who had been killed by a rare and unidentified poison—but I had no cause to use it in the end, as the man was drunk and eager to show off to me about his expert knowledge of the underground market. He perhaps presumed that it would win him a place in my bed, though if so he presumed quite wrongly.

From his boasting, I came to understand that the most potent cultivator poisons can only be procured from a string of border towns along the edge of the unclaimed territories. For such a substance as the Poison of Withering Vine, there could only have been two or three possible suppliers. I was anxious to pick up the trail there as soon as possible, but after my return from Qishan my duties in Unicorn Tower prevented me from leaving again for more than a day or two for nearly two months. Perhaps this was just as well though. I don’t know how much the man from Qishan would have remembered of our conversation, but if any rumors of a rogue cultivator inquiring about poisons had followed me to the unclaimed territories, that might have been very inconvenient.

Nonetheless, the time I passed in Unicorn Tower during those two months became increasingly difficult. The thought that I might be serving a leadership that would be involved in something so despicable continues to weigh on my conscience, and has made it difficult at times to maintain my calm. It is only the knowledge that my efforts might be of help to you and to your associates that keeps me in my place.

About three weeks ago, with the help of Young Master Jin and Young Madam Jin, I secured a dispensation to go see to a family matter. I felt guilty taking advantage of their kindness with a lie, but I am confident that if they knew the reasoning behind my actions, they would not begrudge me. With that, I was free to make my way to the unclaimed territories, following the rough map that I had encouraged the man from Qishan to draw for me when he had explained to me about the poison supply lines.

Perhaps I should have expected as much, but I soon found that the residents of the unclaimed territories do not take kindly to cultivators. I did not wear the Jin colors, of course, but my sword marked me as a cultivator to anyone I passed, and I was turned away from more than one inn along the way just at the sight of it. That said, the one time someone took it upon himself to try to rob me, all I had to do was begin to draw my blade to put him off the idea—so in the end, it seemed worth a few nights of sleeping on the ground not to try to pass myself off as one of the locals.

Soon enough, exactly where the man from Qishan had said it would be, I came upon the establishment of a rural tradesman, who also serves as the most prominent seller of underground substances in the unclaimed territories.

The proprietor was no more fond of cultivators than anyone else I had met along the way, but I saw little point in trying to conceal my status from him either. I told him that a few weeks ago, my beloved brother, a strong rogue cultivator, had been poisoned by a rival. I assured him that I didn’t want to buy any of his illegal products, nor did I want to cause him trouble, but I needed to track down a man to whom he had sold Poison of Withering Vine about three months prior, to honor and avenge my dead brother.

He was very smug with me, quite plainly finding me naïve as he told me that it was impossible to sell the Poison of Withering Vine. For a moment I thought he was trying to bait me, putting on a show of expertise for the other woman in the store—she was slightly hunched and carrying a basket with some sort of soil in it, not likely there in search of poisons—but then he explained with a dismissive air that this particular poison is very unstable. It must be prepared within a few hours, no more than a day, of when it’s meant to be used, or it will lose all effectiveness. The ingredients can be purchased, of course, but the purchaser must have access to the skills and equipment to manufacture the poison themselves, or they will be useless to them.

I demanded to know to whom he had sold the ingredients, in that case, but he became very uncooperative. He insisted that he didn’t sell to cultivators, and he certainly wouldn’t sell such a thing as that and risk bringing the wrath of the Great Clans down on his head. I was fiercely tempted to reveal my affiliation, if only to put a bit of fear into him out of spite, but I was deeply aware that it would do no good, and I would merely be giving in to my pettiness. The man, if he knew anything at all, would not speak to me. He seemed to take pleasure in denying me information, and my affiliation with the Jin Clan might only increase that effect. And although I was loath to admit it, if my experiences in Qishan were reflective of the sort of encounters these people had had with cultivators in the past, it was entirely possible that his resentment was justified.

I stepped outside the store then, trying to get my bearings. I knew I could not let the trail run cold there, that there must be other options I could explore. Perhaps another village and another trader, someone who might know something about dealings in the area, even if it was most likely that this had been the place where the ingredients were procured.

Suddenly someone tugged on my arm.

The ink blurs there, smeared across the blank bottom third of the page, as though a wet ink stone has been dropped on it and then hastily swept aside. Lan Wangji stares at Mian Mian’s writing, his heart beating sharply at her narrative, and for a moment he worries for her.

But of course, she still sent him the letter—this can hardly be the end. The pages stick together slightly with the weight of the protective charms on them, but with a bit of fumbling he is able to pry loose the next one and shift them around.

My apologies for the messiness of the letter, I was interrupted by someone I did not want to read my writing. Ruined one of my robes too.

Anyway:

It was the woman customer who had followed me out of the store. She seemed quite old to me, but it’s possible she had simply lived a strenuous life. She asked me in a low voice if I was truly a cultivator. She asked it differently than anyone else I’d met on the road there, with a sense of curiosity and no sign of disgust.

I said yes. She then looked me over, and I’ll be honest, it felt a bit of a prize pig appraisal, like she was trying to gauge how many tricks I might know. Then she asked, her voice dropping to a hush, if it was true that we cultivators could fly on our swords.

I was still feeling disappointed with myself for my failure to sway the apothecary, but there was no reason to be rude or callous towards this woman. I told her that I can really fly on my sword, though I was travelling by horse because flying depletes spiritual energy, and because it can also be a pain in windy weather.

She looked amazed, as if I’d told her some spectacular fairy tale. I haven’t seen anyone so enamored by such a simple thing since I was a child beginning my training. Perhaps that’s what prompted me to offer to give her a demonstration. She followed me to the edge of town and waited patiently while I tied up my horse, then followed my instructions to the letter as I mounted my sword and beckoned her to join me.

She gasped and clung to my supporting arms as we rose into the air, but I made sure she was safe as I took her on a low spin around the edges of the village, and up a small incline of mountain. It wasn’t far, as I needed to preserve my strength in such hostile country, but her eyes were shining by the time we set down again, as if I’d given her the most incredible gift.

That was when she told me her secret: that she herself had seen a man wearing nothing but black, with a sword that looked important and powerful like mine, visit the store three months ago and buy a bunch of ingredients. Apparently he’d made himself quite unpleasant!

I wanted to hug her in my relief, but I restrained myself, not wishing to shock her. She gave me a detailed description, and by the man’s clothes, sword, and general attitude, I was able to trace his journey from inn to inn, all the way back to Lanling. Unfortunately, the trail ran cold as I got closer to the city—as you can imagine, it becomes quite difficult to track down a particular wealthy and arrogant cultivator in the  heart of Jin territory.

I tried a while longer to find information about him at various inns, and I heard a rumor that a traveling cultivator with no obvious ties had been killed in a dispute around the time the man we are tracking would have reached the city. But trying to confirm this by the description of his sword, I could feel that I was drawing a dangerous degree of attention. It is rather more difficult to pass myself off as someone not affiliated with the Jin clan this close to Unicorn Tower.

In the end I was forced to return to my duties with no further explanation. I now feel certain that the ingredients for this poison somehow made their way to Unicorn Tower, but I don’t wish to take actions that might expose you or our correspondence in attempting to pursue this matter further. It is frustrating to feel so close to an answer and be unable to chase it down, but I will have to bide my time again while we figure out how to proceed.

Please be safe, and let me know what you want me to do next.

Luo Qingyang

Lan Wangji stares down at the letter. He is moved by the lengths to which Mian Mian has gone on his behalf, but something about this reminder of the outside world, of time passing outside his control, unsettles him as well. He would not say he has forgotten what is happening out there, what is waiting for them—but it’s as if the quiet protection of the haunted forest and the warmth and happiness he has found here have allowed him to put it out of his mind for a while. To look away.

He must answer her, soon. The information she’s gathered will be very valuable, no doubt, and he wholeheartedly agrees with her conclusions. But he certainly doesn’t wish her to endanger herself trying to track down this mysterious cultivator who seems to have vanished into thin air. At the very least, she should take a step back and wait for things to calm down, let any rumors settle and peter themselves out.

And yet, there is a quiet comfort in knowing that he has an ally out there, willing to go to such lengths in aid of his and Wei Ying’s cause.

He folds the letter up, breathing calm, giving himself a moment to settle his mind. When he looks up, he finds Wei Ying watching him, though as soon as Lan Wangji meets his eyes he quickly looks away again. He’s sitting on the edge of the stone bed in his dry underrobes, a few sheets of notes spread out on his lap, and he’s shifting through them as though trying to solve an old puzzle. But something about the tension in him tells Lan Wangji he’s not really paying much attention to what he’s reading.

A fresh flutter of guilt curls up in Lan Wangji’s stomach as he remembers Wei Ying’s earlier flirting, and the clumsy way he turned it down. It’s strange to think that he could ever make Wei Ying feel his advances are unwelcome, and looking at Wei Ying now, with the thrumming awareness of time moving on outside of this place, of events hurtling forward towards the point in time when everything went wrong last time, it makes him wish fiercely to make up for his bungling. He can hear the muffled patter of the rain outside, filtered through the layers of Wei Ying’s protections that keep them warm and dry, and suddenly he wants nothing more than to hold Wei Ying in his arms, feel the heat of him against his skin. Hear him laugh. Feel him smile.

He slips the letter in with the rest of his correspondence and gets to his feet.

Wei Ying stops pretending to read when Lan Wangji reaches the edge of the bed. His eyes are a shade of blank, decidedly casual when he looks up, and it twists in Lan Wangji’s chest, a reminder of an old distance between them. But the reserve doesn’t last long as Wei Ying takes in Lan Wangji’s expression, the blankness falling away in favor of worry. “Is everything okay?” he asks.

Lan Wangji isn’t sure how to answer that for a moment. Would it be a lie to say yes?

But Wei Ying isn’t asking about the poison, or about the darkness on the horizon. For all the things that Wei Ying knows, for all the things that matter here, in this quiet space that belongs to them, all is well. “Yes,” he says, with the faint sense of a smile, and reaches out to brush his fingers into Wei Ying’s hair, just beside his temple. It’s drying at the edges now, but there’s still wetness underneath, heavy and tangled. Wei Ying is so beautiful like this.

Wei Ying blinks up at him, seeming surprised at the caress. Lan Wangji can see his throat work on a hard swallow. “You seemed kind of distracted,” he says. “Was there bad news from home?”

“No,” Lan Wangji says, shaking his head. “Everything is fine at home. I’m sorry that I worried you. I was concerned the letter might have been damaged in the rain, so I wanted to see to it immediately.”

Wei Ying ducks his head, and his self-consciousness makes Lan Wangji want to draw him up tight, hold him close. “Yeah, sure. It’s important. I didn’t mean—it’s fine, everything’s cool.” He puts on a smile. “Are you coming to bed now?”

Lan Wangji leans down and gently tilts Wei Ying's face upwards, pressing a kiss against his lips. Wei Ying takes a startled breath in through his nose, but he doesn't pull away. Just opens his mouth slightly and nuzzles into Lan Wangji's hand, tentatively pressing back. It makes Lan Wangji’s pulse skitter to feel the hesitation in him, the uncertainty, and he tries to pour all the feelings tangling themselves together in his chest into the kiss, hoping that Wei Ying will feel it.

Lan Wangji pulls back slightly, his fingers still threaded through Wei Ying's hair and the pad of his thumb brushing against Wei Ying's cheekbone. Wei Ying is looking up at him with slightly big eyes, swaying forward as if his body wants to follow him, chase him. The blankness is definitely gone now, and the flush is back in his face, a flame rekindled in the air. Lan Wangji wants to kiss him again. Lan Wangji could never tire of kissing him.

He follows a sudden impulse, disregarding his innate fear of feeling foolish, and tilts his head forward just slightly, so that his hair falls forward over his shoulder. It's drying now too in the warmth from the fire, but he hasn't combed it out or put any oil in it yet, and the gentle wave it gets when it's wet is still there, even if the strands are tangled and a little rougher now. “Is it still cute?” he asks.

Wei Ying blinks at him, confusion shivering through his eyes. But then his gaze darts down to Lan Wangji's hair, and he seems to understand, a smile pulling at his lips as he reaches out to brush his fingertips over the waves. He pulls lightly at a strand until it is straightened, then watches it curl into a ripple again when he lets go. “You,” he says, looking up at Lan Wangji again, a brightening spark in his eyes. His fingertips ghost along the edge of Lan Wangji's jaw. “You are very cute.”

Lan Wangji's heart swoops wildly at that, and he can't help but kiss him again, curling his hand around the back of Wei Ying's head. Wei Ying gasps against his mouth, both his hands reaching up into Lan Wangji's hair and pulling at him gently, urging him closer. He can feel Wei Ying leaning back, trying to draw him onto the bed with him, but some strange urge in Lan Wangji's pulse is too impatient for that. He wants to have Wei Ying more, and sooner. Make Wei Ying fall apart under his touch, chase every shiver of worry from his skin, make sure he never doubts that Lan Wangji would give him everything if he asked.

He sinks down to his knees on the ground, just between Wei Ying's calves, and it feels sharp and daring, his blood rushing in his ears as he runs his hands up Wei Ying’s thighs. Wei Ying breaks the kiss in surprise, blinking at the change in orientation. His eyes are wide and his breath comes short as Lan Wangji reaches for the string that holds Wei Ying's underrobes closed. One of his knees has slipped out from underneath, the robe parted over his thigh, and it's plain that he hasn't bothered to put on another pair of trousers, which is just as well. Less to remove.

"Lan Zhan," Wei Ying shudders out. He seems to understand what Lan Wangji wants. They've never done it like this, not with him on his knees like this and Wei Ying sitting up, and it stirs hotly in Lan Wangji’s blood to think of Wei Ying looking down at him from above. Watching him take Wei Ying's cock into his mouth to give him pleasure.

He meets Wei Ying's eyes, keenly aware of his kneeling position, but it’s Wei Ying who seems to shiver. Gently, Lan Wangji pulls on the ends of the ties, enough for the question, to make sure Wei Ying’s surprise is not real apprehension. But Wei Ying nods shakily, and Lan Wangji pushes the folds of the fabric aside, satisfaction and excitement skittering hot down his neck as Wei Ying’s cock slips free. Wei Ying takes a nervous breath under Lan Wangji’s gaze, his stomach dipping sharply when Lan Wangji wraps his hand around him, settles them both with a few gentle, familiar strokes. Lan Wangji stretches up to press another brief, willing kiss to Wei Ying's mouth, and then he bends down and takes him in.

Wei Ying shudders at the touch, Lan Wangji’s lips closing around him. His fingers curl against Lan Wangji's scalp reflexively as Lan Wangji starts to move up and down, letting the wetness slip out and ease the way for his hand where he can't reach. "Lan Zhan," Wei Ying says, one hand sliding underneath Lan Wangji's collar and pressing against his spine, rising and falling with the curve as he sucks.

It's different this way, and yet so much the same, the taste of him and the smell of him, the familiar size and the way Lan Wangji has to shape himself around it. The eager twitches of Wei Ying’s hips and the way he rasps out Lan Wangji's name. Lan Wangji can feel the jittering tension in him, and it almost seems to wind him higher when Lan Wangji holds his hips in place with a firm touch. Wei Ying's hands keep skittering along his hair, curl around the back of his head, but he seems to keep stopping himself from grabbing, from holding, and Lan Wangji doesn't want him to.

After a moment, he pulls off, leaving Wei Ying’s cock wet and shining, and raises his head far enough to look up at Wei Ying and see the flush spreading across his bared chest, the way his tangled hair falls around his shoulders as he looks down at Lan Wangji. Lan Wangji wants him so much.

"You can hold on," he says, feeling the strain of exertion in the roughness of his voice. "I want you to."

Wei Ying lets out a harsh breath that seems to hollow him out, but he nods urgently, a sheen of need in his eyes. When Lan Wangji goes down again, takes him back inside, Wei Ying's hands are in his hair immediately, stroking and holding and caressing, never leaving his head or his shoulders. It’s sweet and exhilarating at the same time, and Lan Wangji’s body feels heated and taut with it. Every suck and slide is echoed in Wei Ying’s soft moans, in the clutch of his fingers, the shiver of his hips as Lan Wangji holds him in check. Lan Wangji’s own arousal sharpens at the thrill of drawing such pleasure out of Wei Ying while he’s on his knees, between Wei Ying’s legs.

Lan Wangji can feel it coming, hear Wei Ying's breathing becoming shorter and harder, his noises more desperate, the wetness in Lan Wangji’s mouth thicker and stronger. He wants it, wants to taste him and swallow him. He wants to hold every part of Wei Ying to himself and never let go. He knows it won't last, this sense of safety and protection, knows the rain will make its way inside one way or another no matter how much he wants the time to slow, stop. But right now he has this, will keep this.

Wei Ying's release cascades through him in hot, mindless shivers, and Lan Wangji swallows through Wei Ying's gasps, lets him jerk his hips upward and hold on tight, as if Lan Wangji is the only thing keeping him upright. This is everything. Wei Ying is everything he wants.

Chapter Text

“Roooooaaaarrr!” Ah Yuan croons into the air, spinning in a tight circle on his unsteady feet. He’s holding the floating stick high above his head, the fluttering tail of black fabric streaming out behind it. Apparently the dragon needs to fly higher and faster than the stick can float by itself.

“Careful,” Wei Wuxian says from his seat on the porch, with a little grin. “If that dragon flies too fast he’s going to fall into the radish patch.”

“No!” Ah Yuan says, rounding on him, the dragon still swaying out beside him. “He’s really good at flying, he never falls down. And he’s afraid of the radishes.”

Wei Wuxian raises both eyebrows at him. “Why is he afraid of the radishes?”

“Because they’re all leafy. He’ll get lost, and the horse can’t find him.”

“Ahh,” Wei Wuxian says, pushing himself down off the porch and crouching to pick up the wooden horse, which is lying on the ground near Ah Yuan’s feet. “But I thought the horse could see through things? He could see through the leaves.”

“He can’t anymore,” Ah Yuan says, in a solemn tone. “He got lost and he couldn’t find his way out, and now the dragon is afraid of radishes.”

“I see,” Wei Wuxian says, nodding with equal gravity as he raises the wooden horse for a closer look. The shallow little notches carved into its face for eyes stare back at him in sympathy.

He never did quite finish the flying one, he thinks with a pang of guilt. He got close, he even got the legs to stay in the holes and everything, after he’d finally figured out why the spells were messing with the simple wood construction. But there was something wonky with the balance of the thing. It could float a bit, but it was like it was top-heavy or something, it would just kind of fall over and float around upside down. He meant to fix it.

He’s pretty sure he’s still got it somewhere? That moisture measuring device for Wen Qing’s herb garden ate his brain for a few weeks, but he vaguely remembers storing the horse away, and it’s not like it would need a lot of work. Probably just a stabilization charm or an extra bit of floatiness for the head, or something like that. He could try.

Ah Yuan plucks the horse out of his hands and makes a sound that is… very much not like a horse, sort of a snuffling squeak. The dragon flies down until he’s at floating height again, and Ah Yuan crouches down with both of them, making the horse dance back and forth as it talks to the dragon about the dangers of the overgrown radish fields. Wei Wuxian watches for a moment or two longer before getting to his feet and dusting off his knees, turning back toward the cave.

He must still have that horse somewhere. He cleared a bunch of stuff off the table all at once right before he started on the moisture thing, and he’s not sure where he stuck it all, but it’s got to be around here.

It takes a second after he steps inside for him to realize Lan Zhan is standing at the back of the cave, and it gives him a start. “Lan Zhan,” he breathes, on a laugh. “Fuck, you’re quiet.”

Lan Zhan’s mouth tugs up in amusement. “My apologies,” he says, then turns to reach up and hook another bundle of herbs onto the drying rack. Wei Wuxian finds himself watching for a moment, enjoying the shift of Lan Zhan’s robes over his shoulders when his arms are above his head, and the dark fall of his hair over his shoulder when he bends down to pick up another bundle from the basket at his feet.

He’s just, like. So pretty. It’s still weird sometimes, to look at him like this, just hanging around doing something normal, and be hit in the head with how pretty he is and remember there was a time when Wei Wuxian wouldn’t have noticed. Or wouldn’t have thought he’d noticed, anyway. Lan Zhan is just... he’s so great.

Lan Zhan’s eyes flick up to his curiously as he straightens again, and Wei Wuxian realizes he’s been staring. Whoops. “Uh,” he says intelligently, with a little laugh, casting about for what it was he was doing again. “Sorry, just... trying to remember what I did with that horse. The one for Ah Yuan.”

Lan Zhan nods, humming his understanding, though Wei Wuxian thinks he can detect the pull of a smile at the corner of his mouth as he turns away again.

Yeah, no, okay, the horse. He needs to find the horse.

He glances around the room, skimming eyes over all the various shelves. He had a rough draft of the balancing talisman somewhere, and he doesn’t think he would have put it with his important ones, the ones he wants to make sure he doesn’t accidentally throw away or something, because that collection is pretty full already. But he checks briefly anyway, grabbing the box off the shelf beside the stone bed and flicking through the pages inside before setting it aside again. No luck. The table is pretty clear, but he shuffles through what’s there anyway, finding a couple of other half-finished things, including one about dazing fish to make them easier to catch and one that seems like it’s supposed to turn things green. He gets distracted for a moment trying to remember what he meant to do with that.

But, no, he wanted to find the floating one. And it’s not here.

He moves on to the shelf beside the fire pit. He mostly doesn’t keep his research things here—it’s where they keep their swords and some of their clothes, and a few old wooden scrolls that don’t fit on the other shelf—but sometimes things end up in here anyway when someone else is tidying up after him, or his things get mixed in with Wen Qing’s work supplies or Lan Zhan’s writing tools. He feels around between the folded sets of robes, shifts bottles and boxes, lifting the lids off any that seem big enough to hold papers.

Finally, tucked in between a storage jar and a stack of robes, way at the back and forgotten, he comes across a slip of paper. It even feels like the right size and shape, the cheap crinkly paper, this has to be…

But when he pulls it out, he frowns, confused. The paper is the same, but it’s… it’s not actually the right shape. It’s folded, like a letter. Weird.

He flicks it open.

Lan Wangji,

I’ve just made it back home to Lanling. There’s so much I want to tell you, but I think I’ll have to keep it a secret for a little while longer, until I’m able to explain myself properly. I hope you understand and can be patient. In any case, I wanted to write to you briefly to let you know that I have not forgotten the question you asked me in your last letter, and I hope to be able to give you the answer you deserve soon.

I’m so glad to hear that you have fully recovered, and I hope you continue to be well. I’m not sure how long it will be before I’m able to leave Lanling again for an extended period, but I honestly can’t wait, and I’ll try to make it soon. In the meantime, if anyone should become aware of what has passed between us, I may need to set out at short notice. If you should ever write to me and not receive a reply, please don’t worry. I’ll be in contact with you as soon as I can.

Take care and stay safe.

Luo Qingyang

Something stills at the center of Wei Wuxian’s chest as he reads over the words. He rereads them a second time, trying to make sense of them, but another pass only seems to leave him with more questions, the unsettled feeling sinking down into his stomach.

Mian Mian. Lan Zhan has been writing to… Mian Mian?

He glances over to where Lan Zhan is standing, his attention still focused on hanging up the little bundles of herbs. It’s true, Wei Wuxian has kind of started to wonder what the hell Lan Zhan has been writing all this time to his brother. Like, he knows they were always close, but Lan Zhan... Lan Zhan hardly talks, so how could he be filling pages and pages of letters to his brother? Sending off a new one every other day? To his brother?

But every time he asked, that was all Lan Zhan would tell him.

He looks down at the letter in his hands again. His eyes catch on a word or two here and there, in Mian Mian’s flowing script. It’s a lot tidier than Wei Wuxian’s handwriting, much easier to read. Seems like she must write a lot.

There’s so much I want to tell you...

Take care and stay safe...

...the question you asked me...

Wei Wuxian swallows. It’s a moment before he realizes he’s crumpling the edges of the paper in his grip, his fingers sweaty, shaking. He folds it up again quickly, smoothing it shut.

Fuck. Fuck, he shouldn’t be reading this. He absolutely should not. This is Lan Zhan’s private... whatever this is, and Wei Wuxian has no right to... he has no right. He doesn’t know why the hell it was at the back of their shared clothes shelf but—whatever, it’s Lan Zhan’s, it’s private. He folds the letter up again and curls it into his hands, swallowing down the mess of wild wonderings and vague dread in his chest and trying to get ahold of himself. He needs to get a grip.

There was a letter the other day too, wasn’t there. Some particular letter, Lan Zhan was all cagey about it when he picked it up in town, and it looked sort of thick. And then back here, when they got caught in the rain, Lan Zhan needed to... he wanted to read it. Before anything else.

Was that from Mian Mian too?

Wei Wuxian didn’t think much of the letter at the time, he figured maybe somebody was sick at home, or maybe Lan Zhan was wondering what the hell Zewu-jun needed like four pages to write about, and that was... that was all understandable. That made total sense. He even liked having an explanation for why Lan Zhan hadn’t wanted to jump in bed with him, felt stupid in the good way for having worried, or whatever. And that thing afterwards, the way Lan Zhan came to him, that felt amazing, and he really wasn’t worried about any of it after that.

But, the next day. Lan Zhan sent another letter off again, didn’t he?

He was up and out of bed before Wei Wuxian even woke up. Not that that’s super unusual all by itself, but he must have written the letter first thing, and he went down to the village to send it off without even sticking around for breakfast. He said everything was fine, when Wei Wuxian asked.

Come to think of it, there was that other time too, wasn’t there. Right after Lan Zhan got stabbed and fucking poisoned, he had some letter he wanted to send off, and he could hardly wait to get down to the postal exchange even though he could barely walk, much less defend himself if anything bad happened. The thought twists in Wei Wuxian’s gut. At the time he had just figured Lan Zhan really, really wanted to let his brother know what had happened, but…

...what has passed between us...

…between us…

It’s really not his business. He knows that. Lan Zhan can have letters, Lan Zhan can write to anyone he wants. It’s good if he wants to keep some… some outside contact.

He stares at the front of the letter again as if the blank outside might tell him… But, no.

Even if... even if there’s something to it, that’s still not any of Wei Wuxian’s business. It’s not like Lan Zhan promised him anything, not like they’re really... god. What would they even be? This thing between them is just... it’s whatever it is, it’s circumstance, he knew that from the beginning, and there’s no point in getting all weird about a stupid letter when this isn’t even anything. Lan Zhan gets to have letters. Lan Zhan gets to have…

How many letters has it been? How long? This entire time?

What all would Lan Zhan tell her?

“Wei Ying.”

Wei Wuxian jumps and turns around, tucking the hand with the letter down beside him, hiding it in the folds of his robes. Lan Zhan is looking at him from across the room with a curious expression, but he doesn’t seem to have noticed Wei Wuxian reading his mail, so at least… at least that’s good.

“Is something wrong?” Lan Zhan asks.

Wei Wuxian shakes his head quickly, pulls on a smile, maybe a little too tight. “Ah, no—sorry. Just. Thinking about a talisman I want to try.”

Lan Zhan’s brow twitches with suspicion—great, good work there, Wei Wuxian—but he doesn’t seem to notice the way Wei Wuxian’s hand is still obscured in his robes at his side. Which is useful. He has no idea how he’d answer if Lan Zhan started asking questions about that. “I asked if you could remember which of these is the coagulating grass,” Lan Zhan says, gesturing to two similar-looking bundles hanging from the rack. “Wen Qing asked me to bring her some after I’d finished.”

“Oh,” Wei Wuxian says. Lan Zhan keeps looking at him in question. “Right. Does one of them smell like a pond?” Lan Zhan blinks, but dutifully turns his attention back to the rack and leans in to smell the two different bundles, and Wei Wuxian surreptitiously tucks the letter back into its place on the shelf before moving to stand beside Lan Zhan and inspect the bundles as well. It has the added benefit of making it possible to avoid Lan Zhan’s eyes.

“I don’t think so,” Lan Zhan says.

“Well, it doesn’t always do that,” Wei Wuxian says, then points to the one on the right. “I think it’s that one. But she’ll know either way if you bring her the wrong one.”

He can sense Lan Zhan’s curious eyes on him again, and Wei Wuxian has the feeling that if he looks at Lan Zhan then Lan Zhan is going to know something’s up, and he’s going to ask, and Wei Wuxian doesn’t even know what would come out of his mouth. He might have to tell him he accidentally read Lan Zhan’s private mail, because he can barely hold the words in as it is. Which would obviously be terrible, because Wei Wuxian is being an idiot, and he really doesn’t want to see the saddened, apologetic look on Lan Zhan’s face when he realizes that. So he keeps his eyes turned carefully away, reaching up and unwinding the correct bundle before handing it to Lan Zhan with a smile. He hopes it’s a convincing one.

Lan Zhan hesitates a moment longer, but then smiles back carefully. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” Wei Wuxian says. Lan Zhan’s eyes still linger on Wei Wuxian a bit, but he bends down and places the bundle into the now-empty basket at his feet, then picks up the basket to settle it against his hip. Wei Wuxian finds himself looking at Lan Zhan’s hands where they curl gently around the woven handles, and it makes something tremble deep in his chest. He doesn’t even know why, it’s just like, a physical pull. Like maybe if Lan Zhan laid his hands on Wei Wuxian like that, he could smooth out all the ripples underneath Wei Wuxian’s skin, make everything feel like it’s not so upside-down. The way he did the other night, when Wei Wuxian felt like he’d wandered onto unsteady ground, and then Lan Zhan got down between his legs and made him feel sure again. Held. Wanted.

Lan Zhan is great like that. Wei Wuxian gets it, he gets why Mian Mian would want to write to Lan Zhan. Who wouldn’t?

Lan Zhan still has a curious look in his eye, and his gaze sweeps over Wei Wuxian like he wants to ask again, like he wonders— but in the end he seems to decide against it. He gives Wei Wuxian a small nod, and turns away, heading for the cave entrance. Wei Wuxian hovers by the herb rack and watches him go.

Once Lan Zhan is out the door and out of sight, his eyes fall on the shelf again, where the letter pokes out innocently from behind a storage jar. A part of him sort of wanted it to not be there when he looked back, like maybe he’d made the whole thing up. For a moment, he has the crazy urge to tear it up, make it disappear.

But, he doesn’t do that. That would be both wrong and silly.

It’s Lan Zhan’s. Whatever it is, whatever it means, is Lan Zhan’s business. He needs to just… let it go. Pretend he never saw it. It changes nothing here, and it’s not for him to worry about.

So. Horses.

~      ~      ~

It’s a mottled sort of overcast, gray clouds rolling over each other and outlined in shafts of sunlight. Underneath the shade of the trees the air is dim and cool, with a sharp bite whenever the breeze picks up and swirls dead leaves and twigs from the ground.

Wen Ning is up ahead of them on the path, still a little dazed the way he always is after one of their practice sessions. Wei Wuxian knows he’ll be fine in an hour or so, he just gets disoriented from the rebalancing of his energy.

Lan Zhan is walking close at Wei Wuxian’s side. Wei Wuxian can feel him stealing glances at Wei Wuxian’s left arm every few steps, where the fabric is torn below his elbow and his wrist wrappings have come unraveled. He’s been trying to shrug off the kick of indignation he feels every time he catches Lan Zhan at it, but it’s hard.

When Lan Zhan’s eyes flicker over to his sleeve, then his face, then his sleeve again as if he’s expecting to see black smoke curling out from underneath the cuff, Wei Wuxian sighs heavily and stops him by stepping in front of him. “Look, Lan Zhan, it’s fine,” he says, holding out his arm and tugging at the hole. “It’s only the top layer—the ghost barely grazed me, it didn’t even break the skin. You can stop freaking out.”

Lan Zhan frowns at the tear. Wei Wuxian keeps looking at him, that edge of annoyance still itching all over him, and when Lan Zhan meets his eyes, Wei Wuxian just raises his eyebrows, underlining his point. A sharp frown crosses Lan Zhan’s face, but in the end, Lan Zhan nods, and they resume walking.

It took Wei Wuxian weeks to even talk Lan Zhan into doing more training after Lan Zhan had learned about Wei Wuxian’s golden core. Well, weeks after Lan Zhan recovered, that is—even Wei Wuxian didn’t want to do it right then. He left it alone for a while, hoping maybe Lan Zhan would bring it up himself, but he never did. And once he did mention it, Lan Zhan kept coming up with jobs he had to do and reasons why they should do it the next day instead, until Wei Wuxian finally had to corner him and demand that he come out and practice with them, or Wei Wuxian was going to go out and practice with Wen Ning by himself.

That seemed to work. Kind of.

Lan Zhan totally took it easy on him that first time. Wei Wuxian could tell from the very first minute—his attacks were lackluster and quickly aborted, like he was battling a baby kitten instead of somebody he supposedly thought of as an equal. Not that there are no situations in which Wei Wuxian might want Lan Zhan to treat him like a baby kitten, but when they’re dueling is not one of them.

So, yeah. They kind of fought about it, and then they kind of fucked about it, which, turns out Lan Zhan fucking into his hand and coming all over Wei Wuxian’s stomach after they’ve been pissy with each other over who can beat up whom in a resentment duel is kind of hot. And eventually, finally, he managed to convince Lan Zhan that there was no point in training at all if Lan Zhan wasn’t going to take him seriously as an equal, and… something about that seemed to get through to him. He looked kind of chastened. The next time they went out, he was fighting properly again.

This afternoon he even worked up a sweat. It looks good on him. Everything was great this time, until that last run when Lan Zhan slipped under Wei Wuxian’s defenses and he let himself get distracted and this one tiny ghost managed to sideswipe his left arm, and suddenly Lan Zhan was back to the baby kitten face again.

“I don’t like being responsible for hurting you,” Lan Zhan says quietly, after stretch of silence.

Wei Wuxian glances over at him, guilt stirring in him as he takes in the apologetic wrinkle at the center of Lan Zhan’s brow. Lan Zhan meets his eyes uncertainly, as if he’s worried that even admitting it will make Wei Wuxian angry, and Wei Wuxian… damn. He doesn’t want to make Lan Zhan guilty for that now.

“You didn’t hurt me,” Wei Wuxian says, looking him straight in the eyes again. “I’m not hurt, I promise. Like, maybe a bruise, or whatever, but I’m really fine. This is part of practice. You don’t have to worry that I can’t take it just because I don’t have a core. I can do the same things now that I could do when we started practicing. Okay?”

Lan Zhan takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, nodding his concession. “I know that,” Lan Zhan says, slightly grudgingly. “Your control over the Yin Tiger Seal has greatly improved over the course of our training. I’m proud of you.”

It takes him by surprise to hear Lan Zhan say that, and the burst of elation it sends rushing through him is a little disorienting. He never would have thought he’d hear Lan Zhan admit something like that about his resentment energy cultivation. Like. Lan Zhan. Proud of him. “Thanks,” he says. He’s feeling fluttery enough that his smile might be coming out a little wonky. “I really— thanks. That’s good.”

The Tiger Seal purrs against Wei Wuxian’s side, as if it, too, approves. It makes his skin prickle uncomfortably, on the heels of Lan Zhan’s unexpected praise. He feels the twitchy urge to cover the Tiger Seal with his hand, press it deeper into his side as if to cover its ears, which he knows is ridiculous.

The Tiger Seal is… it can sense Lan Zhan. Wei Wuxian knows that. Ever since they started doing the training where Lan Zhan tries to undermine Wei Wuxian’s instructions, the Tiger Seal has had the measure of him. There’s a hunger there, a sharpness that Wei Wuxian can sense when it starts to flex its power, inviting Lan Zhan’s attack. Like it understands him to be some kind of welcome rival, a worthy opponent, and Wei Wuxian is… he doesn’t know how to feel about that.

Like, obviously Lan Zhan is a worthy opponent to the Tiger Seal. He’s one of the most powerful cultivators of his generation, and while Wei Wuxian is pretty confident in his abilities and his power in wielding the Tiger Seal, he’s always known that if anyone could still take him down—if anyone ever needed to—it would be Lan Zhan. It’s part of what makes him feel safe now, stretching the untested bounds of these powers, because he knows that if he ever somehow lost control, overstepped himself, Lan Zhan would be able to stop him.

But. It’s the purring that’s starting to worry him a bit. The Tiger Seal isn’t just squaring off with Lan Zhan anymore—it’s becoming familiar with him. Wei Wuxian isn’t sure if Lan Zhan realizes—there’s so much resentment energy around them all the time, and Lan Zhan doesn’t mess with that stuff on purpose, obviously, so he’s not sure if Lan Zhan would feel it. The way the Tiger Seal is learning him. Accepting him. Inviting him into the dance.

Wei Wuxian doesn’t want that. It’s one thing for it to form a bond with Wei Wuxian, who needs it, who can handle it, and who’s got no other options anyway, but Lan Zhan… Lan Zhan is still an orthodox cultivator at his core. He might have handed in his headband and thrown his lot in with a bunch of refugees for now, but there’s nothing truly changed about him under the surface. Nothing contaminated. Nothing that means he couldn’t walk out of here and be the bright beacon to the cultivation world he was always meant to be, and Wei Wuxian doesn’t want that to change.

“Anything else you need from me, Young Master Wei?” Wen Ning asks him, with a slow blink. He’s waiting for them at the entrance from the forest to the courtyard.

Wei Wuxian draws himself out of his thoughts and shakes his head, giving Wen Ning a smile and twirling his flute between his fingers. “Nope, nothing else for now,” he says. “Thanks for your help, you’ve been great.”

Wen Ning smiles back woozily and gives them both a small, dazed bow, before turning around to wind his way between the people hanging around in the courtyard, heading towards the great hall. From the faint cooking smell in the air, Wei Wuxian can tell dinner preparations have already started, and Wen Ning likes making himself useful, seems to find it steadying after practice.

Lan Zhan and Wei Wuxian make their way over to the cave instead, Lan Zhan placing Bichen and the spiritual pouch on the shelf near the fire. When Wei Wuxian turns back from putting his flute away, he finds Lan Zhan frowning at his arm again.

He sighs. “Lan Zhan, I’m really not—”

But Lan Zhan comes over to him then and takes Wei Wuxian’s arm in his hands, stealing Wei Wuxian’s breath away with the sudden proximity. He’s not even really focused on Wei Wuxian, Wei Wuxian realizes. Lan Zhan is just holding Wei Wuxian’s wrist in one hand so he can poke at the ragged edges of the tear in his sleeve with the other hand, flattening them against his arm and pulling this way and that, inspecting how the pieces once fit together. Wei Wuxian holds very still.

“Your spare robe is clean,” Lan Zhan says, after a moment, looking up at him matter-of-factly. He tugs on the edge of Wei Wuxian’s sleeve as he lets his arm slip from his hold. “Give me this one.”

Is that hot? That shouldn’t be hot, right? Wei Wuxian swallows, watching Lan Zhan turn away and cross over to the other shelf, where he keeps his sewing kit. When Lan Zhan turns around again and fixes him with an expectant look, Wei Wuxian’s hands find their way to his belt without him really thinking about it. He’s got the leather tugged free before he’s really aware of it, a tingling warmth spreading down his neck. Then he decides there’s not much point being fussy, and shrugs out of his outer robe to hand it to Lan Zhan.

It’s not actually cold inside the cave with the fire still glowing in the corner, and Wei Wuxian’s body is still thrumming from the sparring. He doesn’t bother putting on his spare outer robe. Lan Zhan settles himself down on his cot with the sewing kit next to him and Wei Wuxian’s robe on his lap, unwinding a length of thread and wetting the end briefly between his lips before expertly threading it through the eye of a needle. When his eyes blink up from what he’s doing and catch curiously on Wei Wuxian, Wei Wuxian realizes he’s just standing in the middle of the room, half-dressed, sort of… staring.

He clears his throat and gives Lan Zhan a sheepish smile. He’s… the desk, right, he had some things on the desk he was working on this morning. He doesn’t remember what they were, but… cool. Right. He can do that.

He crosses over to the bench, sits down on it and folds his legs up underneath him, resting his elbows on the table. He doesn’t feel restful exactly, but, might as well try getting something useful done. The talismans are all scattered out right where he left them, a few half-finished and others duplicated, so he can take them out for testing. He remembers now, it was something about getting moisture out of clothes faster, so they don’t have to wait for everything to dry in the sun or by the fire, especially now that the days are getting colder. He picks up a brush and pulls his sheet of notes toward him, fiddling the handle of the brush between his fingers. Then he stares at the words for a bit, though his eyes don’t really focus. After a moment, he lets his gaze drift up again, watching Lan Zhan with his concentrated little frown, pushing the end of the needle through the fabric. He looks so cute when he does that.

There were four different radish fields that needed turning over this week, so Lan Zhan has been busy with the plowing a lot lately—they haven’t really done this much, just sat together in the cave, puttering away at their separate tasks. Lan Zhan has come to bed tired from farm work every evening, and Wei Wuxian has been kind of— well. He’s had trouble concentrating.

As far as he can tell, Lan Zhan hasn’t written any more letters. Not for a few days, at least.

He’s not monitoring, or anything. It’s not his business to keep tabs on how many letters Lan Zhan writes or what he does with them. Wei Wuxian hasn’t even gone back to check if the one he found the other day is still there or not. It’s not where Lan Zhan usually keeps his papers, just lying out on the shelf like that, so the fact that it was even there for him to find was probably a mistake. He knows it’s better if he just forgets about it.

It’s just easier said than done.

He knows, realistically, that Lan Zhan has never actually slept with her. Lan Zhan hadn’t slept with anybody before he started sleeping with Wei Wuxian—Lan Zhan told him that, and Lan Zhan wouldn’t lie. He wouldn’t have any reason to, even if he were the type of person to lie. It wasn’t like Wei Wuxian cornered him or anything—he offered up the information, all by himself. If it wasn’t true, he could have just not said it.

But. That was also a while ago.

If he thinks about it—when he lets himself think about it—it’s not like it’s impossible that they’ve met up in the village or something, over the past few months. She did say something about getting back to Lanling, as if she’d been away somewhere—as if Lan Zhan already knew where she was and why she was there. If that was… if she was here, for some reason, secretly…

Fuck. No, he needs to stop doing this. It’s not— there’s no point. Even if she was here, even if they did meet up somewhere, for some reason, it wouldn’t have to be for that. Suppose she did come to the village, and Lan Zhan did go down there alone to meet her, what could they have done? Just like, ravished each other against the wall of an alley or something? Lan Zhan doesn’t have money he could just spend on a room at an inn without somebody noticing, and he wouldn’t spend their shared money on something like that anyway. So that’s obviously impossible.

Well. Unless Mian Mian paid.

No—no, he needs to get a grip on himself here, this is some wild fucking speculation, and it’s not getting him anywhere or doing anyone any good. He doesn’t… Lan Zhan wouldn’t do that. Not in secret, like that. Like, sure, if that was what he wanted maybe he would do it, but Wei Wuxian doesn’t seriously think that Lan Zhan would sneak off to the village for some kind of secret… whatever, and not even tell Wei Wuxian about it.

Probably.

Like, that’s just a matter of courtesy, right? Tell the guy you’re fucking at home when you want to go off and fuck somebody else who’s just visiting? Surely there’s a Lan rule about that somewhere.

But. Even if he hasn’t done that, even if he hasn’t slept with Mian Mian at all, anywhere… does he want to?

Wei Wuxian lifts his eyes from the page in front of him and peers over at Lan Zhan again, watching his careful, studious movements as he fixes the tear in Wei Wuxian’s sleeve. Something inside him aches at the sight of it, and he’s not even sure why.

Lan Zhan… Lan Zhan likes what they do together. Wei Wuxian is completely sure of that, there’s no question. He can feel it when they’re together, see the way it takes Lan Zhan apart when Wei Wuxian touches him, and they’ve even figured a few things out along the way, gotten better over time. It’s always good with Lan Zhan. And some of the things Lan Zhan likes best, the thing he asks for most— Wei Wuxian doesn’t even see how he could do that with Mian Mian. Wei Wuxian is always up for whatever Lan Zhan wants, he doesn’t need it to be that, but Lan Zhan likes it when Wei Wuxian puts his dick inside him, they do that a lot, and Lan Zhan likes it. Mian Mian wouldn’t be able to do that for him.

Though. Okay, she does have fingers. Lan Zhan… he likes that too.

It gives him a really weird shiver when he gets this sudden image of Lan Zhan lying back and spreading his legs like that for Mian Mian, letting her touch him the way Wei Wuxian does, make him unravel—

He shuts that down hard, tries to push it out of his mind, because… because it’s rude. To think things like that about Lan Zhan, things that aren’t real, that aren’t his. Wei Wuxian gets to see and feel and touch so much of Lan Zhan, gets to remember so many things that are real, that he’s allowed, and he’s not going to just cast Lan Zhan in porn in his head in ways that are… rude. And none of his business.

Mian Mian’s got stuff Wei Wuxian doesn’t have too though. What if Lan Zhan wants that?

It makes him feel a bit queasy, an unsteady feeling, like realizing he’s gone most of the day and forgotten to eat. He’s… they haven’t even done it the other way around yet. Not that that’s the same, probably, what does he know, but… maybe Lan Zhan would want that? Wei Wuxian hasn’t exactly offered, but he mostly doesn’t offer, he just— he likes taking his cues from Lan Zhan. He asks Lan Zhan what he wants, and then they do that, and he likes knowing it’s exactly what Lan Zhan wants. For a long time after they started sleeping together, he kept expecting Lan Zhan to ask for that, to want to be the one inside. But Lan Zhan never has.

But maybe he should… offer?

The idea freaks him out a little bit. He’s not even totally sure why. But if Lan Zhan wanted that, if it would… if he’s just being polite, or whatever, and he actually really wants…

He watches Lan Zhan tug the thread carefully through the fabric, circling around and feeding the needle through in neat little stitches, close together. Wei Wuxian’s pulse feels like it’s pushing against his skin, against his wrists, against the sides of his throat, and he suddenly really wants Lan Zhan’s hands on him, Lan Zhan’s mouth on him, Lan Zhan’s kisses and soft words breathed into the crook of his neck, against his earlobe.

He should… he really needs to get a handle on this, this is not a good idea. He can’t go asking Lan Zhan to fuck him if he’s just doing it to try to make him not need that from someone else. That’s not a good idea, even if he doesn’t say it out loud, even if it’s just in his head. Especially if it’s all in his head. Right?

Right.

Lan Zhan could leave if he wanted to. That’s always been true, and it’s worth remembering. Lan Zhan isn’t really stuck here. Maybe it wouldn’t be as easy now as it would have been a year ago, but Lan Zhan can still turn back from this. Lan Zhan could stop. Lan Zhan was the one who wanted to sleep with him in the first place, before it ever crossed Wei Wuxian’s mind, and Lan Zhan really likes having sex with him. He does. That part definitely isn’t just in Wei Wuxian’s head.

Wei Wuxian really likes having sex with Lan Zhan too. And Lan Zhan looks so fucking cute sitting there on the cot with his legs crossed and his back straight, sewing Wei Wuxian’s ratty clothes back together as if they were fine silk.

There’s a slight pull of hesitation in him. The last time he interrupted Lan Zhan when he was busy—focused on reading, reading that letter that was probably from Mian Mian—that didn’t go so well. But Lan Zhan isn’t reading right now, he didn’t get any mail at all today as far as Wei Wuxian can tell, and anyway the thing he’s all focused on right now is Wei Wuxian’s robes, so. Maybe he’s got rights?

It gives him a jolt when Lan Zhan’s gaze flicks up all of a sudden, catching him staring. The awareness burns down the back of his neck, but he knows Lan Zhan won’t be able to tell what he was thinking. Won’t know if Wei Wuxian happens to have learned a few of his secrets.

“Wei Ying?” he asks, with that patient tone of his, only glancing down briefly to make sure he doesn’t prick his finger as he feeds the needle through again.

Wei Wuxian breathes a small laugh, his thoughts scattering to the far edges of the room as he tries to think of something he can say, something that isn’t what he was thinking. “You don’t have to spend time messing with that,” is what comes out, and, hey, not so bad. He nods at the robe, at Lan Zhan’s sewing. “I know you’ve got a bunch of other stuff to do.”

Lan Zhan gives him a little smile that makes Wei Wuxian’s chest do something funny. “Someone has to fix it,” he points out. “And I doubt that it will be you.”

Wei Wuxian bites his lip, glancing down at the table in front of him. Yes, okay, fair enough. It’s not that Wei Wuxian couldn’t do it, presumably, if he tried, but he does kind of tend to think of sewing as… other people’s work. “No,” he says, with a little blush. “I guess not.”

Lan Zhan nods, satisfied with his agreement, and returns his focus to his work. He really has gotten good at that. He seems to know just how to hold the edges of the fabric together to keep them from slipping while he works the needle, and how to drape the rest of the robe across his lap to keep the weight of it from pulling down on the seam.

“You look so cute doing that,” Wei Wuxian says, before he can think better of it, and Lan Zhan blinks up again, startled. There’s a sudden, sharper light in his eyes. Wei Wuxian lets out a small, awkward breath.

“Do I?” Lan Zhan asks, and there’s a weight there, a question underneath the question. Something slows and pulses low in the air between them. Wei Wuxian doesn’t think it’s just him.

Lan Zhan wouldn’t look at Mian Mian like that. Would he? Wei Wuxian… he doesn’t think so. Probably. It just feels like—he’d be too polite, or something. Wei Wuxian thinks.

Anyway, even if Lan Zhan would, it doesn’t matter. She’s not here right now. This is what matters, what’s here right now, between them. There’s no point wondering about anything else, trying to predict the future or chase down a bunch of what-ifs that he can’t control. Right here, right now. This is what he’s got.

This is what he wants.

Wei Wuxian unfolds himself and gets up from the bench. Lan Zhan is watching him as he approaches, deftly tucking the needle into a fold of the robe and putting the sewing down beside him. His eyes stay on Wei Wuxian as Wei Wuxian takes a seat next to him on the cot. Lan Zhan looks so fucking beautiful with his hair all soft and straight, resting against his shoulder,  his lips slightly parted, and his eyes looking nowhere else but Wei Wuxian. There’s no distraction there like that other time. Lan Zhan isn’t thinking of someone else, reading about anyone else, wanting to write to someone else. He’s thinking of this. He wants this.

Wei Wuxian leans in, just a little, offering. Reaches out and curls two fingers around a lock of Lan Zan’s hair, twisting it in between and feeling the soft smoothness of it, silky as the robes Lan Zhan used to wear. He hears Lan Zhan let out a small breath, feels him lean in and curl a hand around the back of Wei Wuxian’s neck, and soon he’s brought their mouths together, warm and close and soft. Wei Wuxian feels himself sinking into it, the familiarity of Lan Zhan’s touch and the want in his fingers chasing away some of the doubts still quivering underneath his skin.

He can feel himself getting more aroused the longer they do this, trading kisses back and forth, even though they can’t get that close sitting up like this. He wishes they were naked right now, wishes he could touch Lan Zhan all over, everywhere. It’s a little early in the day, still midafternoon, and he doesn’t know if Lan Zhan would be up for that or if he wants to get back to his sewing eventually, but the longer they keep kissing the more he can’t stop himself thinking about what Lan Zhan looks like spread out underneath him on the bed, or what it felt like that night when he got down on his knees between Wei Wuxian’s legs and took him into his mouth.

He could… he could even offer the other thing, maybe. Not like that, not as a replacement, just… in case it’s something Lan Zhan actually wants, and somehow hasn’t been able to ask for. He could do like Lan Zhan did, that first time, draw him down onto the bed and maneuver himself underneath, let Lan Zhan settle between his legs. He could open himself up to Lan Zhan, let Lan Zhan take it from there. That could be good, right? Lan Zhan seems to like it. And they’ve figured out how to do it, how to make it easy, that part wouldn’t be a problem either.

He doesn’t know why the thought of it still sort of puts a knot in his stomach, why it somehow feels like baring his neck to a tiger. Lan Zhan isn’t a tiger, Lan Zhan would never hurt him, and even if the pain from that was still a thing, even if it was a thing the first time just because he hasn’t done it before, it’s not like he’s ever been squeamish about getting a little banged up, so—he doesn’t know, maybe he’s being stupid, maybe he should actually get it out of the way.

A gentle tug against his elbows pulls him out of his thoughts, a shifting of gravity that startles him—it’s Lan Zhan sinking back onto the cot, bringing Wei Wuxian with him, and… okay, no, maybe that’s the right thing. Maybe that’s the best thing, for now, to go with what Lan Zhan wants. Lan Zhan always wants good things.

The cot is more cramped and unstable than the stone bed, with two of them on it. It’s been months since they tried to lie down on this thing together, and back then they weren’t actually going for a position that will let them press their hips against each other, and it’s… hm. A little tricky. After a few minutes of slow kissing and squirming and the wood creaking underneath them, there’s a clattering thump just over their shoulders, and Wei Wuxian laughs against Lan Zhan’s mouth. They both look over towards the corner of the bed, where Lan Zhan’s sewing kit and the pile of robes were sitting a moment ago. Both are now on the floor.

“Whoops,” Wei Wuxian says, giving Lan Zhan a little grin. Lan Zhan is looking back at him as if he pushed the sewing kit off the bed on purpose, which is both unfair and somehow very adorable. “This cot is, uh. Smaller than I remember it.”

Lan Zhan hums a sound of agreement. “Perhaps we should relocate.”

“Sure, how about the table?” Wei Wuxian offers cheekily. It takes him by surprise when something like interest flickers in Lan Zhan’s eyes. But then there’s something else chasing after it, a shadow of self-consciousness, and Wei Wuxian isn’t sure if… he’s not sure he was reading that right.

Does Lan Zhan… want that? Wei Wuxian isn’t— he was just joking, he doesn’t even know how that would work logistically, the table is even smaller than the cot, but if… if Lan Zhan finds it interesting…

“What do you want, Lan Zhan?” he asks, hoping Lan Zhan will hear it right. Not that he ever really meant it differently, but he hopes Lan Zhan knows he can ask for what he wants, whatever he wants, not just the things they’ve already done, and Wei Wuxian won’t have a problem with it. Lan Zhan hasn’t come up with anything so far that Wei Wuxian didn’t want, wouldn’t do.

Lan Zhan looks up at him again, and there’s something shy in his eyes, a little flutter that makes Wei Wuxian want to hold him closer, draw out whatever he’s thinking. He gives Lan Zhan a quiet smile, tries to somehow ask without saying anything. Lan Zhan skates a hand down Wei Wuxian’s side, his fingers catching slightly in the soft, thin fabric.

“I wonder,” he says.

“Yeah?” Wei Wuxian says softly.

Lan Zhan swallows. “Do you remember,” he says, still haltingly, his gaze hovering around Wei Wuxian’s collarbone. “That day in the library?”

In the library. Wei Wuxian feels caught for a moment, because there were, like, a lot of days in the library, and Wei Wuxian isn’t sure which one he would mean. And he doesn’t want to ruin the mood by picking the wrong one and making Lan Zhan think he forgot something important again. “I remember… a lot of days in the library,” he says, with a playful smile. “Which one?”

Lan Zhan gives him an evasive blink, and Wei Wuxian can see him swallow again before his gaze drops back down to Wei Wuxian’s collarbone. “The day I threw you out,” he says. “Because you showed me that image. From a book.”

It puts a shiver low in Wei Wuxian’s belly. That day. Yeah, he… he remembers that day, it’s coming back to him. He remembers the picture too. It was from one of Huaisang’s books, a drawing of two men, with the one guy doing it to the other guy from behind. Lan Zhan hated it. Which… hm. Seems kind of strange in hindsight, all things considered. But then Lan Zhan was a lot fussier then.

“I remember,” he says, nodding slightly. “I was just… it was a dumb joke. I didn’t think you would get that mad.”

A slight flush blooms along Lan Zhan’s throat, and he glances away again, looking embarrassed. Maybe he thinks it seems kind of strange too, now. “I had never seen an image like that before,” Lan Zhan says, and Wei Wuxian feels a few pieces shifting in his brain. No, of course not. Lans don’t look at porn. Where would Lan Zhan have seen porn before that? Maybe some rogue troublemaker Lan could find a way to get ahold of it, but not Lan Zhan. He wouldn’t even try. He wouldn’t want to try.

“Oh,” Wei Wuxian says, not sure what else he’s meant to say. “I’m sorry?”

Lan Zhan looks up again quickly, and the flash of distress in his eyes tells Wei Wuxian that wasn’t it. “No, I didn’t… I don’t mean to chastise you,” Lan Zhan says, and the flush is growing darker now, and Wei Wuxian has a sneaking feeling he’s catching on to where this is going, like the pieces are fitting themselves together. “I mean I was startled by it. By my own response to it.”

Oh. Oh…

Lan Zhan swallows again, his nervous fingers plucking at the seam near Wei Wuxian’s hip. “And now, I wondered. If you would want to try it that way. The way the men were in the picture. With you behind me.”

Wei Wuxian lets out an unsteady breath. He still can’t get used to Lan Zhan saying shit like that. He’s got an image of it in his head now too, Lan Zhan on his hands and knees or… over the table? Is that what he wants? Or leaning against it? And Wei Wuxian behind him, with his hands on his hips, holding him just there and pushing inside and—

“It’s all right if you don’t,” Lan Zhan says, and Wei Wuxian refocuses through the sudden haze and the rush of blood in his ears to find a worried little wrinkle between Lan Zhan’s brows. “We can do it the usual way if you prefer.”

“No!” Wei Wuxian says quickly—but that seems to be the wrong thing too, Lan Zhan looks almost distraught. “No, I mean yes, either way is fine. Anything is fine. If you want to try it like that… that would be good.”

Lan Zhan lets out a small breath, the distress ebbing away, and Wei Wuxian can feel his fingers tangling in the side of Wei Wuxian’s robes, as though he’s trying to pull him closer even though that’s not really possible. “Good,” Lan Zhan says, very evenly, and Wei Wuxian can see the want in his eyes. “I would be curious to try.”

Oh fuck.

Wei Wuxian leans in to kiss him again, deeply, because that’s all he can do right now with the wild rush of heat making him stupid and dizzy, and he needs to pull his head together a little bit, needs to think. How do they do this? How does Lan Zhan want to do this? The cot is really probably not the right place for it, it’s not even good for when they’re lying down, much less for if they need to… if Lan Zhan wants…

Lan Zhan runs his fingers into Wei Wuxian’s hair, his hips shifting up against Wei Wuxian’s as he eases him back, catches Wei Wuxian’s lower lip between his with another little kiss. “Shall we move to the bed?” Lan Zhan asks, his voice low and soft, and it takes all the air out of Wei Wuxian. Yeah, that’s good. Lan Zhan has the good ideas, Lan Zhan knows what to do.

Wei Wuxian nods, trying to get his arms working again, shifting his weight up, away. It feels colder than it did a minute ago even though he’s flushed all over, and his skin aches for Lan Zhan, but that’s okay. That’s what they’re doing, they’re doing… this, soon they’ll be touching again, touching more, and that will be good. He wants that.

As he finds his feet, he remembers he hasn’t set up the talismans yet—so he takes care of that, muffling the quiet murmur of voices from out in the courtyard behind a shield of magic. When he turns back, he finds Lan Zhan on his feet as well, his belt undone, carefully and methodically removing his clothing and folding it up at the foot of the cot. Lan Zhan flicks his eyes toward Wei Wuxian as he shrugs the last layer off, his shoulders bare and glowing in the firelight. Wei Wuxian feels a sudden urge to move towards him again, press his mouth against the crook of Lan Zhan’s shoulder, trail kisses down over his chest. He could get on his knees like Lan Zhan did and take him into his mouth, make him come like that, standing, half-dressed, nothing to hold onto except Wei Wuxian.

But, no, not right now. Some other time, maybe. Right now, Lan Zhan asked for this. Wei Wuxian wants to give Lan Zhan what he wants.

A questioning look crosses Lan Zhan’s face, his movements slowing as he reaches for his waistband, and Wei Wuxian follows his gaze down to Wei Wuxian’s chest, his waist. He’s still— right, he needs to get with the program, he doesn’t— Lan Zhan shouldn’t think he doesn’t want this. He gives a breathless laugh and reaches for the ties at his waist, lets his thin underrobe fall open. He feels it as Lan Zhan’s eyes settle on the bulge in his trousers, not hidden at all anymore as he takes the robe off, but that’s good. Lan Zhan has seen it before. Lan Zhan can see. Lan Zhan should know how much Wei Wuxian wants him.

Then Lan Zhan turns his attention back to the ties of his own trousers, pulling them loose and letting them slide down over his hips, over his bare and stiffening cock. His hair falls forward as he steps out of them, folds them away. Then he moves toward the stone bed. Wei Wuxian loves the way he moves, so graceful and sure, and he can see it even more like this, when he’s completely naked, his lean strength shifting underneath his skin. It’s not until Lan Zhan climbs onto his knees on the bed, sitting back on his heels, and glances around over his shoulder for Wei Wuxian that Wei Wuxian realizes he’s gotten distracted again, his trousers only half untied and his hands hovering uselessly at his waist.

“Is it all right?” Lan Zhan asks, eyes flickering down to Wei Wuxian’s hands and then back again.

“Yeah,” Wei Wuxian says quickly, nodding. “Yes, yeah, everything’s… everything’s good.”

He finishes undoing his trousers quickly and tosses them aside, moving over to the bed. Lan Zhan shifts over as he approaches, leaving room for Wei Wuxian to kneel beside him, at an angle. His legs feel like jelly underneath him for some reason—he’s not sure why he’s so nervous, it’s not like they’ve never done this before, but it feels… it feels different. New. It puts a shiver under his skin that Lan Zhan asked for something else, something he’s apparently had on his mind for a while. Wei Wuxian wants to be able to make it good for him. Get it right.

Lan Zhan reaches over and kisses him again, and that makes it easier somehow, feeling his hands and the familiar warmth of his mouth. Wei Wuxian reaches out too, his fingers finding Lan Zhan’s sides and stroking down over them, up again and around his shoulders. Lan Zhan is warm, flushed, inviting. Lan Zhan’s exhale comes a little bit shaky as he eases back from the kiss and just presses their foreheads together, his eyes closed. Wei Wuxian gets the feeling that he’s steeling himself, pulling himself together. He wonders how long it’s actually been that Lan Zhan has been thinking about this. If he ever actually saw any other porn or anything after that, or if it’s really like that one image has been in his head all this time. Wei Wuxian has seen enough stuff of a wide enough variety that he finds it a little hard to imagine having one thing in your head for so long, but Lan Zhan is different than that. Lan Zhan was so studious, so disciplined, and now that Wei Wuxian knows what he knows about Lan Zhan never having touched anybody, it’s also not that hard to imagine him never seeking anything else out.

So. Pretty high stakes here.

“Are you ready?” Lan Zhan asks, opening his eyes again. His fingertips are stroking over the shell of Wei Wuxian’s ear. It feels so nice.

He nods, meeting Lan Zhan’s eyes. He hopes it’s true.

Lan Zhan nods back, once. Then he lets his hands fall away from Wei Wuxian and sits back, casting his eyes downwards. Leans forwards onto his hands and knees and crawls up a bit on the bed, shifting until he’s in the middle, his knees slightly apart to make room for Wei Wuxian, baring himself. The air in the cave seems stiller and thicker all of a sudden, and Wei Wuxian hears his own breath hitch.

It feels strange to see him like this, somehow more exposed and vulnerable than it even is when he’s on his back with his legs spread out. Wei Wuxian draws in the warm air and shifts up onto his knees as well, leaning over to grab the oil from the shelf before shuffling forward.

He knows how to do this, he reminds himself. They’ve done this tons of times. Maybe not quite like this, but it’s the same basic concept, the same steps, and being able to see Lan Zhan’s— what he’s doing might actually help. The whole thing might even be easier like this. Mechanically speaking. 

He swallows against the dryness in his mouth, tips a bit of the oil into his hand, slicks up his fingers before putting the vial aside. Then he puts one hand on Lan Zhan’s hip to steady him, pulling outward just a little with his thumb to… to spread him open. He can— like this, he didn’t anticipate how much more of it he can see. The back of his neck is burning when he reaches up with the other hand and puts his fingers on Lan Zhan’s entrance. A deep shudder runs through Lan Zhan at the contact, so hard Wei Wuxian can feel it, on his fingers, in the air, everywhere.

“Is it okay?” he asks quickly, looking up towards the back of Lan Zhan’s head. He’s barely touched him, he knows it can’t have actually hurt or whatever, but… it’s hard to know what that was without…

Lan Zhan nods. Wei Wuxian can see it, the way his head moves up and down a bit before hanging between his shoulders, as if he can’t keep up the weight. “Everything is all right,” Lan Zhan says, and his legs shift a bit on either side of Wei Wuxian, spreading a bit wider. “Keep going.”

Wei Wuxian nods back quickly, then realizes that of course Lan Zhan can’t see it. He’s about to start pushing his fingers inside, just normal, a thing they always do, but something… something stops him. “Lan Zhan?” he says, looking up towards his shoulders again.

Lan Zhan’s head shifts up, around, not far enough that Wei Wuxian can actually see his face, but enough to show he’s listening.

“Can you, um. Can you talk to me?” It feels silly, strange—Lan Zhan isn’t much of a talker and they both know that. But the thing is, usually he can see Lan Zhan when they do stuff like this, so even if Lan Zhan isn’t saying anything he can tell if it hurts or… or what feels good or what’s weird by the tension in his shoulders or the shape of his mouth or his eyes or his brow, and he can’t… he doesn’t have any of that right now. He feels like he’s trying to do this blindfolded. Which, Wei Wuxian can do a lot of things blindfolded but he doesn’t want to try it with this.

“What do you want me to say?” Lan Zhan says, sounding nervous.

“Just… anything, I don’t know. I mean, if it’s good or bad obviously, definitely tell me that, but also just… talk to me. Or make sounds or whatever, so I can… so I know how you feel. I’m sorry if that sounds weird, I just. I can’t see you like this, and if I can’t hear you either it’s hard to know if everything is working. If it’s okay.” He feels stupid. He feels so stupid, he’s not even sure what he wants Lan Zhan to say, he just… he needs to hear his voice. He needs it.

After a moment, Lan Zhan bobs his head. “All right,” he says, his voice scraping rough, but not in a bad way. “I’ll try.”

“Cool,” Wei Wuxian says, feeling a flush of embarrassment underneath his skin. He’s not sure why he’s the one feeling all vulnerable when Lan Zhan is the one on his knees with his… uh. His body. Like this. “Thanks.”

Lan Zhan nods again. “Wei Ying,” he says, sounding a bit fumbly, his hips shifting back into Wei Wuxian’s hold, against his waiting fingertips. “Put your fingers inside me, please.”

Oh wow. Okay, that… fuck. Wei Wuxian clears his throat, feeling those words jitter through him, all the way down. “Okay,” he shudders out. “I mean, yes, I’ll… yeah.”

He runs one more slow, gentle stroke around the rim of muscle, and then does as Lan Zhan asked, pushes inside. Just one finger at first, to feel how tense he is, how much he needs to ease up. Sometimes he starts with two, but he wants to be careful this time. He can see this too, he didn’t account for that, the slip and the give, his finger moving into Lan Zhan, and his skin is burning with it.

“Yes,” Lan Zhan breathes out. “Good. More.”

Oh holy shit. Wei Wuxian has to close his eyes, the feeling of Lan Zhan’s hips pressing back against him mingling with the sound of his voice. He strokes in and out a few times, and Lan Zhan keeps murmuring to him under his breath, “Yes. More.”

Sweat is breaking out between Wei Wuxian’s shoulder blades. He keeps moving, gently, steadily, and he thinks it’s good, he thinks it feels good to Lan Zhan too.

“Another,” Lan Zhan asks. “Put another inside.” It ripples over him, a rough shiver but an easy request, and Wei Wuxian does it, slides another finger inside and feels Lan Zhan take him in easily, familiar. Lan Zhan’s breath is coming in long, unsteady streams. Yes. Good.

When Lan Zhan asks for a third finger, that’s easy too, easy to follow, and he can feel the stretch now, feel Lan Zhan easing up around him. He can see it in the rest of him too, the shift of muscle in his shoulders as he leans back into the strokes, like he’s trying to take Wei Wuxian’s hand even deeper inside him, farther than the length of his fingers will allow. He’s so beautiful, the strength of him, the way he’s so open.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan shudders out, and Wei Wuxian eases up, slows down, listening, watching Lan Zhan’s sides move with each breath. “It’s enough. You can put your cock inside me now.”

Wei Wuxian breathes out so fast it leaves him lightheaded, almost tipsy. His cock is already standing up eagerly, very ready to follow Lan Zhan’s instructions, and he has to breathe through it a moment to be able to slide his fingers out, find the oil again. He wraps a hand around himself and strokes over it a few times, carefully slicking himself. Trying not to think about the way Lan Zhan sounds when he says put your cock inside me, because he’s not actually sure he’ll last through that if he thinks about it too hard.

When he’s properly ready, his fingers feel slippery against Lan Zhan’s skin as he reaches for him, tilts his hips a little. This may be new but there’s something intuitive about it, less maneuvering than the usual way, and his body seems to know how to find the right angle when he kneels up and positions himself at the entrance, where Lan Zhan is slick and open for him. “Okay,” he breathes, steadying himself. “You okay?”

Lan Zhan nods again, and Wei Wuxian can feel the shift of it underneath his hand. “Yes, Wei Ying,” he says. “Please.”

Wei Wuxian swallows through a shudder, his eyes fluttering closed briefly. He needs to do this before Lan Zhan says anything more, he needs to… he pushes, gently, just enough to feel the resistance, feel it ease open for him, until the slip. Lan Zhan lets out a hard breath at that, but he doesn’t leave Wei Wuxian time to worry, just says Yes, and Good, and Keep going, Wei Ying, and Wei Wuxian keeps going, keeps pushing inside, until he’s pressed flush up against the backs of Lan Zhan’s thighs, as deep as he can go.

Lan Zhan’s head sags between his shoulders, his muscles seeming to have to work harder to keep him up off the mattress for a moment, as if all his magnificent strength has gone out of him. Wei Wuxian can see the hard sharpness of his breaths, but Lan Zhan keeps talking, just keeps saying Wei Ying, Wei Ying, over and over again, and it doesn’t sound bad. It sounds good. It sounds like what he wants.

The smooth line of Lan Zhan’s back stretched out in front of him is so beautiful, he can’t resist reaching out to touch, leaving traces of oil along Lan Zhan’s ribs. He lets out a ragged breath as he nudges his hips flush against Lan Zhan’s ass, feeling the hot pressure around him. Balance isn’t as hard as he’d feared, he finds he can lean forward to kiss along the valley of Lan Zhan’s spine, feel those shudders against his mouth. “Does it feel good?” he mumbles blurrily into Lan Zhan’s skin, feeling Lan Zhan’s stuttering breath under his lips. The heat and pressure around his dick has his hips moving almost on their own, a trembling shiver spreading all the way down his limbs. “Am I doing it right?”

“Yes,” Lan Zhan says, breathless. “It feels very good.”

It pulls warm around Wei Wuxian’s shoulders, a dizzying embrace—he’s doing it right for Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan wants this. Mian Mian couldn’t do this, she couldn’t make Lan Zhan feel like this. He sways in his balance, shifts his weight to free up an arm and Wuxian slide it arm around Lan Zhan’s front. He can feel the short, quick movements of Lan Zhan’s chest against his palm as he kisses Lan Zhan’s shoulder blades, thrusting his hips again, more.

He has this. He wants this.

“Take me,” Lan Zhan says, and Wei Wuxian’s ears rush with the sound of it, with the rough plea underneath it, and oh god, oh shit, he’s never heard Lan Zhan say something like that, ever. The squeeze of him is so tight, so good like this, and he wants to give Lan Zhan everything, anything he asks for. He snaps his hips harder, feels the shudder and Lan Zhan’s Yes prickle hot underneath his skin. He has to shift up for more leverage, but then he pulls out a little farther, slides in deeper, more assertive. He can feel the quiver in Lan Zhan’s hips, hear it in Lan Zhan’s voice as he lets himself take, take Lan Zhan the way he’s supposed to, follows the want in himself and the encouragement Lan Zhan murmurs between hitched breaths to take them both higher, more, farther.

The steep ramping up, the need curling tight inside him as he thrusts harder takes him by surprise, and he realizes through the fog of how good it feels, through Lan Zhan’s murmurs of his name, that he’s not going to last much longer, and he doesn’t… he doesn’t know…

“Lan Zhan,” he says, trying to keep it steady without tipping himself over the edge. “Lan Zhan, I’m really close, I don’t know if— should I— do you want…”

“Don’t stop,” Lan Zhan says, and his hips are meeting Wei Ying’s thrusts, chasing him all the way. “Release inside me like this, please…”

Wei Wuxian feels his knees go weak, feels it rolling up on him, unstoppable now even if he wanted to, and he grips Lan Zhan hard and pushes in once, twice more, the clutch of him so good, so right, until it tears through him. He comes, shaking, Lan Zhan’s hips pressed back against him, all around him, and Wei Wuxian isn’t sure what sounds he makes. Everything goes white and strange for a moment, nothing reaching him but Lan Zhan’s whispers, Wei Ying, Wei Ying…

When he comes back to himself, he can feel that his hands and arms are shaking, his legs barely holding him up anymore, even though he’s not supporting any weight but his own this time. Lan Zhan’s arms seem to have given out too—he’s slumped down on his elbows, his head lowered against his wrists. When Wei Wuxian pulls out carefully, Lan Zhan just stays there, breathing, his hips in the air. He’s all wet there and a little pink and Wei Wuxian swallows at the sight, dizzy with it. He wonders how hard Lan Zhan is, how much he… what he wants. How he wants it.

He leans down over Lan Zhan’s back, not inside him anymore, but still between his legs, the slickness between them intimate and intense against his oversensitized cock. The warmth of Lan Zhan’s skin is soothing, safe, good. Lan Zhan breathes out shakily, spine arching up against Wei Wuxian’s mouth, and Wei Wuxian thinks maybe this is good, maybe this is working, he could probably… yeah. He could reach.

He flattens a hand against Lan Zhan’s chest again, his other pressed against the mat for balance, and slides it down Lan Zhan’s front, along his belly, until he finds Lan Zhan’s cock between his legs, stiff and fat. It’s a strange sensation to find it there, at that angle, almost like when he reaches for himself, though he doesn’t think he’s ever done it on his hands and knees like this.

Lan Zhan shudders and whines into his arms when Wei Wuxian takes ahold of him, and it makes Wei Wuxian stifle a gasp to hear it, feel it, Lan Zhan whining. Wei Wuxian starts to stroke him. Lan Zhan’s hips twitch back against Wei Wuxian’s, like he’s trying to push into the grip, but he’s too folded up underneath Wei Wuxian’s weight to move much. “Is this good?” Wei Wuxian asks against the soft skin of his back, just to check, and he can feel the nod, feel the way Lan Zhan slides his knees apart a little farther for balance, and the way it makes Wei Wuxian’s soft cock press up against him just there, in the mess, in between, underneath.

Wei Ying, Lan Zhan says, Wei Ying, Wei Ying, and Wei Wuxian doesn’t ask him any more questions, doesn’t make him answer anything. He just strokes him, lets the lingering oil on his hands and the wetness leaking from the end of Lan Zhan’s cock ease the way and make it tight, make it good, make it firm. He can hear Lan Zhan’s breath speeding up as he gets close, feel his muscles tensing where he’s pressed back into the cradle of Wei Wuxian’s hips, and Wei Wuxian leaves another damp kiss on his spine and jerks him, holds him, feels the gasp and shudder when it comes, everywhere, pressed all along his body, a sharp pulse in his hand. Lan Zhan is gripping and scrabbling at the mat underneath him, making choked sounds and squirming as Wei Wuxian strokes him through the rest of it, through the last of it, until he’s empty.

They just breathe like that for a moment, letting the last of the trembles peter out and drift away on the air. Wei Wuxian can feel the damp stickiness between his fingers now, and the ache in his muscles from holding his position, the quiver in Lan Zhan’s legs from the way he’s been scrunched up. Slowly, carefully, he eases himself off to the side, untangling their legs so that Lan Zhan can straighten his out. It puts a strange squeeze on his heart to watch how ungracefully Lan Zhan lowers himself the rest of the way down to the bed on his stomach, as if getting off took the last of his strength and poise out of him, left him clumsy and not even a little bit elegant. Wei Wuxian wants to pull him close, to kiss him all over, hold him at his most useless, his most undone, his most beautiful. To hold him and just… just be. Them, like this.

Lan Zhan blinks his eyes open slowly as if through some heavy daze, and Wei Wuxian can’t help smiling. How can he be so beautiful and so sticky and sweaty and so adorable all at the same time? He wants… he wants to be the only one who gets to see this. The only one who gets to know the soft parts of him, the sweet parts. How good he is, and the way he sounds when he unravels, lets go like he’s never known a fucking rule in his life. It’s probably selfish of him, but Wei Wuxian can’t help it, right now there’s nothing else he wants more.

He reaches out and strokes away a lock of hair that’s falling across Lan Zhan’s face. Lan Zhan is looking back at him with soft eyes, deep and dark, and the gentle curve of a smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. Maybe a bit ridiculously, Wei Wuxian wants to thank him for talking him through it, for giving him something to hold on to.

“How was it?” he asks, skimming his eyes over Lan Zhan’s face. He’s not really worried anymore, he just wants to hear it. Hear Lan Zhan’s voice again. He loves hearing Lan Zhan’s voice. “Was it good? Was it like you wondered about?”

Lan Zhan’s mouth twitches slightly, the smile more present as he lowers his eyes. He brings a hand up and curls it around Wei Wuxian’s, pulling it close enough to allow him to press a kiss to the soft skin of Wei Wuxian’s wrist. “Yes,” he says, then turns Wei Wuxian’s hand, and kisses the back of it for good measure. His breath is warm on Wei Wuxian’s skin. “I enjoyed it very much.”

Wei Wuxian’s stomach does a tight flutter thing, and he feels himself smiling. “Good,” he says.

Lan Zhan’s gaze lingers on him for a moment, his breath halting on some thought, but his eyes are so soft Wei Wuxian isn’t worried about it. “Am I right to assume that it was pleasurable for you, as well?” Lan Zhan asks, with only one shy blink, and a very sweet tilt of his mouth.

Wei Wuxian exhales hard. Something odd and heavy is pressing on his throat, and he has to swallow hard at whatever messy thing seems to want to burst out. “Very,” he says then. “You felt amazing, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Zhan closes his eyes on a secret little smile. Wei Wuxian shifts himself closer, sliding one leg over the back of Lan Zhan’s thigh and bringing them together until their foreheads are nearly touching, their joint heat trapped between them, a cosy, contented sprawl. This was good. This is good. He’s so glad they’re like this now, that they can have this. He’s glad Lan Zhan wanted him, that Lan Zhan wants him, and he can make Lan Zhan feel like this.

Whatever else is going on out there, whatever secrets Lan Zhan might be keeping, nothing changes this. They’ve got this. They’ve got here, the two of them, and he’s not going to waste time thinking about anything else, whatever it might be. As long as Lan Zhan wants him here, now, nothing else really matters.

Chapter Text

“Six!” Ah Yuan chirps. He looks up at Grandmother Wen with a light in his eyes, expectant.

“Very good!” she praises him, swiping the sole of her foot over the character she’s drawn in the dirt next to where Ah Yuan sits.

Lan Wangji is meant to be mending one of the radish baskets—Wen Guang taught him how to properly apply a patch last week, and there’s no task in the fields that currently requires his strength—but soon Ah Yuan came running over, all bundled up against the growing chill and demanding his attention. Grandmother Wen could see that his hands were full, and left her radish scrubbing to come sit beside Lan Wangji on the bench and distract Ah Yuan with a lesson.

Ah Yuan is learning to recognize basic characters quite quickly, and it strikes a familiar chord within Lan Wangji, now that he thinks of it. Although Sizhui struggled in cultivation when he was young, he never seemed to have any difficulties with reading and writing. Lan Wangji feels a sideways flare of gratitude for Grandmother Wen and her diligence, even across the divide between one existence and another.

Lan Wangji returns his attention to the basket, trying to fit a reed that is slightly too wide into a gap that is slightly too narrow. He’s not fond of patching, he must admit. It feels too disorderly, and it’s difficult to achieve results that look pleasing. At least with mending clothes, he has learned how to manage a clean seam. But needs must.

The cold is settling in in earnest now, and although there’s no planting to be done today, Fourth Uncle and Wen Yunlan are deep in conversation over the radish fields and how best to protect them from frost. They harvested enough to get by the previous winter, but Uncle Wen has ambitions to keep yields higher this time around so they’ll still have spares to sell. Wei Ying was with them a little while ago, discussing the possibility of a talisman that might preserve some warmth in the air, close to the ground—but he’s wandered off now. He’s lounging on the porch of the western houses, staring up at the smattering of clouds overhead and muttering soundlessly to himself, as he sometimes does when he’s working through a problem. Lan Wangji can’t help smiling at the sight of him.

“Eleven?” Ah Yuan says at Lan Wangji’s feet, looking up at Grandmother Wen with a puzzled expression, as if he finds his own guess implausible.

“Exactly right,” Grandmother Wen says with a nod and a smile. “Such a clever boy.”

Lan Wangji feels his heart grow light with pride, even though he knows he has little claim to Ah Yuan’s cleverness. It warms him to the core nonetheless.

“Ah Jie!”

Lan Wangji and Grandmother Wen both glance over towards the woods. It’s Wen Ning’s voice, and he sounds rather agitated, though the call for Wen Qing does not suggest a general alarm. Lan Wangji exchanges a glance with Grandmother Wen, who looks as puzzled as he is, and sees Wen Qing come out of the cave, wiping her hands on a cloth, looking around for Wen Ning.

After a moment, Wen Ning comes hurtling out of the forest path, a broad smile on his face, still calling for his sister. Whatever it is that has him so excited, it must not be dangerous. But he’s got something in his hand, Lan Wangji realizes with a frown. It’s hard to make out the object at this distance with Wen Ning’s enthusiastic speed, but it seems to glint when it catches the light.

“Ah Jie! A message!” Wen Ning says, stumbling to a stop in front of Wen Qing and presenting her with the object. It’s flat and square, covered in familiar gilded brocade, like a—

No.

“A Jin cultivator gave it to me to pass on,” Wen Ning says, breathlessly. Everyone in the courtyard seems to be listening in with curiosity, but Lan Wangji can feel his blood run cold, a darkness harsher than these woods rushing in on him. “He wouldn’t tell me what it was or who it was for, just that I should bring it to the Burial Mounds.”

No.

It can’t be. Isn’t it too soon? Isn’t it…

Lan Wangji watches as Wen Qing flicks the communique open and skims her eyes over the words. They might be different words, he thinks, but the creeping horror spreads through his bones nonetheless, makes his blood slow and too heavy at the same time. It feels as if everything is slipping sideways, unstable. As if he’s seeing this across time, across the divide, fate staking out its claim, looping around him like a sly fox. His own letter, in his own hand, somehow here, now, when he could not have written it. When he would have burned it first. As if the last year was just some fever dream and time is knotting itself back together, a blood-red circle.

He swallows, heart beating out against his chest. Wen Qing’s face is growing brighter, her smile cutting Lan Wangji to the bone, and she turns toward Wei Ying where he’s still sitting on the porch, not paying attention to what is happening.

Lan Wangji could do it now. He could run over there and tear it out of her hands, make it disappear. Jiang Wanyin was supposed to stop this, why didn’t he? Who could have… who would have—

But it’s too late. Wen Qing knows what it says, and how could he explain… he can’t, he…

Wei Ying is sitting up straighter, leaning forward to take the message Wen Qing is offering him. He opens it too, his face going soft and light, as if the words themselves are shining on his face, and Lan Wangji can feel the reeds slipping through his fingers, the half-mended basket sliding to the ground.

He knew it would happen. Perhaps not like this, perhaps… but he has known this. He could bend time for a while, but he couldn’t break it. This day was always bound to come.

Why couldn’t Jiang Wanyin have stopped it? Everything would have been easier if he could just… if he could only…

Wei Ying is dumping the message aside and hopping off the porch, throwing his arms around Wen Qing’s shoulders, his face shining in surprise, in joy, and it hurts in a different way to know that it’s this joy that Lan Wangji must unravel. Wei Ying looks so happy, and Lan Wangji desperately wants him to be happy. He wants that more than anything.

But he can’t let Wei Ying have this. He can’t. It will destroy everything.

As soon as Wei Ying lets Wen Qing go, his eyes find Lan Wangji’s across the courtyard, and the sheer hope in them cuts him sharper than any blade. Wei Ying is running towards him across the paving stones, and Lan Wangji gets unsteadily to his feet, trying not to let anything show, not to let anything slip. He has to adjust his balance sharply to keep them from tumbling to the ground when Wei Ying’s weight thuds against him as he throws his arms around Lan Wangji’s neck unrestrainedly, hugging him so tightly Lan Wangji can scarcely breathe.

“She’s had a baby, Lan Zhan,” he says against Lan Wangji’s ear, his voice shaking with excitement, with trepidation. “And they want me… they said I can… I can be there for the ceremony. I’m an uncle…” Lan Wangji can feel the words against his chest, feel the happiness, the relief in Wei Ying’s bones as Wei Ying hugs him. He remembers the look on Wei Ying’s face all those months ago, when they last said goodbye to Jiang Wanyin and Jiang Yanli in Yiling. The way he held on so tightly to the lotus charm Jiang Yanli had given him.

He can’t let this happen. He would give anything if he could protect Wei Ying from this without breaking his heart. But Wei Ying’s heart will be broken, one way or another. Lan Wangji failed to prevent the invitation, but he still can— he must prevent disaster.

“Congratulations,” he says, the thickness of his voice going unnoticed in the rush of Wei Ying’s excitement, and holds on tight for as long as he is allowed.

~      ~      ~

Once he has a better grip on his spinning thoughts, his heart still in a frenzy but his focus settled in the here and now, Lan Wangji understands that there was no new intertwining of time, no brush of fate wiping out the last year. Nothing but his brother’s kind heart and good intentions, generous, however misguided.

The letter is in Xichen’s handwriting. Lan Wangji would know it as surely as his own.

He stares down at the flowing script on fine paper, spread out over his hands in the flickering firelight. It’s been passed around all evening, everyone curious to know the details of the invitation and marvel at the finery of the thing, an odd relic in these surroundings. Fourth Uncle was the first one to suggest breaking out the new batch of wine, but Wen Qing quickly agreed, and soon it had become a full-blown celebration. It took a while for Lan Wangji to get his hands on the invitation itself and read it over, sitting next to Wei Ying around the fire.

His brother. He never realized, he could have… could have intervened here, too. Xichen even mentioned the pregnancy a few times in his letters. Lan Wangji would have been able to ask the same favor of him that he had of Jiang Cheng without arousing much suspicion. But it never occurred to him that Xichen might take it upon himself to write the invitation. He thought, with himself no longer in the sphere of the Great Clans pushing for Wei Ying’s return, if anyone did, perhaps it would be Jiang Wanyin or Jiang Yanli, or some other member of the Jiang Clan who still thinks fondly of Wei Ying. He never thought it would be his own brother.

It’s a soft ache. He knows Xichen meant well—indeed, Lan Wangji cannot blame him at all, given his own letter and his own desires in the original course of events. Lan Wangji wanted nothing more than for Wei Ying to return to the cultivation world, to be reunited with his family and allowed to rejoin society. He would still want that, if he didn’t know where it would lead.

He was foolish. All these months of waiting, dreading, and still he missed a step. It was a grave oversight.

“Oi! You take that back!” Wei Ying is saying, fixing Wen Qing with mock indignation.

“What?” she says, with a deeply innocent shrug, tipping back her wine cup again. “Most boys look at least a little like their fathers.”

“Not my nephew,” Wei Ying is saying, tilting a bit on his seat as he proclaims to the group at large. “Another little peacock running around is too horrible to contemplate—I’m sure he’ll look exactly like my Shijie.”

“I’m not sure the reproductive process is going to take your personal opinion of Jin Zixuan into account,” Wen Qing says.

“It’s not just me! Jiang Cheng hates him too, and he’s been there all along.”

Wen Qing nods rather exaggeratedly. “Ah, I see—well that’ll definitely make a difference then.” She catches Lan Wangji’s eye with a little half-smile, seeking a co-conspirator. Lan Wangji feels stiff, frozen in his seat, his mind too much on all that’s yet to come.

All that came before.

He clears his throat slightly, nods at her in a way he hopes she’ll take as participation. He doesn’t want her to worry, not now. This problem is of his own making, and he’s the only one who can solve it.

He lets the invitation fall closed again between his hands, looking out across the circle at everyone enjoying themselves, taking turns initiating toasts. To the health of the child, to the happiness of the mother, to the fine looks of the new uncle, to Wei Ying's reunion with his family. A few of the older women are discussing their own memories of childbirth, which seems to be leaving Wen Liu and Wen Song a bit unsettled. Wen Yunlan and Wen Zian are teaching Wen Xiaobo how to do something complicated with his wine cup that involves a sequence of steps. And Wei Ying…

He looks so happy.

Was it like this, the last time? Did he sit and drink and laugh with the others like this, everyone sharing in his joy for his sister? For the prospect of being reunited with her?

And then, only a handful of days later. Just two weeks from now.

The horror of it turns his stomach anew, as if it’s already happened. As if it wasn’t ten years ago, half a lifetime away, as if it's written, done. Wei Ying like this, excited over his nephew, making fun of Jin Zixuan in a silly, almost childish way, and then… and then what? Losing control? Provoked beyond the breaking point? It seems even stranger now, the thought that he could lose himself so completely as to let that happen, given how well he’s able to fend off Lan Wangji’s attacks in their training. Given how much he’s improved, just in the past several months. Maybe there is some hope that it wouldn’t happen like that again, maybe… maybe he could...

No. No, he's made one mistake already, and he can't risk another. He can’t take that chance. The cost to Wei Ying—to all of them—if he is wrong is much too high to bear. He can’t let this happen.

He can’t let Wei Ying do this.

Wei Ying is still walking on air by the time the party breaks up, and he clings to Lan Wangji’s arm rather tipsily as they make their way back to the cave. He starts nibbling at Lan Wangji’s ear as soon as they’re out of sight of the courtyard, pressing close and wrapping his arms around Lan Wangji’s shoulders without any of the coy gambits he usually relies on to initiate intimacy. The rough wall of the cave presses into Lan Wangji's back, Wei Ying’s gleeful kisses heady and sharp with wine, and Lan Wangji has to hold himself back to keep from crushing him into his embrace, holding him so tightly that Wei Ying would be sure to know that something is wrong, even in this state.

He feels unsteady on his feet, nerves jittering with the knowledge of what he’s going to have to take away, what he's going to ruin, and all the fears he’s been burying beneath this lightness, this joy, all these past fleeting months. Perhaps he shouldn’t let it go any further. He should stop Wei Ying now, tell him now, before he gets any more carried away. It seems likely that once Wei Ying knows what’s on Lan Wangji’s mind, he will not want to be anywhere near him.

But Wei Ying is so happy, and if it’s… if it does ruin everything, if it changes everything, and this is… If this is all they have left. Lan Wangji can’t bear to turn away from that. He can feel his own chances slipping through his fingers, once infinite, now numbered. He wants to be close to Wei Ying for as long as he’s allowed.

So he goes where Wei Ying wishes, breathes in the taste and the feel of him as they kiss, as they peel each other clumsily out of their robes and spread themselves out on the bed. Wei Ying is eager and laughing and beautiful, his hands fisting in Lan Wangji’s hair as Lan Wangji takes him into his mouth, as much of him as he can, and he shuts out the world for a final few moments as he pours everything he’s come to know into Wei Ying’s pleasure, Wei Ying’s breath a hitched, urgent sigh as he shudders towards his release.

Wei Ying is too uncoordinated to reciprocate in kind, but he draws Lan Wangji in close and wraps his hand around him, kissing him deeply and moving against him, the drunken happy heat of him everywhere, searing itself into Lan Wangji’s skin. His grip is firm and familiar, his breath rambling whispers as he makes Lan Wangji flush with urgency, stroking him to the peak.

Afterwards they lie there together in the quiet, Wei Ying tucked into Lan Wangji’s side and dozing on his chest. Lan Wangji stares up at the shadowy ceiling, breathing in the feeling of Wei Ying’s skin pressed against his, finding new cracks in the walls everywhere he looks.

He could put it off until tomorrow. Another day, maybe two. Wei Ying won’t plan to leave for more than a week yet, he could wait until it’s closer to the time. Have just a little more of this.

No. No, he can’t.

He’s known this day would come. It’s what he came here for, to make sure, to make certain that it doesn’t happen again. Wei Ying will not be happy with him, and that is his right. Lan Wangji never quite figured he would have this much to lose when he came to this point, but the fact remains that preventing this looming disaster is everything. Ensuring that Wei Ying lives is everything. The time for waiting has run out.

“Wei Ying,” he says quietly.

Wei Ying hums sleepily, his breath warm against Lan Wangji’s skin.

Lan Wangji breathes against him once more, steadying himself for the loss. Lets it go. “You can’t go to Unicorn Tower.”

There’s a flutter of eyelashes against his chest. Wei Ying lifts his head, looking at Lan Wangji with sleepy eyes and a startled frown. “What? Why?”

He sounds hurt. Lan Wangji’s heart feels tight.

But he has to do this. A small hurt now is nothing in comparison to what will follow. If Wei Ying understood the consequences of this decision, Lan Wangji knows he would agree.

“The danger is too great,” he says, keeping his voice calm and even. “I’ve thought about it. I know time has passed, but you must… You must remember why we’re here. The leaders of the Jin sect still blame you for the deaths of their cultivators.”

“So?” Wei Ying says. That stubborn edge to his voice does not bode well. “They’ve obviously gotten over that or they wouldn’t have invited me, right?”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji tries, even calmer. “You must understand.”

But Wei Ying will have none of it. “It’s Shijie, Lan Zhan,” he says, and Lan Wangji can see the longing in his eyes. The frayed and battered hope that Lan Wangji is trying to take away from him. Lan Wangji hasn't seen him look like that in months, hopeful like that, and it suddenly pains him all the more to think that this was gone. He never even noticed. “I haven’t seen her in so… she has a baby.”

He runs a soothing hand down Wei Ying’s back, fingers trailing through his tangled hair. His stomach roils with the wish to relent, let Wei Ying have his hope, put this off another day. But he swallows it down. “Wei Ying…”

“I have to go, Lan Zhan,” he says, his eyes pleading, a bit frantic. “Don’t you get that? This isn’t like last time—this isn’t them sneaking off to see me without anybody knowing, they actually invited me there, to be there. This might be my… this might be our only chance. To be in contact with them again. I thought you wanted that.”

His heart feels weak and shriveled in his chest. Of course he wants that. He wants Wei Ying to be free to see his family. He wants the Wens to be free from danger, out from beneath the shadow of the Great Clans' vengeance. He wants to be able to look toward a future that isn't cut off from the rest of the world, where they are all free to make choices in the interests of their own happiness. But that is not where this road leads, however tempting it might appear. “I know why this is important to you,” Lan Wangji says. “But you must understand, you would be inviting disaster.”

“Worse disaster than being camped out in a graveyard?” Wei Ying says, moving to sit up, sweeping his jumbled hair out of his face.

Lan Wangji sits up as well, staying close to him, though not touching. He will not let him turn away from this. “Yes. Wei Ying, far worse.”

“You don’t know that,” Wei Ying snaps.

Lan Wangji tries not to flinch at the knife's edge of his temper. “I do know that.”

“How?” Wei Ying demands. “How the hell would you know that?”

Lan Wangji swallows. All he can offer is his sincerity, their closeness, that Wei Ying knows Lan Wangji would never wish him harm. “I know it.”

Wei Ying’s eyes flash. “You don’t know everything!” He looks furious, and even more disheveled in his distress. Lan Wangji wants nothing more than to put his arms around him, but he does not think that that would be welcome.

“You will be in grave danger,” he says, trying not to think of it, or of the way the hurt glint in Wei Ying’s eyes reminds him of that day. That night, when everything ended.

Wei Ying is searching his face in blurry confusion, as if Lan Wangji has transformed before his eyes into a stranger and he's trying to figure out who. “If this is about— Is this about my golden core? Lan Zhan, fuck, I told you I can take care of myself still, okay? I fought the fucking Sunshot Campaign and I did pretty fucking okay, didn’t I?”

“It’s not that—”

“Then what’s it about? Huh?” Wei Ying looks slightly wild-eyed, staring at Lan Wangji in the dark, the blankets bunched up around his waist. “A year ago all you wanted was for me to make nice with the clan leaders and be a good little cultivator, and now what? You want to live out here in the woods, forever and ever, and pretend they don’t exist? Because it’s dangerous? What else could it be? What else has changed since then?”

Lan Wangji swallows again, his pulse loud and tight as he tries to think what sort of answer Wei Ying is looking for, what sort of answer he might accept. He can’t explain himself, not properly, not without… no. He can’t. “I have every confidence in your abilities,” he says, trying to make Wei Ying believe him. “But this particular moment is precarious—”

“Oh yeah, how do you know that? From your brother?” Wei Ying says, and there’s a biting tone underneath it that throws Lan Wangji off balance. As if Wei Ying doesn’t believe it. Has he… does he know? How could he...

No. That's not important right now. Wei Ying is trying to derail him, and he can't let him succeed at that.  “Perhaps you could visit them some other time," he tries. "Now that you know it’s a possibility, if you simply—”

“I’m invited now, Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying fumes. “You think they’re just going to keep throwing out invitations until it’s convenient for my schedule? This isn’t— I didn’t even think that— you don’t get extra chances at shit like this, Lan Zhan, the fact that there’s even one is… and you want me to give it up?”

“Please,” Lan Wangji says. He knew this would be a hard conversation. He feels like the ground is tilting under him, but he knows he can get Wei Ying to listen, to trust him. “I know that you’ve missed them. I wouldn’t be asking you to do this if I did not have good reason to be concerned.”

“Right, of course." Wei Ying shoves aside the blankets and gets his feet on the floor. "Because now you know how weak I am, and you think I can’t handle—”

“It’s not that,” Lan Wangji says urgently, and reaches out to grasp Wei Ying's elbow, but Wei Ying shakes him off.

“The hell it isn’t,” he bites out, pushing off the bed and pacing across the room. He yanks his discarded underrobe off of where it’s crumpled on the table and puts it on almost violently, pulling it around himself and tying off the strings roughly as though he wishes to inflict pain with them. “Well, I might be weak, but regardless of what you think, I’m not fucking stupid, it’s not like I’m going alone—I’ll take Wen Ning with me.”

No. That’s the worst version, the most disastrous outcome this confrontation could have, and Lan Wangji feels his pulse stutter with fear. “You can’t,” he says. “You mustn’t take Wen Ning most of all.”

Wei Ying just stares at him. “What? Why the fuck not?”

Lan Wangji tries to hold on to his calm as he gets his thoughts in order. If Wei Ying won’t be swayed from going entirely—not without Lan Wangji restraining him bodily, and with as angry as Wei Ying is in this moment, with the knowledge of what happened the last time in a moment when Wei Ying was provoked, that might bring its own disastrous outcome in the future—then at least he has to change the circumstances, remove as many of the pieces as he can.

“If you must go,” he says, carefully, “then you must leave Wen Ning and the Yin Tiger Seal here.”

Wei Ying looks at him like he’s just lost his mind. “Are you kidding me? I’d be completely defenseless! How is that less dangerous?”

Lan Wangji shakes his head quickly. “Not defenseless. I would be there to protect you.”

Wei Ying’s eyes snap wider. “Lan Zhan, you’re not making any sense.”

“And you’d have your talismans,” Lan Wangji adds.

But Wei Ying is shaking his head, pacing back and forth at the foot of the bed. “Lan Zhan, I would be stupid to do that. I make a good team with Wen Ning, and one of us has to stay here to protect the Burial Mounds. If I leave the Tiger Seal and Wen Ning, they’re no use to anybody if the camp gets attacked.”

“That’s why I think we should all stay here,” Lan Wangji urges.

“Well, I won’t.”

“If you’re going,” Lan Wangji says again, an edge slipping into his voice, “then I am coming with you, and you won’t need Wen Ning for protection.”

“I don’t need you for protection either!”

The words cut into him sharply, and Lan Wangji has to steady himself against the ache of despair.

Wei Ying’s breath comes in an angry huff, and there’s a desperate, helpless storm in his eyes. “I’m going to see my nephew, Lan Zhan, and I don’t want you coming with me anyway if you’re just doing it because you think I need protecting. I’m not yours to protect.”

Lan Wangji breathes around the tightness in his throat. He can't succumb to it, not now. His personal feelings are not the issue here, and Wei Ying… if Wei Ying doesn’t want his company, that’s one thing, and it’s his right not to want that. Lan Wangji has no claim here. It is not, however, an option Lan Wangji can accept. “We will take all the necessary precautions,” he says, trying not to let the petty hurt seep through in his voice. “But I will be accompanying you if you go, and you absolutely must not bring Wen Ning or the Yin Tiger Seal. That is not up for discussion.”

“Not up for discussion?” Wei Ying almost spits the word out. "Who the hell do you think you are? You want to make yourself Sect Leader now?"

It doesn’t matter. The sting doesn’t matter. This moment here, this outcome is all that matters. Lan Wangji inhales deeply, slowly, then shifts his legs to the edge of the bed. Wei Ying watches him like one might watch an unknown kind of spirit or an unpredictable foe as he cautiously gets to his feet, picking up his underrobes and shrugging them on. Then he takes another deep breath. “Wei Ying. If you take the Yin Tiger Seal and Wen Ning, and you are put under pressure at Unicorn Tower, things could go very wrong for you. We cannot risk it.”

For a moment, from the way Wei Ying goes still, staring at him, he thinks he might have gotten through. Then Wei Ying takes a harsh breath, lets it out on a bitter, broken sigh. Lan Wangji can barely stand to see the hurt in his eyes. “We’re back to that now, are we. I thought—fuck. I thought we were done with that shit. I thought you understood why I—”

“I do understand,” Lan Wangji says fervently. He feels it in his gut when Wei Ying flinches at the words, as though stung by them. “This isn’t about that. I know you’ve made great progress working with these powers.”

“Then fucking why, Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying says, glaring at him in the dark, his fists clenched at his sides. He looks like he wants to tear the room apart. Like if he leaves now, he'll never come back, regardless of what happens.

Because you’ll die.

For a moment it’s there again, all of it, choking him with how real it is. The smell of blood and smoke on the battlefield, the slip of it between his fingers. The cold blackness of Wei Ying’s eyes as he cut down one enemy after another, shedding pieces of his soul with each strike. The fire that consumed the Burial Mounds, and the emptiness left behind.

We’ll lose everything we’ve built, and you will die.

Lan Wangji presses his lips together. It presses in on him tighter, heavier, but he can’t say that—he can’t explain, how is he going to…

“I can protect you,” Lan Wangji repeats, helplessly. “We can make sure everyone here will be safe, and I can protect you.”

“I’m not a fucking child!” Wei Ying snaps, and the strength of his anger hits Lan Wangji like a whip. “Why do you want to go to fucking Unicorn Tower so badly anyway? If you want to go, you don’t need me for that—get your own invitation, you’ve got friends there, haven’t you?”

It’s bitter and cold, and Lan Wangji wonders what he means by… for a moment again, it almost seems like… but, Wei Ying can’t know about the letters. And even if he did, why would he…?

Wei Ying lets out a shaky breath, his eyes dark and knowing, as if Lan Wangji’s silence has told him something. “Oh, of course. You probably already have one.”

What?

There’s something grim and desperate in Wei Ying’s eyes, a haunting shadow of that day on the cliff, the last crumbling pieces of him, and Lan Wangji feels a sudden need to gather him up, to hold onto him as tightly as he can. He feels like something is slipping, like they might both be slipping, and he never wanted this. Never wanted to upset Wei Ying like this. He knows he’s right, knows Wei Ying has to see it, but he doesn’t know why it wasn’t enough, why he wasn’t prepared.

"Fuck, I can't," Wei Ying fumes, his shoulders shaking with anger as he turns for— Lan Wangji doesn’t even know for what. "Just, whatever, you can think what you want.”

“Wei Ying—”

“I don’t give a fuck anymore, I don’t care. I’m going, Lan Zhan.”

The words seep in, everything unraveling between his fingers, and the smoke is still there in his mind, the blood on the battlefield, the crumbling remains of this place that has become home to him. “Wei Ying, you can’t.”

Wei Ying whirls back around, his head cocked like when he was young and spoiling for a fight, like when he’d dare Jin Zixuan for speaking ill of his relations and the worst he'd risk was a schoolboy’s punishment. “Well, what’s going to stop me?”

Suddenly, flickering through the years, Lan Wangji remembers that there were lotuses once. Wilted and dead, in a little corner of the Burial Mounds, trampled into the soil. Wei Ying and all that was left of him, all that mattered to him, dead and gone.

“Your sister will die,” Lan Wangji says, the words tumbling out of him before he can stop them.

Wei Ying stops. Everything stops, here between them in the gloom, a freeze beyond Wei Ying’s best spells. “What?”

Lan Wangji’s throat is rough when he swallows, as if he’d shouted it. He never meant to say it. He shouldn’t have said it, but it’s done now, and he can’t… perhaps it’s all that’s left. “Your sister,” he says, his voice wavering over the words. He can taste the smoke. “If you bring Wen Ning and the Yin Tiger Seal to Unicorn Tower with you, she will die.”

Wei Ying’s expression flares, rage and disbelief and horror. “What the fuck, Lan Zhan?” he says, his voice breaking with betrayal. “How can you say that to me? How can you say something like that?” He seems unsteady, and when Lan Wangji reaches out in impulse, he jerks back, his stare as hard as a slap. “How can you say that? Just get me to do what you want, just so you can be the one to protect me? Are you out of your fucking mind? I would never hurt Shijie. You know that.”

Lan Wangji looks him in the eyes, his throat dry and his pulse hard and fast beneath his skin. He can see it as clearly as if it were yesterday, Wei Ying crumpled on the ground beside his sister’s body, crying out as if he was the one who had been cut down. “You won’t mean to,” he says.

Wei Ying is shaking, staring at him with a twisted mixture of hurt and fury, as if he’s waiting for Lan Wangji to explain himself, to take it back. But it’s the truth. Lan Wangji wishes he could tell him it isn’t.

“You never mean to,” Lan Wangji says. It quivers in the silence.

Wei Ying takes in a long, unsteady breath. Lan Wangji can feel him slipping through his fingers with each passing second of silence, a slow bleed that won’t heal, won’t stop. “Don’t follow me,” Wei Ying says, sharp, final. And then he’s turning away, grabbing his outer robe from the shelf and pulling it on as well, sweeping out the door.

The cold closes in around Lan Wangji as he lets him go.

~      ~      ~

Honestly, Wei Wuxian doesn’t get the appeal of this fucking pool.

He’s been sitting in it for half an hour, and he’s still shaking. He’s got his arms wrapped around his knees and his head bowed, just trying to breathe, to breathe and not think. He should have brought his flute.

His first choice would have been the roof, but then that was too close. He needed some fucking distance. Besides, it’s the middle of the night. Nobody would thank him for a spontaneous flute concert just because he can’t deal with Lan Zhan’s shit.

He can’t stop thinking about the way Lan Zhan looked at him, like he was… breakable. Broken. It was everything he didn’t want, everything he was afraid of when he first told Lan Zhan about the fucking core, and Lan Zhan didn’t— he promised it wouldn’t change anything, he swore he didn’t see Wei Wuxian as anything less than he used to be. And then he had to go and fucking do this.

And Shijie.

How is that— how does Lan Zhan think that’s okay? For him to just try to twist everything, throw out some imaginary disaster that hasn’t even— that won’t happen. He would never hurt Shijie, not in a million fucking years. Not while there’s a breath left in his body. He would die first. Lan Zhan knows that, so why… how could he.

His hair is trailing in the water, sticking to his neck like he’s sweating, there’s some weak current that does nothing except make him wonder about dead bugs floating on the surface, and this whole place just feels lonely and sad.

It's not like he hasn't heard it before. Not like it's some novel idea that he brings trouble, fucks things up, leaves things in tatters for the people he supposedly cares about. He can hear it in his head now, everyone who’s ever told him that he’s no good, that he wrecks things. Half the people he knows would believe it in a heartbeat, that one day he might get Shijie— oh fuck, it cuts off his air off to even think it, like some ghost hand right here, wrapping around his throat. 

But that's other people. That was always other people. From Lan Zhan…

He just didn’t expect that, somehow. He pulls his knees in closer, wraps his wet arms tight around them.

But hey, Lan Zhan lives in the Burial Mounds digging holes and scrubbing dirty laundry now, so maybe it’s not so surprising that he's finally caught on to popular wisdom.

Wei Wuxian shivers again, and he doesn't know if it's the fucking pool or his nerves. This is bullshit, is what it is, and the jitters from the flare of his anger leave him cold and empty.

Maybe it’s Wei Wuxian’s fault, for leaving himself open like that. It’s not like it’s the first time Lan Zhan has ever been weird about the resentment energy stuff, even if most of that was a long time ago. Maybe he should have known better by now. He just, somehow, after all the shit they’ve been through at this point, he didn’t think… Lan Zhan.

Is this going to do it? He doesn’t get his way on who babysits Wei Wuxian in Unicorn Tower, and now he’s going to pack his stuff and go?

Wei Wuxian really shouted quite a bit.

There’s a bitter lump forming in his throat, but he swallows it down. He wants to laugh, absurdly. Lan Zhan doesn’t owe him anything. Lan Zhan is the one who’s still got stuff to lose, out there in the world. If he decides to go someday, that’s fine, that’s his choice, Wei Wuxian can deal with that. He’s dealt with it before. And Lan Zhan brought at least as much bullshit to this fight, even if he does it with that pleading, earnest face that makes Wei Wuxian feel like he slapped a kitten.

Fucking Lan Zhan.

He takes a deep breath and lifts up his head, tilting his face up towards the night sky and letting it out slowly, blinking against wetness in his eyes. He can’t see much between the trees and the haze of resentment hanging overhead, but here and there a couple of stars show through. There’s a glimmer of moonlight from the west. He winds his hair into a more orderly bundle and pulls it forward over his shoulder, letting the water drain down over his chest.

His head hurts a bit, between the drinking and that suckerpunch, Lan Zhan holding him all sweet and getting him off with his mouth, and then all the yelling.

They haven’t had a fight like that in a long time. They’ve never— not like this. Not since this started, them all on top of each other and sleeping together on the regular and training together like— They’ve never had a fight like this.

He stares into the darkness between the trees. He’d take some dumb ghost coming at him now. Might help, even if his head feels like he’s already been tossed around a couple of times.

He misses Shijie, so fucking much. If he could just see her, just talk to her a little bit, he wouldn’t have to… maybe this would all be easier. She’d probably know what was right, even with stuff like this.

He knows it can’t ever be quite like it was, for any of them. Even before he ran off to the Burial Mounds—after everything, after the core, it was just… there was no way to put it back together. He tried. He thought he could, for a while, but it was harder than he expected.

But even that has gotten better since they’ve been here. He’s got his head on straight now, he can hold his shit together. He could make nice with those fucking assholes at the Jin court, he could be good. He knows he could. It doesn’t have to fall apart.

Your sister will die.

The lurching anger—fear—rage wells up inside him again, and he can feel it resonating with the Tiger Seal, snug in his folded robes over on the bank. Lan Zhan’s voice in his head, he didn’t even say “might,” like it’s just one of the worst-case-scenario whatever things. He said “will.” He said she will die.

How the fuck could he possibly know that? How could he sit there and say it to Wei Wuxian’s face, like it’s a fact? Like Wei Wuxian is going to take a knife to her himself?

There’s a quiver in his stomach as it churns inside him, deep down, and he wants it to be anger, wants it to stay anger, because he doesn’t know what the fuck to do with it if he lets it be anything else. Just fucking Lan Zhan thinking he needs to be coddled, like before when he didn’t even know, threatening Wei Wuxian with invented tragedies and doom-filled predictions just to fucking manipulate him into…

Into what?

Letting Lan Zhan come along? He wouldn’t have said no to that if Lan Zhan had just asked like normal—he would have even liked to have Lan Zhan along if they could figure out how to keep the camp safe. See the world a bit. Have Lan Zhan meet his nephew too. It stings to think of it now, how nice that could have been.

And Lan Zhan has been the one pushing him to train up his powers—he got nervous about it for a bit after he found out about the core, but he’s never acted like he thought Wei Wuxian was about to go rogue and start murdering people. Not since before, anyway. So why that again, all of a sudden? And why make it about Shijie? Lan Zhan doesn’t usually…

He doesn’t, does he? Lan Zhan doesn’t lie.

Lan Zhan never lies.

It sends another shiver over his shoulders that has little to do with the chill of the stream. Lan Zhan doesn’t lie. Lan Zhan will turn around and walk away in the middle of a conversation before he’ll tell a lie. If he could say it like that, just state it out flat, like a fact, then he has to… he has to really believe it.

But. Why?

There’s no way he could know something like that. Lan Zhan isn’t the type to mess with premonitions, and even if he was, that kind of cultivation is notoriously unreliable. Even if he’d seen something that way, he still wouldn’t know. Not for real, not for sure.

Has someone told him something? Is there a plot, is Shijie in danger right now? He doesn’t think Lan Zhan would have just not told him if someone had passed him information that Shijie had a knife to her throat and this whole thing was a trap—but then, he didn’t tell Wei Wuxian he was writing to Mian Mian, so. Maybe. He doesn’t know.

Though… maybe this was Lan Zhan trying to tell him.

He squeezes his eyes shut and drops his face into his hands, scrubbing over his closed eyelids. Fuck. Lan Zhan’s words keep playing over and over in his head, and underneath the jitter of anger that still runs through him at the thought of Shijie being in danger, he can hear the worry in them too, see it in Lan Zhan’s eyes. Lan Zhan is… he’s too kind to say something like that just to hurt Wei Wuxian. Wei Wuxian actually knows that, too. He wouldn’t hurt Wei Wuxian on purpose any more than Wei Wuxian would hurt Shijie.

It sends a quiver of nausea through him, the thought of that. If Lan Zhan really believes…

He needs to talk to him. Find out what the fuck this is about. If it’s… if it’s really true, if there’s really some reason Shijie might be in danger, and he doesn’t do what he needs to do to protect her, whatever that is… he’d never forgive himself.

He gives himself another couple of minutes sitting in the pool just to breathe, solidify his calm. Whatever it is, they’ll figure it out. Whatever Lan Zhan thinks he knows, there’s got to be some way out of this.

Then he rises from the water and climbs out of the pool onto the rocky bank, sweeping his hands over his skin to wipe the water off as much as possible, and pulling on his clothes. It gets chillier again on the walk back to camp, the spirits hovering close by and blocking out the moonlight, drawn to the heartbeat of the Tiger Seal. Wei Wuxian’s wet hair soaks through his robes and makes his skin feel clammy.

When he steps out of the shadows of the forest and into the courtyard, he can see the firelight from the cave spilling out onto the paving stones. Lan Zhan is still awake, at least.

Wei Wuxian stares ahead for another moment. His anger has turned into a wobbling twisting mess in his stomach, sour and rumbling, and he doesn’t know—does Lan Zhan know how to get over a fight like that?

He was all intense earlier, but he wasn’t… Did he get mad in the meantime? Is he mad now?

And the thing with Shijie…

But that’s also what makes Wei Wuxian pull himself together. He has to know. He has to find out what Lan Zhan knows, one way or another. So he crosses the courtyard quietly and steps up to the cave entrance, peering inside.

Lan Zhan is sitting at the worktable facing away from him, on Wei Wuxian’s customary work bench. He’s got both layers of his robes back on, but they’re messy and rumpled, and he’s sitting there with his head in his hands. He looks almost as much like shit as Wei Wuxian feels.

Wei Wuxian tries to breathe in quietly, pushes back his shoulders. Best get this over with.

“Lan Zhan?” he says.

Lan Zhan startles, lifts his head quickly and twists around. The surprise and sheer gratitude on his face makes Wei Wuxian’s breath hitch, and for a moment Wei Wuxian wonders where Lan Zhan thought he went. Where the hell else would he be besides here?

Lan Zhan gets to his feet. He looks stiff and heavy, his face a frail blank. He takes a couple of steps toward Wei Wuxian but then seems to stop himself before he gets too close, like a lonely traveler trying not to startle a rabbit that’s crossed his path, and it makes Wei Wuxian’s heart clench.

“I’m sorry I ran out,” Wei Wuxian says, his voice catching. “I’m sorry if… I don’t know. If you were worried.”

Lan Zhan’s eyes are big and dark and there’s something helpless in them as he takes another halting step forward. Then he stands there. Wei Wuxian can actually see how tightly he’s controlling his breathing. Wei Wuxian blinks at him, not moving, not pulling back, and then in two steps Lan Zhan closes the rest of the distance between them and wraps his arms around Wei Wuxian’s shoulders, drawing him in tightly, tighter. Wei Wuxian feels his throat close, and he finds himself slumping into the embrace, tangling his fingers in the fabric at Lan Zhan’s waist and grabbing him tight in return. There’s a shuddering breath against his shoulder, and he thinks he hears Lan Zhan whispering his name.

He burrows his nose into the crook of Lan Zhan’s neck and holds onto him, just breathing in the comfort. It calms some of the dread still crawling around under his skin.

“I’m sorry I upset you,” Lan Zhan says into his hair, a soft murmur. “I never wanted to do that.”

Wei Wuxian gives a small, wet laugh into Lan Zhan’s shoulder. “Good work.”

He feels Lan Zhan’s arms tighten around him again at that, one hand cradling the back of his head. “I’m sorry,” Lan Zhan murmurs again. “I should not have said what I did.”

Wei Wuxian nods again into his shoulder, accepting the apology. “I said some pretty shitty things to you too,” he admits, pressing a small kiss against Lan Zhan’s collar. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean them. I know you weren’t trying to hurt me.”

He feels Lan Zhan take another long breath and let it out slowly, a little nod against his shoulder.

Letting Lan Zhan hold him is much better than the pool. Just being here like this, feeling like the ground is shaping itself back into something more solid. Wei Wuxian hides his face for another moment, breathing in Lan Zhan’s warmth and his familiar scent. Finally, he pulls back, settling his hands on Lan Zhan’s shoulders. It takes a moment before Lan Zhan is able to meet his eyes.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says, quietly. “What did you mean when you said that I won’t mean to?”

Alertness flickers through Lan Zhan’s expression at that, even though Wei Wuxian can tell he’s trying to hide his apprehension. He gets the feeling Lan Zhan is afraid of kicking the whole fight off all over again—afraid of something, anyway—but he can’t just let that pass. Whatever this was about, they need to deal with it. The more his anger fades, the more he’s sure that he needs to understand what the fuck happened.

“I—” Lan Zhan starts, but then he doesn’t seem to know how he wants to continue, which is… kind of weird, for Lan Zhan. It doesn’t help the worry at the center of Wei Wuxian’s chest.

“I know that you would never intentionally bring any harm to your sister,” Lan Zhan says. He sounds careful, his gaze imploring, and he takes another moment, maybe realizing that Wei Wuxian is waiting and isn’t going to let him off the hook, or maybe just being extra careful not to set them off again. Finally, he goes on. “But I believe that, despite your best intentions, if you bring Wen Ning and the Yin Tiger Seal with you to Unicorn Tower, terrible things will happen.”

Wei Wuxian frowns at him, studying the calculations going on in Lan Zhan’s eyes. “That’s not what you said,” he points out, keeping his voice steady and calm. “You didn’t say you believe my sister will die. You said she will die.”

Lan Zhan’s gaze flits away, and it sends a stab of alarm through Wei Wuxian, the way he’s avoiding it like that. Lan Zhan knows what he said. If it was a mistake or something, if he misspoke, he could say that now. But he’s not, he didn’t. He’s not denying it.

“Lan Zhan, what’s going on?” Wei Wuxian asks, a sharp shard of fear deep in his gut. Now that he’s not angry anymore, he can see it, see that there’s something. Something Lan Zhan isn’t telling him. “Do you know something? Is there… is there some kind of plot, or whatever? To hurt Shijie?”

Lan Zhan shakes his head quickly, and that helps, a blunt relief. “No,” he says. “Nothing like that. As far as I’m aware, your sister is not a target.”

Okay, good. That’s something, at least. But, still. “Then why, Lan Zhan? Why are you so sure something is going to happen to her?” Lan Zhan’s lips press together slightly, and his brow twitches inward. He seems to be searching for his next words. Wei Wuxian isn’t sure if it’s because he’s trying to decide how to tell him, or if he’s trying to decide whether to tell him at all.

But then something shifts behind Lan Zhan's eyes and he lets out a small breath. “It will be complicated to explain,” he says, his fingers fidgeting slightly where they’re resting at Wei Wuxian’s waist. There’s another steadying breath, and a little nod, like he’s reassuring himself. “Let us sit down, please.”

“Okay,” Wei Wuxian says. Nods.

It still takes Lan Zhan a moment to let go of Wei Wuxian, his stare lingering on his hand curled at Wei Wuxian’s waist, though perhaps he’s just staring at something in his mind. Then he breathes visibly, slipping free from Wei Wuxian’s arms and turning away.

Wei Wuxian isn’t sure why that makes his pulse speed up, makes him feel like there’s some shadow in the corner that’s about to jump out and bite him. But Lan Zhan moves calmly, taking a seat on the bench of the worktable again but turned to face the stone bed, his back all straight and his shoulders squared.  Wei Wuxian takes his cue and perches himself opposite him, on the edge of the bed.

“Okay,” Wei Wuxian says, watching Lan Zhan carefully and smoothing his damp robes over his knees. “What’s up?”

Lan Zhan rests his hands on his thighs, fingers curling into the fabric of his robes, and he seems to be thinking very carefully through his words. “You are right that I spoke with certainty about what will happen to your sister, but it’s not because I have information about a conspiracy against her,” he says, a tense quiet about him. “It’s because I simply know it to be true.”

Something about the bone-deep certainty in Lan Zhan’s voice sends a chill through Wei Wuxian’s veins. “How?” he asks.

Lan Zhan holds his eyes, very steadily, still that nervous pinch between his brows. “Because I have lived through these events before,” he says.

Wei Wuxian blinks at him, trying to make sense of that.

What?

“What do you mean?”

Lan Zhan swallows, and repeats himself more slowly. “I have lived through these events before. I have seen what will happen. What is fated to happen, if we don’t take steps to avoid it.”

Wei Wuxian keeps staring at him. What the fuck? There’s no way he could possibly know that in that way, not without using some kind of dark cultivation. And even if Lan Zhan were the type to do that, the resources necessary to find out something like this would be…