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Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian blows frantic notes into the makeshift dizi. He cut it in a half dozen strokes from a piece of bamboo, and this new body’s fingers and are too short, lips and lungs unused to the instrument. It’s a wonder he can play at all, actually, and very unfair of the Lan juniors to lurch away from his music like it was a physical blow. Anyways, they should be focused on the stone statue smashing its way through the ranks of cultivators and not on critiquing Mo Xuanyu’s musical skills.

Wei Wuxian winces his way through a familiar battle song, reaching out with resentful energy for something—anything—he can call to the fight against the angry statue. He senses a jolt of familiarity for a second, but no—a couple notes later, the creature jerks away from his summons. He curses to himself; whatever it was had felt powerful.

He reaches out again to find some weaker undead, a couple hungry ghosts and some fierce corpses. Oh, and one dead cultivator on the ground here, his neck broken with one careless swing from the statue’s fists. Wei Wuxian trills them onward, the first corpse rising and slamming into the stone statue just in time to keep the creature from raising Jin Ling to its lips. Wei Wuxian’s nephew falls away unharmed, but the dancing statue barely takes a scratch either. Wei Wuxian’s flute trills higher, urging resentful energy into the corpses. The statue sends another lurching dead creature flying.

In the moment before the statue would have struck a Jiang disciple, a violet blur wraps around the statue’s wrist with a crackle of lightning.

“Shuangjian Shengshou!” the Jiang cultivators chirp in relieved unison as Zidian yanks the statue back a step. Wei Wuxian’s playing falters for a second as he gulps. Shuangjian Shengshou, the Twin Blade Master, Jiang-zongzhu, Jiang Cheng. The man Wei Wuxian is most determined to avoid.

Wei Wuxian blows into his flute again and watches Jiang Cheng release Zidian from the statue and pivot out of the way of the monster’s next grab. Wei Wuxian had seen the hilts of two swords rising over Jiang Cheng’s back in the twilight, but he hadn’t seen them up close. Now the sect leader reaches across his back and pulls both blades free in one fluid motion. Sandu’s violet sword glare breaks a shard of rock from the statue’s leg while the other blade sends the fairy’s next punch skidding off to the side. Jiang Cheng pivots from under a stomp of the creature’s foot, a fluid dodge that reminds Wei Wuxian of the moves he’d developed during Sunshot to stay out of sword range while playing his flute. Then Jiang Cheng brings both blades around, two sword glares flashing, and—

Oh. Oh. Wei Wuxian knows the second sword’s glare, silver with a hint of red, better than any other. His brother is wielding Suibian, the first and last sword that had ever belonged to Wei Wuxian. Time moves slowly for a second as he watches Jiang Cheng use the crossed blades to brace against a hit, the red and purple lights of the two swords flaring together. Jiang Cheng flies backwards and catches himself with sturdy Sandu, already rebalancing to bring lightning-quick Suibian around for another strike.

Wei Wuxian plays on, and the undead cling to the statue’s limbs as Sandu and Suibian pound cracks into the stone with every strike. The blows come fast, too: Jiang Cheng keeps the two blades constantly in motion. With every sweep of his arms, at least one of the swords cuts for some weak spot. Jiang Cheng has taken the Jiang sword forms and made the blocks into swirling twists, every defensive sweep into a decisive strike. The fairy never even touches Jiang Cheng except when a blade cuts home. Wei Wuxian’s chest swells in a mix of pride and terror—those are definitely some of his dodges, at least at the heart of them, and how much must Jiang Cheng have grown Wei Wuxian’s core to be able to handle two first-class weapons like Suibian and Sandu at once?

Wei Wuxian weaves his undead around the sect leader’s sword forms. The creatures claw and cling to the statue where they can. Aside from Jin Ling shooting the occasional arrow, the other cultivators have fallen back: no one wants to be in range of the whirl of blades and stone. A howling corpse tugs the statue off-balance just as Jiang Cheng leaps into the air with a burst of spiritual force, bringing both blades to the monster’s neck. The sound of metal against stone shrieks through the clearing one last time, and the stone fairy’s head falls to the ground with a thud.

Wei Wuxian lets his flute screech out a quick victory, and then he changes the tune. His fingers pick out a half-remembered song, the most calming one he knows, and he slows the dead just enough for his brother to pick them off one by one. Wei Wuxian turns to back away, ready to run as soon as the fight is settled.

The last fierce corpse drops, and Wei Wuxian takes a last step backward into something warm and solid. A hand grips his wrist, and Wei Wuxian drops the flute at the sudden pain. Panicked, he looks up to see the impassive golden eyes of Lan Wangji staring down at him. Unlike Jiang Cheng, Lan Zhan and his perfect, icy beauty haven’t changed a bit. Still that aura of otherworldliness like no dust or demon could touch him, and that cool gaze that always made Wei Wuxian’s mouth go dry. His clothing, though, doesn’t have even a hint of the soft blues he’d once worn to mute the white of his robes. He really looks like he’s dressed for a funeral now. Maybe it’ll be Wei Wuxian’s.

Fuck. He’d never expected to be lucky—he certainly hadn’t been in his first life—but he couldn’t have any worse luck than this.

Jiang Cheng stalks across the clearing towards Wei Wuxian as a confusion of disciples swirl around the stone fairy’s rubble. Jiang Cheng has grown in plenty of ways in the last thirteen years, it seems: not up, he’d already been at his adult height, but his shoulders have broadened and settled with responsibility. His puffed-out-kitten walk has settled into a sleek and predatory prowl and his scowl has grown an extra edge of sharpness. Wei Wuxian tries to tug against Lan Wangji’s grip, but his hand is as good as a cuff around Wei Wuxian’s wrist. Pushing back only sends him further into Lan Wangji’s immovable chest.

“Thanks for the save—I don’t suppose you feel like letting me go now?” He tries one of his winning smiles on the stoic Lan cultivator.  Mo Xuanyu is definitely shorter than Wei Wuxian had been--he’s sure his head would not have fit so neatly in this spot right below Lan Zhan’s chin in his previous life.

“Mn.” Lan Wangji doesn’t move one step, and now Jiang Cheng is here, in front of him and glaring.

“Are you going to confess?” Jiang Cheng snaps at Wei Wuxian.

“Confess to what?” Wei Wuxian thinks quickly. “Preferring Lan-er-gongzi to you?”

Jiang Cheng scoffs, his eyes not moving from Wei Wuxian. “Hanguang-Jun. This one gets the sword.”

“Shuangjian Shengshou,” Lan Wangji replies coolly. “It is unnecessary.”  Jiang Cheng narrows his eyes at Lan Wangji.

“Pardon this humble cultivator for not taking Lan er-gongzi’s opinion as fact,” Jiang Cheng snarls. He pauses for a glance around the clearing, where plenty of traveling cultivators are watching the scene with mouths hanging open. “Scram!” Jiang Cheng snaps. Within seconds the only cultivators left in the clearing are some Jiang disciples, some Lan juniors, and one spiky little Jin. Once the last rogue cultivators have left, Jiang Cheng reaches over his shoulder, pulling one of the swords and its scabbard from his back.

“Haha, isn’t this too much?” Wei Wuxian sputters, recoiling. He hadn’t asked for this second life, but he already finds himself very attached to his new body. “I’m always honored to catch the attention of two handsome, strong cultivators and their very lovely swords, but-”

“Gross,” Jiang Cheng declares. Lan Wangji is still doing his best impression of a marble statue: beautiful, perfectly proportioned, and not going anywhere. Jiang Cheng thrusts the sword out, and Wei Wuxian closes his eyes and waits for it to strike home. He has been stabbed before, has been stabbed before by Jiang Cheng in particular, but he still isn’t excited to repeat the experience.

And he doesn’t. There’s a long moment of silence and no sudden pain in Wei Wuxian’s side. Instead, there is a cool point of pressure in the center of Wei Wuxian’s chest. “Draw it,” Jiang Cheng snaps, and Wei Wuxian opens his eyes.

The hilt of a sword is pressed against the center of his chest. It’s Suibian, Wei Wuxian recognizes with a jolt. Wei Wuxian looks up at Jiang Cheng, wide-eyed.

“I said draw it!” the Jiang clan leader snarls again with a more forceful poke. “You get Suibian by the hilt or Sandu by the point.”

“Unnecessary,” Lan Wangji says again, but Wei Wuxian reaches for the sword’s hilt with his free hand.

“If Jiang-zongzhu insists!” he babbles. He really, really does not want to get stabbed. His fingers wrap around Suibian, trembling slightly. It’s not the same, Mo Xuanyu’s fingers are shorter and his grip weaker than Wei Wuxian’s had ever been, so his old friend bites slightly into his palm. (That tracks, he thinks dazedly, with his record with old friends.)

Jiang Cheng impatiently tugs the scabbard away, and the blade falls free. A surge of spiritual power races up Wei Wuxian’s arm, overwhelming Mo Xuanyu’s weak core like a giant dog bowling over a little kid. The spiritual energy surges through Wei Wuxian and burns through his meridians. The pain is unfamiliar: though Wei Wuxian had long been used to the gnawing dark hunger of too little spiritual energy, his core before the transfer had always wrapped any excess spiritual energy around itself with ease. The sword’s weight draws its tip towards the ground as Wei Wuxian gasps with pain and his scrawny new arms waver. His legs wobble too, and Lan Wangji adjusts his grip on Wei Wuxian to keep him from completely collapsing.

The sword’s energy subsiding slightly, Wei Wuxian looks up at his brother. Jiang Cheng looks like he was hit by a wave of spiritual energy too, Suibian’s sheath hanging loose in his hand. The scowl on his face has changed into something more complicated.

“So you’re back,” Jiang Cheng says slowly. “And this is the first I know of it.”

They can’t be certain, though, Wei Wuxian thinks desperately. They haven’t even said his name yet. “You have caught me twice now just tonight! But I hope you weren’t planning on a duel. This sword is gorgeous, but even the finest weapon wouldn’t make a fight between the two of us even.”

“Sect Leader Jiang will not be dueling this person,” Lan Wangji says. Wei Wuxian sags with the tiniest amount of relief. Lan Wangji, at least, thinks Jiang Cheng is wrong.

“Of course not,” Jiang Cheng growls. He crosses his arms and looks at Wei Wuxian. “Anything to say for yourself? Choose wisely.”

“Um. Here’s your sword back?” Holding Suibian unsheathed is draining Mo Xuanyu’s core dry. “And sorry about being rude to Jin-gongzi.”

Jiang Cheng’s mouth twists sarcastically. “What an unasked blessing,” he says at last before pulling Suibian from Wei Wuxian’s hand and slinging it across his back again.

The buzz of too-strong spiritual energy begins to fade, leaving a faint empty feeling behind. Wei Wuxian ignores it and tries to turn his pleading on Lan Wangji. “You know I’m just a humble flute-player, don’t you, Hanguang-Jun? Just ask your juniors.”

“I do not need to ask,” Lan Wangji says. Wei Wuxian’s hope lifts. “I know you are not Mo Xuanyu.”

So much for that hope. “I’m not not Mo—”

“You’re really not going to admit it, then?” Jiang Cheng says, his voice flat with a hint of anger crackling at the edges. Wei Ying opens his mouth reply, but Jiang Cheng is already looking up at Lan Wangji to continue. “This is going to take a long time. Once he has a good lie in his teeth, he never lets go of it. I plan to bring him back to Lotus Pier and see whether he has some iota of shame or if he can keep the lie going while kneeling in front of my parents. Does Hanguang-Jun have a better plan?”

Lan Wangji stiffens. “He will be safer in Gusu.”

“There’s no need to-” Wei Wuxian stutters.

“You shut up. Do you think I’m just letting you go on the side of a fucking mountain? Or even if I did, that Lan-er-gongzi would let you go a step further than that? Lotus Pier or Cloud Recesses. You’re going to one of them.”

Of course, Wei Wuxian thinks. Gusu’s three thousand rules or Yunmeng’s whip-wielding sect leader: he gets to pick that much of his punishment. But… he knows Lotus Pier, both the sect and the town. If Jiang Cheng takes his eyes off Wei Wuxian for one second, he could be gone and on his way to somewhere no one knows his name. Any of his names.

“I hear Yunmeng's nice this time of year?” Wei Wuxian suggests. Lan Wangji shifts behind him, away from him, and a look of triumph flashes across Jiang Cheng’s face. Stomach twisting, Wei Wuxian wonders if he just made a very bad choice.

The Lan and Jiang cultivators quickly get in formation for the flight to Yunmeng, everyone seemingly surprised that the Lans are heading back to Lotus Pier as well. No one is slowed down much by Wei Wuxian’s attempts to embarrass the sect leaders with caterwauling and complaints—he catches a sympathetic look from one of the Lan juniors, he thinks, but the Lans are too polite and the Jiangs too cautious of their sect leader’s glower to ask. Jin Ling keeps sneaking curious glares at Wei Wuxian, who Lan Wangji still won’t let go of Wei Wuxian for longer than it takes to wrap an extra outer robe around Wei Wuxian. The too-large white robe seems to draw some extra glares from Jiang Cheng as well.

Wei Wuxian’s babbling ends the instant they lift off the ground, cut off by a wave of paralytic fear. Except in the nightmares of falling and falling and falling again, Wei Wuxian had never again flown on a sword after being dropped into the Burial Mounds. With every foot the sword gained in the air, Wei Wuxian could imagine himself crashing that much further down. At least the battle of wills between Lan Wangji and Jiang Cheng over who would carry him hadn’t ended with him dangling between the two. Wei Wuxian finds himself clinging to Lan Wangji, eyes firmly shut for most of the trip. Lan Wangji’s firm unmoving grip is almost (embarrassingly) comforting while hurtling through the air. The robe helps, too: it still has that sandalwood smell that Wei Wuxian can remember from his last life, traces of it clinging to him even in the damp of the Xuanwu of Slaughter’s cave. Wei Wuxian thinks he hears Lan Wangji murmur his name softly into his hair when Wei Wuxian flinches at a hard gust of wind, but the rush of air is too loud to be sure.

“Look up,” Jiang Cheng says after a few hours of flying. “If you can pull yourself away from Hanguang-Jun long enough, that is.”

Lan Wangji’s arm tightens as Wei Wuxian opens his eyes and looks over at his brother. Jiang Cheng juts his chin forward, and Wei Wuxian looks. Ahead of them are the lights of Lotus Pier, a glow over the water. Wei Wuxian’s heart lurches. He hadn’t seen Lotus Pier like this—not so bustling, not so bright—since before the burning of Lotus Pier. It’s thriving again, just like the town that Wei Wuxian had first seen while held tight to Jiang Fengmian’s chest on a late-evening flight.

Jiang Cheng had done it all, and done it without him. Some knot unclenches in Wei Wuxian’s chest. He looks over to smile at his brother, but Jiang Cheng has already surged ahead again.

When they land, Jiang Cheng is instantly mobbed by servants and disciples, excitedly peppering their sect leader with questions and greetings. There’s so many of them, Wei Wuxian thinks—by the time he died, there weren’t even this many people in the whole sect, let alone inclined to rush out at midnight for the sect leader coming back from a night hunt. Jiang Cheng seems to forget about his brother for a moment. In the light of the lanterns, Jiang Cheng’s sharp angles look a little softer for a second, his voice a bit smoother and softer. Like the voice he had when they were young and it was just Jiang Cheng, Wei Wuxian, and Jiang Yanli.

An unfamiliar woman wearing the head disciple’s bell gestures over at Wei Wuxian and the Lans, and the harshness comes back to Jiang Cheng’s face. Wei Wuxian schools himself back into wide-eyed puzzlement and fear. Jiang Cheng and the disciple march over to the Lan delegation. “Welcome to Lotus Pier,” Jiang Cheng intones without a single note of welcome. “You’ll be staying in the guest rooms. Jiang Meihua will take you.” He turns then to Wei Wuxian, mouth flicking again, and then turns to one of the hovering servants. “Open up the sealed room. This one will be staying there.”

The servant looks at him wide-eyed, and a couple other Jiang freeze and stare. “The sealed room? Are you sure, zongzhu?”

“That’s what I said,” Jiang Cheng tells her. She nods, takes one more look at Wei Wuxian, and then darts off. Wei Wuxian swallows.

“Come on,” Jiang Cheng says, tugging at Wei Wuxian’s arm. Lan Wangji keeps his grip on the other arm, and Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes. “I know it’s past your Lan bedtime. If you have anything to say, Lan-er-gongzi, you can say it in the morning.”

Lan Wangji gives Jiang Cheng a full-strength icy glare. “Shuangjian Shengshou will also restrain himself until morning.”

Jiang Cheng’s lip curls. “So little trust in the hospitality of Lotus Pier.”

“Mn.” They glare until Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes.

“On the honor of the Yunmeng Jiang I assure Hanguang-Jun that all of my guests will pass the night unharmed. And that I intend to secure this prisoner and go directly to my own bed. Is that adequate?”

“It suffices.” Lan Wangji finally releases Wei Wuxian’s arm and steps back, those dizzying golden eyes once again making contact with Wei Wuxian’s. “Sleep well,” Lan Wangji says at last before stepping away to follow a servant.

“You, with me,” Jiang Cheng hauls Wei Wuxian by the arm. “Don’t play dumb, you know which way.”

“I don’t, actually,” Wei Wuxian says, following along. “I’ve never been to Lotus Pier before, not in my whole life! And why would I know anything about a sealed room in Lotus Pier? That sounds scandalous.”

Jiang Cheng snorts. “As usual, you’ve got one truth slipped in every third lie or so. The sealed room has brought years of shame on the Jiang Sect already, and with your help it’ll bring more.”

The path Jiang Cheng takes is familiar, though: past the central courtyard, along the side hall where Jiang Yanli had liked to read, down to the family’s quarters and—

Oh. A servant is stepping out of a very familiar room. He bows at Jiang Cheng as the sect leader shoves Wei Wuxian inside.

“Huh, what a nice place,” Wei Wuxian says softly. It is his old room, still untouched—his old notes and favorite books spilling off the shelves; his ancient stains on the desk; his souvenir painting from Caiyi Town pinned to the wall and faded with a decade’s time. He rubs his thumb across the carving of two stick figures kissing that he had long ago carved on the bed. He looks up at Jiang Cheng, mentally settling his puzzled Mo Xuanyu face back in place. “Why is this all here?”

“We purified and burnt the demonic junk, so don’t go looking for any of that. But the rest of your stuff is all here,” Jiang Cheng bites out. “No one else wanted it, and I wouldn’t stick some poor disciple in the Yiling Laozu’s room. I’ll be posting guards, so you’d better still be here in the morning. If I have to hunt you down again I’ll break your legs.”

Wei Wuxian settles on the bed, the exhaustion of the day catching up with him. Being resurrected is hard work.

“This bed seems fine to me,” Wei Wuxian says with an only slightly exaggerated yawn. “Yiling Laozu or no.”

Jiang Cheng jerks his head in a nod and sweeps out the door without a backward glance.

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian wakes when the late morning sun spills blindingly onto his pillow. It’s familiar, at least: that sunbeam had woken him up like that for years, whenever Madame Yu, Yanli, or Jiang Cheng hadn’t gotten to him first. This morning, though, Wei Wuxian scolds his new body for not waking him sooner. He’d planned to sleep for just a few hours, just enough to recharge before disarming the talismans, slipping out the window, and vanishing into the bustle of Lotus Pier’s morning market. Instead—well. He takes his time changing into a slightly-too-large set of red and black robes from one of the drawers and finds that someone had left a breakfast tray just inside the door. Wei Wuxian’s stomach growls at the smell: he eagerly tears off the cover and heating talismans to find a plate piled with fried rice buns, red bean pies, and the hot-and-dry noodles that no one outside of Yunmeng knew how to make quite right. Wei Wuxian enthusiastically ladles extra chili sauce onto the noodles before tucking in. Mo Xuanyu’s eyes water as he eats—the poor Jin boy had probably never eaten proper spice before—but Wei Wuxian savors the burn as another reminder that he is somehow, improbably, alive.

Breakfast finished, Wei Wuxian searches the room for anything useful. He finds his first dizi, covered in lotus carvings and scratch marks (none from a teething toddler, though, he thinks with a pang). There are a few talismans around the walls and doors for him to disarm. “Such cute little alarms,” Wei Wuxian gently coos at the slips of paper as he traces a bit of blood over a few specific radicals. “I’m sure that if I wasn’t your designer, you’d be very, very scary.” He steps back as the papers flutter to the floor, inert. Pathway open, Wei Wuxian takes some talisman paper from the drawer and writes a few talismans of his own. Talismans prepared and dizi tucked into his belt, Wei Wuxian carefully pries a familiar panel out of the wall. In all the repairs to Lotus Pier, no one had ever fixed his childhood escape route. He waits in the next room until the guards’ footsteps have passed by, then opens the window and lowers himself to the walkway.

He makes it ten feet before a trio of juniors—one Jin, two Lans—leaps off the roof and surrounds him in a loose triangle.

“Ah boys,” he says lightly, “Beautiful time of morning for a quick tour of Lotus Pier, isn’t it? I can’t believe my hosts were so rude that I didn’t get a full tour last night.”

“Stop!” Jin Ling says sharply, drawing his sword and shakily pointing it at—well, partially at Wei Wuxian, and partially at the loud Lan. “Jiujiu says you’re ours. You’re not running off on your own, and no Lan is going to haul you off to Gusu.” He gives a puffed-up-kitten glare at Lan Jingyi.

“Oh yeah?” the Lan junior snaps back, his own silver blade pointed at Jin Ling. “Well, you aren’t touching him either. You’re just lucky Hanguang-jun let you take him back here, and he isn’t going to let you hurt him!”

At the third point of the triangle, the sensible Lan Sizhui dangles his still-sheathed sword from one hand while massaging his temple with the other. “Mo-qianbei, could we escort you back to your quarters? Or to Hanguang-jun and Jiang-zongzhu? They will want to see you when you’re ready.”

His last words are drowned out in part by the escalating argument between Jingyi and Jin Ling.

“Oh? Does Hanguang-jun go around kidnapping people, in the opinion of the Jin Sect?” Jingyi asked mockingly.

“No,” Jin Ling grudgingly concedes, then retorts, “But he could! And does Shuangjian Shengshou go around stabbing people, in the opinion of the Lan Sect?”

“Yes,” Lan Jingyi says emphatically. “He’s literally known for stabbing his own brother, two times minimum-”

A bell tolls loudly across the Jiang grounds, and Wei Wuxian freezes where he had been edging closer to Lan Sizhui’s point of the triangle. That was the alarm bell of Clarity Chamber, the Jiang inner sanctum lined with heavy suppression arrays and used for containing spirits too vicious to immediately dispel. Wei Wuxian had only heard the bell’s true tone toll once in his life, and he’d never wanted to hear it again. It means that something has just killed a Jiang disciple in Clarity Chamber. It calls every able-bodied Jiang disciple to help fight off whatever disaster has broken out.

Wei Wuxian has been many things in his life, but the second thing he’d ever been—after being the child of Cangse Sanren and Wei Changze—was a disciple of Yunmeng Jiang.

“Forgive me, young masters!” he says, and pushes past Lan Jingyi in a dash towards Clarity Chamber. The three sputtering disciples run along behind him.

Clashes of metal on metal ring out as Wei Wuxian gets closer. He can hear the frantic ring of the chamber’s rows upon rows of warding bells, their normal gentle chime now a frantic glissando. Despite the bells’ best efforts, Wei Wuxian can still taste resentful energy like iron on his tongue.

He rounds the corner to see his brother and two other Jiang disciples dueling with the sword spirit that had carved its way through Mo Manor. He thought the blade had been angry before; now, though, it roils with levels of resentful energy that Wei Wuxian has rarely felt outside of the Burial Mounds. It strikes and swipes at the Jiang disciples with killing intent. Jiang Cheng whirls and dodges around them. Where he can, he melts out of the blade’s path. Where he can’t, Suibian and Sandu shriek against the saber with the clang of metal on metal.

“You two, fall back!” Jiang Cheng snaps at the other disciples. “Hanguang-jun, hurry it up!”

A guqin thrums beneath the silver echo of the bells. Lan Wangji sits unruffled at the head of the array, his back tall and straight as he moves his hands over Wangji. Absolutely unfair of him to be so unaffected by the chaos. He narrows his eyebrows the tiniest amount at Jiang Cheng’s remark, and Wei Wuxian wants to laugh at the clear bitchy suggestion in Lan Zhan’s gaze: Could Jiang-zongzhu suppress this more quickly?

Lan Wangji and Jiang Cheng can probably contain the blade, Wei Wuxian calculates: Lan Wangji has beaten the sword down once already, and his only backup had been a crowd of adorable juniors. It’ll take long enough that if he wants to escape, Wei Wuxian could launch himself over the Lotus Pier walls and be long gone by the time Lan Zhan or Jiang Cheng come looking.

And then one of the Jiangs steps in to try to help fight the sword spirit, Jiang Cheng curses and barely keeps the disciple from being stabbed, and the saber sinks itself into Jiang Cheng’s side instead. Wei Wuxian’s eyes go wide with horror as his brother recoils from the wound, using a heavy blow from Sandu to beat the blade off again and keep his distance. Blood gushes from his brother’s side—in fact, from the exact same place Sandu had drawn blood from Wei Wuxian’s side in his last life.

“You idiots!” the sect leader roars, swinging again. “I said stay the fuck back; get some wards back up and stop trying to out-stab a sword ghost!”

Wei Wuxian does not even think before lifting his instrument to his lips and blowing. It’s easy to call resentment into his song, so easy to harness his anger that anything dare touch his little brother. He calls up black coils of energy to cling and grab at the blade, trying to drain off some of its boiling hot anger into his own grasp. He looks across the circle, catching Lan Wangji’s eye. Lan Wangji nods and shifts his song into a binding spell Wei Wuxian has heard him use before. The guqin leaves room between the notes for his dizi, and Wei Wuxian slides effortlessly into the space. They play so easily together; Wei Wuxian thrills in the perfect synchrony with which they weave a spell around the blade.

“Shushu! Should I take the flute?” Jin Ling calls to Jiang Cheng, clustered at the door with the other juniors.

“Don’t you dare, and get the hell out!” Jiang Cheng yells.

Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji reweave the trapping spell, and Jiang Cheng backs the blade up into the center of the array. Energy flares and traps the saber spirit in place, and Jiang Cheng lets Sandu and Suibian dip down as though suddenly weighted. Lan Wangji shifts to playing Rest and Wei Wuxian follows, pushing the tempo slightly in his anxiety.

At last, the sword ghost is pinned and quieted. The noise of the warding bells subsides to a delicate ring, soon washed out by the sound of concerned disciples filling the chamber. Wei Wuxian tucks his flute into his belt and darts to Jiang Cheng’s side before he can be completely surrounded by Jiang disciples. Jiang Cheng slouches against a wall and glares.

“Let me see,” Wei Wuxian says, trying to move some of the robes around the injury aside. Jiang Cheng slaps his hand aside. “Hey! That could be infected with resentful energy, I was just going to check and maaaybe save your life. You’re welcome.”

Jiang Cheng snorts. “Only one day since you’re back and I’ve already been stabbed. Figures.”

“Excuse you,” Wei Wuxian says distractedly, reaching again for the bloody slash in Jiang Cheng’s robes. “You’re the one who has stabbed me, historically. I only ever broke your arm.”

“And my leg, when we were kids,” Jiang Cheng retorts, wincing as he lets Wei Wuxian at the wound.

“I didn’t break your leg, you did when you jumped! And I just told you jumping off the roof was fun. I was surprised as anyone when you actually did it,” Wei Wuxian says as he dips his fingers against the cut and pulls out some tendrils of lingering resentful energy. That blade was very angry, and very hungry. Wei Wuxian burns the resentment away from between his fingers, and his brother hisses sharply. “See! All good now.”

Jiang Cheng gives him a long, complicated look. “Thanks, Mo Xuanyu,” he says at last. “Go see what you can figure out about the sword.”

Wei Wuxian’s brain finally catches up with his banter, and his throat tightens. He looks at Lan Wangji to see how much he caught of the exchange. Lan Zhan’s back is turned to Wei Wuxian, but he can tell Lan Zhan is listening from the slight tilt of his head. Back when they were just kids in Cloud Recesses, that stance had meant Wei Wuxian had won. He’s less sure whether he wants Lan Wangji’s attention now.

“Got it,” Wei Wuxian finally says. “You just sit here and be lazy.”

Jiang Cheng nods and closes his eyes, resting back against the wall as a Jiang disciple gives him a steady stream of energy.

Wei Wuxian reluctantly gets to his feet and steps away from his brother and towards the re-contained saber spirit. Lan Zhan takes his eyes off the sword to look at Wei Wuxian, and something in Wei Wuxian’s chest swoops at the intensity of Lan Wangji’s attention.

“Lan Zh- Wangji,” he says back. He tries to give Lan Zhan one of his classic sparkling smiles, but he can feel that it’s a little wobbly around the edges. He’ll have to work on that. “What do we have here?”

“A clue, perhaps.” Wei Wuxian directs his attention to the trapped sword spirit, slowly circling it. The blade vibrates slightly as it pushes against the power of the array. It’s definitely the spirit of a saber. Nie, he thinks, picking out the beast head pattern despite the pale spiritual haze of the sword ghost.

“Lan Zhan, can you poke it for me?” Wei Wuxian asks. Lan Wangji unhesitatingly unsheathes Bichen and lightly jabs at the ghostly blade. Wei Wuxian laughs in surprise. “Since when do you do what I ask without another word? I thought you knew better than to trust demonic cultivators like me; it could have been a trap!”

“It was not,” Lan Wangji said calmly as the saber shifted angles slightly in response to the bump, then swung back around again to point the same direction. “You would not.”

Wei Wuxian feels himself flush. He wouldn’t, sure, but how was Lan Wangji so sure about the evil Yiling Patriarch? Wei Wuxian is about to retort when his brother clears his throat.

“Did you actually learn anything, or are you two just being gross and staring into each other’s eyes?” Jiang Cheng snaps.

“What, in such a hurry?” Wei Wuxian asks, bouncing over to his brother as Lan Wangji sedately follows. “I did learn something, actually. Wherever this blade came from, it keeps pointing north. I bet that if we follow it, we’ll find out something about why this blade is so angry that not even the mighty Shuangjian Shengshou and Hanguang-jun combined can cleanse it!”

“And why some asshole set it loose on a bunch of civilians,” Jiang Cheng mutters.

“That is not all,” Lan Wangji says. He looks around pointedly at the clusters of disciples listening. “We must speak further. Privately.”

The Jiang disciples tense, but Jiang Cheng nods. “Fine. My office.” He gives some quick orders to the disciples around him to secure the blade and repair the wards, then lets Wei Wuxian and a Jiang disciple slip under his arm and help him up. Wei Wuxian doesn’t try to pretend he doesn’t know the way, carefully helping his brother along the walkway. At last, the doctor bandages up the wound (”already healing quickly,” she declares before leaving), and Jiang Cheng chases away disciples and juniors until only Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian remain in the room with him.

At last, Jiang Cheng eyes his brother, exhausted. “First things first. You’re done pretending you’re Mo Xuanyu now?”

Wei Wuxian takes a deep breath and calculates his odds. “Yeah,” he admits at last. “It’s not much use trying to sneak a lie by you two, I guess.”

The energy of the room shifts, like Wei Wuxian wasn’t the only one who finally let out his breath. “Wei Wuxian,” Jiang Cheng says slowly, like he’s sounding his way through a word he’s never heard before. “Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan murmurs, the name warm in a way that sends shivers down Wei Wuxian’s spine. Wei Wuxian smiles around a sudden lump in his throat.

“That’s me! Feel free to haul me away and lock me up whenever you’re ready. Might want to wait until we figure out the ghost sword situation, though. It’s made far more trouble in the last couple days than I have.”

Jiang Cheng glares. “Don’t fucking tell me you had something to do with it.”

Lan Wangji makes a slight dissatisfied noise, and Wei Wuxian scoffs, hiding the actual sting of his words with exaggerated irritation. “I don’t kill civilians, Jiang Cheng! I woke up from poor Mo Xuanyu’s sacrifice ritual right around the time someone else probably let the blade loose near Mo Mansion. I was a perfectly innocent bystander.”

Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes. “Well, if they brought you back and set the blade loose, they’re looking to start something. I clearly need to fight someone and I want to know who.”

“The blade is Baxia,” Lan Wangji says.

“Fuck, seriously?” Jiang Cheng snaps, wincing as he pulls at the wound in his side.

“Unmistakably.”

“Wait, that’s Chifeng-zun’s saber, right? What happened to him?” Wei Wuxian looks from Jiang Cheng to Lan Wangji to try to learn something.

“That’s the question, isn’t it,” Jiang Cheng says darkly. It doesn’t enlighten Wei Wuxian one bit.

“We should follow the blade,” says Lan Wangji.

Jiang Cheng nods. “Give it a few hours. I’m going to meditate and let the doctor poke at me until I’m well enough to fly. Wei Wuxian’s going to kneel in the ancestral hall and give your long-neglected respects. Hanguang-jun, you can send your juniors back to Gusu and then sit and stare at a wall someplace for all I care. Once I’m cleared to go and our supplies are ready, we’ll leave. Got it?”

“We do not need to wait. Wei Ying and I can manage without Jiang-zongzhu.”

Jiang Cheng levels his flattest glare. “Nice try. You’re waiting, and we’re going together. Two people couldn’t take on the Beast of Qinghe alone.”

“Wait, what, Beast of Qinghe?” Wei Wuxian asks. “What the heck happened when I was dead?”

“Long story, tell you on the road,” Jiang Cheng says brusquely. “I need to meditate, and you need to get your ass into Ancestral Hall.”

Wei Wuxian nods. He’d push about the whole Beast thing, but he can tell from the tightness of Jiang Cheng’s voice that his brother’s pain is getting worse. “I’ve kneeled there for enough hours before, I know the drill.”

Jiang Cheng sputters. “I didn’t mean it like—Ugh, just go offer incense, okay?”

“Got it.” Wei Wuxian leaves the hall, Lan Wangji trailing after until Sizhui and Jingyi swarm him for updates. As the familiar planks creak a new tune underneath Wei Wuxian’s smaller new feet, he thinks for a minute: he could just leave, now, and not come back. But… he thinks of his brother, fighting despite his wound like he was back in the middle of Sunshot; he thinks of Lan Wangji, eyes locked on Wei Wuxian’s while their flute and guqin weave a spell. He can’t just leave them like this, with a murderous mystery dangling unsolved in front of him.

His feet have carried him to the ancestral shrine before his brain has fully made its own decision. Wei Wuxian drops to his knees, lights incense, and bows.

“Long time no see,” Wei Wuxian says, when he is finally ready to talk. “I’m guessing you didn’t miss me too much; it must have been much quieter. Shijie, I met your kid and he’s a tiny clone of Jiang Cheng. It’s kinda terrifying, but when he scrunches up his nose it’s the exact same face Jiang Cheng made when I tried to make your soup...”

Wei Wuxian talks on, letting him lose himself in memories of all he had left behind in Lotus Pier.

Chapter Text

Late in the afternoon, Wei Wuxian, Jiang Cheng, and Lan Wangji set off from the Lotus Pier docks. A trail of disciples follow them to the boat: the Jiang sect doctor threatening Jiang Cheng with “two broken legs, minimum” if he tries to fly by sword before his wound is completely healed; the adorable Lan juniors bobbing alongside their Hanguang-Jun and sneaking looks at Wei Wuxian; Jin Ling sullenly and loudly talking about his plans to return to Lanling now that his uncle is abandoning him. At last, though, the boat pulls away from the dock and the piping of juniors fades away, leaving only the susurrus of the river. Jiang Cheng watches Lotus Pier until it fades into the distance. Wei Wuxian feels a hook under his own ribs as the bend of the river blocks their last sight of the docks. 

“So,” he asks brightly. “Anyone going to explain about the Beast of Qinghe?”

Lan Wangji’s jaw clenches a microscopic amount. “That is the name gossips and unkind men call Nie Mingjue.”

Jiang Cheng shrugs. “It's not wrong, though. He’s killed Jiang disciples, Jin disciples, Nie disciples, a couple minor sects, innocent travelers—he wasn't going to get a kind nickname after that.”

Wei Wuxian blinks. “Hey, back up a bit: Chifeng-zun was a tough general, sure, but since when did he start just attacking people?”

“After the qi deviation,” Jiang Cheng explains grimly. “He snapped right in the middle of a discussion conference in Lanling, wounded a dozen disciples from as many sects, and then launched off into the night. We sent out search parties to find his body, but the search parties ended up killed instead, hacked apart by Baxia. It’s been eight years now, and occasionally Nie Mingjue appears out of the forest, kills a cultivator or a caravan, and then vanishes back into the wilderness again. There’s no pattern to where he appears, and no one knows how the fuck he survived or where he hides. It's been hell on Huaisang.”

Wei Wuxian frowns. “He shouldn’t have been able to survive a qi deviation of that severity, not for more than a few hours. And even if he survived the qi deviation, he should be bedridden, not killing people.”

Jiang Cheng shrugs. “The Nie sect has always been different. All their sect leaders have died angry and young. It wasn’t anyone else’s business, though, until Nie Mingjue’s collapse became everyone else’s problem. The Nie have a large purse waiting for anyone who manages to bring him down or bring him back to his sect, but no one’s ever come close to catching him. No clue how he got separated from Baxia, either. Last sighting I heard of, he still had it.”

Wei Wuxian nods thoughtfully. “People must have tried to track him with talismans or summon him with rituals, right? Any luck there?”

Lan Wangji’s gaze slides to the side, his face intense. “Xiongzhang has tried. Many times, rituals to find the living or the dead. None have worked. He took the loss deeply.”

Jiang Cheng crosses his arms. “Deeply is an understatement. He vanished from sect politics for a couple years—I had to sit next to Lan Qiren at conferences, and that was miserable—and he more or less lived in sect libraries or on the road. I don’t think he even caught a glimpse of Nie Mingjue.”

“So he spent those years just searching?” Wei Wuxian asks. “When did he decide to give up?”

Lan Wangji’s eyes flash. “Xiongzhang will never give up. He balances his grief for Nie Mingjue with his responsibilities to the sect. He travels only when Shufu or I am able to manage his role.”

“Wow.” Wei Wuxian pauses, overwhelmed for a second. Imagining Lan Xichen traveling, blank-faced and unsmiling, far from the comforts of Gusu. “That must have done a number on him, searching for that long and just… nothing.”

Lan Zhan and Jiang Cheng give each other a flat look. Wei Wuxian glances from one to the other, frowning. He can’t quite read what they’re thinking—when did Lan Zhan and Jiang Cheng develop their own set of private looks, anyway?

“Yes,” Lan Zhan says at last, and the group falls into silence.

Wei Wuxian whiles away the rest of the boat trip playing on his dizi and chattering about nothing of particular substance. Jiang Cheng snorts at Wei Wuxian’s comments and can’t resist the occasional biting reply, and Lan Zhan listens and just looks at Wei Wuxian in that way that makes him want to just keep talking, forever, so that Lan Zhan won’t look away. It’s almost nice. Wei Wuxian searches his memory for the last time he’d spent so long with either of the others. Maybe that day in Yiling when Wei Wuxian had found Lan Zhan with—

Wei Wuxian swallows the lump in his throat. To everyone else, thirteen years have passed since A-Yuan’s death. To Wei Wuxian, it has been only a week and a long sleep.

They stop for the evening at a bustling trading town on the river, with street stalls overflowing with colorful fabrics, bright lanterns, and the sizzle of food. Wei Wuxian soaks in the bustle of the crowd, the cheerful arguments in bright Yunmeng accents, the scents of spices hanging heavy in the air. Market days in Yiling had been his favorite: even if he could so rarely afford to buy anything beyond turnips, he could at least enjoy the smells and sights. Wei Wuxian lets himself careen from stall to stall, drooling over skewers of meat, flirting with a girl selling steamed buns, listening to the oil crackle as scallion pancakes fry.

“Here.” An elegant white-sleeved hand is thrust into Wei Wuxian’s vision as he looks over a tailor’s stall. Lan Zhan is holding a skewer of meat that is dripping with sauce.

“Aiya, Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian scolds, tugging Lan Zhan back from the booth. “Don’t get sauce all over this man’s nice wares! And aren’t you Lans vegetarian?”

“We are,” Lan Zhan says. “Wei Ying is not.”

“Ah, is this for me, then?” Wei Wuxian asks, eyeing the meat’s spicy red sheen.

“Yes,” Lan Zhan says, and Wei Wuxian finally takes it and sinks his teeth in. He can’t hold back a happy moan at the taste of it, and Lan Zhan’s eyes flick to the side.

“Ah Lan Zhan! Embarrassed by my eating habits? Ah, you must have been so dignified without me,” he teases between bites. The skewer disappears quickly, and Wei Wuxian licks the last of the sauce from his fingers. He sees Lan Zhan give the tiniest flinch with each slurp, and Wei Wuxian feels warm as his teasing lands.

Lan Zhan directs his attention at the ribbons and bolts of fabric. “What interests you?”

“Oh, nothing much,” Wei Wuxian says lightly.

The shopkeeper breaks in, eager for a sale. “Ah, the young master was interested in this ribbon—” he touches a red silk ribbon embroidered with cheerful black rabbits— “and this sash.” The shopkeeper enticingly runs his fingers along a sky blue piece of cloth, subtly patterned with swirls and waves in a deeper blue.

“Mn.” Lan Wangji eyes them both critically, then glances over at Wei Wuxian. “This sash is not your usual preference.”

“Oh, I was thinking about you!” Wei Wuxian laughs. “Lan Zhan, you look like you’re dressed for a funeral. It’s a waste of your good looks! You ought to wear more of your Lan blue.”

Lan Zhan looks at Wei Wuxian for a long second, then nods firmly and turns to the shopkeeper. “I will buy them both.” Before Wei Wuxian can protest, money changes hands and Lan Wangji scoops up the two pieces. He tucks the belt into his qiankun pouch and offers Wei Wuxian the ribbon.

“For me?” Wei Wuxian asks weakly. Lan Zhan nods. “Ah, Lan Zhan, you didn’t need to! But if you want to thank me for my fashion advice, I guess I can accept. My hands are gross right now, though. Can you—”

And Lan Zhan’s graceful musician’s hands are in his hair, pulling the old ribbon loose and wrapping the new one around it in a deft motion. Wei Wuxian had only been planning to ask him to hold onto the ribbon until later, but he can’t bring himself to protest. Lan Zhan tugs slightly as he tightens the ribbon, and for some reason Wei Wuxian finds himself wishing he would tug harder—

Then Lan Zhan’s hands fall away. Wei Wuxian knows his face is red. “Aiyah, Lan Zhan, you’re ten times more shameless than me now!” he stutters. Lan Zhan looks… smug? It’s so hard to tell with him.

Jiang Cheng promptly reappears, glaring between the two of them. “I leave you alone for five fucking minutes and you’re already… ugh. I got us rooms for the night, and I need alcohol.”

Wei Wuxian sticks his tongue out at his brother, and Jiang Cheng’s glare intensifies. “Lan Zhan just likes being nice sometimes,” he informs Jiang Cheng seriously. “It’s something that some people do to each other. You could try it.”

“Oh, and you know so much about kindness?” Jiang Cheng snaps.

“Yes,” Lan Zhan says curtly, locking eyes with Jiang Cheng for a long, tense moment. Jiang Cheng breaks the staring match with a sneer.

“Whatever,” he snaps. “Follow me or don’t, it’s all the same to me.”

Wei Wuxian gives a wary glance between the two, then follows. Lan Zhan strolls sedately behind, occasionally vanishing and returning to shove a fried pancake or a packet of noodles into Wei Wuxian’s hand. By the time they reach the inn, he’s pleasantly laden down with street food.

Jiang Cheng orders a meal that arrives at the table in a sea of spicy Yunmeng red, and Lan Zhan picks his way around the dishes while Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian wash down the food with a liberal amount of wine. Food is easy to talk about—at least, everything other than lotus root and pork rib soup—and that carries them through most of supper. At the end, Jiang Cheng and Lan Zhan bicker over who will be Wei Wuxian’s minder for the night (”Or I could get my own room and you two could share?” “Hell no, you’ll run away and I’ll kill him by sunrise”) and the flip of a coin settles Wei Wuxian with Jiang Cheng. 

Despite the haze of alcohol--Mo Xuanyu’s alcohol tolerance really can’t match Wei Wuxian’s old one--Wei Wuxian matches his brother’s too-loud drunk rambling pretty well. Jiang Cheng falls unexpectedly silent as Wei Wuxian settles on his bed and pulls the red ribbon free from his hair.

“What?” he asks. Jiang Cheng’s face is unreadable—not angry, not entirely.

“Do you have something to say to me?” Jiang Cheng snaps abruptly.

Wei Wuxian blinks. “Thanks for the meal?” he tries. “And for letting me talk to Shijie and everyone else before we left Lotus Pier?”

Oh, Jiang Cheng is angry now, on his feet and pacing towards Wei Wuxian. “Thank you and I’m sorry and not a single word that means anything!”

Wei Wuxian sighs. “Jiang Cheng. It’s been a nice day. You’re drunk, I’m drunk, and I could copy the Lan principles faster than I could write down everything you could be mad at me about. If you want me to guess, can we leave it to tomorrow?”

“Oh, of course. And tomorrow you’ll be too hungover, and the next day you’ll hide behind Hanguang-Jun, and then after that you’ll be drunk or gone. Or maybe you’ll go and die again, and won’t that be convenient for you!”

“Actually, I don’t really want to die again, the first time was rough enough—” 

Jiang Cheng makes an angry noise, his knuckles turning white as he grips Suibian’s hilt. “I don’t fucking care what you want! Just take responsibility for once in your life, stop ruining everything because you can’t just—you can’t just tell me—” 

The door flies open, and in a heartbeat a figure is between Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng. “Shuangjian Shengshou,” Lan Wangji says in a low voice, his hand on Bichen. “You will step away from him.”

Jiang Cheng steps backward, a savage sneer on his face. “Hanguang-jun! Of course you’d appear. So righteous, wrapped up in mourning robes. Pity you couldn’t bring yourself to lift a damn finger or say a damn word until he was already—”

“Jiang Cheng!” Wei Wuxian exclaimed, distressed at the way Lan Zhan’s face has gone a scary kind of blank.

“My room,” Lan Zhan murmurs and wraps his hands around Wei Wuxian’s wrist, pulling him off the bed and towards the door. Jiang Cheng draws a breath for another yell, but his lips abruptly zip shut and trap his voice into muffled angry noises.

“You are drunk,” Lan Zhan says coldly. “Wei Ying will stay with me.” Jiang Cheng gestures furiously at his mouth as Lan Zhan closes the door.

“I’m sorry,” Wei Wuxian says weakly, sagging against Lan Zhan’s side. “He’s just—I’ve given him so much to be angry about.”

“Mn.” It is not a forgiving sound. “Sleep now.”

Lan Zhan bundles Wei Wuxian into the second bed in his room. It takes Wei Wuxian a long time to fall asleep, but he drifts off at last to Lan Zhan’s slow, steady breaths in the next bed.

Wei Wuxian wakes up with a groan, the rays of morning light setting off a throbbing headache.

“Good morning.” Lan Zhan’s low reassuring voice comes from the table in the middle of the room. He’s wearing the blue belt Wei Wuxian had bought him—well, convinced Lan Zhan to buy—the previous day.

“Nothing good about it,” Wei Wuxian grouses. “Very inconsiderate of Mo Xuanyu to get hangovers so easily.”

“There is breakfast,” Lan Zhan offers, gesturing at the table. A couple warming talismans drawn in Lan Zhan’s neat calligraphy cling to the dishes.

“Okay, then there’s one good thing.” Wei Wuxian glances idly out the window, then keeps watching. Jiang Cheng is practicing his sword forms in the inn’s dusty courtyard, both blades flashing in the golden morning light. He looks more like Jiang Fengmian than he ever has before. Good Jiang swordwork looks fluid, almost lazy to the untrained eye. Jiang Cheng had struggled to smooth the choppiness from his swordwork as a kid, to the point that the swordmaster had joked about shipping him to the Nie and giving him a saber. Jiang Cheng has mastered the Jiang style now, though, each move with a strength to it as flexible and inexorable as a river.

Wei Wuxian grabs his breakfast and leans on the window, watching Jiang Cheng practice as he eats. “Lan Zhan,” he asks at last.  “How long has my—has Jiang Cheng been carrying both swords? All the way since… you know?”

The swish of Lan Zhan’s brush over paper pauses. “No. He first began to wear your sword in the third year after your disappearance.”

Wei Wuxian corrects himself: Jiang Cheng doesn’t look like Jiang Fengmian, he just looks like a Jiang sect leader. The forms he’s built are distinctly Jiang but all his own, ten years’ hard work showing in the smooth dance of Sandu and Suibian. Wei Wuxian smiles to imagine the envy and awe the juniors must feel watching their Shuangjian Shengshou practice. Wei Wuxian feels a pang of that envy himself—maybe, if the world had been kinder, he could have been in that courtyard with Suibian in hand, sparring against his brother. 

“Did he ever say why he started carrying Suibian?”

“He has not said. Others consider it a trophy of war.”

“But you don’t, or you’re just too upright to gossip about it?”

Lan Wangji is silent for a long moment. “Jiang Wanyin’s path has frequently crossed mine. I know more of Suibian than most. Still, I will not guess at Jiang Wanyin’s motives, and I will not ask why he can wield a sword that was once sealed.”

So Suibian had sealed itself. Wei Wuxian hadn’t been sure it would: not all swords bond so closely to their wielder. Jiang Fengmian would have been proud. Your sword should be an extension of your body, and the sword spirit an extension of your soul, he’d told them when he first handed them Suibian and Sandu. Maybe Wei Wuxian could convince Jiang Cheng that he can wield Suibian because the two brothers had once been two halves of the same person: a sect heir and his first disciple, as close as a cultivator and their blade.

The tiny core in Mo Xuanyu’s chest flickers, and Wei Wuxian isn’t sure whether to marvel at the fact it exists at all or cry at what he’s lost—what he’s given away. His brother has grown his core and sword into something new, something powerful, something Wei Wuxian can’t match. It aches too much to keep watching.

“Oh, the man-eating castle!” the gossip says over the chatter of the busy inn near the Qinghe border, and Wei Wuxian leaps on the topic. Something new to think about, after three days of traveling with Jiang Cheng in a passive-aggressive huff and Lan Zhan hovering like a bodyguard. It had been such a relief when Baxia had begun to point a slightly different direction that morning, suggesting they were close to wherever she wants them to go.

“Tell me more,” Wei Wuxian says, and gestures for Lan Zhan to toss the gossip another silver.

An hour later the three of them pace through a dense mist-shrouded forest. Jiang Cheng swings Sandu at a tree branch as Wei Wuxian scribbles talismans and holds them up against the mist.

“There’s some sort of a maze array,” Wei Wuxian says at last. “It’s cultivator-made, it’s been around for a long time, and someone refreshed it in the last few months. Someone’s gone out of their way to keep this place secret. We can probably break it with—”

“A hit from Zidian,” Jiang Cheng says smugly, and the whip’s purple light tears through the maze array’s faint, shimmering distortions like cobwebs. 

“I was going to suggest some careful talismans to avoid setting off any alarms. But sure, lightning works too!” Wei Wuxian agrees cheerfully. “Just means we get to meet whoever made this that much quicker.”

A stone mausoleum rises in front of them, aged and covered in moss. Jiang Cheng circles one direction around the barrow, and Wei Wuxian takes another. There’s nothing but smooth walls of stone.

He finally meets Jiang Cheng again. “Anything interesting?”

“Nothing,” Jiang Cheng says frustratedly.

“Hmm. Let’s try taking the sword out—”

Lan Zhan pulls out the spirit-trapping pouch carrying Baxia. It vibrates with the saber spirit’s fury and desperate desire to escape. “We are in the correct place,” Lan Zhan says. “Removing Baxia would be ill-advised.”

“Aww, but it’d be fun,” Wei Wuxian says absentmindedly as he pokes around the edge of the stone dome. “So whoever made this place might have sealed it up after they made it. Sure, unusual, but it happens. But if we go a little further along this side, it looks like—ah. There we go.”

Jiang Cheng blinks. “Wei Wuxian. Why are you pointing at an exactly identical piece of wall?”

“Not exactly identical! This whole place is covered in vines, but there’s none here. And see how the stone right here is smooth, no moss? I bet that if two strong cultivators push right here and here…”

Lan Wangji unhesitatingly braces himself against the wall; Jiang Cheng follows with a glare. Something grinds, and Jiang Cheng stumbles forward comically into the damp, dark tunnel that has opened before them. Wei Wuxian bows triumphantly, and Lan Zhan’s lips give the tiniest upward twitch.

“One secret door, courtesy of the Yiling Laozu! I do know my ominous lairs.”

Jiang Cheng glares and brushes some dust off his robes. “Whatever. Let’s just go fight the most dangerous cultivator alive. If he’s alive.”

Wei Wuxian clucks his tongue as he quickly sketches and activates a couple light talismans to pass around. “Aww, is Nie Mingjue more dangerous than me, now? I haven’t seen anyone selling drawings of his face to stick on doors.”

Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes. “At least they got your looks right. Now shut up and let’s go.”

“I will lead,” Lan Zhan says, sweeping past Wei Wuxian and down the stairs. The mausoleum was built more for sturdiness than style, the thick walls lined in rough-hewn stone. Nonetheless, as the stairs spiral deeper, torches flicker to life at the trio’s passage. Wei Wuxian reaches out with a thread of resentful energy, gently drawing it along the walls. To his surprise, the resentful energy is sucked into the walls without a trace: not dispelled, but channeled. Strange.

Wei Wuxian is so fascinated with the spells on the walls that he doesn’t notice when Lan Zhan stops moving. His face burns as he bumps into the wall of Lan Zhan’s back. He peeks around. There’s a stone door just down the tunnel from them, with Sword Hall inscribed over the gate.

“What?” Jiang Cheng hisses from behind.

“Listen,” Lan Zhan says, and they do. There’s the faintest clink of metal, some slight sound like a whimper.

Jiang Cheng roughly shoves Wei Wuxian to the wall, elbowing by. “Let’s hit first, ask questions later,” he says to Lan Zhan, who inclines his head. He glances back at Wei Wuxian. “And you, don’t die this time.”

Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes, and Lan Zhan and Jiang Cheng dash through the stone door. Jiang Cheng sucks in a breath.

“Jin Ling!” he cries. Wei Wuxian’s blood runs cold, and he bursts into the room on Jiang Cheng’s heels.

Three boys sit bound on the far side of the room, tied together and slumped unconscious. Wei Wuxian’s heart lurches to see his nephew there with Lan Zhan’s two juniors lashed to either side of them. The three adults skid over to the kid’s sides. Bichen flashes, and the ropes fall loose. Jin Ling is pale, sweat beading along his too-hot forehead.

“Who the hell—”

“Someone drugged them,” Wei Wuxian starts. He’s cut off by the shriek of a flute and a crackle of metal as a chain lashes past Jiang Cheng’s face. Jiang Cheng barely dodges the blow and then twists upright, unsheathing Sandu and Suibian in a fluid motion. He gives a wordless snarl of rage.

Wei Wuxian pivots and bolts back onto his feet, looking for the source of the attack. He recognizes three things in quick succession. First, Wen Ning, the friend Wei Wuxian spent months coaxing back to a form of life, is currently trying to kill Wei Wuxian’s brother. Second, judging by Wen Ning’s black, glazed-over eyes, this is because some copycat who thinks he knows demonic cultivation is controlling him. Finally, the demonic cultivator is wielding Chenqing, the red tassel and sleek black wood dancing in the hands of a figure wreathed in obscuring shadows.

“Get the player!” Wei Wuxian calls before he lifts his own flute to his lips. Lan Zhan needs no direction. He pulls Bichen free and lunges across the room at the shadowy cultivator.

A sarcophagus beside the cultivator bursts open, its heavy stone lid cutting off Lan Zhan’s path. A figure comes roaring out of the coffin behind it. Despite the grey of his skin and the tendrils of resentful energy rippling the air around him, Wei Wuxian instantly recognizes Chifeng-zun’s powerful build. He really is the Beast of Qinghe, Wei Wuxian thinks: he has almost as much resentment pulsing through him as Wen Ning. The corpse wields the stone lid like a saber, blocking Lan Zhan from getting closer to the demonic cultivator. Lan Zhan takes one block with Bichen’s sheath, and the force of the blow sends him skidding backwards until he slams into another coffin with a huff of pain.

Wei Wuxian wrenches his eyes off Lan Zhan and focuses on the cultivator. Chenqing sings differently in this man’s hands, oddly structured notes, but it still ripples with the dark power of the Burial Mounds’ resentful energy. Wei Wuxian draws a tune from his Lotus Pier flute, pushing back against the mystery cultivator’s grip on Nie Mingjue and Wen Ning. Nie Mingjue is hard to grasp, his tide of resentful energy oddly muddled and split. Wei Wuxian focuses on Wen Ning instead as he lashes his chains towards Jiang Cheng. Jiang Cheng dodges with the ease of a junior jumping rope, but the blur of chains turns away Suibian and Sandu’s every strike. Wei Wuxian’s breath catches for a second as one swipe almost reaches Wen Ning’s neck.

“Jiang Cheng, please don’t kill him!” Wei Wuxian calls.

“Then get your pet corpse under control!” Jiang Cheng roars back.

And that’s when a chain slams into Jiang Cheng’s ribs, sending him staggering.

Wei Wuxian can’t make his song darker than Chenqing’s, but he can make it sweeter. He rummages through his memories for some way, any way, to connect to Wen Ning. He remembers: a peaceful day in the Burial Mounds, A-Yuan sitting in the dirt as the Wens sang a silly children’s song about pulling radishes. Wei Wuxian weaves the half-forgotten melody into his music, reaching for his friend in the tidal wave of resentful energy. Remember the home we made? Wei Wuxian’s song cries. There’s not much left of it, but there is us. Please come back to yourself.

The chain slackens and drops to the ground for an instant, and Wei Wuxian can feel Wen Ning’s spiritual cognition break through Chenqing’s grip. “Gongzi?” Wen Ning says, voice hoarse from long disuse and painfully soft.

Wei Wuxian can’t talk, but he uses the flute to tell Wen Ning, I’m trying! Just hold on.

Wen Ning gives a sharp, jerky nod. Jiang Cheng scrambles to his feet and backs up, glaring at Wen Ning. Wei Wuxian pours himself into the flute, trying to sever the black tendrils of Chenqing’s power with memories of a shy boy at an archery contest, in a boat escaping Lotus Pier, on a mountain trail cradling a bowl of soup.

Then the enemy cultivator yanks , the resentment thickens, and Wen Ning convulses in a moment of pain before his eyes once more settle into blackness.  He lifts the chains again to strike at Jiang Cheng, but the Jiang sect leader is ready: he sheathes Suibian and uncurls Zidian. On the next blow between chains and whip, Zidian’s electricity races down the chain and into Wen Ning’s chest, sending the fierce corpse flying backward. Wisps of resentful energy peel off Wen Ning and sink into the wall after he slams into it.

Something sparks in Wei Wuxian’s brain. “Hold them off!” He shouts to Jiang Cheng and Lan Zhan, dropping the flute and reaching for the wall.

“What do you think we’re doing?” Jiang Cheng yells. Lan Zhan doesn’t respond, but he strums his guqin and blasts Nie Mingjue back a step before the fierce corpse rebounds and swings the coffin lid at him once again.

Wei Wuxian cuts his finger on a sharp rock and begins drawing an array with the blood. The walls are hungry for yin energy, for the resentful energy of dead things in particular. They’re designed to maintain some kind of balance, so if Wei Wuxian tweaks the arrays a little…

Wei Wuxian draws a last character and slams his spiritual energy into the array. Red lines trace across the floor like lightning, lacing around Nie Mingjue’s feet and pulling. The fierce corpse starts to sink into the ground. The flute player tries to pour more energy into the corpse, but every wisp of resentful energy just pulls Nie Mingjue deeper. His feet disappear quickly, the ground creeping up his shins.

“Ha!” Wei Wuxian cheers. “It takes more than a flute to make a grandmaster!” The flautist changes his song to one of retreat. Wen Ning instantly pulls back from Jiang Cheng and goes to the flute player’s side, lifting the flautist up and taking off with his full preternatural speed. The red lines of Wei Wuxian’s spell don’t move quickly enough to trap Wen Ning, and the two vanish up the stairs as a still-swinging Nie Mingjue blocks Lan Zhan from following. Wei Wuxian’s stomach twists to see his last friend disappear again.

“Took you long enough,” Jiang Cheng pants, stepping alongside Lan Zhan. He pauses. “Hey. What’s wrong with Nie Mingjue?”

Wei Wuxian staggers to his feet, pushing the post-demonic-cultivation wooziness aside. “Other than being dead, extra murdery, and very cleverly trapped?” he asks, stepping up next to Jiang Cheng and Lan Zhan as Nie Mingjue sinks down to his waist. He looks for a second at the corpse’s distorted features, and then his eyes widen. There’s a delicate line of stitchery at Nie Mingjue’s neck, tracing all the way around. Wei Wuxian reaches out with his cultivation to confirm what he’s seeing with his eyes.

“That body’s Nie Mingjue’s, I’m pretty sure,” Wei Wuxian says slowly. “But the head—that’s someone else’s.”

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian, Jiang Cheng, and Lan Zhan drag the kids out a few minutes later, sputtering out dirt and leaving a trail of newly cleansed fierce corpses behind them. Lan Zhan has an unconscious young Lan flung over each shoulder, Jiang Cheng is desperately clinging to Jin Ling, and Wei Wuxian chases off the last tendrils of resentful energy with a few final notes on his flute.

“Gotta hand it to our mystery cultivator,” Wei Wuxian says cheerfully. “They did have one last good trap set up.”

Jiang Cheng glares at him with disbelief, slamming the secret entrance shut. “The bastard almost got us eaten by a wall and you’re complimenting him?”

“Only on technique,” Wei Wuxian reassures him. “Clever, to leave some talismans, explode a few of the corpses in the walls, and wake up the traps!”

Jiang Cheng grinds his teeth. “Whoever he is, he’s getting away with your pet corpse. One of us needs to go after them.”

“We probably won’t catch them, but we might at least learn something,” Wei Wuxian agrees. “See if they drop anything. Maybe some conveniently color-coded scrap of clan robes.”

Lan Wangji carefully settles the two young Lans on the ground, smoothing Lan Sizhui’s hair from his face before he stands. He looks between the bedraggled kids and Wei Wuxian, a stubborn look settling on his face.

“You should go,” Wei Wuxian tells him. “Look at it this way: get lucky and you might be the first one to hit the guy who kidnapped your kids.”  

“Their safety is more important,” Lan Zhan insists.

“It is, and I know how to keep some idiot juniors in one piece,” Jiang Cheng says with an eye roll. “The trail’s getting cold, just go!”

Wei Wuxian twirls his flute. “Your adorable little Lans are safe with me,” he adds. “We’ll give them a quick lookover here, then get them to the inn.”

“Mn. Wei Ying should protect himself as well.” With one last reluctant glance, Lan Wangji dashes into the trees, the white of his robes glowing in the moonlight until he vanishes between the branches. Wei Wuxian’s eyes catch on Lan Zhan’s effortless grace, but he quickly shakes himself out of his daze and drops on his knees next to the juniors. Jiang Cheng is already kneeling beside Jin Ling, eyes closing for a second as he feels Jin Ling’s meridians.

“Fuck,” he mutters, and pulls up the leg of one of Jin Ling’s trousers to reveal a dark curse mark crawling its way across his skin. He looks pleadingly at Wei Wuxian. “Can you—”

“Got it,” Wei Wuxian says immediately. Jiang Cheng nods and shifts to Jin Ling’s wrist, passing him a thread of spiritual energy. The boy shifts to curl around Jiang Cheng in his restless sleep.

Gripping Jin Ling’s leg, Wei Wuxian feels out the curse mark. It’s strong and deep, not the kind he can dismiss with a twitch. But he can shift it onto another host, so he offers the curse a tiny lure of spiritual energy to cross over to his skin. He sucks in a sharp breath of air as the curse latches on and rapidly vanishes under Wei Wuxian’s robes. He can feel the sickly prickle of it across his leg.

“It’s dealt with?” Jiang Cheng asks, anxiety barely masked with sharpness.

“He’ll be fine,” Wei Wuxian reassures him. “He’s curse free, he’ll just need to sleep off whatever drugs are in his system.”

Jiang Cheng’s shoulders release some tension, and Wei Wuxian moves to the other two juniors and pulls off similar curses. Each of their faces relax into a more natural sleep as the curse releases its grip. Looking at the three of them together, Wei Wuxian finds it hard to keep from fussing over the kids. With his face softened in sleep, Jin Ling looks so much like Shijie. And the other two—they’re the age A-Yuan would have been. Wei Wuxian has to close his eyes for a moment: it had been a week ago, it had been 13 years ago, when that chubby little toddler wrapped his arms around Wei Wuxian for the last time.

The kids start to show a bit more life after Jiang Cheng gives each of them a few drops of a medicinal brew. “This should wake them up in the next half hour or so,” Jiang Cheng says gruffly. “Let’s wait until that happens to head out.” Wei Wuxian agrees. They move the kids into the cover of the woods, sketch a concealment array around the group, and settle into a quiet vigil.

The quiet lasts for for about fifteen minutes, until a dozen Nie cultivators drop out of the sky on their sabers. The grey-clad cultivators smoothly descend and spread out, scouring the area around the tombs in a professional search pattern.

Well, all of them except for one. The last, who had been riding double with another cultivator, flops off the sword and sprawls on the cleanest patch of stone with a dramatic wail.

Jiang Cheng snorts with… fond amusement? And Wei Wuxian gives him a startled look. “Is that…”

“Nie Huaisang,” Jiang Cheng confirms, standing up. “C’mon, let’s go and talk to him.”

Wei Wuxian grabs Jiang Cheng’s wrist urgently. “Wait, wait! What if he’s involved in whatever this is?”

“Huaisang’s absolutely not involved,” Jiang Cheng says, shaking Wei Wuxian’s hand loose.

“Are you sure about that?” Wei Wuxian asks doubtfully. “Sure enough to risk the kids?”

Jiang Cheng’s face softens for a moment, looking back at the unconscious kids, and then he looks back at his brother.

“I am absolutely certain,” Jiang Cheng says. “He’s safe.”

“Why?”

“Because if Nie Huaisang had been involved, there’s no way in hell he would have let someone switch out his brother’s head.”

With that Jiang Cheng sweeps out of the bushes. Wei Wuxian follows, the curse on his leg slowing him down. A Nie cultivator’s head snaps up as Jiang Cheng rustles a branch pointedly. 

“Name yourself!” the cultivator snaps, hand on her saber. Attention drawn, the other Nie cultivators fan out to form a wall between the two intruders and their clan leader.

Jiang Cheng raises his voice, a sect leader’s authority in his tone. “Jiang Wanyin of Yunmeng Jiang.” He glances at his brother. “And a traveling companion.”

The captain of the Nie cultivators relaxes, gesturing at his men to stand down. Nie Huaisang springs up from where he’s sprawled, fan fluttering. He careens towards Jiang Cheng, arms wide.

“Jiang-xiong!” he wails. “Oh, Jiang-xiong, it’s such a relief to see you!”

Jiang Cheng takes a bracing half-step back as the Nie sect leader collapses into his arms. The maneuver seemed almost practiced, certainly familiar—how often had someone swooned into Jiang Cheng’s arms in the last thirteen years anyways? And is there a faint red flush creeping up Jiang Cheng’s neck?

“Come on, Huaisang, it’s fine,” Jiang Cheng says roughly. Wei Wuxian can’t resist a smirk as his brother awkwardly pats Nie Huaisang’s back.

“But Jiang-xiong!” Nie Huaisang goes even more boneless, and Jiang Cheng has to adjust his grip to keep the two upright. “The stone castle’s wards! They’ve been up for so long, and it’s such a big responsibility, and what if someone just broke them, I don’t know, I really don’t know—”

He bursts into loud sobs, and Jiang Cheng’s frantic patting speeds up.

“Huaisang, the Jiang clan will take responsibility for breaking the wards. We—um—it was urgent. So can you, uh, calm down already?”

The Nie cultivators, now arrayed in a loose half-circle around the three of them, stare stoically into the distance. Huaisang’s sniffles slow, and he gathers himself enough to stand back from Jiang Cheng and give him a wide-eyed, tear-filled look. Huaisang’s hands are still on Jiang Cheng’s shoulders, as though steadying himself, and one of Jiang Cheng’s hands is at his back and ready to catch another swoon.

“Oh, Jiang-xiong, thank you so much for your help! I don’t know where I’d be without you, I really don’t know.”

Jiang Cheng looks away. Oh, he’s definitely blushing now. “Well, um, that’s good. We might have some good news for you. We stumbled across the tomb because we were looking for—we found—I should probably tell you privately.”

“Oh, I hope it’s good news!” Huaisang asks, snapping his fan open and covering the lower half of his face so Wei Wuxian can only see his wide eyes over the top. “Please tell me; right here is fine! I trust my people. I mean, where would I be if I didn’t? Do you really think I could keep secrets?”

“Other than the man-eating stone tombs?” Wei Wuxian asks wryly, and Jiang Cheng kicks one leg back to hit Wei Wuxian in the shin.

“Oh, it’s so hard to keep things quiet!” Huaisang wails. “And with everyone being so horrible about Nie cultivation after my brother—we just couldn’t afford to tell them anything more!”

Huaisang collapses onto Jiang Cheng again. “Let’s get you over to someplace you can sit,” Jiang Cheng says gruffly, and offers Huaisang his arm on the walk over to a low stone wall. Huaisang drapes himself on the stone and Jiang Cheng goes to step away, but Huaisang keeps his grip and pulls Jiang Cheng down beside him.

“So what’s this big news?” Huaisang sniffles at last as he calms himself. Jiang Cheng gives him the smallest of smiles.

“It’s about your brother,” Jiang Cheng says. “He’s here in the tomb. We caught him.”

The stoic Nie cultivators startle, and Huaisang’s incessant movement stops. His fan droops slowly away from his face, revealing his mouth hanging just the slightest bit open, as though in shock. He leans into Jiang Cheng, a small movement that feels more significant than any dramatic sweep he had made before. Jiang Cheng stays steady, letting Huaisang brace himself against him.

“Da-ge’s here?” Huaisang whispers.

“He is,” Jiang Cheng says.

Huaisang shudders, eyes falling closed as the hand without a fan grips into Jiang Cheng’s robes. “How is he?”

Wei Wuxian hesitates to speak for a moment—it feels like an intrusion. “He’s a fierce corpse. He probably has been for a long time. And, um, there was a demonic cultivator controlling him.”

Huaisang’s eyes shift to him, and the fan appears back in front of his face. “A demonic cultivator! Oh, I don’t know anything about that, that’s quite terrifying. Unless—oh, I apologize, are you Jiang-xiong’s latest friendly demonic cultivator?”

Wei Wuxian reels a little at that. “Latest? How many demonic cultivators has he had?” Jiang Cheng shoots him a glare.

“Doesn’t matter,” Jiang Cheng says. “Just tell him whatever might be useful.”

Wei Wuxian makes a mental note to pester Jiang Cheng about that later. “Well, the good news is that most of Chifeng-zun is in that tomb, and he won’t be able to escape again without a few days of work. The bad news is about his head: someone cut your brother’s head off and sewed one that kind of looks like him in its place. I’m sorry.”

Huaisang looks sick. The fist gripping Jiang Cheng’s robes tightens again. “Da-ge’s head? It wasn’t enough to just— Even that?”

“I, um, I have some theories about why,” Wei Wuxian says awkwardly. “Part of it might be to hide him from magical methods of finding him, but they were also hiding him in this very well-warded tomb. It’s also possible that they wanted to make sure that no one could try Empathy with him, but I don’t think they expected him to get caught. So there’s one good reason left: that your brother fought their control very hard, and the only way they could make him do what they wanted was that.”

Huaisang nods, his hand slowly unclenching from Jiang Cheng’s robes. “You know, no one ever believed me that Da-ge wouldn’t have wanted to hurt people like he did. Except—except Lan-xiong, and maybe Jiang-xiong?” Huaisang’s gaze darts to Jiang Cheng.

“I didn’t know Nie Mingjue well enough to say,” Jiang Cheng admits. “But something always seemed wrong about it.”

Huaisang hides behind his fan. “Oh, but you’ve always been so kind to me, Jiang-xiong!”

Jiang Cheng shrugs uncomfortably. “I just get what it’s like to have the cultivation world jump down your throat because they didn’t like your brother.”

Jiang Cheng shoots Wei Wuxian a glare that, while unsubtle, is at least more subtle than the majority of Jiang Cheng’s glares. Nie Huaisang pays no particular attention to it.

“Anyways,” Wei Wuxian says with a cough, a smile on his face despite Jiang Cheng’s barbs because he is in fact subtle, “why exactly does the Nie sect keep a tomb that eats resentful energy and fierce corpses?”

Huaisang flutters his fan. “Oh, I don’t know, it’s all so technical, and I’ve never been any good at saber cultivation anyways…” He glances pleadingly at one of the stone-faced Nie disciples.

“Would Nie-zongzhu like me to explain the sword tombs?” the Nie captain asks. If there’s the tiniest hint of a sigh in his voice, Wei Wuxian isn’t about to call him out on it.

Huaisang accepts the help gratefully, and the Nie captain explains the use of resentful spirits in Nie sabers, the frequency of qi deviations, the difficulty of settling the sabers after their masters’ deaths, the solution the Nie had found in balancing the saber spirits with corpses trapped in the walls of the tombs. It seems cultivating resentful energy is fine with the cultivation world—mostly—if it’s been tradition for a rich enough sect for enough generations.

Wei Wuxian rubs the side of his nose, thinking. “How often do you check on the tombs?”

“Oh, I really don’t know,” Huaisang immediately says.

“We send someone every six months for maintenance,” the Nie captain elaborates, crossing his arms. “If the wards are undamaged and the balance of the tomb is undisturbed, they don’t need to even enter the tomb.”

Wei Wuxian nods. “So this would have been an easy place to hide Nie Mingjue, as long as you knew a way past the wards undisturbed.”

The Nie cultivators glance at each other. Wei Wuxian can see them wondering how often they might have unknowingly passed within yards of their sect leader’s corpse. And, perhaps, thinking the same thing Wei Wuxian is thinking: that this demonic cultivator knew the Nie’s secrets very, very well.

“So, that’s really all we know,” Huaisang says nervously. “Is there… is there any way I can see Da-ge? You said he was trapped?”

Wei Wuxian sucks in a breath. “He is, but the demonic cultivator blew up a bunch of corpses on the way out, and I may have messed around with the spells in the walls. The only way someone’s going in there is with a pile of corpses and a person who is very good at this kind of array work.”

“We can get the corpses in a few days,” the Nie captain says with a confidence in his statement rare among people who had not personally spent a few years raising the dead.

Nie Huaisang leans again on Jiang Cheng. “And can you stay around, please? Your friend could help us fix the wards. And I’d so like to have you there when—when I see what happened to Da-ge.”

A scowling blush creeps across Jiang Cheng’s face. “Of course,” he says gruffly.

A Nie cultivator patrolling the perimeter calls out. “You in the bushes! Show yourself!”

Jiang Cheng bolts to his feet, leaving Huaisang to rebalance himself. “The juniors! Right, the cultivator attacked some of our juniors. They must have woken up. We need to get them back to the inn.”

“Of course, of course,” Huaisang says. “If my cultivators can help…”

Along with a couple of Nie cultivators delegated to follow them, Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian hurry over to the kids. Jin Ling has staggered out of the privacy array, half-awake and suspicious.

“Jiujiu?” he mumbles at the cultivators.

“Dumb kid,” Jiang Cheng scolds, swooping to Jin Ling’s side. “You should have stayed with your escort and gone to Koi Tower.”

Jin Ling scowls. “But you were going to fight the Beast of Qinghe, and you didn't say why. That’s breaking rule number one! Don’t keep secrets from family!”

Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes. “So you were going to rescue me with a couple Lan juniors?”

“Yes,” Jin Ling says, slowly slipping down in his uncle’s arms. “Rule number one is important.”

Jiang Cheng readjusts his grip on Jin Ling to hoist him over his shoulder as the boy falls mostly unconscious again. The Nie cultivators lift the two young Lans. Wei Wuxian is grateful for that Nie efficiency: that way, he doesn’t have to tell anyone about the alternating pain and numbness wrapping around his cursed leg.

“The fuck is wrong with your leg?” Jiang Cheng snaps as the last Nie cultivator tromps their way down the inn’s stairs, leaving the three boys settled in the inn’s beds.

Wei Wuxian raises his eyebrows, leaning nonchalantly against the side of the corridor. If the wall is the only thing keeping him upright, that secret is strictly between him and the wall. “What’s wrong with me? How long do you have?”

“You’ve been limping,” Jiang Cheng says, and as Wei Wuxian mumbles a rebuttal, the world tilts inconsiderately. An arm wraps roughly around his torso, guiding him into another of the inn’s rooms. When the world finally stops spinning, Wei Wuxian is sitting on a bed, Jiang Cheng tugging at the cuff of his pants. “Come on, show me.”

Wei Wuxian puts up a weak protest, but between the curse and his brother’s strength, he can’t do much to resist. Jiang Cheng sucks in a breath at the sight of the dark curse mark crawling up Wei Wuxian’s leg.

“What the hell?” Jiang Cheng asks, voice rising in indignation. “You told me you fixed it!”

“But I did!” Wei Wuxian protests. “The kids were sick and you needed to be ready to fight, so I stuck the curse on the unnecessary set of legs.”

“Unnecessary—you have had this body for less than a week and you’re already picking what bits of it are unnecessary?”

Wei Wuxian shrugs. “It’s good to know your priorities.”

Jiang Cheng makes a faint strangled noise. “When were you planning on telling me about it?”

“I was hoping it would go away on its own.”

Jiang Cheng sighs and rubs his head. “You know, I thought maybe dying would finally teach you that moving a problem around isn’t the same as fixing it. But fine, idiot, how do we get the curse off of you?”

Wei Wuxian shrugs. “It’ll clear off eventually, even with Mo Xuanyu’s grasshopper-sized core. Or maybe I’ll try something fancy with talismans tomorrow morning.”

“Can you transfer it to me?”

Wei Wuxian blinks. “Um, I guess? I mean, you don’t need to—”

“Then do it,” Jiang Cheng says harshly. “My golden core is strong enough to burn most of it off tonight and contain the rest. So stop saying stupid stuff and curse me already.”

“Fine,” Wei Wuxian grumbles. “Well, you bullied me into this; don’t blame me when it hurts.”

He gently cajoles the curse free of his leg with a tug of resentful energy. It creates a pool of void in his hands, tendrils stretching for another host. Jiang Cheng reaches his hand out, palm up, and the resentful energy wraps around him hungrily and slides onto his skin. Jiang Cheng hisses sharply as the curse settles, presumably curling around his leg like it had Wei Wuxian’s.

“You okay?” Wei Wuxian asks. “I mean, I can—”

“I’m fine,” Jiang Cheng says sharply. “Be quiet for ten minutes and I can meditate half of it off.”

“Suit yourself.” Wei Wuxian leans back against the wall, his muscles slowly relaxing as the curse’s pain bleeds away. Amazing how quickly he could become used to a world blurred gray, a body that won’t quite listen.

Wei Wuxian squirms his way through ten minutes of his brother’s meditation, the guilt of transferring the curse mark the only thing keeping him from interrupting with a stream of chatter. He keeps his fingers busy practicing the fingering for some half-remembered tunes on his dizi. The scowl on Jiang Cheng’s face gradually eases, his eyes fall closed, and his breathing settles smooth and deep. Some of the calm creeps over to Wei Wuxian as well.

At last, Jiang Cheng’s eyes flick open again.

“How’s the leg?” Wei Wuxian asks.

“Fine,” Jiang Cheng says with a shrug. “The curse mark’s smaller than it was, and I’ve got the rest contained.”

“Contained? That’s new.”

“One of my disciples found a trick for it.”

“Good little Jiangs,” Wei Wuxian said with a nod. “Achieving the impossible.”

Jiang Cheng snorts. “Never quite like you did. Thankfully.”

Jiang Cheng’s words could have had a bite behind them, but they just sound wistful instead. Wei Wuxian smiles before he thinks about it, something small and hopeful.

Jiang Cheng takes a deep breath. He looks at Wei Wuxian’s eyes, quick and vulnerable, then looks at his hands. He’s holding Suibian, fingers skimming nervously along the wooden sheathe.  “You passing the curse to me. It’s not the first time you’ve given me something like that, is it?”

Wei Wuxian picks a cheeky grin to give Jiang Cheng, though his stomach twists. “Your personal curse, that's me!”

“Wei Wuxian. That wasn’t what I meant and you know it. I want to know about the core.” Jiang Cheng’s voice cracks on the last words.

“Your core? Is this because you can use Suibian?” Wei Wuxian asks, twirling his flute nervously across his fingers. “I mean it’s kind of weird, but my sword spirit was never going to be normal, and I’ve got this theory that—”

“Before you tell me your theory, let me tell you a story,” Jiang Cheng snaps. “A boy who smiled too much came down from Baoshan Sanren’s mountain.”

“Okay, it’s awesome that I have a shishu, but—”

Jiang Cheng raises his voice over his brother’s. “His name was Xiao Xingchen, and he partnered up with a man named Song Lan. One day they ran into an asshole demonic cultivator, and Song Lan lost his eyes. So Xiao Xingchen brought Song Lan back to the mountain and asked Baoshan Sanren to heal him. When they came back down from the mountain, Song Lan had eyes again. Xiao Xingchen didn’t.”

Fuck. Wei Wuxian hadn’t expected that. A beat of silence hangs in the air as he scrambles for explanations.

“Seriously?” Wei Wuxian asks weakly. “I don’t know what happened with Xiao Xingchen, but I promise it really isn't—”

“Wei Wuxian,” Jiang Cheng says, angry, loud, desperate now. “I really don’t want to ask again, but I will. I’ve been living with this for thirteen years, with no fucking clue if you ever told me the truth, and I want to know.”

Wei Wuxian swallows, looks away, voice scrambling high and fast. “Jiang Cheng, you don’t need to; it doesn’t change anything; it’s all in the past and we can just let it go and take the chance to start over.”

“It matters to me!” Jiang Cheng snaps. “What else do I need to tell you about for you to get it? The time I spent a week sitting blindfolded on a mountain in Yiling, like an idiot? The time I got drunk a year after you and A-jie died and tried to draw your sword, and then I stuck it under my bed for a year, and then I got drunk again like an idiot and shoved Suibian at everyone in Lotus Pier? But I still don’t know the truth, you took that to the grave and I thought I’d never know—” he pauses to collect himself. “Please, Wei Wuxian. If you ever cared about me. Please don’t lie this time.”

Wei Wuxian’s brain scrambles, for deflections and taunts and true-enough lies, or he could run and vanish and never tell—

But he makes the mistake of looking at Jiang Cheng, shifting Suibian from hand to hand like he’s not quite sure where it goes. Wei Wuxian can’t leave his brother like this. Not again.

“Okay,” Wei Wuxian’s brain stutters off course, the flute drops to the floor. He tries to take a breath. “Okay. After Lotus Pier— after Wen Ning—” Wei Wuxian is there, now, breathing in the musty scent of a cave while his nails dig marks into Wen Ning’s hand, while his muscles vibrate with the desire to run to scream to flee because his core is being—

“Fuck,” Wei Wuxian says, dropping his head to his hands. “Fuck, I can’t do it, A-Cheng.” He looks up. His brother’s eyes are wide and desperate and heartbroken behind the anger. “If you want to know, you’ll have to ask. Exactly what you want. And I won’t lie.”

Jiang Cheng nods the tiniest amount. “Okay,” he mutters as if to himself. He looks up, voice taking on a tone Wei Wuxian remembers from the war, the voice of Jiang-zongzhu just barely holding himself together enough to ask a shaking shidi how many of his friends had just been killed. “Okay. Wei Wuxian, what did you pay to fix my core?”

Wei Wuxian had fought so hard to never have to tell. He’d choked back his pain so many times to keep from vomiting it onto his brother. But Jiang Cheng has been carrying that pain after all, Wei Wuxian couldn’t succeed even at that, so he lets five impossible words fall from his lips.

“I gave you my core.”

Jiang Cheng’s eyes drop closed and he takes in a sharp breath of air. Unsurprised, except perhaps at how much it hurt.

“The whole thing?”

“Yes,” Wei Wuxian says, voice small.

“Did it hurt?”

“Yes.” It had hurt so, so much.

“Did it keep hurting? After Sunshot?”

“Some of it was the resentful energy.”

“So yes. And you couldn’t use your sword.”

“I didn’t try, but it wouldn’t have worked.”

“I see.” Jiang Cheng’s head drops to his hands and the sect leader's tone drops from his voice. “God, it was so fucking obvious.”

“It wasn’t,” Wei Wuxian protests. “I tried so hard to hide it.”

Jiang Cheng’s head jerks up, his lip curls. “You were a good liar, weren’t you? And so much easier to get a lie past people who know you. People who trust you. Your family.”

“A-Cheng, I did what I had to do; it wouldn’t have done you any good to—”

“Wouldn’t have done any good?” Jiang Cheng snarls as he paces the room. “What would you know about that? Why did you get to decide what I needed to know and didn’t?”

“You would have pulled me off the war front!” A splinter cuts into Wei Wuxian’s palm where he grips his flute.

“Well, what about after?” Jiang Cheng squares off with him. “Don’t try to tell me there was some grand, strategic reason you couldn’t tell me why you were drinking yourself to death!”

“What would you have done?” Wei Wuxian asks, standing to match his brother. “It wouldn’t have changed anything!”

“It might have!” cries Jiang Cheng. “We could have tried something. Moved around your duties, tried some new cultivation techniques, found a doctor, whatever. Hell, we could have sent you off to Gusu!”

Wei Wuxian recoils. “Then wow, I’m glad you never knew!”

“You were really never going to tell me, then? You were just going to let me think that you abandoned me when I needed you most? That you just didn’t give a shit about me?”

“When you needed me most? Look at you!” Wei Wuxian gestures furiously, the sweep of his arm taking in the rich sect leader’s regalia draping Jiang Cheng. “You didn’t have me after Sunshot, and you still did it. The sect is thriving! You can beat almost any cultivator in the jianghu into the dirt! When you needed me most was when you were half-dead and hiding from the Wens.”

“I’ve needed you the whole way,” Jiang Cheng snaps. “What the hell do you think I could have done without your core and your sword?”

“So I left you with everything you needed. What do you have to complain about?”

“But that wasn’t what I wanted,” Jiang Cheng’s hand clenches around Suibian, knuckles tight. “The sword, the stupid core—I never wanted it!”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes are itching. He feels his smile twist bitterly. “Too bad, because that was all I had. Pity it wasn’t enough for the mighty Shuangjian Shengshou.”

He pivots to walk away, and Jiang Cheng lunges to catch his wrist. Wei Wuxian goes limp, defeated. If his brother wants to hit him, he can. Anything of Wei Wuxian’s that is left, his brother can take. There isn’t much there, anyway.

Maybe Jiang Cheng realizes that, because he drops Wei Wuxian’s wrist like it burned him. “Go if you want,” he snaps. “I won’t stop you. At least you finally told me the fucking truth.”

Wei Wuxian nods slowly, opens his mouth to say—something, he’s not sure what—but nothing comes out. He feels Jiang Cheng’s gaze on his back as he flings the door open to leave. He startles at Lan Zhan waiting in the hallway.

“Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan asks, his eyes slightly widened with worry.

"Is anyone dead?" Wei Wuxian snaps.

"They escaped. I will be fine."

“Then save it.”

Wei Wuxian opens a window and swings himself onto the roof with a burst of spiritual energy, and Lan Zhan does not follow. Wei Wuxian wraps his arms around his knees, listening to the sounds of the night. Lan Zhan moves around in the room for a while. He opens the window before he blows out the lights. Wei Wuxian does not return to his bed until he's sure Lan Zhan is asleep.

Chapter Text

Jiang Cheng is pacing the inn’s dining room like a trapped tiger when Wei Wuxian finally makes it down the stairs. Wei Wuxian pauses for a long moment to watch him, a twist of worry and guilt and loss in his chest. Taking the secret about his golden core to his grave had been his last gift to Jiang Cheng. With that crushed like a lotus seed bead in a fist, Wei Wuxian’s not sure what is left. Nothing Jiang Cheng wants, at least.

 He could go back up, if he wanted. He’s got silver in his pocket, a bit of change from Lan Zhan’s various purchases, and he could definitely make it out the window and down the street for some breakfast without his brother.

Just as he almost talks himself into vanishing back up the stairs, the proprietor, a worried-looking older woman, bustles over to Wei Wuxian.

“Gongzi, you’re traveling with Jiang-zongzhu?” she asks him, glancing nervously at where Jiang Cheng is determinedly glaring at the farthest corner away from the stairs.

“I am, beautiful lady.” Wei Wuxian puts on a bright smile to put her at ease. “Why do you ask?”

“It’s the other customers,” she whispers.

“What other customers?”

“Exactly.” She looks uncomfortable. “Jiang-zongzhu has been here and… unhappy for the past hour. We are very, very grateful for his custom and honored to serve such revered cultivators, but—”

“You’d like Sect Leader Sourpuss to stop scaring off everyone else?”

“I wouldn’t dare put it that way,” she said hurriedly.

“Well, I’m probably the worst person to calm him down…” She looks at him pleadingly. “But I’ll at least try to get him out of your hair.”

He takes a moment to make sure his smile is fully fixed to his face, and then ambles across the room to lean on the wall by his brother. “Jiang Cheng! You look like you’re going to stab the next person through the door; you’ll make some little kid cry.”

Jiang Cheng crosses his arms, turning to glare at Wei Wuxian. “You’re here,” Jiang Cheng grits out finally. Wei Wuxian can’t tell if he’s happy about that or not.

He can’t ask that, so he shrugs. “If I left, who would pay for my breakfast?”

Jiang Cheng snorts. “You’d just flutter your eyes at some poor idiot and eat for free.”

“Ah, and steal her livelihood and break her heart? What kind of rogue do you take me for?”

“Never stopped you before,” Jiang Cheng says with a roll of his eyes.

“Will you take mercy on this poor starving man, then?” Wei Wuxian asks. He meant for it to come out— a little whiny, a little cute, but it just ended up a little plaintive.

“Fine,” Jiang Cheng puts some silver on the table, and the relieved owner of the inn descends to sweep his dishes away. He gives Wei Wuxian a sharp look. “You have to come with me after, though. Work for your breakfast.”

Wei Wuxian's heart lifts a little. Some food, no talking about last night, and a trip to the stone castle sounds fine. “Sure! On to breakfast, Jiang Cheng.”

“It’s lunch for everyone else.”

A few minutes later, Wei Wuxian happily swallows the last of his spicy noodles and follows Jiang Cheng on a brisk walk past the town’s borders. Wei Wuxian chatters while his brother stays silent, barely reacting. Wei Wuxian feels a hint of nerves. Jiang Cheng is still angry about last night—Wei Wuxian can see it in every line of his body. But honestly, Wei Wuxian is still angry too. He can feel the flicker of hurt in his gut. How much more can his brother ask of him now?

They come to a clearing in the woods, a wide flat area with few trees or grass. Jiang Cheng stops, suddenly enough that Wei Wuxian almost stumbles into him, and then rummages in his qiankun pouch and grabs something out. “Catch,” Jiang Cheng says, and tosses it at Wei Wuxian. He grabs it automatically.

“A training sword?” Cool metal under his hand, only the faintest echo of spiritual energy. Wei Wuxian nearly drops it. After he had Suibian, he could barely stand having any other sword in his hand compared to the rush of a sword bonded to his own soul. The training sword feels even more wrong after years of avoiding even the idea of wielding a blade.

“First form,” Jiang Cheng snaps and unsheathes Sandu. “Now.”

Wei Wuxian backs up, sword dangling from his hand, as Jiang Cheng paces forward. “Are you that tired of practicing forms on your own? Because I promise you, these days I’m worse than sparring your own shadow.”

Jiang Cheng scoffs. “Don’t care. Get your sword up or I’ll hit you.”

Wei Wuxian doesn’t raise it, but Jiang Cheng strikes. He telegraphs his motions clearly enough that Wei Wuxian can pivot out of the way, so he does.

“If you want a match, let me get out my flute,” Wei Wuxian says, skipping out of range of another blow. He doesn’t fight with swords any more, he can’t, and it’s cruel of Jiang Cheng to push like this when he knows exactly why— “Mo Xuanyu has the core of a fieldmouse. A firefly, maybe! You couldn’t pick his core out of a pile of rice—”

“I know,” Jiang Cheng growls. He’s speeding up the slashes, cutting closer and closer with each hit, and Wei Wuxian has to focus to keep up. Then a strike comes in too fast to dodge, and Wei Wuxian throws up his hand and—

And catches Sandu’s strike with the training sword’s sheath.

Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian freeze for a long moment, blade and sheath locked together. Jiang Cheng barks out a laugh and draws back, triumph in his eyes.

“Your core’s shit, but I’ve worked with worse,” Jiang Cheng says, idly twirling Sandu again. “Now draw.”

I’ve worked with worse . Jiang Cheng’s trying to train him, Wei Wuxian realizes, and he has no idea what to feel about that.

He dances back again. “I’m still going to throw ghosts at you,” he warns. “I’ll call up every corpse in the cemetery, if I need to.”

“Fine,” Jiang Cheng spits, and Wei Wuxian has to dodge a forceful stab. “If you get killed for demonic cultivation, that’s your problem. But if your core’s so weak that you die from sticking curses on yourself or something stupid, I’ll look like an idiot and Lan Wangji will probably kill me. So suck it up and fight.”

 He pivots and strikes at Wei Wuxian’s right side, and the training blade is unsheathed and blocking the strike before Wei Wuxian’s conscious brain has a chance to weigh in. The weak vibration of power from the unsheathed blade ripples uncomfortably into Wei Wuxian’s core. Jiang Cheng grins triumphantly, and Wei Wuxian grits his teeth and finally lets the smile fall away.

Jiang Cheng follows up with a series of blows fast enough to leave Wei Wuxian unable to focus on anything other than dodging, blocking, occasionally attempting a strike back that Jiang Cheng effortlessly shrugs off. Mo Xuanyu’s body wants so badly to stop. He had trained with the sword sometime before, Wei Wuxian can tell, but his muscles have weakened and struggle to keep the blade steady in each exchange of blows. Wei Wuxian never gets exactly where he expects to be when he expects to be there. Muscle memory doesn’t translate well to a new body, not quite, and the difference hurts. 

The rhythm of the fight shifts after a couple minutes: Jiang Cheng pulls back slightly, putting just enough power and speed into his strikes to keep Wei Wuxian’s core active without pushing him into a rapid exhaustion. The first part of the fight had been Jiang Cheng getting the measure of Mo Xuanyu, Wei Wuxian realizes, and now they’ve shifted to actual training.  When Wei Wuxian’s stance starts to waver, Jiang Cheng snaps out a form for them to settle into until Wei Wuxian remembers how his fingers should fit around a hilt, how his arm should move through a block. When the form becomes too routine and Wei Wuxian’s mind starts to wander, Jiang Cheng breaks the pattern with an unexpected strike.

It’s skilled: Jiang Cheng had never been good enough at listening to his students to teach like this before. It’s also infuriating: Jiang Cheng forces Wei Wuxian to push himself and focus on his swordwork when he wants nothing more than a distraction from the strange doubling under his skin.

“This sucks,” he spits at his brother.

“A lot of things suck,” Jiang Cheng says, twisting for another hit. “Deal with it.”

He keeps up the fight until Wei Wuxian is shivering from exhaustion. One last strike from Jiang Cheng sends Wei Wuxian stumbling back, the force jolting the sword from his hand. Jiang Cheng gives him a second to catch his breath, Mo Xuanyu’s lungs sucking in air.

“Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian whines. “I can’t do this anymore. Is torturing me really that fun?”

Jiang Cheng recoils. “I’m not—” he takes a deep breath, his eyes flick to the side. “Your core’s shit,” he mutters.

Ah. Wei Wuxian recognizes the guilt hiding behind the anger in Jiang Cheng’s eyes, and the whole mess suddenly makes sense. Of course, after last night’s revelations, Jiang Cheng’s struggling over the gifted core sitting in his lower dantian. Guilt sweeps through Wei Wuxian too, for not recognizing it earlier.

Wei Wuxian has sacrificed so much over the years to stand between his brother and guilt. He lied so many times, gave up on so many chances for help. And if a few weeks of training are what it takes to help lift the misery off Jiang Cheng’s chest again? Sure, Wei Wuxian can suffer through some terrible sparring practice for that.

And hey, it’s an easy way to earn some time catching up with his brother. 

He brings a smile back to his face as he wraps his fingers around the practice sword’s hilt. “Well, if you’re offering special one-on-one training with Shuangjian Shengshou for this mediocre cultivator, I suppose I can’t turn down the honor.”

A bit of the tension leaves Jiang Cheng’s shoulders.

“Don’t get a swelled head about it,” he growls.

“Don’t worry, I won’t!” Wei Wuxian smirks. “You were only the fifth-ranked young bachelor, after all.”

Jiang Cheng puffs up and waves a now-sheathed Sandu at him threateningly. “You little-”

As Wei Wuxian dodges out of the way, aiming back towards the inn, a thought strikes him. Uncle Jiang spent so long telling them that Wei Wuxian knew the Jiang motto best. But which one of them won’t give up on attempting the impossible now?

“What’s that stupid smile about?” Jiang Cheng bristles.

“No reason,” Wei Wuxian says, and the two head out of the clearing and back on the path.

The kids are awake and only mildly argumentative. Lan Sizhui sits serenely—and deliberately—between Lan Jingyi and Jin Ling, nibbling slowly at a bun. The central table is piled high with every dish the inn offers, and Wei Wuxian liberally ladles his bowl with food. Lan Wangji sits straight-backed at the table, and Wei Wuxian sprawls next to him. Jiang Cheng paces near the windows.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian says cheerfully. “And the ducklings!”

“I’m not a duckling,” Jin Ling says sullenly.

Jiang Cheng snorts. “Following your elders to the exclusion of all common sense? Sounds like a duckling to me.”

“Prince Duckling? Excellent!” Lan Jingyi laughs, and Jin Ling leans forward to stick out his tongue at him. 

“Lan Jingyi has also broken orders to follow his senior into a perilous situation,” Lan Zhan says without any discernible change in expression, yet Lan Jingyi winces and looks down.

“Sorry, Hanguang-jun,” he mutters, then pauses. “Well, kind of sorry.”

Lan Sizhui says smoothly, “Jingyi means that we accept that we violated sect rules by defying instruction from our senior, and we will accept the appropriate punishment when it is assigned.”

Lan Zhan accepts it with a nod. Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes. “Lans.”

Lan Zhan slants his eyes at Jiang Cheng in a way that might be termed bitchy, if a less impeccably graceful man than the Second Jade of Lan had done it.

“Your kidnapping should serve as a lesson of the rule’s importance. Further punishments may wait until our return to Cloud Recesses.”

“How did you kids end up kidnapped anyways?” Wei Wuxian asks. “Last I knew, Hanguang-jun was sending you two back to Gusu, and you were supposed to be in Lanling.”

Jin Ling flushes. “Jiujiu doesn’t just charge off to go fight things alone. It’s against the rules! So I was just going to follow him and figure out why he was being stupid.”

“Jin-gongzi found Jingyi and I before he left Lotus Pier and suggested it might be good for our seniors if there was backup available, even if we were only able to go fetch other help in case of emergency,” Lan Sizhui adds. “Jingyi and I were… surprised by Hanguang-jun’s unusual behavior as well, and we did not want to leave Jin-gongzi to follow you alone.”

“It was fine at first!” Jin Ling says. “We stayed a ways back and I had lots of food and stuff. And we watched at night and made sure nothing broke into your inn.”

“From the next roof over,” Lan Jingyi adds smugly. “That was my idea.”

“So what actually happened?” Wei Wuxian prompts as Jin Ling and Lan Jingyi squabble over Sizhui’s head. Sizhui clears his throat, settling the other two, and they tell the story. Apparently, the cultivator shrouded in black had jumped onto the same roof near the inn their seniors had been staying in for the night. The mystery cultivator seemed surprised, but summoned Wen Ning. After a fight that either spanned across half the city and nearly ended in a draw (according to Jin Ling and Lan Jingyi) or saw the three juniors disarmed within seconds (according to Lan Sizhui), the group was knocked unconscious and bound. Wen Ning had carried the kids to the tombs over the next day’s travel while the mystery cultivator had taunted the kids with increasingly improbable plans for killing the juniors or their seniors.

“And then he knocked us out, and then I had a bunch of really bad nightmares, and then the next thing I remember is waking up back here,” Lan Jingyi concluded.

“Thank you to Mo-qianbei for helping to rescue us,” Lan Sizhui added.

“Well, that doesn’t tell us anything new,” Wei Wuxian says regretfully. “Do you have something to share, Hanguang-jun?”

“The cultivator is accomplished with the sword,” Lan Zhan says. “A rogue cultivator’s base, some familiarity with Jin, Lan, and Nie forms. Attempted to use corpse poison.”

“You didn’t get poisoned, did you?” Wei Wuxian asks urgently. He should have stopped in the hall the night before.

“Briefly,” Lan Zhan admits. “I cured it without difficulty.” Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes, and Wei Wuxian calms a little, remembering Lan Zhan and Jiang Cheng have the cores to burn off curses that would flatten Wei Wuxian for a week. 

“Still not much to go off of,” Wei Wuxian says. It would help if he remembered anything of who might have taken Chenqing: after Shijie’s death, the rest of his memory was equal parts hallucinations, fragmented images, and giant blank patches. “Nothing to do until we dig Nie Mingjue out, I guess. Unless our mystery cultivator attacks again, we have a few days of well-earned leisure in front of us.”

Jiang Cheng smirks. “You mean I have a few days to kick you into training.” Wei Wuxian sticks his tongue out at his brother, and Jin Ling looks between the two of them.

“You’re taking in another demonic cultivator?” Jin Ling asks, and Jiang Cheng nods. Jin Ling’s jaw sets, and he looks over at Jiang Cheng. “Then I want to spend time with my new shidi.”

“Shidi?” Wei Wuxian says weakly. He had not expected Jin Ling to consider him any form of family.

“Yes,” Jin Ling snaps. “You’re training with the Jiang, and you’re new. So you’re my shidi.”

Lan Jingyi howls with laughter. “That’s not how age works, Princess Duckling.”

Jin Ling’s lip quivers, and Wei Wuxian cuts in with a laugh. It’s not shaky at all, probably.

“Doesn’t matter!” he says cheerfully. “If Jiang Cheng whipping me into shape—no actual whips, please—makes me your shidi, then that’s just how it goes.”

“Hanguang-jun, can we go explore the town?” Lan Jingyi pleads. “We’re well enough to walk.”

Lan Zhan feels each of the junior’s wrists in turn, then gives a vaguely satisfied, “Mn. With an escort.”

“I’ll go!” Wei Wuxian offers. “Since I’m Jin Ling’s shidi and everything.”

Lan Zhan gives the impression of rolling his eyes without actually doing so. Jiang Cheng could only hope to reach such heights of sarcasm.

“Very well,” Lan Zhan says, and the kids cheer. 

“Just watch,” Wei Wuxian crows, “I can be a shidi and a responsible adult!”

They are thrown out of the storyteller’s performance in less than an hour.

 “I saw Yiling Laozu done much better in Mo Village!” Lan Jingyi hollers at the grumbling proprietor as they are escorted out. The proprietor glares and disappears back into the inn.

“I can’t believe he shortened Hanguang-jun’s monologue,” Jingyi huffs.

“I was always surprised they gave him that many words in the first place, though,” Lan Sizhui says thoughtfully. “I don’t think the writer ever met him.”

Wei Wuxian grumbles, “And who decided Jin-whosit was that important?”

“Jin Zixun?” Jin Ling suggests.

“Yeah, that one!”

“They never say anything about my dad that matters,” Jin Ling says quietly, like he doesn’t want anyone to hear that he actually cares about it.

Lan Sizhui does, indeed, pretend that he didn’t hear it. “Would anyone like a lotus paste bun?” he asks the group.

Jingyi’s eyes light up. “Always! Oh, and look at the sugar animals over there; let’s see if she can make a rabbit.” Lan Jingyi bounds towards the stalls and Sizhui glides after.

That leaves Wei Wuxian alone with Jin Ling, the town’s busy streets swirling around their little bubble.

“Do you want anything, shidi?” Jin Ling asks brusquely. “You’re broke, so I’ll buy it.”

Wei Wuxian smiles at Jin Ling. “Aiya, between you and Jiang Cheng, I’ll be round as a pig by the time New Year’s comes along!”

Jin Ling looks away. “That’d be better than now. You’re way too skinny, you look like a stupid bag of bones.”

“Stupid bag of bones? I’ve seen old bags of bones and dirty bags of bones, but never a stupid bag of bones,” Wei Wuxian muses. “You’ll want to work on that insult if you want it to stick, shixiong.”

Jin Ling sputters. “Well maybe I just wasn’t trying too hard!”

Wei Wuxian laughs as Jin Ling reddens. “I’ll wait for your best shot later, then. Or I could teach you, if that isn’t too disrespectful of this humble shidi.”

“You know enough about being disrespectful, I guess,” Jin Ling mutters.

Wei Wuxian flashes back to their initial meeting and winces. “Ah, Jin Ling, about that. I’m really sorry I said… that when we first met. I was… eh, it doesn’t matter, there’s no real excuse for it. You didn’t deserve it.”

Jin Ling blinks, surprised, then covers it in anger again. “That’s right I didn’t deserve it! My mom and dad were great, and just because they’re dead doesn’t mean people get to be mean to me about it.”

Wei Wuxian has so many stories that want to fall off his tongue—Shijie coolly facing down Jin Guangshan at the victory banquet, calming injured soldiers during Sunshot, laughing when Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng wrestled each other into the water of Lotus Pier. “She was great,” he says softly.

Jin Ling frowns. “What did you say?”

Wei Wuxian recovers. “Um, I’m sure they were great! And I’m sorry the other kids are so terrible.” He’s sorry for so many things. So few he can say.

“Yeah, well.” Jin Ling kicks a pebble down an alleyway, watching it clack against a wall. “I’m sorry too. They were worse to you.”

Wei Wuxian rubs his nose and thinks of this body—of the blood in the array that summoned him, of the strange aches in his new bones, of the way his core flutters in his chest like a half-born bird. “You’re a kid, Jin Ling. It wasn’t your job to fix it.”

Jin Ling scowls. “But it will be! I’m going to be the next Sect Leader, and Sect Leaders look after their people.” He finally looks Wei Wuxian in the eye. “At least you’re going to be Jiang instead. Jiujiu doesn’t let anyone be mean to his people. Not the real kind of mean.”

“Trust me, I’d much rather be Jiang than Jin,” Wei Wuxian reassures Jin Ling. He doesn’t know if he’ll stay that way—how long it’ll take the bubble of guilt and fragile truce to break, to push Wei Wuxian out of Lotus Pier for good—but he does want to be Jiang. And he’d never want to be Jin.

“Then you’d better do it right,” Jin Ling says fiercely. “Jiujiu says demonic cultivation is always dumb, but sometimes it’s evil dumb and sometimes it’s scared dumb. You don’t need to do stupid scared stuff anymore, okay?”

Wei Wuxian feels slightly bowled over. “Trust me, I wouldn’t have picked up demonic cultivation if I had a choice.”

“I know,” Jin Ling says confidently. “That’s why Jiujiu didn’t kill you.”

Wei Wuxian has no idea what to say to that one. “Well. Great. Um. I can’t promise zero undead, because I really can’t keep that one, but I’ll. Uh. Try to keep it to a minimum.”

Jin Ling scowls. “That’s not good enough. My other jiujiu was the Yiling Laozu, you know. And Jiujiu says he started scared-stupid, but he got really sick because he kept using demonic cultivation and then—” he pauses, his voice smaller. “Jiujiu says he really loved my mom, but he still got her and my dad killed.”

Wei Wuxian reels backward. “Oh,” he says weakly. “Well. I. Really can’t argue with that.”

“You’d better not try,” Jin Ling says fiercely. “You’re my idiot shidi and I won’t let you.”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes prickle, so he turns away and gets very interested in the beets a farmer is selling at the next stand over. Jin Ling, for his part, gets very interested in a stall selling combs, and if there’s a faint sniffling sound, Wei Wuxian won’t tell.

“Prince Duckling! Mo-qianbei! We’ve got snacks!” Lan Jingyi bounds up to them, laden heavily with parcels and food of all kinds. Lan Sizhui carefully takes one that was about to totter, and Jin Ling’s faint sniffling cuts off (mostly) as he turns to investigate the food.

“Perfect timing to head back!” Wei Wuxian says while shamelessly stealing a lotus paste bun from the stack.

“Well, yeah, Sizhui made us wait across the street until it looked like you were done having your— ow!”

Sizhui moves his foot from Lan Jingyi’s toes. “Roasted nuts, anyone?” he asks innocently. 

Jin Ling pounces on the tower of snacks, taking the packet that is red with chili and oil. He shakes a few nuts onto his hand, then eyes Wei Wuxian skeptically.

“Don’t eat them all,” Jin Ling growls before shoving the packet at Wei Wuxian, and for a moment Wei Wuxian sees Shijie carrying a plate of dumplings, Jiang Cheng scowling while he brings back Wei Wuxian’s lost lucky arrow. Wei Wuxian nods, smiles at the kid, and tosses a few nuts into his mouth. Spices bloom like lotuses on his tongue.

Chapter Text

The kids take a few more days to fully shake the poison from their systems, the Nie take a few days to find some corpses, and Jiang Cheng takes a few days to train Wei Wuxian into the ground.

It isn’t all swordwork, of course: Jiang Cheng takes far too much delight throwing him in the river to swim first thing in the morning and in selecting bundles of logs for Wei Wuxian to strap to his back as he moves through strength exercises. As much as he wails, though, it feels good to be in the water again—natural, to a Jiang disciple who had learned to swim during his first week in Lotus Pier. The beautiful thing about swimming is the first strokes: the shock of cold, the pull of unexhausted arms through water, the straining of his lungs. In the directionless depths of the river, there is nothing to remind Wei Wuxian of the changed lengths of his limbs or his own slight slowing. There is just him and the water.

Of course, Jiang Cheng notices how willing Wei Wuxian is to push himself while in the water and makes him swim twice as much. Rude. 

At least the food is good; if Lan Zhan isn’t already waiting with a spread of his favorites when Wei Wuxian wraps up practice, Jiang Cheng ensures the dinner table is always full. And for all the robes he’s sweating through, he always has clean ones. He’d come back to his room after the second day of training to find a neatly folded pile of Jiang indigo robes waiting on his bed, the same cut and color as the robes of the dozen Jiang disciples who showed up that morning to guard the inn. Wei Wuxian understands immediately—if he’s going to hide as Mo Xuanyu, he needs to look a little less like the Yiling Laozu and a little more like a Jiang recruit. 

The outfit is subtly different from the ones he remembers: the dye a shade darker, a different spell woven into the fabric, sleeve wraps already paired with the robes. Wei Wuxian doesn’t wear all purple—his face isn’t thick enough for that—but he layers black outer robes with Jiang inner robes, or red inner robes with indigo outer ones. Jiang Cheng doesn’t say anything about it, so Wei Wuxian doesn’t either. 

In the heat of the afternoons, Wei Wuxian spends his time in the cool of the Nie tombs, slowly repairing the structure’s wards and enchantments alongside the Nie array experts. It’s satisfying work: the Nie had taken centuries to refine their own ways of channeling resentful energy, and the work was full of both wild divergences from and neat parallels to Wei Wuxian’s own innovations with resentful energy. The initially wary Nie slowly warm up to Wei Wuxian as they realize he wasn’t some two-bit demonic cultivator about to blunder through their careful work (well, he’d already done as much blundering through the tomb as he’d planned on, and told them so), and he can crack a joke in between debates on whether a particular imbalance is best corrected by bolstering the yang energy or draining away some excess yin.  

In the evenings, when Jiang Cheng is finally tired of yelling at Wei Wuxian and goes to yell at the real Jiang disciples instead, Wei Wuxian badgers Lan Zhan into playing with him—at first to prove to the kids that he is, in fact, a very good musician, and then simply for the pleasure of shamelessly listening to Lan Zhan’s unparalleled talent on the guqin. By some unspoken agreement, they stay away from cultivation music—no Cleansing, no corpses. Wei Wuxian plays his favorite folk songs and tavern ballads, and Lan Zhan responds with all the classical grace he can muster. Jin Ling pesters Wei Wuxian with requests for Yunmeng songs, surprised and perhaps a little pleased that he can’t stump him. Sometimes one or both of the Lan kids join in for a song or two, to Lan Zhan’s obvious pride. 

One evening, Wei Wuxian finds his fingers drifting into a half-remembered melody, something full of longing and calm. The kids look enchanted, and Lan Zhan looks like jade struck by sunset, his perfect features glowing with some inner warmth. Wei Wuxian’s fingers stutter for a moment on the dizi.

Eyes still on Wei Wuxian, Lan Zhan joins in with his guqin.  The new voice brings the song to life, Lan Zhan and Wei Wuxian weaving around each other like the piece was made for two. Wei Wuxian loses himself in the simple pleasure of playing, of the way Lan Zhan fits their two instruments so seamlessly together. Wei Wuxian cannot resist looping the melody again, adding more layers and flourishes, and Lan Zhan matches him at every step.

Wei Wuxian may no longer be Lan Zhan’s perfect equal in much, but here in the song, it’s as though they never left Gusu.

When their last echoes fade into silence, the world is still for a fragile moment. Wei Wuxian can’t take his eyes away from Lan Zhan’s.

“That’s amazing!” Jingyi cries. Lan Zhan looks away, and Wei Wuxian feels heat on his neck and face. “Wow, it’s like you’ve been playing together for years! Well, except for the occasional squeak on a high note. You should work on those, Mo-qianbei.”

Mo-qianbei sticks his tongue out at Jingyi.

“I think I’ve heard the song before,” Sizhui says thoughtfully. “Is it a folk song from Gusu?”

“I told you, I’d never heard it,” Jingyi says.

“And I have no idea,” Wei Wuxian says. He chews his lip and thinks, some fuzzy memories of humming in a cave. “Wait… Lan Zhan, did I learn it from you?”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan confirms.

“Ah!” Wei Wuxian says triumphantly. “Then you must know what it’s called?”

“I do,” Lan Zhan says. He gives a slightly reproachful look. “I have told you.”

“Aiyo, Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian pushes, intrigued. “My memory’s terrible; you’ll have to tell me again.”

“Mn.” Lan Wangji looks away. The tips of his ears are pink. How odd; the summer night isn’t cold enough to bite, and Lan Zhan didn’t have anything to drink. “Figure it out.”

Wei Wuxian sighs dramatically and spends the rest of the night lobbing guesses, as do the juniors. They’re shot down every time.

Training gets much more fun once the juniors are cleared to train again. Lan Jingyi is clearly just on the other side of a growth spurt, lunging around the training ground like a slightly imbalanced puppy. He’s clever with his recoveries, though, almost able to hold his own against Lan Sizhui, who could be a third Jade with that perfect Lan precision.

And Jin Ling? Jin Ling just really wants to hit someone. 

He’ll be good at it someday, Wei Wuxian thinks as he works through another form and the kids spar. Jin Ling’s a glorious mishmash of Jin and Jiang styles, made all the more unpredictable by his easily provoked temper. With another few years of experience and a bit more power to surge through Suihua, he’ll be able to keep his opponents off-balance and on the back foot from the first blow. 

Right now, though, a frustrated Jin Ling winds up a little too far for a swing, and Lan Sizhui slides through the very obvious gap in his guard and taps his sword to Jin Ling’s ribs with an almost apologetic smile. Jingyi bursts out laughing.

“Too regal to block, Prince Duckling?” he teases, and Jin Ling flushes and tightens his grip around his sword.

“Break for now,” Lan Zhan, the current training supervisor, tells the juniors. Jin Ling makes a frustrated noise and paces over to where Wei Wuxian is, snatching his water and chugging it.

“I could have beat him,” Jin Ling sulks. 

Wei Wuxian takes a break himself, taking a long swig of the cool water. He hasn’t been sparring against the juniors himself; he’s still getting a feel for his new golden core, and he’d be an odd match for the juniors. Nonetheless…

“You almost did,” Wei Wuxian agrees. “Want to learn a couple tricks for next time?”

Jin Ling scoffs. “What would you know that I don’t?”

Wei Wuxian shrugs. “I’ve learned a few things from some rogue cultivators over the years. They might fit in well with your style.” He leans in closer. “I bet the little Lans will have never seen them.”

Jin Ling nods tersely. “Fine. What is it?” 

“Sword up, and try that last overhead strike you used.” 

Jin Ling raises his sword and tries to hit him. Wei Wuxian locks their swords together, and Jin Ling’s sword promptly clatters to the ground. Wide-eyed, Jin Ling looks between the sword and Wei Wuxian. “What—how did you—how?” 

Wei Wuxian laughs as Jin Ling scrambles for his sword. “Alright, I’ll do it slower this time. Watch my wrist and the tip of my sword.”

Jin Ling frowns with concentration as he slowly moves his sword through the strike. He gets the exact same little scrunch between his eyes that Jiang Cheng gets when he concentrates on something, and Wei Wuxian almost chokes with fondness. Nonetheless, he flicks his sword up, and Jin Ling watches closely as Wei Wuxian moves through the disarming maneuver.

“Oh,” he says as his sword clatters off to the side. He brightens. “Can I try it?” 

“Sure,” Wei Wuxian says. “Give it your best shot.”

It takes another few passes for Jin Ling to learn the trick, but he grins when he finally sends Wei Wuxian’s sword flying. “What else do you know?” he asks eagerly.

“Glad you asked!” Wei Wuxian grins, and teaches Jin Ling a couple more tricks, including a couple of his signature flute blocks and dodges. Jin Ling is a fun student: hungry to get better, soaking up new moves like a sponge.

“Hey, Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian calls across the field after he’s taught Jin Ling one last fancy dodge. “Ready for Jin Ling to beat up one of your kids?”

Lan Zhan’s expression doesn’t perceptibly change but still manages to convey polite incredulity. “He may try. Jingyi?” 

The Lan disciple bounds over to match off against Jin Ling. Wei Wuxian claps his hand on Jin Ling’s shoulder and murmurs, “You’ve got this. One last lesson: it’s fine to fight angry, but keep your eyes on the real goal. If you want to beat him, focus on fighting smart, not just hitting hard. Got it?”

Jin Ling gives him a frowning nod and squares off against Lan Jingyi.

“Ready to keep a grip on your sword this time, Princess Duckling?” Jingyi taunts. 

Jin Ling doesn’t respond, his face scrunching with focus. He lets Jingyi make the first move, blocking and then ducking back again. Jingyi falters for a second, surprised, and then follows up with another strike. Jin Ling meets him, answering with some slightly better controlled strikes. Jingyi goes for a strike to Jin Ling’s open side, and then— 

Jin Ling blocks at the last second, sends Jingyi flying past him, and smacks him on the back hard enough to trip Jingyi to the ground. Exactly as Wei Wuxian had taught him. 

“Yield,” Jin Ling tells Jingyi smugly, leveling his sword at the older boy. 

“I yield!” Jingyi says cheerfully, and Jin Ling offers Jingyi a hand and pulls him to his feet. Dirt falls easily off his robes, confirming Wei Wuxian’s suspicions that the Lan robes are spelled to stay that clean. “You’re actually pretty good!”  

“You’re admitting it?” Jin Ling says disbelievingly.

“Sure,” Lan Jingyi says. “Why wouldn’t I? If I went around lying, I’d spend half my time doing handstands. You’re good, and that was a cool trick.”

“Oh.” Jin Ling looks a little panicked by the compliment, and Wei Wuxian snorts at the sudden resemblance to Jin Zixuan. “Um. Well. Good. You’re not terrible.”

Lan Jingyi laughs. “I’ll take that as a compliment, Prince Duckling. Show me that again?”

The kids spar a few more rounds, something loosening a little in Jin Ling’s shoulders, as Wei Wuxian calls out the occasional teasing suggestion and Lan Zhan offers his concise advice. When the kids are finally starting to droop, they call off and head back down the hill. Jin Ling falls in next to Wei Wuxian, excitedly walking him through every point he scored and blade he knocked loose. They fall into a brief companionable silence, and then Jin Ling pipes up again.

“Hey, I just thought of something,” Jin Ling says thoughtfully. “If you were sparring with rogue cultivators after you left Koi Tower, then why didn’t you have a sword on Dafan Mountain?”

Wei Wuxian shrugs as carelessly as he can. “I had one before, but I didn’t use it much. Demonic cultivation doesn’t play nice with swords, after all. So I wasn’t watching it too closely, and now someone else has it. That’s how it goes, sometimes.”

Jin Ling grabs Suihua tighter. “Do you miss it?” he asks. 

They’re back at the inn, and Wei Wuxian looks up to the window of the room where Jiang Cheng is staying. “It’s probably better off with someone else anyway,” he says at last. 

Jin Ling chews his lip and frowns, but Wei Wuxian disappears off to his room before the kid can push any farther.

The morning they finally plan to uncover the tomb is a hot one. Of course, that’s the day Jiang Cheng decides to make Wei Wuxian run laps with a bunch of weights.

It’s not Yunmeng hot, not here in Qinghe. The air doesn’t have the same wetness either, and Wei Wuxian is sure that the people with well-developed golden cores—in other words, everyone else in their little band of cultivators and ducklings—can shrug it off easily.

Jiang Cheng really does have a point with the whole core rebuilding thing, Wei Wuxian thinks to himself as sweat drips into his eyes. His core is strengthening a little, too: he can feel himself moving a bit more lightly, spiritual energy healing his muscles as he runs. He immediately resolves not to tell Jiang Cheng that—it’d only encourage him, and when he gets encouraged about training, he adds another ten laps.

Wei Wuxian catches a glimpse of white as he slowly pounds up the hill and brightens. Ah good; looks like his track cuts right near where Lan Wangji is working with the baby Lans. Wei Wuxian picks out a slightly different route, just enough to cut through the Lan training field. He’ll run that much faster if he knows he gets to tease Lan Zhan with each loop, after all.

“Coming through!” Wei Wuxian says on the first pass, cutting between Lan Jingyi and Lan Sizhui as they practice a form in unison. Lan Sizhui easily pulls his sword, but Jingyi is surprised enough to yelp and fall over. Lan Zhan gives a tiny little huff that might be either amusement or irritation. It’s Wei Wuxian’s favorite huff.

On the fifth pass, Wei Wuxian moans, “Aiyo, I’m dying!” He slows to a plod. “Will Hanguang-Jun not rescue this mostly innocent demonic cultivator from such terrible torture?”

Jingyi snorts. “You’ve got nothing to complain about! I’d pick some laps over our handstands any day.”

Wei Wuxian let himself pause for a moment to meet the little Lan’s sass. “Aiyo, have some respect for your seniors! I am very elderly and fragile, and my delicate frame needs respect.”

Lan Zhan crosses over with a slight frown. “Do you wish to take a break? I have water.”

Wei Wuxian had refused Jiang Cheng’s last offer of water, but he now realizes he is in fact desperately thirsty. And maybe a little light-headed? As Wei Wuxian hesitates, Lan Zhan takes his wrist, his calloused fingers cool against the heat of Wei Wuxian’s wrist. Oof, very light-headed, Wei Wuxian corrects himself dizzily.

“Mn.” Lan Zhan sounds vaguely dissatisfied. “Sit.” Lan Zhan lifts the makeshift harness from his shoulders with an unexpected tenderness. He places the logs and leather in a neat pile on the ground and wraps one of his strong arms around Wei Wuxian to help him to the ground. Wei Wuxian isn’t actually that unsteady, but he also isn’t going to protest. When Lan Zhan offers him a container of water, Wei Wuxian takes a long, grateful sip.

“Thanks, Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian says with a grin up at where Lan Zhan is hovering over him. “I might survive this time.”

Lan Zhan’s face does a dozen complicated tiny things. “Do not die,” Lan Zhan says firmly.

Wei Wuxian salutes him with the water flask and takes another sip in reply.

Around the time Wei Wuxian is wiping the last of the water from his chin, Jiang Cheng sweeps into the clearing in a crackle of purple robes and lightning, Jin Ling at his heels. He glares frantically around the clearing until he sees Wei Wuxian.

“Is your ankle broken?” he snaps with a sneer. “I hope so. Otherwise if you just decided to stop running, I’ll have to break your legs myself.”

Wei Wuxian snorts. “What, is it ‘use it or lose it’ with legs around here?”

Lan Zhan positions himself between Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng. It’s not a big movement, but Jiang Cheng’s sudden stop says he noticed.

“He had too little water and his core was strained. He needed rest.” Lan Zhan’s voice is tense.

“He had half a lap to go!” Jiang Cheng snaps. “What, do you think he’s so fragile that he couldn’t have managed that without Hanguang-jun’s interference?”

“He asked to stop,” Lan Zhan says evenly. “Does Shuangjian Shengshou claim the right to force him to run when he wishes to stop?” Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi, his little translators, both look wide-eyed. Wei Wuxian bounces onto his feet, getting between the two of them.

“Um, I think both of you are kind of overstating things—” Wei Wuxian suggests.

“Not at all,” Jiang Cheng says. “The incomparable Second Jade of Lan would never say a word he didn’t mean.” Zidian crackles on his finger.

“Please take the juniors to the inn,” Lan Zhan says coolly to Wei Wuxian, his hand on Bichen. “Jiang-zongzhu and I need to discuss.”

Fuck. Wei Wuxian had a feeling the weirdness between the two of them was about him. Of course they need to get the kids out of the way.

“I’ll take the kids back as long as you two promise to play nice.”

“Fine,” Jiang Cheng spits. Lan Zhan inclines his head.

“Alright!” Wei Wuxian says cheerfully, turning to the juniors. “No murder allowed, so you kids come with me.”

Jin Ling and Lan Jingyi cross their arms and huff, while Lan Sizhui gives Hanguang-jun one last worried look where he and Jiang Cheng are glaring daggers at each other. However reluctantly, the three kids come, and Wei Wuxian shepherds them back towards town.

“What was that?” Lan Jingyi asks loudly the instant they’re out of earshot.

“Adult stuff,” Wei Wuxian tells them.

Lan Jingyi’s nose wrinkles. “Adult stuff about you?”

Jin Ling gags loudly, Lan Sizhui coughs, and Wei Wuxian cackles. “Sure, let’s go with that. Now. You three kids go the rest of the way into town. I’m going to go back and referee if I have to.”

Jin Ling grinds his teeth. “But I want to know what they’re talking about! You’re all hiding something from us.”

“Aww, but don’t you want us to hide it?” Wei Wuxian teases. “If it’s… adult stuff?”

Jin Ling’s nose wrinkles. “Ew, gross, forget about it.”

“Thought so,” Wei Wuxian says, and gives the kids one last shove down the path before he doubles back. His smile falls away again once the kids are out of sight. He finds a place to sit and pulls out a paperman, scribbling a quick talisman on it and moving his consciousness into the paper. He floats through the trees as the paperman, tumbling on the breeze until he tucks himself in the bushes near where Lan Zhan and Jiang Cheng are talking. He doesn’t need to get very close, after all, especially not to hear Jiang Cheng.

“My brother has never done anything without complaining about it! Except for hunting pheasants, or flirting with some Mianmian or Yuandao.” Jiang Cheng draws out the last few words. “Of course he asked to stop, and of course I had to push him through it. It’s for his own good.”

Wei Wuxian can practically hear Lan Zhan’s jaw clench. He flutters the paperman closer.  “Yunmeng Jiang has not acted in Wei Ying’s best interest since long before he was lost.” 

“Oh, I see,” Jiang Cheng snarls. “And since Yunmeng Jiang has no right to Wei Wuxian, you think he should belong to Gusu Lan?”

Wei Wuxian can only see enough of Lan Zhan’s face to know it is very, very still. “He does not belong to Gusu Lan,” Lan Zhan says at last. “Wei Ying belongs only to himself.”

“Doesn’t belong to Gusu Lan yet, you mean,” Jiang Cheng retorts. “I’ve seen the way you look at him. Have you already sewn some blue and white robes in his size? Got one of your mountain sheds ready to lock him up in?”

Lan Wangji stiffens, and his hand curls around Bichen. He doesn’t deny it, though, Wei Wuxian notices with a lurch. He tries to flit around to a better view, see if he can make out what Lan Zhan is thinking.

Jiang Cheng pushes on. “I can see what you’re trying to do. You’ll follow him like a dog after a piece of meat, and you’ll throw any shiny bauble at him that he wants, and you’ll hide him from his terrible brother’s attempts to actually train him up. But far be it from the mighty Hanguang-jun to lower himself enough to actually admit to Wei Wuxian what he wants!”

“Wei Ying knows my thoughts,” Lan Zhan says quietly. “He owes me nothing. I will ask him for nothing.” His face has fully locked down. Wei Wuxian wishes he could pick up some trace of emotion in it, something like the tumult Wei Wuxian feels.

“But does he, though?” Jiang Cheng says, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “After years of you criticizing him and freezing him out every chance you got? Oh, sure, you’ll scour the whole world for him when he’s dead or missing, but the instant he’s in front of your face you turn back into a statue again.”

“I have reflected on the ways I have failed Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says. “I hope to improve. I am sure Shuangjian Shengshou has noticed no similar faults in himself.”

“If you’re trying to say I was a shit brother, just say it,” Jiang Cheng snaps. “But I can tell you two things now. First, I won’t let you take him from his family, so give up on that. And two, stop playing these bullshit games with my brother. Tell him, and he can do what he wants to do with it.”

Lan Zhan pauses for a long moment, sizing Jiang Cheng up and clearly finding him wanting. “I will keep my own counsel,” he says at last. 

“Unbelievable!” Jiang Cheng growls, throwing up his arms and spinning to pace away from Lan Wangji. Wei Wuxian dives the paperman out of the way, darting back into the bushes and out of eyesight. He can feel his body’s heart racing. If he is spotted, then they’ll know he’s heard them. If they know he’s heard, then he’ll have to learn whatever Lan Zhan doesn’t want him to know. And if he learns that, then… Well. It’s better to leave.

He thinks he hears his brother mutter “worse than Jin Zixuan” as the little slip of paper escapes from hearing range. He had thought—well, hoped—that Lan Zhan had given up on wanting to scrub him of any scrap of demonic cultivation. That he was sticking around with Wei Wuxian because they have an interesting mystery to solve together, because maybe he secretly enjoys Wei Wuxian’s company. Was it really just a ruse so Lan Zhan could play Cleansing at him all day, kindness to lure him gently inside like scraps to catch a stray cat? He can’t fully believe it. And it doesn’t quite make sense, either. But Jiang Cheng was definitely right when he said Wei Wuxian has no idea what Lan Zhan wants.

And as for Jiang Cheng— my brother, he’d said. His family, he’d said. Wei Wuxian rubs the fabric of his purple outer robe between his fingers as he walks, finding something soothing and grounding in the familiar fabric. For once, the Jiang colors don’t feel like a disguise.

The kids are hovering around the entrance to town.

Jin Ling’s voice is raised. “—know what Jiujiu looks like when he likes someone, he gets all weird and mushy around Sect Leader Nie. He’s different weird with Mo Xuanyu—” He cuts off abruptly when he sees Wei Wuxian, face reddening.  Wei Wuxian puts a careless smile on his face as the kids dash over and surround him.

“So what were they talking about?” Jingyi asks eagerly.

“As I told you, adult stuff.” Wei Wuxian waits a beat while the kids make faces. “Y’know, like trade policy!”

“Trade policy?” Lan Jingyi says disbelievingly.

“Yep!” Wei Wuxian elaborates. “Export bans. Liabilities. Territory.”

“You’re lying,” Jin Ling says accusingly. He looks at Wei Wuxian’s confident expression and falters, glancing at the other juniors for support. “He’s definitely lying, right?” 

Lan Jingyi shrugs, and Lan Sizhui looks thoughtful. Wei Wuxian claps Jin Ling on the shoulder. “Tell you when you’re older,” he says sympathetically, and Jin Ling frowns.

“I will prove it,” Jin Ling mutters. Wei Wuxian wishes him terrible luck with that.

Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji finally slink back to the inn a few minutes later, very deliberately not looking at each other with the air of a grudging truce.

“Hey!” Wei Wuxian calls cheerfully, and both their heads snap up to look at him. He steers over to Jiang Cheng and knocks his shoulder into his brother’s. Jiang Cheng huffs, but walks together with him towards the door. “Good job, looks like everyone came back alive.”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says, his low voice giving nothing away.

 Wei Wuxian’s throat tightens a little, but he doesn’t turn around. “Shouldn’t call me that on the street,” he says lightly. “C’mon, let’s eat something before we go dig up a grave. The kids are waiting inside.” 

Wei Wuxian wishes he was brave enough to see if there was anything to read in Lan Wangji’s eyes.

Chapter Text

The stone passageway into the Nie tomb is lined with a myriad of arrays and talismans, carefully balanced to keep the shrine’s barely contained resentful energy from crashing down on the small group of cultivators’ heads. The Nie cultivators grip their sabers, Jiang Cheng holds Sandu with the arm that Nie Huaisang is not clinging to, and a slight frown furrows Lan Wangji’s brow.

Maybe they’re worried because Wei Wuxian is whistling. ”Don’t worry,” he reassures the group, pausing briefly. “These arrays will last at least a week or two, and I’m shoring up the creaky bits as we go!”

The rest of the group does not look reassured.

Wei Wuxian and the two Nie talisman experts lock a few last arrays into place and move the group into the sword room from before. Someone coughs on the dust, heavy in the air. The room looks untouched with every coffin neatly aligned and the floor perfectly smooth. The tomb devours anything out of place, after all.

“Where’s da-ge?” Nie Huaisang asks, voice quavering. “I thought you said he was in here.”

“He’s here, zongzhu,” one of the Nie reassures him. “The spell just pulled him fully underground.”

Nie Huaisang nods and gulps. Jiang Cheng squeezes his shoulder. “Should they bring him up?” Jiang Cheng prompts. Huaisang nods, and Wei Wuxian takes his place around the array.

“Let’s go, then!” Wei Wuxian says cheerfully, and sketches out the activating talisman.

The array flares red and then sinks into the ground. There’s silence and stillness for a long moment, enough for Jiang Cheng to give Wei Wuxian a skeptical look, and then the ground ripples. The dirt slowly gives way as something pushes up from below.

The Nie cultivators gasp at the sight of the braids. “Zongzhu,” one breathes.

“Wait,” Huaisang murmurs. Jiang Cheng hovers closer to Huaisang, as though he’s waiting for him to swoon or lunge for his brother or run from the room. He does none of those, though: he stands frozen, his eyes suddenly decades older, as the distorted face of the man who is not Nie Mingjue rises out of the ground. The fierce corpse gnashes his teeth at the group. Wei Wuxian pulls out his flute and plays a few sharp notes, and the corpse’s motions still.

No one speaks until Nie Mingjue’s torso is mostly out of the ground, his hands still locked by dirt. Wei Wuxian plays a few more notes to stop the array shifting further.

“He’s locked in,” Wei Wuxian tells the room. “You can take a closer look if you like.”

Huaisang nods slowly, still blank-faced, and approaches the corpse. He falls to his knees, looking at the face eye to eye. He reaches a hand out for a moment, then snatches it back.

“The body really is da-ge,” he says. He chokes back a sob. “He got that scar on his elbow when we were kids. He fell off his horse, and the first thing he did was make sure I got off mine safely—”

He shakes his head, violently scrambling to his feet and away to bury his face in Jiang Cheng’s shoulder. “It’s him. Definitely him.”

“I can get the head off?” Wei Wuxian offers. Huaisang mumbles permission, and Wei Wuxian steps in and quickly snips the small neat stitches binding the unfamiliar head to Nie Mingjue’s neck. He pulls the head up by its braided hair, and it snaps at Wei Wuxian’s fingers the instant it comes free. He whistles sharply at it and it settles down.

“Anyone know who this is?” he asks.

Huaisang shakes his head, stepping back from Jiang Cheng and looking at the head. “Oh, I really don’t know.” He seems to have come back to himself a little, his fan up and shielding his face.

Wei Wuxian clucks his tongue. “Too bad. Well, I’ll try Empathy!”

“No,” Lan Zhan says. “The risk is unnecessary. I will use Inquiry.” Wei Wuxian sniffs and steps back, masking a small amount of hurt with a dramatic bow. Lan Zhan summons Wangji and plucks some notes. There’s no response, so Lan Zhan waits a long moment and plucks again. Still nothing.

“The soul cannot be summoned,” Lan Zhan says at last.

“Will not or cannot?” Wei Wuxian asks.

“I cannot say,” Lan Zhan says. “There are few spirits I cannot compel.” His golden eyes linger on Wei Wuxian for a long moment, and Wei Wuxian once again feels the uncomfortable gap hanging between him and the man he’d hoped was his true equal and friend.

“Empathy it is, then!” Wei Wuxian chirps. He sketches an array before anyone can stop him, and is hit with—

angry confused split fractured

Wei Wuxian comes back to himself to the sound of Jiang Cheng frantically shaking his clarity bell right beside Wei Wuxian’s ear.

“So I think the answer is they can’t talk, not that they won’t,” Wei Wuxian explains, settling back on his heels.

“You could have found that out some other way, you idiot!” Jiang Cheng snaps, silencing the bell and cuffing Wei Wuxian’s ear.

“Eh, I’ve learned something cool though!” Wei Wuxian says brightly, wiping a bit of blood from his nose. “Seems like the head’s spirit was kind of overpowered by Nie Mingjue. That’s why I can’t talk to it—too much of someone else’s energy flowing through it for too long. And Nie Mingjue’s spirit is no good for Empathy if there’s no head attached.”

Jiang Cheng picks up the head by its hair with a look of disgust. He turns it around, looking again at the face. “Wait,” he says abruptly. “I’ve met him.”

“Really?” Wei Wuxian peers closer. Nie Huaisang looks too, peeking over his fan at the head.

Jiang Cheng glares at the head as though that will help him sort through his memories. “His hair wasn’t braided then, but I met him in Lanling. He was wearing pink and gold, Laoling Qin colors. One of the younger brothers of the main family.”

“Huh,” Wei Wuxian says. “I don’t remember him at all.”

“He was at A-Jie’s wedding,” Jiang Cheng grits out. “Anyway, I don’t remember his name, but he was definitely Laoling Qin.”

Nie Huaisang’s fan flutters. “Oh, Jiang-xiong, how horrible! It means I absolutely can’t do anything to fix this!”

“Why?” Wei Wuxian asks. “What’d I miss?”

Jiang Cheng shakes his head. “Some sort of demon almost wiped out the Laoling Qin sect. Lanling Jin hunted down the demon and eliminated it, according to them, but Nie Mingjue wanted to investigate himself. He spent the last year of his life insisting the Jin Sect had covered something up, but he only got himself banned from Laoling.”

“If I or any other Nie cultivator step foot on Huahong Shunu’s territory…” Nie Huaisang shakes his head. “Oh, she’d absolutely kill me!”

"Huahong Shunu?" Wei Wuxian asks.

"Qin Su. Qin-zongzhu since Qin Cangye's death," Lan Zhan explains.

Huahong Shunu: Lady of Red Flowers. The title makes sense, Wei Wuxian reflects, with the crabapple blossom symbol of Laoling Qin.

Jiang Cheng looks at Lan Zhan and then at Wei Wuxian. For once, he thinks they’re on the same wavelength. “We’ll take the head to Laoling,” Jiang Cheng offers. “Qin-zongzhu will take a meeting from me. If we can reunite the head with the rest of the body, we might be able to learn something from the spirit.”

“Or something from the humans,” Wei Wuxian suggests.

Jiang Cheng inclines his head. “Or that. Maybe someone will try to feed us some useful bullshit.”

Huaisang nods. “Then, um, maybe I’ll… Oh, do you think we can take da-ge to er-ge?”

 One of the Nie cultivators muses, “The hard part will be keeping him contained on the road. It’ll take some powerful suppression, but we can do it. Easiest if we head straight there.”

Huaisang bobs and nods nervously. “Then we’ll do that!”

Jiang Cheng claps a hand on Huaisang’s shoulder. “We’ll get the head back home, then meet you in Cloud Recesses. If we find out anything about what happened to your brother, we’ll let you know.”

 Huaisang nods, eyes still on his brother. “Thank you,” he murmurs, and then he slides out of the room, as though he cannot bear to look at his brother’s corpse one moment longer.

It takes the rest of the day to bind Nie Mingjue’s corpse with enough talismans to make him safe to move and to balance the tomb’s energies enough that his removal doesn’t collapse the place around their ears. That done, the cultivators trudge back for one final night at the inn. Dinner perks up Wei Wuxian’s spirits as the juniors badger him for details about the tomb. Wei Wuxian embellishes all the gory details he can think of.

“I’m going to pack,” Wei Wuxian says as the meal settles down. He can see the kids shifting in their seats, ready to head for their nightly music session. “And maybe take a bath this evening.” 

“Good plan,” Jin Ling sniffs. “You all smell like dead people.”

Wei Wuxian smiles and does not look at Lan Zhan as he makes his way up the stairs.

As he roughly folds the last of his clothing and shoves the messy pile in the qiankun pouch Lan Zhan gave him, someone knocks softly at Wei Wuxian’s door.

“Yeah?” he calls out. 

The door slides open, and Lan Sizhui steps through. “Mo-qianbei,” he says with a bow. “Are you certain you wouldn’t like to join us with your dizi tonight? It looks like your packing is almost done.”

Wei Wuxian rubs a hand through his hair. “Did Lan Zhan put you up to this?” he asks.

“No,” Lan Sizhui admits. “But Hanguang-jun does not ask for much.” 

There is a soft familiarity to the way Lan Sizhui says Hanguang-jun , hidden beneath the formality and those impeccable Lan manners. This little junior has probably spent more time with Lan Zhan than Wei Wuxian ever had: after all, Wei Wuxian had only known Lan Zhan through a few months of a summer, a few years of a war. The juniors had spent more than a decade with Lan Zhan in the Cloud Recesses. Perhaps they had watched the slow thawing that had changed the Lan Zhan Wei Wuxian had known into the sort of man he is today.

“I’ll let you three Lans have an evening together,” Wei Wuxian smiles and says. “And anyways, I still smell like corpses. I’d better take a bath before Jin Ling catches wind of me again.”

“Very well,” Sizhui says, and pauses at the door. “We do enjoy your music and your company, though. Hanguang-jun especially. You would be very welcome.”

Wei Wuxian would be welcomed if he went, he knows that. By these two friendly juniors who, whether they would actually do it or not, ought to run Wei Wuxian through if they knew how many Lan cultivators he had killed near the end of his last life. By Lan Zhan, despite whatever things he can’t bring himself to say. He would be welcomed, and it feels like too much, tonight, to try to dance between being Mo Xuanyu and Wei Wuxian.

“Thanks,” Wei Wuxian tells Lan Sizhui sincerely, “but I’ll sit this one out.” 

“Okay,” Lan Sizhui says, and bows. He hesitates at the door for a moment. “But it just feels… right, with you around. Please consider it.”

Later in the bath, the warmth of the water chasing the chill of demonic cultivation from his skin, Wei Wuxian rests his head against the tub’s edge. This town gets quiet at night, the people settling early and no wildlife to speak of. Lotus Pier at night was loud—Wei Wuxian had been used to the tinkling of clarity bells, the croaking of innumerable frogs, the swish of the river. He’d hardly slept his first week in Gusu with how unnaturally still it was. He’d never told Lan Zhan, but that was half the reason he spent so much time wandering the Cloud Recesses after curfew. The other half of the reason, of course, was that it was fun, and particularly fun if he crossed paths with a certain overzealous young Jade of Lan. He aches with envy for that past self.

The night is not quite as still as Wei Wuxian had thought—he hears the sound of a guqin on the wind, trickling through his window. The song Lan Zhan won’t tell him the name of. Lan Zhan is still playing it when Wei Wuxian falls asleep.

Wei Wuxian is very proud of himself for successfully getting himself out of bed before his brother can arrive to drag him out. Surprisingly, he finds Jiang Cheng in his room, fussing over the proper arrangement of a particularly fancy set of deep purple sect leader robes. Jiang Cheng starts when he hears Wei Wuxian laugh.

“What?” Jiang Cheng snaps.

“Your belt is twisted,” Wei Wuxian says. Jiang Cheng rapidly runs his hand over his belt to find the twist, then glares at Wei Wuxian when he realizes it is smooth.

“Very funny,” he says with a roll of his eyes.

“Showing off for someone?” Wei Wuxian asks with a waggle of his eyebrows. “Hot date? Any date?”

Jiang Cheng huffs. “I am getting breakfast with Sect Leader Nie and therefore dressing nicely for the sake of intersect diplomacy, idiot.”

“Ah, Jiang-xiong!” Wei Wuxian sighs, fluttering a pretend fan and swooning dramatically against the door frame. “Can I offer you the… finest meal in Qinghe? Because I apparently have excellent taste in everything except men.”

Jiang Cheng growls and swipes at Wei Wuxian with Sandu’s sheath. Wei Wuxian skips out of the way, and Jiang Cheng drops the sword and chases Wei Wuxian into the hallway. “How the hell do you have the face to mock Huaisang’s taste in men, when you spent two months glued to his cutsleeve porn collection—”

“Excuse you, I was an open-minded scholar of fine erotic literature—hah, too slow—of all stripes!”

“—at least when you—fuck you, that’s my kidney—weren’t chasing around Lan Wangji, which just shows your shit taste in men—”

“Says Bachelor Number Five—Ow!—About Bachelor Number Two, and he was just fun to tease and I had eyes, anyone would have—”

“Jiujiu?” Jin Ling pokes his frowning head into the hallway, and the brothers stop their scrabbling and freeze. Jiang Cheng hastily releases Wei Wuxian from a headlock.

“Go train, idiot,” Jiang Cheng gruffly tells Wei Wuxian, as he self-consciously starts straightening his clothes again. “You better go through at least 10 full forms, or I’ll know and I’ll break your legs.” Wei Wuxian bows dramatically and begins to beat a retreat down the stairs.

“Have a fun time on your date with Nie-zongzhu!” he calls, and skips out of the inn, laughing at the indignant sounds behind him.

Wei Wuxian runs on the way to the training clearing, pushing himself a little to make his breath come fast and his muscles sing with the effort. It reminds him of being a teenager at Lotus Pier, back when he’d never walked somewhere if he could run instead. Running is painless again, now, not like it’d been at the end of his first life. If Jiang Cheng hadn’t pushed him to train, he might never have realized it. Wei Wuxian owes his brother for that one.

When he reaches the clearing, Wei Wuxian transitions into practicing Jiang forms with the training sword. Mo Xuanyu really has rebuilt some muscle in the past week, he realizes, pleasure sparking as he lunges forward in a confident strike. He focuses on making the form as smooth as possible, uniting his whole body behind each movement. When his muscles are warm and ready, he starts pushing into some of the higher level Jiang forms, the combinations that need a boost of spiritual power to land. It’s not perfect—the little Jiang shidis would have teased him endlessly over his occasional sloppy stumbles—but he can almost do it, can taste the edge of it, and for once it feels like a possibility instead of another cliff.

“Since when did you know the sixth form?” 

Wei Wuxian starts, and sees Jin Ling stepping through the last of the bushes into the clearing. It’s nice to see his nephew, less nice to see his scowl.

Wei Wuxian pauses, sweat dripping. “Is that what it is? I saw your uncle practicing it the other day, and I’m a quick study.”

“That isn’t an answer,” Jin Ling complains, arms crossed.

Wei Wuxian shrugs. “Isn’t it?” It’s as much of an answer as Mo Xuanyu should be able to give.  “Anyways, what’d you follow me out here for? And how’d you shake off the Jiang disciples looking after you?”

Jin Ling is normally a transparent kid, but right now his eyes are a little hard to read—just flat and stubborn. Jiang Cheng could probably tell what he’s thinking. Maybe Wei Wuxian would have been able to tell, too, in a world where he’d spent 16 years as Jin Ling’s dajiu instead of as the dead man responsible for his parents’ deaths.

“I wanna train,” Jin Ling says at last.

“With me?”

“Is that a problem?”

He startles a chuckle out of Wei Wuxian. “I guess not. Wanna work through second form, then?”

Jin Ling nods, and they settle together into the same Jiang form, moving mostly in sync through the pattern. He’s good, Wei Wuxian thinks with a flush of pride he knows is undeserved.

“Your wrist keeps folding at the end of your swing,” Wei Wuxian tells Jin Ling after a couple minutes. “You might wanna work on that before someone knocks your sword out of your hand.”

Jin Ling sputters at him. “I’ll fold my wrist into your face, then!”

Wei Wuxian clucks. “You really need to learn some better threats, shixiong.”

Jin Ling glares at Wei Wuxian as he thrusts forward with a ferocity that suggests just how much he’d like to stab someone. Nonetheless, his wrist stays more stable on the next swing.

“You have to be doing something wrong too,” Jin Ling mutters.

“I probably am!” Wei Wuxian says agreeably, and deliberately overreaches on his next step.  Jin Ling snorts, and they settle back into quiet practice. Wei Wuxian tries to press every moment of this time with his nephew into his memory.

“Hey, Jin Ling, watch your footwork. You do this little stutter-step sometimes—”

Jin Ling huffs. “My footwork is fine, it’s just a Jin thing—”

“If it’s a Jin thing, it is a Jin thing that will make you faceplant hilariously at a tournament sometime, and I will laugh.”

“You sound just like Jiujiu,” Jin Ling snaps. “He’s always getting on me about it.” Jin Ling glares at him again, that hard-to-read look, out of the corner of his eye. “Why do you sound so much like Jiujiu?”

Wei Wuxian keeps his gaze away from Jin Ling as he finishes the form and sheathes his sword. He doesn’t like the shape Jin Ling’s questions are starting to take, like he’s prying for the Yiling Laozu hidden beneath Mo Xuanyu. 

“Because he’s so scary I’ve started to mimic him in self defense,” he says wryly. “C’mon, let’s wrap up and head back.”

“No!” Jin Ling says sharply, leaving his blade unsheathed. “I wanna spar with you first.”

Wei Wuxian laughs, surprised. “Aiyo, that’s a terrible idea. Let’s just head back and get some breakfast. If I stay out too long, Jiang-zongzhu might start thinking I like training, and then where will I be?”

“Take it seriously already,” Jin Ling says, accusatory. “I want to spar you, and you’ve been avoiding me.”

“Ah, I just don’t want to get beaten up by my powerful shixiong! What if your sword slipped, and this fragile man fell to your blade?”

“If I hit you, it’ll be on purpose.” Jin Ling’s glare is icy. “And I’ve been watching you, and you’re good enough to fight me. So spar me, or give me a real reason why you can’t spar.”

Wei Wuxian huffs out a sigh. If he tries to run now, his nephew will only get more suspicious. And Wei Wuxian is selfish—every heartbeat he can draw this out is a little more time before it ends. “Fine,” he says at last, unsheathing his sword again. “Just play nice with this slow senior!”

“You better take it seriously,” Jin Ling snaps, and they face off against each other.

Jin Ling charges at Wei Wuxian with all the subtlety of a drunk Nie. He really does go slower than usual, as though he was testing a younger shidi. He’s slow enough that Wei Wuxian could easily dodge the heavy blow. But… Wei Wuxian decides to give the kid some face, parrying instead before he aims his own strike, matching Jin Ling’s pace. The kid huffs and goes to block, moving a little quicker this time.

Wei Wuxian speeds up a little, and Jin Ling matches him on the next exchange. Fighting Jin Ling is fun, even in slow motion, as he switches between his Jiang and Jin styles. Wei Wuxian challenges himself to stick to the most basic Jiang moves. He parries and slides low and out of the way as Jin Ling pushes a series of flashy Jin strikes and spins.

“Why’d you dodge left?” Jin Ling snaps.

“Practice,” Wei Wuxian says easily.

Jin Ling narrows his eyes. “Any Jin would have dodged right,” he says, pressing harder. “It’s, like, the second pattern you learn. Even Mo Xuanyu would have dodged right.”

Fuck. 

“I have a terrible memory,” Wei Wuxian says, parrying and sending Jin Ling staggering in a different direction. “And to be honest I’ve blocked out pretty much every moment I spent in Koi Tower.” He can see the countdown, now: Jin Ling can’t be certain, though, he can’t be, or wouldn’t he already have confronted the man who orphaned him?

Jin Ling makes a frustrated sound, regroups, and puts enough qi behind his next blows to make Wei Wuxian actually work. He finds himself backing across the clearing as Jin Ling cuts at him with a decisive series of Jiang-style strikes.

“Hey, go easy on your elders,” Wei Wuxian pants, making a little bit of space with a block and slash.

“That was a Jiang block,” Jin Ling snaps.

“Well, yeah, that’s what I’ve been—”

“Not, like, a kid’s block. A good block. How long did you train with Yunmeng Jiang to do that?”

Jin Ling speeds up to a dangerous pace. Wei Wuxian’s feet want to fall back into his Yiling Laozu style, focused on dodging and disarming an opponent with a stronger core. He tries to force them to stay Jiang, to stay simple.

“C’mon, shixiong,” Wei Wuxian wheedles, “I’m getting a little tired. Can we call it?”

“Don’t call me that!” Jin Ling spits. “Just tell me who you are!”

Wei Wuxian’s arms are burning, his qi nearly depleted. “Do you really want to know?” he pants. “Can’t I just keep being your shidi?” He doesn’t deserve such a second chance, but he wishes with all his heart that he could have it anyway.

Jin Ling hits harder, one last combination that leaves Wei Wuxian breathless. Jin Ling slides his sword just so, Wei Wuxian’s own disarming strike, and Wei Wuxian lets his nephew send the training sword flying out of his hand and rattling to the ground. Jin Ling levels his sword out and points the tip at Wei Wuxian’s throat. 

“Of course I want to know,” Jin Ling snaps. “Stop lying to me and tell me—are you Wei Wuxian?”

Jin Ling’s face is twisted with anger and desperation; his sword trembles. This, at last, is the look Wei Wuxian had expected him to give the Yiling Laozu.

“Yes, I am,” Wei Wuxian says, closing his eyes. “And I’m so, so, sorry.”

Jin Ling draws a long, shuddering breath, and the sword grazes Wei Wuxian’s throat, a tiny bead of red welling up. Wei Wuxian prepares himself for Suihua’s bite.

Instead, the blade wobbles more. Wei Wuxian realizes his nephew’s shoulders are starting to shake with sobs. “Oh, kid,” he says sympathetically. “I’m so sorry.”

“You keep saying that,” Jin Ling snarls. “Do you even know what you’re sorry about?”

Wei Wuxian chokes back a bitter laugh. What isn’t he sorry for? “It’s a very long list. For your mother. For your father. For coming back. I never wanted to hurt you; I should have left the moment I was brought back and stayed out of your lives for good—”

“That’s a shitty way to say you’re sorry!” Jin Ling snaps. “If you were really sorry, you would have told me in Lotus Pier. You could’ve told me what really happened.” His face scrunches with tears. “And then if you really cared, you could have told me stories about A-Die and A-Niang. Instead you just lied and lied and let me think I liked you!”

Jin Ling’s hand gives one last violent shake, and he pulls his father’s sword away from Wei Wuxian’s chest and shoves it into its sheath. Without another word, he spins on his heel and flees into the forest.

Wei Wuxian had known this was going to happen. He’d known he deserved it. That doesn’t make it hurt any less.

Wei Wuxian is the worst possible person to follow Jin Ling, but he also can’t leave his nephew alone in a forest where the kid had been kidnapped and drugged only days ago. He flicks one talisman to cling to Jin Ling’s back, and then burns the alarm talisman he gave to Jiang Cheng. Within a couple minutes, Jiang Cheng hurtles into the clearing on Sandu, four disciples flanking him.

“What happened?” Jiang Cheng demands, Zidian sparking.

“Jin Ling found out about me and ran off,” Wei Wuxian explains. “He’s okay physically and I’ve got a tracking talisman on him, but he was pretty pissed that I lied to him. And that I’m...who I am.”

Jiang Cheng swears and turns to his disciples. “Fan out and look for trouble. I’ll find Jin Ling, you make sure nothing else finds him first.”

Jiang Cheng and the other Jiang cultivators take off on their swords, and there’s nothing for Wei Wuxian to do but slink back to the inn and think about his own mistakes.

Jiang Cheng comes back alone an hour later, sweeping into Wei Wuxian’s room and sinking down onto the floor.

“Is Jin Ling okay?” Wei Wuxian demands.

“He will be.” Jiang Cheng puts his elbows on his knees and drops his head in his hands. “He asked to go back to Lanling, so some of my disciples are taking him there.”

Wei Wuxian winces. “I really fucked up, if he’d rather be in Lanling than around me.”

“Oh, the mighty Yiling Laozu thinks he can take all the credit for this shitshow?” Jiang Cheng snaps. “Like you’re the only one who could have told him? Like it would have been better coming from you than from me?” Jiang Cheng digs his fingers into his hair, pulling at his guan.

“Well, there hasn’t really been a great time for it,” Wei Wuxian suggests. “We’ve been kind of busy, with the extra murdery fierce corpses running around.”

Jiang Cheng laughs bitterly. “You’ve always got a good excuse for a lie, don’t you?”

Wei Wuxian shrugs. “They’re not so good these days, I guess.”

“Then cut back on them. Your bullshit is contagious.” 

They  sink into a heavy silence. After a while, Jiang Cheng finally speaks, gruff and tentative.

“Have you told— him ? Who you are?”

Wei Wuxian blinks. That isn’t the particular bitter him that Jiang Cheng reserves for Lan Zhan, and Lan Zhan already knows who Wei Wuxian is anyway. “Have I told who?”

Jiang Cheng clenches his jaw, expression closing off. “Never mind. None of my business, I guess. Come on, let’s get ready to leave.”

Jiang-zongzhu takes a moment to straighten his robes and settle into his straight-backed sect leader’s posture before striding for the inn’s stairs. Wei Wuxian follows behind. Whether the people they’re traveling with see Mo Xuanyu, Yiling Laozu, or someone else entirely—well, Wei Wuxian has no idea anymore.

Chapter Text

Their arrival at Willow Shade Manor, the home of Laoling Qin, was clearly expected.

Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji, in violet sect leader regalia and blindingly white formal robes respectively, seem unsurprised to see a neatly organized greeting party of pink-clad cultivators file out from the gates and down the stairs of Laoling Qin’s walled compound. It makes sense, Wei Wuxian guesses: Laoling Qin’s manor is nestled in a rare band of hills that rises above the endless yellow plain, so it’d be easy to see anyone coming. Even easier, when there were plenty of farmers in their fields and merchants in the wealthy plains towns to watch the group pass through.

Wei Wuxian stands behind Jiang Cheng, fidgeting in the light blue inner robe and purple outer robe of the more formal Jiang Sect outfit that Jiang Cheng gave him. The Jiang disciples are more regimented than Wei Wuxian has ever seen them,  snapped into lines as neat as the rows of crabapple trees lining the approach to Laoling Qin. 

The Qin cultivators split, and a small figure robed in expensive pink silks moves to the front of them.

“Qin-zongzhu,” Jiang Cheng says and bows, and Wei Wuxian bows alongside the rest of the Jiang delegation.

“Jiang-zongzhu, Hanguang-jun.” The woman acknowledges with a bow, hands politely gripping her sword. Qin-zongzhu is delicate-featured and a head shorter than most of the cultivators around her, but a subtle gravity pulls the attention of the men and women present towards her. Her gaze sweeps over the visiting cultivators, lingering on Wei Wuxian for a moment. Her smile is as polite as Zewu-jun’s, but her large, deep eyes have a wariness that reminds Wei Wuxian more of Jiang Cheng. “Welcome to Willow Shade Manor.”

“Thank you, Qin-zongzhu,” Jiang Cheng replies. He glances at the Qin cultivators. “Quite the greeting to prepare for us without notice.”

“Little notice, but not none,” Qin Su says with a smile. “Do you plan to stay long?”

What are you doing here? Wei Wuxian hears in her words.

Lan Wangji speaks up. “The results of a night hunt.”

“How curious. I assume you aren’t after the same prey as the Ouyang and Yao juniors? Their case is most likely not a demonic cultivator, only some dead animals. Not a matter that I would expect to draw Hanguang-jun and Shuangjian Shengshou.”

Jiang Cheng looks somber. “This isn’t about a recent disturbance, but it is Laoling Qin’s business. You do want to know, and you want to learn in private.”

Qin Su’s hand holding her sword tightens slightly. “I look forward to hearing this urgent information, Jiang-zongzhu. Please, join me in Green Blade Hall. Your disciples will be led to their quarters, or they are free to wander the gardens. Your juniors are welcome to practice with the other visitors in the west yard if they wish.”

“Yunmeng Jiang appreciates your generosity,” Jiang Cheng says. He sounds like a diplomat who never heard of a temper in his whole life. Wei Wuxian wishes he’d been around to see Jiang Cheng learn that particular trick.

The Lan juniors and Jiang disciples follow after a Qin cultivator as Jiang Cheng and Lan Zhan follow Qin Su. Wei Wuxian hesitates, then joins the disciples. At least he can do some scouting.

A casual visitor could mistake Laoling Qin for an imperial garden. The compound’s paths wind between colorful flower beds, and its trees are shaped to harmonize with the carefully chosen artistic rocks. But there’s more to it: Wei Wuxian can feel the spiritual energy humming through the sculptures of lion-dogs and dragons, proudly guarding each threshold deeper into the compound.

The buildings, too, tell him something of the sect’s history. The newer buildings show their allegiance to Laoling Jin, decorated with the overwrought golden carvings that Koi Tower’s artisans specialize in.  The older buildings, the ones that have stood for centuries rather than decades, tend toward a simpler style. At least they have decent roofs, Wei Wuxian thinks as he examines them. The angle is a little steeper than he prefers for an extended perch, but the shape of the tiles looks easy to keep a grip on.

Wei Wuxian imagines his brother snapping at him to keep a low profile, and snorts and gives up (mostly) on his chances of exploring Willow Shade Manor’s roofs.

They come near the center of the compound, swerving around a set of buildings surrounded by a moat. As serious as the wards around the outer walls had been, the ones around this moat crackle with even more spiritual energy, enough to keep anything without permission from going out or in. Most of the wards have been around for a while, he’s guessing, but have been regularly reinforced.

“What’s that?” Wei Wuxian asks their guide.

“That’s the Qin family’s residence,” the man explains. “When tensions were rising before the Sunshot Campaign, we built some extra layers of protections around the family quarters so they could serve as a second line of defense for the sect if we were attacked.”

“Huh. Looks like it can hold a lot of people!”

“It used to.”

Before a demon broke through that wall and killed 50 people in a quarter shichen, Wei Wuxian assumes. He knows how quickly a single moment—a child’s arrow through a kite, a fight in a valley—can split a life into before and after.

 There’s a cracked old protective statue on the edge of the moat. Wei Wuxian thoughtfully traces the contour of the lion’s snarl. A fissure breaks through the carved protection arrays at the statue’s base, shattering the once-powerful shielding it must have once offered. Two brand-new statues nearby fill its former place in the array.

“It’s so well-built. A demon could break through that?” Wei Wuxian asks, trying to look wide-eyed.

“A demon with a horde of ghosts and fierce corpses to back it up,” the Qin cultivator says. His eyes flash. “We’ve made the wards much stronger since then. If they attacked today, we’d fry them.”

 “Definitely!” Wei Wuxian says, giving the Qin cultivator a reassuring smile. As the conversation turns to the beauty of the Qin gardens, his mind flicks through the options for the source of the attack. So many undead would not normally have banded together without a shared grievance. And why would they have thrown themselves against such a powerful ward?

The group moves on towards the guest area of the compound, and the Qin cultivator reluctantly settles Wei Wuxian in a room. Once he’s alone, Wei Wuxian flops on a bed and pulls out a sheet of talisman paper. He cuts it into a neat paperman and then sinks his spiritual cognition into the figure. When he opens his eyes again, he’s four inches tall and ready to fly.

As the paperman, he swoops its way across the compound, following a servant towards the receiving room in Green Blade Hall. He flits past a display of expensive jade instruments, swirls along a screen painted with bamboo and crabapple blossoms, and perches on a high window looking down into a space decorated in opulent shades of pink and gold. Lan Wangji and Jiang Cheng kneel at a table carved with peonies and crabapples, a wish for good fortune and a clear reminder of which sects anyone picking a fight with Laoling Qin can expect to contend with.

“—was uncertain, but it may belong to one of your brothers. May we show you?”

“Please do,” Qin Su says solemnly. Out of Lan Zhan and Jiang Cheng’s sight below the table, Qin Su’s hands bunch in her robes.

The undead head stands out the instant Lan Zhan draws it from the bag, a dark stain against the elegance and light of the room. The wards on it have stilled the head’s motion: it does not bite or snap, its eyes mercifully closed.

Qin Su gasps, a small sharp breath as she leans across the table to gently lift the head from Lan Wangji’s grip. “A-Ran,” she breathes. She gently runs a thumb along the corpse’s cheek. They are siblings, no doubt: if Wei Wuxian couldn’t have seen that from the shape of their eyes and noses, he would have known it from the broken-open expression on her face. “Oh, A-Ran.”

She looks up at Lan Wangji and Jiang Cheng. Her voice trembles only slightly, and her eyes well up with unshed tears. “This is indeed my youngest brother, Qin Jingyang. Thank you for bringing him home. I had thought his body and soul shredded beyond—” she cuts herself off. “This is more of him than I had ever hoped I would have to bury. Thank you.”

“Mn.” Lan Wangji inclines his head. “It is the least we could do.”

Qin Su places the head carefully on the table, a spot of blight against the pink and gold blossoms worked into the table.

“There was nothing of the rest of him?” she asks. She begins to undo one of the corpse head’s braids, her hands gentle. Wei Wuxian feels a painful lump in his throat. Shijie combed his hair like that, once.

“Not where we found him.” Jiang Cheng stays solemn and even. “His head was attached to the body of Nie Mingjue, and they were both under the control of the demonic cultivator.”

Qin Su’s eyes flutter shut for a second. She slows her breathing, smoothing the hitch of grief from them. When her eyes open again, they blaze. 

“Is the demonic cultivator dead?”

“No, he escaped.”

Qin Su bows. “Then I humbly beg Shuangjian Shengshou and Huanguang-jun for all information you have on him. Laoling Qin will make hunting him a priority.”

Jiang Cheng bows, matching her depth. “We will hunt alongside you.”

“That is unnecessary,” Qin Su says sharply. She shakes a braid free. Her fingers trail along the ragged skin at the edge of her brother’s neck, marked with holes. She takes a deep breath and centers herself again. “Please do not mistake this for ingratitude. But whatever sort of monster desecrated my brother’s corpse this way deserves death, and Laoling Qin has claimed too little vengeance for too many losses.”

“Didn’t Laoling Qin kill the attacking demon?” Jiang Cheng frowned.

“No, our allies from Lanling Jin tracked the wounded demon and handled the final killing,” Qin Su explained tersely. “Qin sect cultivators were busy searching for survivors, containing the fires, and destroying or suppressing the lesser ghosts that lingered. We are grateful for Lanling Jin’s assistance in that time and since, but I am sure Jiang-zongzhu understands that such an end leaves some desire for vengeance unslaked.”

“I do understand, Qin-zongzhu,” Jiang Cheng says, resting his left hand across Zidian, running a thumb along it as if for comfort. “I promise you, I am happy to leave the kill to Laoling Qin. However, this man attacked and injured my nephew Jin Rulan as well as two Lan juniors. Our sects also have a stake in bringing him in. Can we share information?”

Qin Su looks reluctant. Jiang Cheng shrugs. “Of course, if the Nie sect finds the man who has been controlling Nie Mingjue before either you or I do…”

Qin Su almost winces, then inclines her head with a smile. “A reasonable point. We can share what is pertinent. Do you know, then, whether Nie Mingjue was under the demonic cultivator’s control all this time? Was my brother?”

“We don’t know,” Jiang Cheng says. “But I hope we might learn more from visiting here. I assume Qin Jingyang died in the attack?”

“He did,” Qin Su confirms. “Along with our older brother, and our mother, father, uncles and cousins.”

“Can you tell us about the attack?” Lan Zhan asks.

Qin Su’s hands pause in her brother’s hair. “I have described it in the records of multiple sect conferences,” she says. “I can have a copy from the library brought for you.”

Jiang Cheng frowns. “The old records might be useful, but I was at most of those conferences, and I didn’t hear anything that would tell me why your brother would have ended up as a fierce corpse under a demonic cultivator’s control. I thought the Qin and Jin sects fully settled the resentful energy from the attack.”

“We did,” Qin Su says tersely. “Any spirits that were not destroyed were trapped in a suppression array that is kept well-protected in the heart of our compound. However, many of the bodies were too damaged to identify, and some lesser undead could have escaped through the night’s chaos.”

“Were there attempts to contact the souls of the deceased, or—”

“Further details of the cleanup and investigation are Qin and Jin sect business. I will reexamine our private records for clues to the identity of the demonic cultivator controlling my brother, and I will share relevant information with you.”

Jiang Cheng frowns. “But who knows what’s relevant at this point? We should sort through for clues together.”

Qin Su smiles tightly. “I would think Jiang-zongzhu would understand my distaste for once again telling the details of that particular night.”

Jiang Cheng winces, but Lan Zhan replies instead.

“The Laoling Qin sect deserves truth and justice,” he says. “We can help.”

“Truth and justice?” Qin Su says, her smile fixed. “If only they were as inseparable from each other as a man from his shadow.”

 Lan Wangji holds Qin Su’s gaze.

“They are,” he says. “Without truth, the just reward or punishment cannot be known. Truth is the gateway to justice. It is left to the judge to step through.”

“Would that more men were inclined to step through.”

“Mn.” Lan Zhan inclines his head in acknowledgment.

Qin Su considers Lan Zhan for a long moment. “I will investigate and consider your request tonight. I remain grateful that you returned Qin Jingyang home. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy the hospitality of our house. The meal should be pleasant.”

She stands, and Lan Zhan and Jiang Cheng follow her cue. Wei Wuxian flits his paperman away as they work through their polite bows of dismissal.

A stick of incense later, Wei Wuxian is sprawled across the bed in Lan Zhan’s very fancy guest quarters, staring at the ceiling as Jiang Cheng paces and Lan Zhan makes tea.

“You’d think she’d give us something more than the notes from her library,” Jiang Cheng snaps. “She’s been scrambling to keep her sect alive for 13 years, and then acts like she doesn’t care at all about catching whoever was dancing her brother around like a puppet!”

“She does care,” Lan Zhan says. Wei Wuxian hears tea pour into a cup. Lan Zhan’s back remains graceful and unbent. “She is concealing something.”

“How did Qin Jingyang come back as a fierce corpse anyway?” Wei Wuxian asks the ceiling. “He should have had plenty of soul-calming ceremonies. He’d have had to be at the center of a huge surge of resentful energy, like if he’d—”

Wei Wuxian’s mouth snaps shut, revelation followed by a sharp sense of guilt.

“If he’d what?” Jiang Cheng asks sharply. There’s a second of silence—Wei Wuxian doesn’t look over, but he can practically feel it as his brother reads his expression. Understanding dawns. “Oh fuck. Really?”

“It fits,” Wei Wuxian says with false cheer. “Why Qin Su thought his soul was shredded, why a demon would bother tearing straight through some very thick wards, and why she and the Jin would want to keep a close lid on it. Aren’t I a clever one.”

Wei Wuxian hears robes rustle—Lan Zhan turning, he assumes. “Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan asks, concerned.

“Qin Jingyang was a demonic cultivator,” Wei Wuxian explains carelessly. “He was trying something particularly dumb, and he summoned way too much resentful energy to control. It broke the wards and killed a bunch of people, and he’d loaded himself with enough resentful energy to end up turning himself into a fierce corpse when it killed him. I guess that’s one of the other ways it can go, if you don’t vaporize yourself like I did.”

“Wei Ying.” Lan Zhan sounds distressed, and Wei Wuxian can hardly bear it.

“Anyways!” he says. “That’s some of the mystery solved. Maybe Qin Jingyang knew another demonic cultivator, and that’s who ended up bossing him around after he died. And who broke the wards, since some demonic cultivator had weakened them before all that energy smashed through. Fun, isn’t it, to see how many of my disciples can pop up in a single disaster?”

“I am absolutely done dealing with your shitty lookalikes,” Jiang Cheng groans. “But fuck it, I guess we’ve got another one to deal with. If there was some clue from 13 years ago, where would we find it?”

Wei Wuxian sits up and shrugs. “My best guess? There might be something in the family compound. Maybe I could piece something together or pry out a spirit for Empathy. Hey, I could sneak over the walls tonight.”

“Absolutely not,” Lan Zhan and Jiang Cheng say a split second apart. Wei Wuxian is glad he’s watching so he can see the moment of surprised horror that passes between them at agreeing with each other.

“But it makes sense,” he protests. “If either of you do it, you’ll pick a fight between your sect and Laoling Qin. I can just be a rogue new disciple that you can punish however you need.”

Jiang Cheng makes a strangled noise. “Any fucking plan that involves me needing to kick you out of the Jiang sect again is a shitty fucking plan, and I’m not doing it. If I have to say that again, I will say it with Zidian wrapped around your neck.”

“Oh.” Wei Wuxian blinks. “Wait, if I can be kicked out—am I part of the Jiang Sect again, then?”

Jiang Cheng sputters and throws up his hands. “How would I know? Maybe?”

Something warms in Wei Wuxian’s chest. “What, Jiang-zongzhu, are you that terrible at keeping track of sect paperwork that you don’t even know if I’m in the sect or not?”

“What matters is I’ll kick your ass if you lose face for Yunmeng Jiang,” Jiang Cheng growls. “I say we go to the dinner, act like normal people who aren’t an embarrassment to their sects, and try to talk Qin Su into telling us more tomorrow. No drama, just a standard diplomatic visit. Got it?”

Wei Wuxian sighs dramatically, grinning. “You’ve gotten so boring in your old age. But sure, I can keep the drama down just for you.”

Wei Wuxian doesn’t need to be dramatic: the baby Ouyang who has forcibly befriended the little Lans has it covered. Wei Wuxian contents himself with hovering an inconspicuous distance behind as the juniors make their way towards the banquet hall. It’s good to see the Lans with a new friend, Wei Wuxian tells himself.  Just—odd, when he wishes the third kid with them was still Jin Ling.

“You mean you haven’t heard the story of Lianfang-zun and Huahong Shunu?” the Ouyang junior asks the Lans, incredulous.

“I know a little!” Jingyi says defensively. “Everyone knows they were engaged.”

“Ah, I didn’t,” Sizhui admits. “I’m afraid gossip is banned in Cloud Recesses.”

“But this isn’t gossip!” Ouyang Zizhen protests. “It’s romance .”

He launches into an explanation of their story: apparently Jin Guangyao had saved Qin Su’s life during the war, at which point they had fallen immediately and irrevocably in love. Qin Su had pleaded for her parents to accept the match (here Zizhen falls briefly to his knees in a reenactment, alarming Sizhui), and in time all obstacles fell away against the force of True Love.

Then, one month before the wedding, her sect was massacred. Qin Su found herself as the only living member of the Qin clan and stepped into the role of Qin sect leader. She could no longer marry out of her sect, and so the engagement was broken.

“From red flowers of wedding presents to bloodied crabapple blossoms!” Zizhen exclaims. “But their bond has remained as pure as snow, with Lianfang-zun supporting Huahong Shunu as she has rebuilt her sect, and Huahong Shunu standing beside Lianfang-zun as he has risen to Chief Cultivator.”

The kids scatter under the glares of the Qin cultivators as they reach the doors of the dining hall. It’s been set up for a banquet, with rows of low tables set out for the visiting cultivators.

The Qin cultivators gently direct the visiting cultivators to their spaces: Jiang Cheng is settled to Qin Su’s left, the highest-ranked seat for the highest-ranked visitor. Wei Wuxian sits beside him, and the other Jiangs settle in rows behind them. Lan Wangji sits directly facing Jiang Cheng across the space of the hall. Qin cultivators and the band of visiting juniors of other sects fill in the remaining space. All the remaining space, that is, except for the spot directly next to Wei Wuxian.

That seat stays empty until halfway through the first course, when a glimpse of gold robes catches Wei Wuxian’s eye. He spins, hoping—but no, of course it’s not Jin Ling. Some visiting Jin cultivator sprawls himself into the empty space, wearing a smile like a knife.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Xuanyu,” the cultivator drawls, leaning onto Wei Wuxian’s table and spinning one of Wei Wuxian’s chopsticks between his gloved fingers like a flute. He gives Wei Wuxian a slow up-and-down look. “Wasn’t expecting to see you here, but it certainly improves the view.”

Wei Wuxian quickly sizes up the Jin cultivator, putting a smile on his face as Jiang Cheng tenses beside him. He’s a young man about Mo Xuanyu’s age; not too surprising that he knew Mo Xuanyu. No dot to mark him as part of the inner clan, but his clothes and his wicked-looking sword are nice enough to suggest he’s fairly well favored. Wei Wuxian makes the smile a little timid, just in case. “Oh! I wasn’t expecting you either, gongzi.”

“Suddenly so formal, Xuanyu,” the cultivator drawls. “Are you trying to break my heart?”

Oh. Wei Wuxian knew that Mo Xuanyu was at least rumored to be a cutsleeve, but the knowledge means something a little different when sitting next to Mo Xuanyu’s possible former lover.

“Forgive this disciple for his formality,” Wei Wuxian purrs, fluttering his eyelashes at the cultivator like he was one of the girls who sought Wei Wuxian out in the market. “I wasn’t sure what terms we left on. What should I call you?”

“My courtesy name is fine.” The Jin cultivator grins, all angles and sharpness. “Or you can just call me gege.”

Well. Good thing Wei Wuxian is shameless. “So what brings you here, gege?”

“Running some errands, seeing some sights,” the Jin cultivator shrugs. “You know how it is, when the boss gets a bee in his bonnet.” He pops a piece of candy out of a pocket and sucks on it, idly looking around the room. He grins at Lan Wangji, oddly enough. Lan Wangji glares back, then pointedly redirects his attention towards the first course of the meal.

Wei Wuxian had expected the meal to be unbearably stuffy, like most sect banquets were. Jiang Cheng’s conversation lives up to Wei Wuxian’s expectations: he talks with Qin-zongzhu and her nice merchant husband about river rights, the prospect of the grain harvest this year, and some convoluted debate about silks that Jiang Cheng gets very invested in. But Wei Wuxian’s meal stays lively. The Jin cultivator is a good conversationalist as well as a ridiculous flirt. He’d helped design some improvements on the Qin wards after the massacre, and while he took a little too much glee in describing the details of the scene afterward (and the scenes of three other sect massacres), they had a great chat about protection arrays. Wei Wuxian has to hold himself back from suggesting anything too demonic, but the Jin cultivator’s lively mind always offers up some interesting point to debate.

The flirting is fun, too: he’d loved flirting, before, the elaborate compliments and clever jokes and “aren’t we both wonderful” fun of it all. He hadn’t been able to just play with flirting like this since he’d finally helped his band of ghost jiejies move on. They’d never been too serious about it: after all, they all knew Wei Wuxian didn’t have a golden core for them to drain.

Jiang Cheng’s focus is mostly on his intensely boring conversation with Qin Su, but he still twitches every time Wei Wuxian calls the Jin cultivator “gege.” It’s like he can’t keep himself from glancing across the way at where the Lans are sitting. There’s nothing unusual there: Lan Wangji concentrates on his meal, occasionally leveling a glare at the loud Jin cultivator. The more amusing sight is behind him, where the Ouyang boy is gossiping furiously at the little Lans. They occasionally give Lan Zhan nervous looks, but Lan Zhan is too preoccupied with his food and the Qins’ conversation to give the boys a scolding about gossip being forbidden.

The Jin cultivator’s flirting gets more and more outrageous over the course of the meal. He leans closer into Wei Wuxian’s space, finding excuses to lightly brush his arm or touch along his leg, reaching across Wei Wuxian to steal a bite off his plate. Wei Wuxian, of course, steals a bite back. It comes to a head near the end of the meal, as the cultivator sneaks a small dessert off his plate, letting his hand linger on Wei Wuxian’s thigh.

“Xuanyu,” he says with a wicked grin, “What a lovely new dizi tucked in your belt! Can I have a closer look? Or would you like to see mine?”

“Gege—” Wei Wuxian starts to reply, and stops when he hears porcelain shatter.

Lan Wangji opens his hand, and the shards of a once-beautiful teacup fall out. The Jin cultivator’s hand disappears from his thigh.

“Apologies,” Lan Wangji murmurs, bowing to his hosts as a servant quickly sweeps up the porcelain.

“My apologies for the flawed cup,” Qin-zongzhu says smoothly. “The servants will bring a replacement that meets the usual standards of Laoling Qin.” She shoots a look at the Jin cultivator. “Xue Chengmei, is something the matter with your cushion?”

He tries to look innocent, but the expression doesn’t fit naturally on his face. “Of course not, Qin-zongzhu!” Xue Chengmei chirps, and slides back to his own seat. He remains there for the rest of the meal.

At the end of the dinner, after the guests have bowed to their hosts and prepared to return to their rooms, Xue Chengmei tugs on Wei Wuxian’s sleeve. “Wanna have a bit more fun?” he smirks.

Wei Wuxian hesitates and catches Jiang Cheng’s eye. It’d be useful to see if he could get anything out of Xue Chengmei in private, at least. “Mo Xuanyu,” Jiang Cheng barks. “Meditation exercises in my room, two incense stick’s time. Don’t make me track you down.”

“Got it, zongzhu!” Wei Wuxian chirps, and follows Xue Chengmei out of the dining hall. He feels Lan Zhan’s eyes on him as he goes. If he passes the second incense stick without showing up in Jiang Cheng’s quarters, Wei Wuxian wonders whether it’d be worse for Xue Chengmei if Jiang Cheng found them or if Lan Zhan did.

Xue Chengmei pulls Wei Wuxian around a corner and into a secluded path between buildings. He leans up against a wall, smirking.

“You owe me a drink, Xuanyu,” he drawls. “I lost some good coin betting you’d be dead within a year after you got kicked out.”

“That seems short,” Wei Wuxian protests.

“Hey, I also said you’d make it at least six months. That’s better than most of Koi Tower thought. But look at you, though!” Xue Chengmei gives Wei Wuxian one leisurely look up and down and whistles. “Not only alive, but with Jiang purple robes to wear during the day and Hanguang-jun to take them off you at night.”

What? Wei Wuxian’s brain scrambles for footing like a cat on ice. Of all the possible misunderstandings Xue Chengmei could have of his situation, he never would have imagined that. Of course Mo Xuanyu would have been attracted to Hanguang-jun! What cutsleeve with eyes, or even just ears to hear that sonorous voice of his, wouldn’t be? But the Second Jade of Lan wanting to take the robes off some random demonic cultivator or, even worse, Yiling Laozu—

Wei Wuxian bursts out laughing, a bit more hysterically than he would like.

“Oh wow, you got that wrong! He wouldn’t— We’re not—”

“Seriously, you’re not hitting that?” Xue Chengmei says skeptically. He brightens. “Well, since he’s clearly got a taste for bad boys, don’t mind me if I go climb him like a tree.”

“Absolutely not,” Wei Wuxian says hurriedly. “I mean, he doesn’t have a taste for bad boys. Why would you think that?”

Xue Chengmei cackles. “You’re kidding me, right? He looks at you like he wants to eat you alive. You’re welcome, by the way. The way I had him chugging vinegar at dinner, he’s going to pound you into the mattress tonight if you loosen up and give him a shot.”

Xue Chengmei draws closer into Wei Wuxian’s space. “Or, if he’s not your type, I’d be happy to spend the night with you,” he purrs. “Just in case I haven’t made that clear enough.”

Wei Wuxian gulps and backs up against the wall, laughing again. “Ha, nope, nope, thanks for the lovely time at dinner, but Jiang-zongzhu’s expecting me. You know how it is.”

“Sect leaders,” Xue Chengmei sighs, leaning closer. “No sense of fun or style. They just want things done and wrapped up neatly. Where’s the joy in work if you can’t play around or show off just a little?”

“Exactly what I’ve always said,'' Wei Wuxian babbles. “Yep, playing’s great, but you don’t argue with the guy with the whip.”

“One parting gift, to see how jealous we can make your handsome man in white,” Xue Chengmei breathes into his ear, mouth ghosting along Wei Wuxian’s face like he might turn his lips into a kiss. He runs his hand into Wei Wuxian’s hair, the other hand gripping hard at his robes. He lets go just as Wei Wuxian starts to draw on a whisper of demonic energy, ready to lash out and push him away.

“Have fun with that one,” Xue Chengmei says, stepping back with his dangerous eyes dancing with mischief. He glances to the end of the alleyway. “Looks like I’ve got to go. A pity; next time we meet, I’ll probably be working. But if you like, you can call me A-Yang.”

Wei Wuxian sees a swish of white disappear from the end of the alley, and Xue Chengmei vanishes the other direction.

Wei Wuxian stands alone in the alley long after Xue Chengmei has left. He should, he supposes, smooth his ruffled hair and disordered robes. Instead, he finds himself frozen, Xue Chengmei’s words running through his mind on repeat. 

Hanguang-jun to take them off you at night. 

Pound you into the mattress.  

Is that the thing Jiang Cheng thinks Lan Zhan wants? How laughable! Lan Zhan had hated him since they first met; even if he’d thawed in the last decade, he certainly didn’t want Wei Wuxian like that! Just because Lan Zhan buys him whatever snacks he wants in the markets, and puts up with his racket on the dizi in the evenings, and—

Looks at you like he wants to eat you alive, Xue Chengmei’s voice murmurs in his mind—

Well. Maybe it’d be plausible, if it wasn’t so utterly ridiculous. It’s not like he wants Lan Zhan to—Wei Wuxian can feel his face heat as he tries to push the image away.

 Wei Wuxian makes it to his brother’s room just as the second incense stick would be crumbling. Jiang Cheng is pacing, and Lan Wangji sits straight-backed at the table. His eyes dart up at Wei Ying and then away. Wei Wuxian tries very hard not to imagine what Lan Zhan would look like after peeling off his robes. Or after peeling off someone else’s robes.

“I’m back!” Wei Wuxian says cheerily. He’s only a little flushed, probably.

Jiang Cheng sets his jaw, eyes flicking over Wei Wuxian’s mussed hair and clothes. “Do I need to kick his ass?”

“Haha, nope!” Wei Wuxian’s voice is high-pitched. “Because we just had a totally boring conversation where I learned nothing of interest, and then we. Um. Sparred! Very briefly! Um. Who would have thought a Jin cultivator would actually know how to use his sword?”

Jiang Cheng gives Wei Wuxian a long and speechless look. “I need a fucking drink,” he says at last, and stalks over to the table to pour two generous bowls of wine.

“Not like that,” Wei Wuxian protests. “Get your mind out of the gutter, why is it that anyone can only think about that with Xue Chengmei around? And—Lan Zhan, why are you picking up that wine?”

Lan Zhan slams back the wine in one smooth gulp and then decisively thunks the empty bowl back onto the table. A second later, his forehead thunks down next to it.

Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian stare at each other for a long, horrified moment.

“Fuck,” Jiang Cheng says, and Wei Wuxian has never agreed with his brother more.

Chapter Text

“How did he pass out like that after one cup?” Jiang Cheng asks, poking an unconscious Lan Wangji with Sandu’s sheath. “I’ve seen Lan Xichen take a half dozen toasts in an evening and never even wobble.”

“I don’t know!” Wei Wuxian says, throwing his hands in the air. “I’ve never seen him drink before. He’s such a stickler for those Lan rules, maybe he never has?”

“I am not taking care of Lan Wangji like he’s an idiot disciple who just broke into the lotus wine for the first time,” Jiang Cheng hisses. He spins and paces the room. “Not after he got you flogged to hell and back for a couple drinks in Gusu.”

“Pretty sure my beating was mostly about breaking curfew. And the fighting, and especially about corrupting the Second Jade of Lan. The alcohol was just a bonus,” Wei Wuxian protests. 

“Whatever, defend that asshole all you like,” Jiang Cheng snaps. “The important thing is that we keep this from fucking this visit up for the rest of us. So let’s just get him into bed and laugh at him in the morning.”

“Uh, Jiang Cheng, there might be a little problem with that plan,” Wei Wuxian says slowly.

“What?”

“Well, he’s kinda gone.” Wei Wuxian points at the table, now missing a jar of wine and a Lan Zhan. The door to the room hangs open.

“Fuck,” Jiang Cheng says with feeling.

The Jiang cultivators, playing cards in one of their rooms, haven’t seen Lan Zhan. Xue Chengmei, lounging atop a roof with a Jin messenger butterfly on his hand, hasn’t seen Lan Zhan either. Nor have the Lan juniors, who Jiang Cheng and Lan Zhan find sitting with Ouyang Zizhen under a wide tree near one of Laoling’s many ponds.

“Perhaps he is somewhere in the gardens?” Sizhui suggests. “In Gusu, he often spends the evening meditating or playing his guqin in one of the meadows if he isn’t working.”

“Not too sure he’s meditating, but we’ll take a look around the gardens,” Wei Wuxian says. “Thanks for the tip!”

He glances over at Zizhen and Jingyi. “And as payment, a tip for you guys. Sticking a jar of wine behind your back is way less subtle than you think; practice shoving it up your qiankun sleeve when you hear someone coming.”

Lan Jingyi’s face turns bright red as he almost fumbles his poorly concealed jar of wine. “Yes, Mo-qianbei!” he choruses with Ouyang Zizhen. Lan Sizhui almost—almost!—rolls his eyes at the other two boys. Wei Wuxian is so proud of him.

Lan Zhan is also not in the gardens or around the dining hall. He’s not even on a roof, though it was a very reasonable place to check, as Wei Wuxian has to explain to Jiang Cheng in a hissed conversation outside Green Blade Hall.

“—trying to advertise this mess to all of Laoling Qin?”

“Hey! The first time I met him, we ended up sparring on a rooftop. And Xue Chengmei agreed that these are some very nice roofs for sitting on, so it was worth— Lan Zhan!”

A flash of white catches Wei Wuxian’s eye. He turns to see Lan Wangji sidling out from the hall, skulking along the edge of the wall.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian hisses again, a little louder. Lan Zhan turns, his full drunk attention suddenly fixed on Wei Wuxian. He looks ethereal in the moonlight, his regal stance and piercing gaze undimmed by alcohol. Wei Wuxian’s heart stutters.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan breathes, and beelines towards them.

“Why me?” Jiang Cheng mutters, rolling his eyes. “Come on, let’s get back,” he says roughly, trying to grab Lan Zhan’s arm.

“No.” Lan Zhan materializes a green jade xiao from his qiankun sleeve and thwacks Jiang Cheng on the arm with it, then sidesteps him.

“What the fuck?” Jiang Cheng says, flabbergasted.

Lan Zhan ignores him, instead stepping far enough into Wei Wuxian’s space for him to smell the dizzying sandalwood scent on his robes.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian says, laughing nervously. “What are you doing sneaking around, after you told me to be respectable tonight? Haha, imagine what the juniors would think of the mighty Hanguang—aah!”

He yelps at the sudden point of hard pressure in the middle of his chest. Looking down, Lan Zhan is pushing the jade xiao at him.

“For you,” Lan Zhan says earnestly. “A better flute than his.”

Wei Wuxian tries to swallow. “Ah. Very, um, thoughtful, Lan Zhan. But have you considered that this is maybe a little too much for me? The Jin sect is rich, but I don’t think I need a jade xiao to match Xue Chengmei!”

“Never too much for Wei Ying.” 

“Or that you definitely just stole this from the Qins? I saw this on display earlier; I can’t keep it.”

Lan Zhan pouts. It’s far too adorable. “Keep it,” he says sulkily. He tries to wrap Wei Wuxian’s hand around the instrument.

“I don’t know what to say,” Wei Wuxian says, trying to pull away from Lan Zhan’s warm, strong fingers. “I don’t even know how to play the xiao!”

Lan Zhan freezes. “Don’t play the xiao,” he mouths to himself. He nods, stops trying to give Wei Ying the xiao—and then turns and throws the priceless instrument into the garden.

“Fuck!” Jiang Cheng scrambles after the dull thud in the grass where the flute fell.

Paying Jiang Cheng no attention, Lan Zhan unsheathes Bichen and hurries towards the nearest stand of bamboo. Wei Wuxian catches Lan Zhan’s intent and trails behind, protesting.

“Lan Zhan! Please don’t cut down the Qin sect’s gardens. It’s their whole thing, they will kick us out.”

Lan Zhan frowns at a split in a stalk of bamboo. “Inferior,” he declares, and moves on to the next stand, running his hands carefully over each piece.

Wei Wuxian desperately grabs onto a different tactic. “Exactly! Inferior bamboo. You’re not going to make a good instrument from this, Lan Zhan. Nothing better than what I’ve got already, at least!”

Jiang Cheng reappears next to them. “I’ve found the damn xiao,” he grumbles. “Now we just have to get it back to—Ow!”

He glares at Lan Wangji, who just thwacked his arm with Bichen’s hilt.

“I can sneak it in,” Wei Wuxian offers.

“Sure, that would—ow! Fuck you!” Jiang Cheng rubs his arm, where Lan Wangji has hit him with Bichen yet again. “Okay, new plan. I’m not getting stuck babysitting him, so I’ll go put the xiao back. I’ll blame it all on him if I get caught. You get this drunk idiot back to the room.”

“That works!” Wei Wuxian says cheerfully. “We’ll have fun!”

“That’s what I’m worried about,” Jiang Cheng mutters, and Lan Zhan thwacks him one more time for good measure.

“At least I get to mock him about this at every discussion conference for the rest of our lives,” Jiang Cheng says, glaring at Lan Wangji. “But if he gives you any shit, just yell for me.”

Jiang Cheng paces away towards Green Blade Hall, and Lan Zhan relaxes slightly.

Getting Lan Zhan back to the room is a trial for multiple reasons. First of all, Drunk Lan Zhan is stubborn. This is not particularly surprising, because Sober Lan Zhan is also stubborn. It was one of the first things Wei Wuxian ever noticed about him, aside from the way he glows beautifully in the moonlight (and oh, that isn’t something most people think about their friends, is it?). However, it is inconvenient, because it means that there is no moving him when he suddenly decides they need to stop and admire a rock, or flop onto their backs in the grass to watch the moon. The only way Wei Wuxian can get him walking in the right direction again is by humoring the request, gently cajoling him, or putting an arm around Lan Zhan to steer him.

Which brings him to the second challenge: Drunk Lan Zhan likes to touch. Sober, Lan Zhan doesn’t flinch away from Wei Ying like he had when they were young, but he doesn’t typically seek out touch either. Drunk, he leans into Wei Wuxian when he drapes his arm around Lan Zhan to steady him and his hands linger on Wei Wuxian’s when Wei Wuxian goes to take away the latest peach or rock or other random item he’s somehow found. Whenever they pass someone else on the path he clings particularly close and glares, earning some puzzled looks from Qin servants and cultivators.

After enough years of keeping his distance from people as the Second Jade of Lan, the alcohol clearly let loose Lan Zhan’s cuddly side. Maybe it all would have been bearable another night, without Xue Chengmei’s words echoing in Wei Ying’s ears. But today? Every touch makes Wei Wuxian’s breath catch in his throat and heat sing under his skin.

 “One cup of wine and ‘even gloomy Lianshan’s streams run bright and warm,’” Wei Wuxian quotes. “Ah, but not to worry, Lan Zhan: once you’ve slept this off, you can be as reserved and refined as you like again.”

“Mn.” Lan Zhan plucks a large flower from a tree and tucks it behind Wei Wuxian’s ear, smoothing the hair that Xue Chengmei had mussed. Words flee Wei Wuxian’s mind as Lan Zhan’s hands move downwards, ghosting along his neck and then straightening the layers of Wei Wuxian’s robes. “Better,” Lan Zhan says. His hands linger on the light blue of Wei Wuxian’s inner robe, rubbing his thumb across the silver embroidery of lotuses and waves.

“Hah, do you like that color?” Wei Wuxian says weakly. “If you like it so much, I bet the Jiang tailors could make you some with clouds!”

“No.” Lan Zhan smooths down the collar of the robe. Wei Wuxian can almost feel the heat of his hands through the fabric.

“Of course, of course. You must have plenty of robes in blue; why another set? Lan Zhan, do you like this color on me, then? Think I should wear some more blue?”

He shouldn’t have asked it, but the tangled knot of hope and longing growing in his chest wouldn’t let him hold the words back. Wei Wuxian’s breath catches as images flash in his mind: soft white and blue robes, rabbits, a small cottage high in the mountains of Gusu. Lan Zhan carefully smooths his hands one last time down Wei Wuxian’s robes. His lips twitch down in what could be the tiniest hint of dissatisfaction.

“Mn,” he says, and it could mean anything at all.

When they finally do get back to the guest quarters, Lan Zhan forcibly tugs Wei Wuxian into Jiang Cheng’s assigned rooms.

“But your stuff is in the other room!” Wei Wuxian protests. “They’ll bring you a spicy breakfast with lots of meat tomorrow if you sleep here! You’ll be the saddest hungover Lan in Laoling.”

Lan Zhan pays him no mind, keeping a tight grip on Wei Wuxian’s hand as he searches around the room. He finds what he’s looking for in the guest sword stand: Suibian, left there during the unexpected nighttime search for Lan Zhan. He turns around and thrusts the sheathed sword towards Wei Wuxian. “For you,” he says.

“Oh Lan Zhan,” he breathes softly. “This isn’t going to work any better than the last time you tried to get me to pick up Suibian.”

He takes the sword from Lan Zhan, though: he knows Lan Zhan won’t give up until he takes it, and he can’t resist the sword’s familiar weight in his hand. He runs his hand along the sheath. It’s taken some new nicks since the sword was Wei Wuxian’s, but it otherwise gleams as brightly as it had the day Jiang Fengmian gave it to him. Wei Wuxian wraps his hand around the hilt. He could draw it, test if the rush of spiritual power is any more bearable than it was when Jiang Cheng made him draw Suibian on Dafan Mountain.

But the leather wrappings on Suibian’s hilt have worn to fit a hand with a different grip than his. Wei Wuxian sighs and places the sword back in the stand.

“Sorry, Lan Zhan,” he says quietly. “It’s Jiang Cheng’s, now. I get that you want me to have nice things, right? But in this second life, I’ve already got to have more nice things than I ever thought I would. And most of the rest just aren’t for me.”

It would be nice to imagine that he could have Suibian, that Lan Zhan would want—

It would be nice to be wanted that way. But Lan Zhan is drunk and full of regrets, and Wei Ying is sober and remembers too much. Knowing that makes it easier for Wei Ying to keep his hands to himself as he cajoles Lan Zhan into his own bed and gets him to drink some water.

“Get some sleep now,” Wei Wuxian murmurs as Lan Zhan settles back on the bed. Lan Zhan lies back, and keeps his hand locked around Wei Wuxian’s wrist.

“Stay,” he says firmly.

“Lan Zhan, I have my own bed,” Wei Wuxian says with a laugh. “I can stay until you sleep, okay?”

Lan Zhan’s grip tightens. “Don’t leave,” he insists.

“You’ll see me again in the morning! Isn’t that enough?” Wei Wuxian gently chides. “You wouldn’t want me stuck to you all the time, would you?”

Lan Zhan considers this, then lets go of Wei Wuxian, to Wei Wuxian’s relief and to some tiny disappointment. Lan Zhan fumbles with his forehead ribbon instead: some last bedtime preparation, Wei Wuxian assumes.

Or at least, he assumes that until a new pressure appears around his wrist.

“Lan Zhan?” he asks disbelievingly as Lan Zhan rapidly tightens the forehead ribbon in a knot around Wei Wuxian’s wrists. Did Lan Zhan really just tie him up with his clan’s sacred ribbon?

“Mine,” Lan Zhan says with satisfaction. He loops the ribbon around Wei Ying’s wrists several more times and finishes it with a surprisingly dextrous knot. He ties the other end of the ribbon to one of his own wrists and then falls back against the bed, completely asleep.

“Unbelievable! Alcohol really does remove all inhibitions!” Wei Wuxian tries to pull himself free, but the angle makes it almost impossible to pick at the knot securing his wrists. He starts to experiment with the end Lan Zhan tied to himself when a knock comes at the door.

“Are you in there?” Jiang Cheng calls. “You’d better not have gotten in any more trouble: I’m done skulking around Laoling Qin.”

Wei Wuxian thinks quickly and tugs some of the blanket over his lap, hiding his bound wrists. “Yep!” he calls back cheerfully. “No trouble, all present and accounted for, one drunk Jade of Lan included!”

Jiang Cheng pauses. “What went wrong?” he asks suspiciously.

“Oh, you don’t need to—”

“Oh, I do. I’m coming in there.” Jiang Cheng sweeps into the room, spine rigid. He relaxes when he sees Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan on the bed. “Oh thank fuck, you’re not naked.”

Wei Wuxian’s face burns. “Jiang Cheng! Why would you worry about that?”

“I have eyes,” Jiang Cheng says, rolling his eyes as further visual proof. He scans Wei Wuxian again, his mouth tight with tension.

“Did he make you uncomfortable?” Jiang Cheng snaps.

“No!” Wei Wuxian says reflexively. Then he remembers the thing about trying to lie less often. “Well, not really.”

“’Not really’?” Jiang Cheng says, letting Zidian crackle. “Well, if he can’t do better than ‘not really’, Gusu will be down to one Jade after tonight.”

“No, no!” Wei Wuxian has to stop himself from frantically raising his hands, which would definitely end badly for Lan Zhan. “I mean—it’s complicated! Lan Zhan, he’s a good friend, he’s just been kinda sweet and very clingy. I’m the one making it weird.”

“Really?” Jiang Cheng says, raising an eyebrow. “I actually don’t think it’s your fault. And I don’t say that often.”

“No, really. I always have been making it weird with him, ever since the Gusu lectures!” 

Jiang Cheng gives him a hard-to-read look. Wei Wuxian stumbles on.

“But hey, it’s been less weird since I came back. And maybe it’s kind of good weird? It’s—I like him a lot, A-Cheng.”

Jiang Cheng sighs. “I know,” he says. “You actually trust him. And if he ever does anything to betray that trust—well, I’ll make sure he has a long conversation with Suibian and Sandu about it. Understand?”

Wei Wuxian gives his brother a shaky smile and shoves his hands further under the blankets. “Aww, A-Cheng, someone might think you care.”

“Whatever,” Jiang Cheng mutters. “Are you going to stay there all night?”

“Only way to make sure he doesn’t go on another adventure!” Wei Wuxian chirps. “He keeps following me if I leave.”

“Of course he does,” Jiang Cheng snorts. “You’re fine with it?”

“Yep!” Wei Wuxian says. Jiang Cheng gives him one last searching look.

“Fine,” he says. “I’m getting you a bedroll. Good luck sleeping, I guess.”

“Thanks!” Wei Wuxian says, not moving as Jiang Cheng goes back to his own room, returns to Lan Zhan’s, and tosses a bedroll at Wei Wuxian’s feet. Wei Wuxian is just glad Jiang Cheng didn’t toss it at his chest.

Once the door shuts again, he spends a few more minutes trying to tug at the knot, to no avail. He sighs. “The Yiling Laozu, defeated by a ribbon! Ah, Lan Zhan. You’re going to be so embarrassed in the morning when you have to explain your terrible behavior.”

The exhaustion of the day’s travels is catching up with him. Wei Wuxian considers the bed: Lan Zhan is right in the middle of it, perfectly on his back, with his one bound hand clinging to Wei Wuxian’s robes. Wei Wuxian gently pries Lan Zhan’s grip loose, easing himself down beside Lan Zhan. The space at the edge of the bed is narrow, though: he shifts himself closer to Lan Zhan, finally allowing his hands to rest on top of Lan Zhan’s chest. The rise and fall of Lan Zhan’s strong, warm chest is soothing, a slow counterpoint to the quick beating of Wei Wuxian’s heart.

The touch of silk against his wrists brings Wei Wuxian’s mind back to the ribbon. Lan Zhan had been so furious when Wei Wuxian pulled his ribbon free at the archery competition in those easy early days. Who could have ever imagined that Lan Zhan would one day wrap his ribbon around Wei Wuxian’s wrists of his own free will? 

Wei Wuxian has noticed over the years that there’s often some truth in wine: alcohol dulls some aspects of a person and lets others shine. Somewhere deep in Lan Zhan’s mind, something made him want to bind Wei Wuxian to himself. Perhaps it’s just regrets for the times they’d slipped out of each other’s grasp when they’d needed each other the most. But perhaps—

“Whatever you’re thinking, Lan Zhan, I’ll listen,” Wei Wuxian murmurs. “I promise, I’ll stay and I’ll listen.” 

The only answer is the slow beat of Lan Zhan’s heart. With that in his ears, Wei Wuxian’s mind gradually quiets until he drifts off to a comfortable and dreamless sleep.

He wakes in the dark of night to a deafening boom.

Chapter Text

A blast of sound rattles through the room, shaking teacups and sending Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan bolt upright. Wei Wuxian flinches against the wave of resentful energy that pulses against his senses, its chill reaching l through the room. Lan Zhan scrambles to get out of the bed but the ribbon around his wrist cuts his motion short. His eyes widen with surprise as he looks down to see the ribbon binding them to each other.

“Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan asks, alarmed. 

“Um, hah.” Wei Wuxian shifts uncomfortably. He’d expected Lan Zhan to be embarrassed, but not this panicked. “Good to see the alcohol wore off!”

“What—what did I do?” Lan Zhan asks as he starts to untie Wei Wuxian’s wrists, his hands clumsy with haste.

Wei Wuxian opens his mouth to explain when Jiang Cheng bursts into the room, Suibian and Sandu slung across his back and Zidian crackling on his hand.

“What the fuck was that?” he demands. He looks at Wei Wuxian’s wrists and does a double-take. “And what the fuck is this?”

“I don’t know!” Wei Wuxian says defensively as the ribbon finally falls away. “Ah, neither of you give me that face, I’m fine, I’m fine. But I’m guessing something went very wrong somewhere else!”

Jiang Cheng gives Lan Zhan a black look, but the three of them dash out the door. Outside, resentful energy hangs so heavily in the air that Wei Wuxian can taste it. Cold tendrils climb into his lungs with every pull of air. He forces himself to focus on them, sinking into himself as alarm bells start to clang.

“It’s from the family quarters,” Wei Wuxian blurts. “A bunch of ghosts, surging outward from there.”

“Sizhui and Jingyi,” Lan Zhan says, unsheathing Bichen and preparing to run to the junior’s quarters.

“They might not be there!” Wei Wuxian says urgently, grabbing Lan Zhan’s sleeve. “They were in the gardens with Ouyang-gongzi earlier tonight. If they’re still there, they’re right in the middle of this.”

“Jiang-zongzhu!” The Jiang cultivators race over to the three of them, all admirably well-armed and alert considering it’s the middle of the night. Jiang Cheng must have kept up the midnight drills they’d started in the year after Sunshot. “What’s happening?”

“We don’t know,” Jiang Cheng snaps. The Jiang disciples fall in next to their sect leader as the group starts running towards the explosion. “First goal is to find the Lan juniors, second is to protect other kids and non-fighters, third is to shut this down. If you lose sight of me, listen to—” he glances sideways at Wei Wuxian.

“Zongzhu, we all know he’s Wei Wuxian,” one Jiang disciple says impatiently. His name is Tang Rui, if Wei Wuxian remembers right.

Jiang Cheng glares. “Fine. Then listen to him. Or to the Qin cultivators, as long as they’re not doing anything shady. Don’t die, and don’t call this idiot anything but Mo Xuanyu in public.”

“Yes, zongzhu,” the disciples say in unison.

The youngest disciple pipes up. “So that’s official confirmation, from you, that he’s Wei—”

“Yes, and I told you not to say it,” Jiang Cheng snaps.

“Yes, zongzhu!”  he chirps, then turns to another disciple. “You owe me so much money,” he smugly tells the sour-looking woman. She ignores him and speeds up her run.

With alarm bells clanging, the whole of the Qin sect has poured into the night. Dark creatures of resentful energy twist through the night; red-robed ghost women claw towards cultivators’ throats. Old men and women carry children as disciples guard their backs. Lan Zhan, Wei Wuxian, and the Jiangs ignore them, racing further into the chaos as Wei Wuxian subtly twists resentful energy to keep monsters from targeting their group. With every step, the night deepens with the dark taint of resentment.

At last, they see the flash of a white-blue sword glare through the night. “Sizhui,” Lan Zhan says, and puts on another burst of speed.

The sword glare came from a dome of darkness the length of a couple of bedrolls laid end to end. Its surface ripples with a shroud of resentful energy.

“What the hell is that?” the youngest disciple asks fearfully.

“It’s the kids,” Jiang Cheng snaps, and he flicks Zidian at the boiling darkness. The purple lightning tears a gap in the shroud, revealing the dome’s true nature: a protective array, glistening with Lan blue and Ouyang green. The Lan juniors and Ouyang Zizhen press their hands to the array below them, straining to maintain enough power to withstand the assault, while some younger juniors huddle in the array’s center.

Jiang Cheng coils Zidian around his arm again to prepare for another strike. Wei Wuxian gets one last look at the juniors before resentment closes the view again. Lan Jingyi and Ouyang Zizhen look panicked, but Lan Sizhui’s face shines with determination, serenity, and trust.

At Jiang Cheng’s orders, the Jiang disciples whirl into action around them, slashing at any ghosts that come near. Meanwhile, Lan Zhan summons his guqin with a flick, starting to blast a battle song at the darkness. Jiang Cheng uncoils Zidian again, snaring each individual strand of darkness and crushing it into nothingness. For all that their spiritual power gnaws away at it, it seems like the darkness just keeps growing back, like it’s—

“It’s feeding off the kids’ spiritual energy!” Wei Wuxian cries. “We have to peel it away from them first, or it’ll just keep regrowing.”

“How?” Jiang Cheng snaps.

“You guys pull it off, I’ll keep it off,” Wei Wuxian promises.

Jiang Cheng nods and redoubles his efforts, using Zidian to pull and yank rather than crush. Wei Wuxian whistles carefully, low enough that no passing Qin cultivator should hear it over Wangji’s powerful song. He summons resentful energy from the air into a thin and flexible sheet, just enough to wedge between the dark cloud and the protective array. As Lan Zhan loosens its grip and Jiang Cheng pulls it away, Wei Wuxian keeps it from latching onto the kids’ array again.

Eventually the last of the cloud snaps free, the living darkness cast up like a sheet snapping in the air. Before it can wrap around another soul, one last vindictive blast from Wangji dissolves it.

The kids cheer as they let their array dissolve. Zizhen, Jingyi, and Sizhui slump to the ground with exhaustion.

“Was that demonic cultivation?” Zizhen asks Jingyi, wide-eyed.

“Probably!” Jingyi tells him brightly. “With Senior Mo we kinda try not to ask. Less lines to copy if we can tell our teachers that we weren’t sure.”

Lan Zhan drops down next to the juniors and begins passing Jingyi and Sizhui a stream of energy. “Quiet,” he says. “Once you can stand, we will send you to safety.”

“But Hanguang-jun, we can help!” Ouyang Zizhen protests as a Jiang disciple grabs his gesticulating hand and starts passing him energy. “We were doing fine with the array—”

“Except for the incorrect radical right here that let that thing suck your energy,” Wei Wuxian points out. “Once we get out of this, extra midnight array lessons for everyone! If you can’t hold a ward while drunk, you can’t hold a ward.”

“I think I can stand again now,” Sizhui says quietly to Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan holds onto Sizhui’s wrist a moment longer before he meets Sizhui’s eyes and nods, straightening up and pulling the junior to his feet. Care and determination are mirrored on both their faces, and it does something to Wei Wuxian’s heart.

As the kids recover and prepare to move, Jiang Cheng barks orders at the Jiang cultivators. “Figure out where the Qins are protecting their kids and bring the juniors there,” he says. “Leave them there and jump back in the fight if it’s safe, stay and protect the kids if it’s not.”

“What about you, zongzhu?” Tang Rui asks.

“I’m going to find out what started this, and I’m going to stop it,” he says grimly.

He hesitates. “Is that safe?”

“No,” Jiang Cheng glances at Wei Wuxian. “But I do have backup. So stop worrying about me and get out of here.”

The disciples nod and look over at Wei Wuxian. “Good luck,” the youngest Jiang disciple blurts, and tosses Wei Wuxian his bow and quiver.

***

Jiang Cheng, Wei Wuxian, and Lan Zhan split from the kids and work their way deeper into the compound, cutting through thick clouds of ghosts as they go. Jiang Cheng unsheathes Suibian and Sandu. Their bright sword glares slash effortlessly through howling spirits. To Wei Wuxian’s other side, looking every inch the lightbringer his title names him, Lan Wangji wields Bichen with precision.

And in between them, Wei Wuxian wields his borrowed bow, firing the Jiang cultivator’s arrows into monster after monster. Each one hits its mark, the Jiang weapon singing in Wei Wuxian’s hands. He uses some demonic cultivation as well, but that part has to be subtle. Bad enough that the juniors and Jiang cultivators know he’s a demonic cultivator, though it’s a relief that neither group seemed too panicked about it. Wei Wuxian can’t count on the same mercy if the Qin sect sees a demonic cultivator in the middle of a maelstrom of escaped ghosts, and he can’t protect anyone if he’s bleeding out from a cultivator’s attack. So he whistles softly into the night, here redirecting a ghost into Suibian’s path and there deflecting a spirit away from a gap in Lan Zhan’s guard.

They fight this way to the moat around the inner compound where flashes of pink and gold sword glares cut through the night, and Wei Wuxian sees Huahong Shunu in battle for the first time.

Qin Su stands out bright against the darkness, her pink and gold robes swirling around her as she fights. Her forms are graceful and precise, each strike cutting down another attacking spirit with a pink-and-gold flare from her sword, Liushui. She keeps herself between a retreating group of cultivators and civilians and the darkness boiling out across the moat. Xue Chengmei fights cheerfully beside her, wielding a dark and jagged sword as he effortlessly strikes monsters down.

“Qin-zongzhu!” Jiang Cheng calls as they fight their way to her side. “What the hell is going on?”

Qin Su turns to look at them, her expression as fierce as her sword. “Someone destroyed the containment array,” she tells them as she fights. “The resentful energy we suppressed after the attack has been released.”

“Can we suppress it again?” Jiang Cheng asks.

Qin Su skewers a ghost. “I don’t know. I haven’t been able to get close enough to the array to see what shape it is in.”

“I can fix it!” Wei Wuxian tells her. “If we can get me to the old array and cover my back, I can wrangle something, whatever they’ve done to it.”

Qin Su glances at him, sizing him up. “Jiang-zongzhu, is he telling the truth?”

“He’s great at arrays, and he wouldn’t lie about this,” Jiang Cheng says.

“He is good,” Lan Zhan says simply.

Qin Su inclines her head, appraising. “Fine. Then let’s go.”

“We can handle it,” Jiang Cheng says gruffly. “You can just focus on getting your people out.”

“No, my disciples are well prepared to handle that,” Qin Su says fiercely. “This time, I will end the threat to my sect myself.”

The odds they’ll change her mind are low, Wei Wuxian can tell, and Lan Zhan and Jiang Cheng must be able to tell too, because they nod and start the push towards the center. Qin Su picks a couple Qin sect cultivators and Xue Chengmei to join them, and together they fight towards the center of the Qin Sect compound.

Jiang Cheng and Qin Su take point, Jiang Cheng’s twin blades and Qin Su’s fluid sword carving into any monsters that bar their way. Lan Zhan wields his guqin, the spiritual music bolstering the other cultivators and driving back lesser spirits. Wei Wuxian runs out of arrows and switches to talismans, flicking out slips of paper that bind, freeze, or explode upon contact with his targets. The Qin cultivators cover the rear, and Xue Chengmei dances through the chaos, filling any gaps and striking at the attacking ghosts with absolute glee.

And he is mostly focusing on the attacking ghosts, Wei Wuxian notes, watching Xue Chengmei more closely. He goes out of his way to obliterate any once-human soul in their path, choosing weak ghosts over more powerful yao when he has the option. A suspicion creeps into Wei Wuxian’s mind as he watches Xue Chengmei drive his sword through a fragile spirit’s back.

So Wei Wuxian watches closely for the next glimpse of a ghost. When he sees it—far from Xue Chengmei, thankfully—he flicks a talisman of binding out of his sleeve. The blue strands of light wrap around his target, and he yanks it towards himself. The spirit is barely able to keep human form, only the occasional flicker of pink robes visible. It brushes against Wei Wuxian’s sense of the dead, and Wei Wuxian gets the impression of deep sadness, panicked grief and caring. Not entirely free of resentment, but close.

Wei Wuxian pulls out another talisman from his sleeve, creating an explosion of sparks, just as he slips the ghost right into his spirit-trapping pouch. He slides the pouch up his sleeve and grins at Xue Chengmei. “That’s seven spirits for me, gege! What’s your count?”

Xue Chengmei gives him a honey-sweet, dagger-sharp smile. “Sixteen. Try to keep up, A-Yu!”

His smile turns into a wince as Lan Zhan hits a harsh wrong note on Wangji.

They finally make it to the heart of Laoling Qin’s residential compound, exhaustion dragging at every cultivator. “There,” Qin Su directs, gesturing to a large carved rock slab in the center of the courtyard. “That stone has the array carved into it.” On another day, it might be peaceful: a graceful boulder nestled under the cool embrace of a towering willow tree. Today, the boulder is stained red, and spirits crawl through the willow’s shadows.

“Clear a path!” Qin Su orders her cultivators. They spread out, engaging the spirits ranging the courtyard: Qin Su wielding her sword against a corrupted snake yao, Jiang Cheng dueling a ghost that drips with some putrid scent, and Xue Chengmei cheerfully slashing at a ghostly figure with a face with features that never seem to settle. Wei Wuxian throws talismans where he can, until at last a gap opens: a clear path to the tree and the stone.

“Got it!” Wei Wuxian calls, and races for the array. He reaches the shade of the willows, nothing on his heels, and then—

A low, deep, rumbling snarl, the kind that makes Wei Wuxian’s mind melt into panic. He whimpers and turns as he hears two heavy thumps. Sharp-toothed, foul-breathed, corrupted creatures, pacing toward him.

“Jiang Cheng,” he says, breathy, too choked by terror to even scream. “Jiang Cheng, dog!”

“Fuck no,” Jiang Cheng roars, and one monsters’ growling cuts off as Zidian curls around its throat and yanks it away from him. Wei Wuxian sees the tail now, bristling with fur and spikes: it’s a squirrel, swollen to the size and ferocity of a wolf with the explosion of resentful energy. At his other side, Lan Zhan swirls between him and the other squirrel yao, unleashing Bichen’s bright glare to drive the monster back.

Wei Wuxian tries to get himself to move. They’re not dogs, and Jiang Cheng and Lan Zhan are here, he tells himself. All he has to do is fix an array. He takes a deep breath, stepping closer to the stone as Lan Zhan drives Bichen through the squirrel yao’s heart. All according to plan.

All according to plan until a surge of resentful energy pulses through the willow tree. Wei Wuxian only has a split second to call out a choked warning before the willow tree comes to life, a branch wrapping around Lan Zhan’s ankle and yanking him into the air. It slams him to the ground like a child banging a toy, and Wei Wuxian’s heart surges into his mouth as he hears Lan Zhan hit the ground with a sickening sound.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian screams. Lan Zhan hacks the branch off his leg, but more branches are curling towards his neck. The other cultivators are too far away, talismans might not be enough, and his bow and arrow would be useless, but the square is full of resentful energy that is right at Wei Wuxian’s fingertips. Against that math, Wei Wuxian’s reputation and life mean nothing. Sorry, Wei Wuxian apologetically thinks towards his brother, and he puts the flute to his lips and starts to play.

It’s easy, so easy, to call the resentment to himself. He offers it his fierce animal rage that something would dare harm Lan Zhan, that any part of the world could be so ungrateful for the bright light Lan Zhan carries. Lan Zhan tries so hard to be good and he does it so well, and Wei Wuxian would gladly let himself burn to keep Lan Zhan safe. The resentful energy flares around his offering, consolidating into a sharp cutting thing that burns through the tree’s branches, devouring its resentful energy from the inside out. Leaves and branches shrivel and burn, and only a dusting of ash falls on Lan Zhan’s bloodied robes. It’s still dirtier than Lan Zhan should ever be.

The small part of Wei Wuxian’s mind that is not focused on tearing apart every threatening monster anywhere near Lan Zhan hears a yell.

“How dare you!” Qin Su snarls over the shrieking of the flute. “How dare you come here and claim sympathy for A-Ran and Laoling Qin, and then defend the demonic cultivator who desecrated them both?”

Steel strikes steel, and Wei Wuxian turns to see Qin Su’s blade locked at the cross between Suibian and Sandu. Jiang Cheng stands between Wei Wuxian and Qin Su, his stance set.

“He’s not who you think he is,” Jiang Cheng snaps. “And he sure as hell didn’t control your brother!”

Qin Su pulls her sword back from Jiang Cheng’s block. As she pivots to try to get past him, Wei Wuxian gets a glimpse of her face, twisted with rage. “What kind of fool do you think I am?”

“I understand why you’re angry,” Jiang Cheng says, repelling another series of quick strikes. “I really, really get it. But save the stabbing for the bastard who actually did it, not the people who are trying to help you!”

Heavy steps drag themselves to Wei Wuxian’s side. Wei Wuxian spins, lowering his flute—Lan Zhan has dragged himself upright, somehow, despite his injuries. He unsheathes Bichen, ready to defend Wei Wuxian. His eyes lock unwaveringly on Wei Wuxian’s.

“He fights to eliminate the wicked and aid the weak,” Lan Zhan says, loud enough to carry but his eyes locked on Wei Wuxian. “To live without regret. He is a good man, and he is not your enemy.”

The sounds of swords clashing slows. Wei Wuxian manages to wrest his eyes away from Lan Zhan’s burning gaze long enough to see Qin Su looking at him, face unreadable. Her sword is held lower, but still at the ready.

“He’s the Yiling Laozu, isn’t he?” she says.

Wei Wuxian swallows. “Yes, and, I— I bewitched Jiang-zongzhu and Lan-er-gongzi! Now that I have accomplished my evil goals, I will—”

“Oh, shut up, you stinking idiot,” Jiang Cheng says tiredly. He turns to Qin Su. “Wei Wuxian was dead when your brother was killed, and he’s the only person who can fix these bindings before any more of your people get hurt.” He takes a deep breath. “And he’s a disciple of Yunmeng Jiang. I guarantee his good behavior with my sect’s full reputation.”

Blood rushes in Wei Wuxian’s ears. Qin Su considers them both, then nods curtly and lowers her blade. “I will take his sect leader’s word on the matter, for now. I will be watching closely.”

Jiang Cheng nods back. “I would expect nothing less, Qin-zongzhu.” He turns to Wei Wuxian. “Now fix the damn array!”

Wei Wuxian nods, dashing to the rock. “You got it, zongzhu!” he calls, the words a revelation in his mouth. He’s Yunmeng Jiang, somehow, maybe, and fixing the array is his first chance to not mess it up.

The break in the binding array had been crude: a splash of animal blood, a few artless hacks of a hefty sword into the stone. “Water flask!” he calls to his brother, and Jiang Cheng tosses one to him. He splashes the rock clean, and then cuts into his palm with a knife to seal the lines again. He retraces and adjusts, strengthening the bindings into a trap that could hold for a hundred years if needed. Now to spring it: he tears off his outer robe. Lan Wangji makes a faint pained sound, and another wave of protectiveness sweeps over Wei Wuxian.

“Not to worry, Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian calls, drawing an array along the light blue of his inner robe. “This will be done soon. Jiang Cheng, a lot of spirits are going to come at us really fast. Well, I say us, but I mean me. They’ll be stuck once they touch the array, but can you—”

“—Make sure nothing eats you first? Sure,” Jiang Cheng says, spinning Suibian in one hand.

Wei Wuxian surveys the area one last time—Xue Chengmei is gone, terrible Jin that he is, and Qin Su and her cultivators have formed a loose ring around Lan Wangji—and then draws the last stroke of the bloody talisman on his robe. He raises his flute to his lips and sends resentful energy pulsing out through Laoling. Come and get me, the flute sings, and Wei Wuxian can feel the attention of every escaped spirit in Willow Shade Manor snap onto him. Good.

Then the world is roaring monsters and moaning spirits and creeping darkness. It’s resentful energy called and reshaped, it’s the snap of the trap around one demon and then another. Wei Wuxian feels the anger-vengeance-joy of resentful energy singing through his blood. Fear tries to creep in, but it has no grip on him—not when there are two swords whose song he knows so well dancing in the hands of his brother, guarding him from the darkness. Not when he can hear the thrum of a guqin, playing songs of strength and purification and protection.

Time is hazy, but eventually, the resentment thins. He stands still at last—there’s nothing more to dodge. Wei Wuxian releases the last of the resentful energy he was wielding back into the trap, leaving a hollow ache behind.

“We’re done?” Jiang Cheng snaps, worried.

“We’re done,” Wei Wuxian says, satisfied, and Jiang Cheng lowers his swords. Wei Wuxian closes his eyes. The darkness behind his eyelids is nice. Much less swirly than the world outside.

“Wei Ying!” Wei Wuxian hears a worried voice call. His legs crumple, and he lets himself slide to the ground. Arms catch him before he can completely fall.

“Don’t die on me now, you idiot,” a voice growls, and Wei Wuxian nods before giving up his tenuous grip on consciousness.

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian comes back to consciousness to the sound of clarity bells and the feel of soft sheets. And, he realizes, to the sound of someone talking.

“—blew myself up worse than that before, and all I had to recover was a bucket of water, a mostly disintegrated bedroll, and some ginger root! So nothing to worry about, zongzhu.”

“Is that supposed to be reassuring?” Wei Wuxian hears Jiang Cheng respond. “You better never try that at Lotus Pier or—”

Wei Wuxian smiles at that. “You’ll break his legs?” he asks, voice hoarse. “You know, I’ve still never actually seen you do it. That’s very poor follow-through for a sect leader!”

He opens his eyes to see delight, relief, and annoyance battle their way across Jiang Cheng’s face.

Jiang Cheng starts towards him, almost as if—but no, it’s not quite a hug. Instead, his brother’s arm carefully wraps around his shoulders, helping him sit upright. Wei Wuxian gets a better view of the room: he’s in Jiang Cheng’s quarters in Willow Shade Manor. A curious young Jiang disciple watches them in the background.

Jiang Cheng wipes at his eyes and scoffs. “So what, you’re volunteering to get your legs broken first, then?”

“I’d rather not, actually!” he says, taking stock of his body. The chilling hollow ache of excessive demonic cultivation is clinging to his bones, and his head throbs. He’s almost sore enough that he’d let Lan Zhan play Clarity at him, if he were—

“Where’s Lan Zhan?” he asks urgently.

“With the doctors,” Jiang Cheng says, his expression cooling again. “And before you ask, he’s going to be fine. Broken bones suck, but they heal fast when you’ve got a core like his.”

“Oh good, that’s good. And is he—”

“Nope. Absolutely not. You are going to drink your medicine and I am going to eat my breakfast before you say another damn word about Lan Wangji, because I’m not letting you put me off my food.”

The disciple sniggers, but brings over a bowl of spicy chicken soup and tea laden with warming ginger and cinnamon. Wei Wuxian happily accepts. “You must be Jiang Cheng’s most prized disciple,” he praises him. “This tastes like it’s straight out of Yunmeng! And it’s actually spicy enough, too.”

“It should be! I brought the spices along myself,” he says proudly. “It’s at full strength, too. Did you know demonic cultivation gives you a higher spice tolerance?”

Ah, so this kid must be one of Jiang Cheng’s former demonic cultivators. “I didn’t, but I might have guessed!” Wei Wuxian says cheerfully. “After all, I’m the only demonic cultivator I ever met. I’ll have to get your learned opinions on what it’s like when there’s more than one of us around. By the way, what’s your name?”

The boy dips his head shyly, not quite hiding his grin. “Meng Yuying. Just ask and I’ll answer!”

Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes. “If you’re well enough to corrupt my disciples, you’re well enough to meet with Qin-zongzhu,” Jiang Cheng finally says as he puts his own bowl of soup down. “She wants to talk to us, and we need to talk to her.”

“And I might have some extra evidence for her.” Wei Wuxian rummages for his spirit-trapping pouch and twirls it around his fingers. “Let’s make sure the sketchy Jin guy doesn’t join us, though: I think he was trying to hide something.”

“Good. I would rather dig out my own eyes than watch you flirt with Xue Chengmei again. He almost made me miss Lan Wangji.”

In deference to Lan Zhan’s injuries,  they plan to meet Qin Su in Lan Zhan’s infirmary room rather than in her office. He is carefully propped up in a nest of pillows, sipping at some medicinal concoction, while Qin Su sits nearby.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian calls as he limps enthusiastically through the door. “Are you okay? Ah, I’m sorry I couldn’t bring you over to the infirmary myself, you could have finally taken me up on my old offer to carry you!”

Lan Zhan stiffens when he sees Wei Wuxian, then shifts his gaze to the wall. “I will recover,” he says. “You are well?”

“Never better,” Wei Wuxian chirps, then notices Jiang Cheng’s glare. “Okay, occasionally better.”

Lan Zhan nods, still avoiding Wei Wuxian’s eyes. Wei Wuxian still wants Lan Zhan to look at him, just as badly as he wanted it when they were sixteen. “Lan Sizhui can play Cleansing for you later, if you desire it.”

“But what if I want you to play it for me?” Wei Wuxian pouts, puffing his cheeks out exaggeratedly. If Lan Zhan likes him, maybe he’ll huff that tiny laugh, maybe he’ll look at Wei Wuxian with that intense gaze like he did when he was drunk—

Lan Zhan does not react. “Lan Sizhui is skilled,” he says instead.

Qin Su politely clears her throat. Jiang Cheng sits and glares at Wei Wuxian until he does the same.

“Lan-er-gongzi has been kind enough to give me a closer accounting of Wei Wuxian’s return to life and the events that have occurred since then,” Qin Su begins. She locks her gaze on Wei Wuxian. “I understand that he can vouch for your location last night?”

“We were together almost all night!” Wei Wuxian confirms. Qin Su’s eyebrows raise slightly, and Lan Zhan’s ears turn bright red. “I mean, um. Just walking around, of course, with Jiang Cheng. And then we were in Lan Zhan’s room.”

“Very well,” Qin Su says, then pauses. “I am reasonably certain that you were not involved in the attack. I am assured by Hanguang-jun’s story, and I also suspect that, had the Yiling Laozu broken the wards, the attack would have been rather more comprehensive than a splash of blood.”

Wei Wuxian nods emphatically. “It’s true!” He hadn’t personally wanted to offer that defense given that it’d never worked well for him in his past life, but he’d certainly thought it.

Qin Su continues. “Thank you to all of you for your aid in containing the attack last night. Seven cultivators were killed, but we could have lost far more.”

“Of course,” Jiang Cheng says. “I just want to catch the bastard. Did any of your people see anything?”

“No,” Qin Su says with a frown. “One guard reported that he thought he saw a person crossing the compound’s wall, but he wasn’t sure. When you were in the gardens, did you see anything suspicious?”

Wei Wuxian shrugs. “Not much. Some servants walking around, some juniors drinking wine, Xue Chengmei sitting on a roof. Speaking of which…” Wei Wuxian pulls out his spirit-trapping pouch. “Xue Chengmei was targeting the human ghosts last night, so I made a point of capturing one of them. I think the spirit belonged to someone affiliated with Laoling Qin. Maybe they can give us some answers?”

Qin Su’s eyes fix on the pouch, her right hand flexing as though she wants to reach out for it. “Please,” she says at last. “How do you suggest we speak with them?”

“The ghost’s pretty weak, so can you give them some spiritual energy? We should be able to set up a joint Empathy session after that.”

Jiang Cheng scowls. “Empathy’s dangerous. If the ghost lashes out—”

“This one really doesn’t want to!” Wei Wuxian reassures. “And if you want, we can leave you on the outside so you can shake your clarity bell at us if I’m wrong.”

Jiang Cheng reluctantly agrees and Lan Wangji inclines his head stiffly. Qin Su reaches for the pouch. “In that case, I will begin.”

Qin Su cradles the pouch in her hands, wrapping spiritual energy into it. Slowly, the pouch begins to glow, then unties and opens. A blossom of pink-silver mist trickles out and then forms into a human shape: a woman in simple servant’s clothes, glancing wide-eyed around the room.

“Bicao,” Qin Su says warmly. “My mother’s maid.”

The ghost turns her full attention to Qin Su, fluttering towards her with concern.

“She’s trying to say something,” Qin Su says. “Bicao, I’m sorry, it is not easy to tell. Don’t… marry?”

“Ready to find out?” Wei Wuxian asks, offering a hand each to Qin Su and Lan Zhan. Qin Su gently places her hand in his. Lan Zhan hesitates, and then takes his hand. Wei Wuxian has to take a second to breathe.

“Let’s go, then!” he says with all the cheer he can muster, and the world swirls around him.

When the world settles again, he’s looking through someone else’s eyes. He can feel Qin Su and Lan Zhan’s minds, both also trying to orient themselves. They’re walking on a gravel path winding through a garden, carrying a tray laden with small intricate sweets and a pot of hot water for tea. Bicao is walking through the family quarters of Willow Shade Manor, Wei Wuxian recognizes: a place that he had fought through in the dark of night. In these memories, though, the manor is in full spring bloom, crabapple blossoms fragrant in the air. Bicao carefully steps out of the way of two playful giggling children, a smile ticking up the sides of her mouth. She pauses briefly to admire some cultivators training in the sun. Her eyes linger on the tall, handsome young man with a broad smile correcting the form of his juniors.

A-Liang, my oldest brother, Qin Su tells them, a spark of love and grief passing through the link. Bicao glances at the other cultivators, and Qin Su’s attention catches on a gawky teenage boy, working through the forms with white-knuckled determination. And this is A-Ran, Qin Jingyang. If he’s training, this must be before the war.

Bicao at last moves on again, bringing them to a pleasant courtyard where a table has been set up beneath the crabapple blossoms. A younger, softer Qin Su sits there, conversing lightly with an older woman. Qin Su’s mother, judging by the ripple of love and longing that spreads from Qin Su through the Empathy bond. Qin Su makes some comment, her eyebrows raised in humor, and her mother laughs softly.

Qin Su and her mother warmly thank Bicao for the snacks. As Bicao arranges the tea, Qin Su’s mother samples a small cake with delight, launching into a story about some dessert she had sampled when she had traveled as a young woman. She is a quick, amusing conversationalist.

I miss these days, Qin Su thinks. They ended all too soon.

As though responding to her, the memories swirl again and skip ahead. They speed through the war, loading wagons with supplies, watching grim lines of cultivators stream to the front. The wagons return laden with the wounded, and Bicao tends Qin Jingyang as he battles to heal from a poisoned injury to his arm. He recovers, with weakened cultivation and a shadow of grief.

The next scene is an argument. Bicao stands beside the door of Qin-furen’s quarters, listening to an argument inside. She doesn’t have to listen hard, since the fight is loud enough to send passerby scurrying away.

“If you have ever loved or respected me—” Qin-furen says, voice shaking.

“I have!” Qin Cangye shouts. “I tried. But my daughter would not speak to me. Jin Guangshan, my friend and our protector, asked me daily why his son is not good enough for our daughter. How much more face did you expect me to lose?”

“It’s—” Qin-furen’s voice breaks. “He—” she hiccups a breath, and then is silent.

“No reason, again?” Qin Cangye growls wearily. “Then the engagement stands, and I won’t hear another word against it.”

“Fine,” Qin-furen snaps hollowly. “Go and send our daughter to hell, then. Whether I say anything or not, you won’t listen to me.”

Bicao scrambles out of the way as Qin Cangye storms out of the hall, and the world fades.

Why did she hate Jin Guangyao so much? Wei Wuxian asks Qin Su as the scene changes.

I don’t know, she replies. One day she would say he was too obsequious, and the next she would call him too proud. It drove me half mad, but I never knew the real reason for it.

They next find themselves in the dark of night. Bicao waits in one of the outer gardens, anxiously fidgeting with her clothes. At last, a figure in dark gray robes drops over the wall.

“Jin-gongzi,” Bicao says as she bows. Jin Guangyao bows back.

“Shall we go speak with your lady?” he asks pleasantly.

Bicao hustles him into the compound, taking him to a room where Qin-furen waits. She’s seated at a low table, a slight tremble to her hands.

“Qin-furen,” Jin Guangyao says, bowing low. His smile looks fixed. “Is there anything this humble one may do to be of assistance?”

She gathers herself, closing her eyes for a moment. “Yes,” she says quietly. “Bicao, leave us. Ensure no one else comes in.”

Bicao hurries out the door. She makes a quick circuit of the room, then settles beneath an open window, where she can hear the conversation inside.

 “I want to beg you one last time: do not marry my daughter. Please, for your sake and hers.”

Jin Guangyao freezes for a moment. “It is a month to the wedding,” he says, carefully concerned, “and my father and I have done our utmost to prepare for the union between our two sects. Leaving Qin Su now—well, I could not bear to disrespect her in such a manner. But please, if there is any reassurance I can offer that I intend to be the best husband to her that I can—”

“You cannot be her husband!” Qin-furen snaps. “Do you not understand? You cannot be her husband, because you are already her brother!”

Qin Su’s confusion and panic tear through the Empathy bond, almost drowning out the next words.

“She cannot possibly be—”

“Think,” Qin-furen snaps. “What is Jin Guangshan known for?”

Jin Guangyao is silent. “It cannot be that,” he whispers at last. “My father would have kept me from this engagement, for his own shame if not mine.”

“Perhaps he forgot,” Qin-furen says bitterly. “He was drunk when he forced himself on me, and I know I was not the first woman he took against her will. I fell pregnant, and my husband was so happy. I did not dare tell him. He has never noticed, even though Qin Su looks more like Jin Guangshan than him. He loves Qin Su with all his heart—I could never tell either of them.”

That’s not possible, Qin Su thinks frantically. This memory must be corrupted—there must be—

“So you tell me instead,” Jin Guangyao says brokenly. Wei Wuxian cannot keep himself from noticing that Qin Su looks as much like him as she does the Qin brothers.

“Yes. So that you can end this farce of an engagement.”

“You tell me—not your husband, not your daughter, not my father. I see. So that I can shatter my own reputation to save myself from marrying my sister.”

“You’re the only one who can stop this now,” Qin-furen insists. “You need not shatter your reputation, but you must stop it.”

“I must,” he echoes. “Well then, I suppose I must. I am not unused to cleaning up my father’s messes.”

“Thank you,” Qin-furen says with relief. “I’m sure you can find a way to preserve the honor of everyone involved. A-Su has often said you have a clever mind for such things. I hope it will be well-applied here.”

Jin Guangyao is silent for a long moment. At last, he speaks. “Give me two weeks, then. To find a way forward. Rest assured, the situation will be remedied.”

The scene slips into darkness again as Qin-furen thanks him effusively.

It’s not possible! Qin Su thinks furiously again.

A sound like a gong, like the sky shattering, breaks through her thoughts.

It’s another evening in Qin-furen’s quarters. Qin-furen and Qin Jingyang look up from their weiqi board, a stone dropping from Qin-furen’s hand. The pile of peanut shells in a dish beside them suggests they have been playing at the table for some time.

“What was that?” Qin-furen asks.

Wei Wuxian knows that sound. Judging by the way Qin Jingyang bolts to his feet, he does too. “The wards,” he says, jumping to his feet. He looks surprised and confused. “Something broke the wards!”

Qin Jingyang grabs his sword from the stand by the door and bolts outside. Bicao hangs back cautiously looking out the door as he stands in the courtyard prepared to fight .

“Perhaps there was a flaw in the arrays?” Madame Qin asks nervously.

“There shouldn’t be!” Qin Jingyang says. “I checked them just last week.”

Somewhere, a flute shrieks. Wei Wuxian’s heart sinks. Chenqing, he thinks to the others. Why is Chenqing here? There is something strange about Chenqing’s music, some foreign song different from the one Wei Wuxian calls from the flute. Lan Zhan’s mind is a calm, sturdy brace against Wei Wuxian’s rising panic.

The sounds of people screaming and rock crumbling join Chenqing’s high wail. Something has punched a hole through the compound’s wall: Bicao can just barely see a boiling darkness pouring through the gap.

Qin Jingrang grabs Bicao and Qin-furen by the arm, pushing them back inside the quarters. “Stay here!” he orders. “I’ll— I’ll keep you safe!”

Once they’re inside, he tries to release them so he can go back out, but Qin-furen clings to his arm.

“Let A-Liang and your father deal with it,” she pleads. “If you overstrain your cultivation, we might lose you.”

Qin Jingyang gently pries her hand from his arm. “Then if that’s the last good I can do, I’ll do it. Thank you, mother.”

With that, he rushes out the door. Bicao peers occasionally out the window as the sounds of battle overtake them, the shriek and moan of fierce corpses and ghosts. Qin Jingyang flashes his blade, driving them back, though Wei Wuxian can see him slowing from the strain.

The flute’s wailing draws closer, and a shadow-shrouded figure drops into the yard. Qin Jingyang bears his sword against it, but chains shoot out of the fog and wrap around his blade, wrenching it from his hand and into the fog. A second later, the fog surges to surround Qin Jingyang. Bicao hears a strangled yell as she drops behind the wall, trying to stifle her panicked tears.

“A-Ran,” Qin-furen says next to her, over and over. “A-Ran, oh, A-Ran—”

Then the door shatters, and the shadowy figure breaks through. The flute wails loud and close, and the shadows part for a split second as chains reach through it. In the moment before Bicao dies, Wei Wuxian sees the figure’s face.

“Wen Ning!” he cries as the world shatters and he bursts back into consciousness.

“What?” Jiang Cheng stills his clarity bell. “Why was Wen Ning—”

“The massacre wasn’t A-Ran,” Qin Su gasps, coming back to herself. “It wasn’t him. He was just keeping A-Niang company while I was gone. And—oh, Bicao. Lan Wangji, can you use your Inquiry to translate?”

Lan Zhan nods. Qin Su looks at the ghost, who wrings her hands and flutters around them in her silvery pink robes. “The memory we saw—was that the truth, to your knowledge? That Jin Guangyao is my brother by blood?”

Bicao nods frantically, and a string plucks.

“Yes,” Lan Zhan translates.

“And that is why you did not want me to marry?”

Another frantic nod and a yes.

Qin Su takes a deep, shuddering breath, then addresses the ghost. “Bicao. Thank you for your service to Laoling Qin and for the care you showed me and my mother. I broke my engagement to Jin Guangyao, and I have two children by my husband, who is not from the cultivation world. You have done your duty. Please rest peacefully.”

Qin Su and Bicao bow to each other, and then Bicao reaches one flickering, ghostly hand out as though to touch the tear rolling down Qin Su’s cheek. She smiles and begins to fade, resentment no longer anchoring her.

“She hopes you live well.” Lan Wangji quietly puts away his guqin and pours Qin Su a cup of tea. Qin Su slowly drinks it, hands shaking, while Wei Wuxian quickly fills Jiang Cheng in on what they had seen during Empathy.

“That asshole,” Jiang Cheng curses. “Jin Guangshan would have raped his friend’s wife and then forgotten about it.”

“If he was not dead I would kill him," Qin Su says faintly. "The cruelty of it, at every step. There were notes left in A-Ran’s room, things to do with demonic cultivation. It was deliberately pinned on him.”

“And you said a bunch of Jins helped with the cleanup, right?” Wei Wuxian asks, and Qin Su nods. “So some Jin cultivator could have planted the notes then?”

“I suppose so. I didn’t think it could be him until Jin Guangyao and I found—”

“Wait, Jin Guangyao found it?” Jiang Cheng interrupts. “Then he also could have planted it.”

Qin Su rears back. “I will not hear Jin Guangyao slandered in my home,” she snaps. “He’s like a brother to—”

She catches her own words and swallows.

“I will not hear him slandered,” she repeats. “He has borne enough of that in his life.”

“He may have killed your family,” Wei Wuxian protests.

“He wouldn’t have,” she insists. “He might have—he might have learned something of it later, and concealed it. Jin Guangyao is filial to a fault; he has spent his life fulfilling his mother’s last wish and striving for his father’s approval. He must have come to Jin Guangshan, and that—that rapist must have killed my family to conceal his misdeeds.”

“But the demonic cultivator is still around, and knew to hide in the Nie tombs,” Wei Wuxian counters. “Only Jin Guangyao would have been close enough to the Nie sect leader to know about that, right? And if it wasn’t his idea, wouldn’t he have stopped the demonic cultivator already?”

“Spies can be clever, and demonic cultivators can be clever too,” Qin Su snaps. “There is nothing conclusive about it.”

“It isn’t conclusive, but it doesn’t look good for him,” Jiang Cheng says gruffly. “So there might be a middle ground: we all take the next month until the cultivation conference to investigate. If we don’t know before then, we’ll look around Koi Tower at the conference.”

Qin Su nods slowly. “In the meantime, please be discreet about what we have learned today, and avoid leveling any accusations against Jin Guangyao. In exchange, I will remain silent about Wei Wuxian’s return to life. Is that fair?”

The three men exchange looks with each other.

“That is reasonable,” Lan Zhan says.

“Good,” Qin Su says, and hesitates. “And Jin Guangshan’s attack on my mother—if justice can be delivered without disclosing that, I ask that we do so. Qin Cangye is my father in every sense that should matter to the world.”

Wei Wuxian nods firmly. “If we can do that, we will,” he promises.

Qin Su’s shoulders relax marginally. “Thank you.”

It takes two days of Lan Zhan meditating, sleeping, and healing before the doctors declare him well enough to leave Laoling. Wei Wuxian spent most of those two days being chased away from the infirmary by doctors. Once he mostly gave up on that, he let himself be drafted to help cleanse the last of the resentful energy from the estate.

At last, Lan Zhan is cleared to travel and loaded with warnings not to push himself too hard, and they prepare for the trip to Cloud Recesses. Ouyang Zizhen joins them on the steps of Willow Shade Manor, his robes tied practically for a long trip by sword.

Lan Zhan gives the Ouyang junior a look, and he wilts a little. Lan Jingyi steps in. “Hanguang-jun! Zizhen was just telling us this hunt took him way further than expected, and he can’t really get home before the conference anyway, so can he just go on another night hunt with us? We’ll take any hunt the sect wants to throw at us!”

Lan Sizhui quickly follows it up. “Lan-zongzhu says that sixteen is an excellent age for fostering connections between the sects, and Jingyi and I aren’t scheduled for any teaching responsibilities until after the conference. We can come back to Cloud Recesses with everyone and take off from there.”

Lan Zhan looks between the three hopeful boys. “Mn.”

Jingyi breaks out in a grin, and Sizhui bows. Ouyang Zizhen looks puzzled.

“That one means yes,” Jingyi explains, and Ouyang Zizhen practically falls over himself thanking Lan Zhan while Wei Wuxian barely holds back a laugh. One of these days, he’ll have to ask the little Lans for lessons in interpreting those mn s.

 Qin Su also joins them to send them off.

“Safe travels. I hope…” she trails off.

“Good luck with the recovery from this attack,” Jiang Cheng says. “I’m sure Laoling Qin’s talents will make it go swiftly. If you need any help, write my head disciple at Lotus Pier.”

Qin Su nods, regaining her footing. “Thank you. I may find myself glad for the alternative.”

To Lanling Jin, Wei Wuxian mentally fills in.

“By next month, we will know whether you need it,” Lan Zhan says.

“Indeed,” Qin Su says, emotion locked away as far as she can push it behind her wide, dark eyes.

The group flies towards Cloud Recesses as quickly as they can. Lan Zhan’s almost too low on spiritual energy to fly himself, let alone anyone else, so Wei Wuxian rides with Jiang Cheng on Sandu.

After a couple hours, Lan Zhan’s blade takes on the slightest wobble. “Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian says quietly. Jiang Cheng follows his gaze and sighs.

“Break, everyone!” he calls out, angling Sandu downward. “Eat, rest, find a tree. You know the drill.”

Once the group has spread out and started to scatter, Jiang Cheng paces over to Lan Zhan, pushing back his sleeve. “Take some,” he snaps.

Lan Zhan looks at him with something like surprise. “Take what?”

“Spiritual energy. I don’t want to waste time if you fall out of the sky.”

Lan Zhan looks at Wei Wuxian, then glances at Jiang Cheng again. He nods then, slowly, and offers Jiang Cheng his hand. They sit there for ten minutes or so, easing the little furrow between Lan Zhan’s eyebrows that is his only outward sign of the strain his recovery is putting on his system.

It becomes a routine on their breaks or their evenings at inns. Jiang Cheng gently bullies his disciples, Wei Wuxian lectures the juniors on wards, and all the cultivators rotate on passing Lan Zhan their energy. The Jiangs take turns, the little Lans and Ouyang Zizhen offer what they can, and after a couple days that leaves…

Wei Wuxian sits down next to Lan Zhan and pushes back his sleeves. Jiang Cheng eyes Lan Zhan distrustfully from across the clearing—he’s been acting like a chaperoning auntie since the ribbon incident—but doesn’t intervene.

 “Need an extra dose?” Wei Wuxian asks, waggling his eyebrows.

“You… are certain?” Lan Zhan asks carefully.

“Yep,” Wei Wuxian says cheerfully. “I’m not flying, so I’m not using my core for anything else! And the juniors will be grateful if I spend a break helping you out instead of quizzing them about the differences between warding against a ghost or a demon. C’mon, save me some face and take some energy?”

Lan Zhan hesitates a moment longer. “I should not,” he says, and Wei Wuxian’s heart drops. Maybe taking spiritual energy from a core tainted by demonic cultivation is too much to ask. Nonetheless, Lan Zhan offers out his hand. Wei Wuxian keeps the smile on his face.

“Victory! Come on, let me help you feel better.”

He takes Lan Zhan’s warm, soft hand in his own, concentrating and drawing a slender tendril of spiritual energy across the distance between them. He feels like a stream flowing into a lake, awed at the vastness of Lan Zhan’s golden core. Their gazes lock. Lan Zhan’s eyes shine subtly, his mouth parted. Wei Wuxian could so easily close the distance between them, but there’s some deeper pain he can see in Lan Zhan that he doesn’t dare touch.

Instead, Wei Wuxian finally breaks off the flow of energy. “It’s not much, but it should help.”

“It does.” Lan Zhan nods and leans back against the tree. He does not thank him. Wei Wuxian gives Lan Zhan a grin he’s not sure he means, and goes to get them both some food.

On the third day, they finally reach the steps of Cloud Recesses. Lan Zhan starts to limp halfway up, leaving Wei Wuxian and the little Lans to do some off-the-cuff scheming. Whining that there were just too many stairs for this fragile Mo Xuanyu’s body had convinced Lan Zhan to let Wei Wuxian support him up a hundred stairs or so, but Lan Zhan had insisted on doing the last dramatic sweep of stairs around the mountain on his own.

“Hanguang-jun!” the Lan sentries say in unison as they round the bend. One junior sets off into the depths of Cloud Recesses at a brisk walk that teeters on a run. Wei Wuxian’s heart warms to see it.

They then notice Jiang Cheng, straighten their faces, and bow a little more shallowly. “Shuangjian Shengshou,” they acknowledge.

Jiang Cheng comes very close to rolling his eyes.

The sentries, only a few years older than Lan Jingyi and Sizhui, hover as they head into the heart of Cloud Recesses. Halfway to the infirmary, Lan Xichen appears along the path, bustling to greet them.

“Wangji,” he calls as soon as he can be heard without shouting. “You’ve returned.”

Lan Zhan’s tired mouth tips up a little. “Mn.”

“And with Shuangjian Shengshou,” Lan Xichen says, bowing to Jiang Cheng in greeting. “Welcome to you and yours.”

Lan Xichen turns again to his brother, studying him more carefully. Lan Zhan’s face is a study in blankness, but Lan Xichen’s smile fractionally readjusts. “Wangji, you are hurt.”

“Xiongzhang, do not worry," ” Lan Zhan says softly.

Wei Wuxian pipes up indignantly. “Lan Zhan! He should absolutely worry. Zewu-jun, he’s used every drop of spiritual energy he’s got, he’s still healing some broken bones, and you should cover him in doctors as soon as you can.”

“Indeed,” Lan Xichen says. “Sizhui, Jingyi, please take Wangji to the infirmary.”

“Yes, zongzhu!” the juniors chirp, and fall in on either side of Lan Zhan, giving him no chance to escape as they angle up the hill. Lan Zhan gives Wei Wuxian one last look, and then lets himself be whisked away. Ouyang Zizhen trails along behind them.

When Lan Zhan disappears from view, Wei Wuxian looks back at Lan Xichen to notice the sect leader’s thoughtful gaze resting on him.

“Thank you. The doctors may wish to speak with you; we will settle you in the guest quarters until then, Shuangjian Shengshou. Wei-gongzi.”

The Jiang cultivators are too well-trained to startle at that, but Wei Wuxian takes in a sharp breath of surprise.

“How did you know?” he asks sheepishly.

“I had reason to guess,” Lan Xichen says, his smile bland. “You’ve now confirmed it.”

“Oh,” Wei Wuxian says, and Lan Xichen gives him one last look before sweeping away up the hill and towards the infirmary.

Chapter Text

“Seclusion?” Wei Wuxian yelps.

“For a week,” Lan Zhan confirms.

“Longer, if the doctors and I can convince him to stay,” Lan Xichen says. Lan Zhan’s eyebrows slant at a grumpy angle.

“But— But—” Wei Wuxian scrambles for a sect-leader-friendly excuse— “We need to get started on figuring out the corpse thing!”

“Solving the mystery of Nie Mingjue’s death and subsequent manipulation is a priority, but, as I hope you would agree, it is far less important than Wangji’s health.”

Wei Wuxian deflates, then rallies. “If I can spend some time in the library, I might be able to figure out how to speed up his recovery time. I had some interesting ideas for arrays for channeling spiritual power that might help!”

Lan Xichen sends Lan Zhan a quelling glance. “Perhaps relying on Cold Pond’s wellspring of spiritual energy in the traditional manner would be best. Wangji’s reserve of spiritual energy is deeply drained, after all.”

“It will restore quickly,” Lan Zhan says, with a slight pout that seems to be the Twin Jades’ equivalent of Jiang Cheng pushing Wei Wuxian off a pier. He directs his attention to Wei Wuxian. “I will take the time to contemplate.”

Wei Wuxian sighs. “Contemplation! Well, I’ll try not to get too bored in the meantime.”

Jiang Cheng snorts. “Don’t worry about that, I’ll train you hard enough to keep the mayhem to a minimum.”

The next week goes faster and slower than Wei Wuxian had expected. Faster, in that Jiang Cheng really does stuff Wei Wuxian’s schedule full of training. As a bright spot, he can finally spar against the other Jiang disciples now that they’re no longer trying to conceal his identity with them. The Jiang disciples have to pull their strength a little to make it a fair match, but Wei Wuxian learns a thing or two from them: Jiang sparring has picked up a hodgepodge of little tricks, folded in from the rogue cultivators and defectors from other sects who helped rebuild the Jiang sect and train the next generation. Wei Wuxian is delighted every time one of them manages to surprise him.

He passes some time in the library as well, fiddling with a range of cultivation ideas and talisman designs. The Lan sect’s healing texts are really impressive, now that he’s looking for them: Wen Qing would have loved this library. Wei Wuxian picks and chooses titles that catch his attention, piling them carefully next to the seat where he once copied lines. He only lets himself stare longingly at the empty desk where Lan Zhan once sat every once in a while.

Some afternoons, when Jiang Cheng has vanished to go make eyes at Nie Huaisang, Wei Wuxian wanders into the back hills to play his flute, hoping his song reaches the Cold Springs Cave.

There’s an entire meadow full of rabbits in the back hills and Wei Wuxian loves everything about it. He loves the fluffy creatures themselves, of course: they’re so cute and friendly he can’t even bring himself to joke about eating one. He also loves the endless amusement of the stream of Lan disciples who make their way to the meadow to meditate or to drop some greens where the rabbits can easily munch on them, all with the self-righteous air of a Lan who is definitely not breaking a rule.

Wei Wuxian is in the meadow alone, playing around on his dizi with a lap full of rabbits, when someone comes up the path from the Cold Caves. They pause at the edge of the clearing, listening, and Wei Wuxian fools around for a few more phrases before lowering his dizi. He turns to look at his audience, and sees—

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian grins at the sight. He wants to spring to his feet, but remembers the rabbits at the last second. “Ah, I would get up, but… you can see I’m a little trapped. How are you? Did the healing thing work?”

“I am better,” Lan Zhan says. He looks it: maybe a little pale, but he’s standing strong on both legs. “Are you well?”

“Just making some rabbit friends,” Wei Ying gestures around the meadow. “But hey! Come, sit down. You can help free me from the bunnies, and then I’ve been keeping some snacks in case you came out between meals. Are you hungry?”

Lan Zhan crosses the meadow to Wei Wuxian, the afternoon light glittering along his guan and making his robes glow, highlighting his elegant posture and strong shoulders. Even fresh out of his sickbed, he’s more beautiful than anyone else Wei Wuxian knows.

He settles beside Wei Wuxian in the grass, an arm’s width away. Too close and too far all at once.

“Take a bun, any bun!” Wei Wuxian says grandly, and Lan Zhan reaches out towards a cute little black rabbit in Wei Wuxian’s lap—then freezes halfway, his face suddenly rigid.

“What?” Wei Wuxian asks, a jolt of nerves. “Haha, did I get something on my robes?”

Lan Zhan crosses his hands neatly in his lap and fixes his gaze on them. “I have had time to think,” he says quietly. 

“Oh?” Wei Wuxian says, voice high-pitched.

“When I was… inebriated. What did I do?”

Wei Wuxian laughs and relaxes. “Have you been worrying about that all week, Lan-er-gege? You stole me a xiao, then hit Jiang Cheng with it a couple times, and then you were really sweet and clingy for the rest of the night. Nothing bad.”

“But I bound you,” Lan Zhan says. “My ribbon—”

“Ah right, that!” Wei Wuxian rubs the back of his neck. “Lan Zhan, it’s—” Wei Wuxian briefly considers telling the righteous Hanguang-jun that he liked being tied up, and then throws that idea right out the window. “It’s fine. You were drunk, and I’ve run off on you enough times! No wonder Drunk Lan Zhan was worried I’d do it again.”

“Not fine,” Lan Wangji says forcefully. “I apologize. I know it was against your will.”

“Sure, but you’d never hurt me! I knew I was safe with you,” Wei Wuxian protests. He takes a deep breath, looking for a way to ask the question that has been on his mind since that night. “And ha, it’s not like you’d even want to take advantage of this helpless man, right?” He waits a moment. Lan Zhan stays silent. His fishing must be too obvious, between the comment and the blush he can feel spreading across his face. “Haha, it’d be ridiculous, right?”

Lan Zhan’s face shutters off.  “Ridiculous. Indeed.”

The last of the rabbits hop off Wei Wuxian, taking their warmth with them. It’s cool here in the mountains, even in summer. Particularly when Lan Zhan’s gaze slides away from him.

Wei Wuxian keeps his smile on and stands. “Indeed! Then apology made and accepted, and there’s really no need for that kind of thing between us anyway. Still friends, right?”

“Mn.” Wei Wuxian offers Lan Zhan a hand to stand up. He considers it for a second before accepting, but he does nonetheless. They make their way back together, still walking an arm’s length apart.

With Lan Zhan back on his feet, they set up a strategy meeting the next day in one of the smaller meeting pavilions. Servants scurry to set up tables and trays for the Twin Jades, Jiang Cheng, Wei Wuxian, and Nie Huaisang. Every Great Sect leader who hasn’t almost married his half sister, in fact.

“Please leave us until you’re requested,” Lan Xichen asks the servants with a gentle smile. They quickly retreat out the doors and Lan Xichen sends silencing talismans onto each wall. He then turns to his guests. “We’re here to discuss the unusual events of the last month.”

“And Da-ge’s death,” Huaisang chimes in.

“Particularly that,” Xichen agrees. “Perhaps we can begin by ensuring everyone here has the same information, beginning with events at Mo Manor.”

“That’s where you found Da-ge’s sword, right?” Huaisang asks.

Lan Zhan nods, and Jiang Cheng takes a deep breath. “And it’s where we found Wei Wuxian.”

Huaisang gasps and flutters his fan. “He didn’t die?”

“He did,” Lan Zhan says simply. “He was brought back.” He glares at Huaisang to make it clear that any attempt to make Wei Wuxian less alive than he is currently will go very poorly. It warms Wei Wuxian’s heart a little.

 “Oh!” Huaisang continues, oblivious to the threat. He looks wide-eyed around the room, then fixes on Wei Wuxian. Wei Wuxian raises his hand and gives Nie Huaisang a small grin. “Wait—Wei-xiong?”

“Yep, right here!” Wei Wuxian tenses slightly, but Huaisang’s grin appears over the top of the fan. 

“Wei-xiong! Welcome back. Good to see you in one piece!”

Wei Wuxian grins back. “Huaisang! I knew there would be someone who was happy to have me back.”

Lan Xichen clears his throat. “So. Wei Wuxian, could you explain the circumstances around your return?”

For the next hour, Jiang Cheng, Wei Wuxian, and Lan Wangji walk the others through the events of Mo Manor, Dafan Mountain, the Nie tombs, and Willow Shade Manor, giving every detail except for Qin Su’s heritage. Nie Huaisang pitches in to tell a bit more about the tombs, with Wei Wuxian filling in some of the technical bits Huaisang stumbles over.

“So to sum it up,” Wei Wuxian says eventually,: “the demonic cultivator knows the Jin style and was controlling Wen Ning, who the Jins were supposed to destroy, and Nie Mingjue, who had been pushing the Jins to let him investigate the Qin massacre more closely right before his very convenient death. If it looks like a Jin and fights like a Jin, then our mastermind might very well be…”

“Jin Guangshan or one of his lackeys,” Lan Xichen says with a steely smoothness. “Or, possibly, Jin Guangyao. There is still no evidence to distinguish between the three. And I think we would all agree about the value of not judging a man’s character hastily.”

Lan Xichen holds eye contact with his brother for a second longer than the rest of the room. He is still smiling, and Lan Zhan is still Lan Zhan, but there’s something a little stubborn to the set of both their jaws.

“Indeed,” Lan Zhan says at last.

“So,” Wei Wuxian says hurriedly, “if we need more evidence, where do we get it? I’ve got some ideas to track Nie Mingjue’s head using his body.”

Lan Xichen nods. “We attempted a scrying spell along those lines earlier this week, and it was able to give a vague direction with little precision. Perhaps your talents can be put to achieving a more accurate result.”

“Which direction?” Jiang Cheng asks.

“That way!” Nie Huaisang says, pointing over his shoulder.

“So kind of in the direction of Lanling?” Wei Wuxian asks, and Lan Xichen doesn’t quite sigh. “Ah, yep, still doesn’t mean it’s Jin Guangyao!” He says hurriedly. “I’ll also try to see if I can trace Wen Ning.”

“If they’re both hidden somewhere around Lanling, then we should wait until the conference to dig for them,” Jiang Cheng says decisively. “If all of us—or, hell, even some of us—storm into Lanling to poke around, someone’s spy will notice and then the whole cultivation world will know.”

“Sure,” Wei Wuxian shrugs. “And if I can get a trace that says they’re somewhere else—” 

“We will assess the danger and proceed appropriately,” Lan Wangji says.

“Boring, but sure!” Wei Wuxian says, and then takes a deep breath. “So, one other line of inquiry I can think of: does anyone know who ended up with Chenqing when I died?”

Everyone in the room flinches in their own way. “Fuck if I know,” Jiang Cheng snaps. “There was a big explosion when you broke the Yin Tiger Seal and we all went flying. By the time the dust settled I didn’t see Chenqing anywhere.” 

“I also am not certain who picked up the flute, I’m afraid,” Lan Xichen says. “The Lan contingent largely provided musical support from the rear; the frontline was primarily Jin, Jiang, and Nie cultivators.”

“But the Jins were rooting around like pigs anywhere they thought they could scavenge something valuable,” Jiang Cheng breaks in. “My people just got Suibian first because we were lucky. If anyone would have taken the flute, the Jins would have.”

Lan Xichen hums thoughtfully, then turns to Wei Wuxian. “If I may ask, who was closest to you at the end?”

“No idea,” Wei Wuxian admits, keeping a cheerful smile on. “My memory’s bad enough most of the time and even worse after Nightless City. It’s one third actual memories, one third hallucinations, and one third just gone. It’s a lot of fun picking out which is which!”

“You’re sure they are hallucinations?” Lan Xichen asks delicately. Beside him, Lan Zhan looks frozen in place.

Wei Wuxian grins, or bares his teeth. “Well, unless you think my mother was at the siege…”

Or Jiang Fengmian, or Lan Zhan himself. But he doesn’t need to be cruel about it.

“Point taken,” Lan Xichen says with an incline of his head. 

“Maybe if you wrote down who you thought you saw, we could sift through that as a starting point,” Jiang Cheng suggests gruffly. 

“Sure,” Wei Wuxian shrugs, reaching for  a new sheet of paper. “It’s gonna be messy, though.”

As he settles down to write, Lan Xichen surveys the room. “I think we’ve done most of what we can with today’s planning,” he says smoothly. “If anyone wants to take their leave, they certainly can.”

Lan Zhan rises abruptly from his desk, his face tense and drawn. Wei Wuxian startles at the speed with which he moves. 

 “Lan Zhan, is everything alright?” Wei Wuxian asks, probing. Is his friend so upset at discussing Wei Wuxian’s death? He did get better.

Pain, confusion, and something like hope flicker behind Lan Zhan’s stoic expression, and then are locked away again. “Perhaps,” he says roughly, and then practically flees the hall. Wei Wuxian sits stunned in the silence he leaves behind.

“What just happened?” he asks weakly.

“Oh, I’m sure I don’t know,” Nie Huaisang says, and flicks his fan shut with a smile. “I’ll see you later; my latest painting calls!” He bows quickly to the other sect leaders and vanishes from the room.

Lan Xichen fixes his attention on Wei Wuxian, his eyes searching. “Are you sure you cannot guess, even if you don’t remember? My brother has not been particularly subtle towards you.”

Jiang Cheng huffs. “With all due respect, Lan-zongzhu, you haven’t been stuck with these two for the last month. You couldn’t pull the words out of his mouth with a team of horses.”

Lan Xichen’s smile gets more distant, impossibly enough. “With all due respect, Jiang-zongzhu—”

“I’m going for a walk,” Wei Wuxian interrupts. He’s tired of being bickered over, and he’s tired of hurting people without knowing how he did it. “And don’t worry, Zewu-jun, I won’t go bother Lan Zhan.”

Wei Wuxian manages a perfunctory bow and scrambles out of the room. He can probably find a quiet spot on the back hill: almost no one ever came by when he was fishing there. Well, no one except Lan Zhan, who was always there to find him. So maybe somewhere else would be better. He changes course to cut through one of the courtyards.

“Wait up, you idiot!” A hand catches his sleeve. Wei Wuxian freezes and turns.

“Jiang Cheng?”

“Sit. Bench. Now. I’m only going to say this once.”

Wei Wuxian slumps onto a bench bordering the courtyard. “You don’t need to scold me; I’m not going to go get myself in any more trouble.”

Jiang Cheng sighs. “I’m not here to scold you. I’m here because— Ugh.” He pauses, searching for words. “So first. Lan Wangji. You can do better, okay? If you just want an asshole pretty boy with exactly one facial expression, I’ll get you a damn cat. It’ll be less work.”

Wei Wuxian laughs despite himself. “Ah, but A-Cheng, I’ve yet to find a cat that looks quite as handsome as he does in Gusu Lan robes.”

Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes. “Gross, but exactly what I expected. So here’s the second thing, and I’m very, very certain about this. He’s in love with you.”

“A-Cheng!” Wei Wuxian sits bolt upright. “Kind of a jerk move, pulling my leg like that—”

“No joking,” Jiang Cheng says firmly. “He spent three months looking for you after you vanished—”

“Well, yeah, we were kind of friends who killed a monster together—”

“And then he just, like, looked at you every time you were in the same room—”

“A lot of people were staring at me then!”

“And then I’ve been watching him act like he was your widow for the last thirteen years! I’m pretty sure that the sash you picked out for him is the first color he wore since you died. We’ve run into each other at every night hunt that sounded even a little bit like you, and he has the same fucking expression every time. I’ve been training teenagers for more than a decade now, and I’ve never seen any of them as stupidly lovesick as he is for you.”

“But he would have said something,” Wei Wuxian says numbly, a little flicker of hope growing despite his best efforts.

Jiang Cheng throws his hands in the air. “You would really think so, wouldn’t you? Except instead he’s somehow convinced himself that your gigantic visible-from-the-moon crush doesn’t exist and that he’s being a noble martyr by keeping his mouth shut.”

“How could he think I don’t like him?” Wei Wuxian demands, stunned.

“As I said, no fucking clue,” Jiang Cheng says, and sighs. “But he’s yours if you want him.”

A quiet cough sounds from behind them. Wei Wuxian spins to see Lan Xichen step out from around the corner. Wei Wuxian springs from the bench and bows.

“Zewu-jun! So, I know I said I wasn’t going to bother Lan Zhan, but where can I find him?”

Lan Xichen gives him a searching look. “For what reason, exactly, are you hoping to find him?” he asks. 

Wei Wuxian wilts a little and then rebounds. “He’s very wrong about something and I need to tell him the truth. And I think—or at least I hope—that he really wants to know.”

Lan Xichen’s smile is terrifyingly bland. “Indeed, he has always listened closely to what you have said to him. Do you think that this time, it will end with Wangji wounded, or in tears?”

Jiang Cheng makes a sound of protest, but Wei Wuxian stops him and bows instead.

“I know that I’ve forgotten a bunch of important things and made a ton of mistakes,” Wei Wuxian says. “But I can try to be better, and he deserves to know that I— that I’m totally, completely his, if he really wants me.” The words feel like sunshine in his mouth. That I love him, he wants to say, but he holds those words back for the one who should hear them first.

“Well then.” Lan Xichen’s tone thaws slightly.  “Given his mood, I would suggest the Cold Springs. You remember the way? If he is not there, listen for guqin music around the back hill meadows or the Jingshi. I suspect you will recognize the song.”

“Thank you, thank you!” Wei Wuxian rises from his bow. “I’ll go straight there!”

Lan Xichen eyes him warily. “I hope I won’t regret it,” he says. “Please be kind to him, and honest. He deserves at least that.”

“Oh, I will be,” Wei Wuxian promises, bouncing on his toes. “I’ll tell him everything. Even that I liked it when he tied me up with his ribbon!”

“He did what?” Lan Xichen asks, startled, but Wei Wuxian has already taken off running for the back hills, onwards towards the Cold Springs.

The path to the back hills is too long and too short—too much time for Wei Wuxian’s heart to burst with feelings and his mind with memories, too little time to choose what he actually wants to say.

Then he skids around the last corner on the way to the Cold Springs, and the sight pushes any of the words out of his head.

Lan Zhan is beautiful—of course he is, the cascade of his long black hair, the graceful muscles of his arms and back—but that isn’t what knocks the breath out of Wei Wuxian’s chest. No, it’s—

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian blurts. “What happened to your back?”

Lan Zhan spins in the water, his eyes wide. The motion hides the criss-crossing network of whip scars covering his back, all except the ones that curl around his waist or over his shoulders. Wei Wuxian would indulge in the sight of Lan Zhan’s chest—he hadn’t appreciated it enough as a teen, he really hadn’t—if there wasn’t a red scar marring the skin above his heart.

“The Wen brand too?” Wei Wuxian says with horror. “When?” He thought he’d left that kind of scar behind with his old body.

Lan Zhan clutches his arms across his chest, obscuring the brand.

“Old injuries,” he says stiffly. “They are best forgotten.”

Wei Wuxian shakes his head, kicking off his boots and flopping down at the edge of the water. “I missed so much, Lan Zhan, I want to know. What happened?”

Lan Zhan looks reluctant, eyes flicking to the water.

“Please?” Wei Wuxian pushes.

Lan Zhan holds himself carefully, his gaze finally meeting Wei Wuxian’s. “After Nightless City. You do not remember?”

“Basically nothing,” Wei Wuxian confesses. “I meant what I said.”

“I carried you to the Burial Mounds,” Lan Zhan says at last. “I defended you there. I tried to pass you spiritual energy.”

“But it wouldn’t have done a thing,” Wei Wuxian breathes. He’s never wished so much that he had told someone the truth about his core.  “And then you were whipped for protecting me? Ah, Lan Zhan, I wish you’d left me alone instead.”

Lan Zhan closes his eyes, tensing as if in pain. “So you said then as well. I apologize.”

Wei Wuxian recoils. “I wasn’t looking for an apology.”

“Nonetheless, I should not have remained when you wished me gone,” Lan Zhan says. 

“No, you don’t get it.” Wei Wuxian shakes his head, grappling again for the right words. Why is it so hard to say what he means? “Lan Zhan, I don’t know what exactly was going through my head then—well, other than way too much resentful energy—but I can tell you this much: both times when I was in the Burial Mounds, I thought about you every day, even though it hurt. I would never have actually wanted you to leave. ”

“Then why?” Lan Zhan asks hoarsely.

“Because I didn’t want to bring you down too when I died. I wanted you home, safe, and happy without me.”

Lan Zhan looks up. Old heartbreak cracks like spring ice in his eyes. “How could I be happy without you alive?”

“Ah, Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian chokes. “You’re—” too much, he wants to say, but Lan Zhan would definitely take that the wrong way—“Too good for me.”

“No, ” Lan Zhan says fiercely, striding through the water towards him, his gaze burning into Wei Wuxian’s soul. “Believe this: you are good, and you have made me better at every step. The overreach has always been mine.”

“What overreach!” Wei Wuxian says indignantly, and it hits him all over again, the dizzying idea that maybe Lan Zhan wants Wei Wuxian just as much as Wei Wuxian longs for him. “Oh, Lan Zhan, I can’t believe you don’t know. You could never ask for too much from me! I want to give you everything, because—because I adore you, and I want you, and I love you. Lan Zhan, I’ve been in love with you forever, even when I didn’t know it!”

 Lan Zhan’s eyes go wide in silent surprise.

 “And Lan Zhan—is that why you did everything you did, too? Because you were—”

“In love,” Lan Zhan breathes. “Always.”

He cuts through the water, reaching Wei Wuxian in three last effortless strides and grabbing his robes in one hand, even as Wei Wuxian sways to meet him. Their lips come together in a sweet, dizzying kiss.

Wei Wuxian laughs joyfully, the sound sending birds rising from the bamboo groves into the sky. “Catch me, Lan Zhan!” he says, and tumbles forward into the pool, knowing Lan Zhan’s arms will be there. Lan Zhan scoops him up easily, strong arms holding him close as Wei Wuxian takes a gasping breath against the cold of the water. “Er-gege, it’s so cold!” he whines, wrapping his legs around Lan Zhan’s middle.

“These are the Cold Springs.” Lan Zhan huffs a laugh and smiles. And oh, Wei Wuxian can’t believe he’s lived a whole life without that small smile, without the contentment and impossible love that radiates through it. He burrows closer to Lan Zhan’s chest, and they  tilt their mouths together for another kiss, Lan Zhan passing Wei Wuxian a flow of spiritual energy that chases away the cold. He feels like a river, reassuring in its depth and unending steadiness. Mo Xuanyu’s core drinks him in, meridians sparkling with power.

Wei Wuxian nips at Lan Zhan’s lower lip, and all at once the kiss turns into something fiercer and more demanding. He gasps as Lan Zhan kisses him like he wants to devour him, all teeth and tongue and hands crushing him closer. 

At last they break for air, shivering and panting together.

“Ah, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says, grinning.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says solemnly back, a tiny tinge of uncertainty hidden among the joy.

Wei Ying leans in to peck him on the cheek, determined to chase it away. “Hanguang-jun, outstanding in all things, is the best kisser I’ve ever kissed,” he declares. “Admittedly, I’ve only kissed one other person, but I will fight anyone who thinks they can kiss better than you—”

“Only one?” Lan Zhan interrupts.

“Just you and someone at the Phoenix Mountain Hunt!” Wei Wuxian chirps. 

Lan Zhan’s ears are very, very red. “Ah.”

Wei Wuxian puts two and two together and grins delightedly. “You stole my first kiss? Who would have expected you to be such a brute!” he says, and reels himself in again. By the time they part again, his mouth is red and tender, both of them are panting, and Wei Wuxian’s robes are completely soaked through.

“There is exactly one thing wrong with this situation,” he realizes, flicking Lan Zhan’s nose, “and it’s that I don’t have any dry clothes. And it’s all your fault, er-gege!”

“Wei Ying jumped in of his own accord,” Lan Zhan says dryly. Well, not so dryly: he is also dripping with freezing water, and he can’t keep that luminescent hint of a smile off his face.

Wei Ying sniffs, “You’re clearly the responsible party here! You were just too irresistible. How could I possibly keep from jumping in, with you gorgeous and shirtless and in love with me?”

“Mn.” Lan Zhan rises out of the springs at last, his wet trousers clinging to him. And—oh, that is a new view that Wei Wuxian would very much like to investigate more closely. Lan Zhan wraps two layers around himself, and then his warm, strong hands slide Wei Wuxian’s wet outer robes from his shoulders and replace them with two of Lan Zhan’s dry ones. His touch is caring and gentle, as it has been since Wei Wuxian’s return. Wei Wuxian wonders how he could ever have mistaken Lan Zhan’s gestures for anything but love.

“Better!” Wei Wuxian says happily, burying his nose in the fabric to inhale Lan Zhan’s sandalwood scent.

“Not good enough,” Lan Zhan says. He scoops Wei Wuxian up, cradling him as close as a bride. Wei Wuxian clings on, every touch still novel. Here in Lan Zhan’s arms, basking in Lan Zhan’s light, this new body feels profoundly right: like a gift that Wei Wuxian has at last learned how to accept.

“Ha, so strong! Where are you sweeping me off to next?”

“The Jingshi,” Lan Zhan says, glancing down. “If Wei Ying is willing.”

Wei Ying flushes and grins. “So forward of Hanguang-jun! But you’re lucky; Wei Ying is very, very willing. However you want me, you have me.”

“Then I will have you every way,” Lan Zhan says determinedly, and strides off towards the Jingshi. Wei Wuxian laughs and holds tight, knowing Lan Zhan won’t let him fall.

Chapter Text

Lan Zhan does not get out of bed at hai shi the next morning. He wakes at hai shi, of course, but Wei Wuxian only had to burrow his head into Lan Zhan’s chest and whine to get him to settle down again. He dozes like that for the next shichen, soothed by Lan Zhan’s hand softly petting along his hair, along his back, and, as Wei Wuxian starts to wake, along his ass.

That touch is enough to wake Wei Wuxian the rest of the way, and also enough to delay their getting out of bed for another half shichen.

Wei Wuxian revels in the slow process of warming a bath, getting dressed, and preparing their breakfast. Every step he takes Lan Zhan’s eyes linger on him, full of the same wondering joy that keeps bubbling up in Wei Wuxian’s chest. He can’t go more than ten paces away from Lan Zhan without reeling back to him, reveling in the novelty of knowing his touch will be welcomed. He eats his breakfast sitting in Lan Zhan’s lap. When he almost falls over, Lan Zhan only rescues the bowl and draws him closer.

Wei Wuxian lingers in front of the mirror as he dresses, touching the dark hickeys around his throat admiringly. “Ah, there’ll be no hiding these! What a savage, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Zhan’s ears turn red, and Wei Wuxian finally knows exactly what it means. “You bruise easily,” Lan Zhan says defensively.

Wei Wuxian laughs. “And you bite hard when I’m egging you on! Which is exactly what I wanted, so you’d better keep up the good work. Though maybe a little lower down next time.”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan agrees. Wei Wuxian drapes himself around Lan Zhan and lightly puts his teeth on his shoulder. Lan Zhan snorts and draws him around into a proper kiss.

“I feel so light, er-gege,” Wei Wuxian says breathlessly. “Just to know.” He traces a thumb over where the Wen brand sits: maybe it should feel heavy, to know he should take responsibility for the marks that Lan Zhan bears. But if the best way he can pay it off is to make Lan Zhan happy—well, out of all the many duties Wei Wuxian has shouldered in his two lives, this one brings him more joy than any other.

“Mn,” Lan Zhan says, eyes soft. Then he hesitates. “There is more,” he admits.

“What? Lan Zhan, more how? I thought I saw all of you last night.”

“Not a scar,” Lan Zhan reassures him. “More that you should know. It is not entirely mine to tell.”

“Okay, er-gege,” Wei Wuxian says, settling again. “Not something bad, though?”

“The opposite. After Jinlintai, I will prepare and tell you properly.”

“Okay.” Wei Wuxian leans into Lan Zhan. “It’ll be terribly hard not to badger you about it, but I know you’ll tell me when you can.”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan hums, and pulls Wei Wuxian into another kiss.

They visit Jiang Cheng in the Yunmeng quarters where he’s working his way through a stack of sect mail.

“Nope,” Jiang Cheng declares, looking at the ribbon marks on Wei Wuxian’s wrists. Or maybe at the bites on Wei Wuxian’s neck, or the white inner robes bunching beneath his usual outfit, or just at the happy glow on Wei Wuxian’s face. There’s a lot to pick from! “Nope, nope, absolutely not talking about it, and fuck you both.”

“Well, if you’re going to bring it up first like that—” Jiang Cheng throws a bun at his face, and Wei Wuxian detaches his hand from Lan Zhan’s to catch it. “Aww, bonus breakfast!”

Later when they cross Lan Xichen’s path, his gaze drifts over the two of them as though he has simply decided to not see any peculiarities. “Congratulations, Wangji,” he says sincerely. Lan Zhan nods and grips Wei Wuxian’s hand more tightly.

“I am glad to see my brother is well,” Lan Xichen tells Wei Wuxian, something about his smile threatening him with the tiniest amount of murder.

“Thanks!” Wei Wuxian chirps. “I’ll make sure he definitely, totally stays that way.” He subtly shifts himself to keep Lan Zhan between them. Whatever anyone else might think, Wei Wuxian knows which of the Twin Jades scares him more.

It’s the start of Wei Wuxian’s best week in two lives. He spends most of his days having sex, doing research, and playing duets of the delightfully named Wangxian with Lan Zhan. After spending so long trying to catch his attention, it’s a heady feeling to suddenly have Lan Zhan’s full doting care openly trained on him all of the time. Especially heady since Lan Zhan makes sure there’s always spice at the table and liquor in Wei Ying’s cup.

One afternoon as he works through some scrolls on locating arrays in the Lan library, he hears the swish of robes as someone approaches his desk. A tray with lunch sits steaming on the desk.

“Ah Lan Zhan,” he says, scribbling down some corrections in the margin of a text. No wonder Lan Xichen couldn’t find Nie Mingjue if this was all he was working with. “Just let me finish this page and then I’ll eat, I promise.”

“Meals should be taken promptly at mealtimes,” a voice says sternly. Wei Wuxian jerks up, the blood draining from his face.

“Ah, Lan-laoshi,” he says, a sickly grin on his face as he sees Lan Qiren settling disapprovingly across the desk from him. “I, ah, am glad to see you!”

“Do not tell lies,” Lan Qiren says evenly. “Eat. It is well past lunchtime already.”

Wei Wuxian laughs nervously and starts ladling the bland food into his mouth. He’s hungrier than he realized: with Lan Zhan busy for the day with sect business, he hadn’t put much thought into food.

Lan Qiren sits silently as Wei Wuxian eats, studying him. Wei Wuxian is discomfited enough to stay as quiet as a Lan while he finishes his meal. Afterward, Lan Qiren reaches an expectant hand out towards him.

“Your wrist,” he requests.

Wei Wuxian pushes down a moment’s irritation. Before he got sick in his first life—before people realized he was sick—no one ever treated his body with such casual proprietariness. Nonetheless, he gives Lan Qiren his hand. The old scholar listens to the flow of qi for a minute and then nods.

“Your demonic cultivation continues to take a toll on your meridians,” he says at last.

Wei Wuxian bristles. “Well, yeah, but I’ve got it under control.”

“I am not worried about you exploding in the middle of a crowd of cultivators again,” Lan Qiren snaps. “I am concerned about the slow deterioration of your health, which is particularly likely should you continue to treat basic tasks of survival such as eating as optional.”

“Um.” Wei Wuxian blinks, but Lan Qiren has already risen from the table to gather some scrolls from the library shelves. He sets them on the table in front of Wei Wuxian with an irritated thunk.

“Wangji will not suggest these to you because he fears you will bolt like a rabbit if he expresses concern about your cultivation,” Lan Qiren sniffs. “However, his research before your death suggested that the exercises in these manuals could be particularly beneficial for cultivators who have been influenced by resentful energy.”

Wei Wuxian warily reaches out and takes a scroll. “Thank you?” he tries. “And you’re, um, not going to kick me out of Cloud Recesses or lock me up or something?”

Lan Qiren glares. “No,” he says evenly. “I have watched my brother and both of my nephews lose their loved ones and struggle with the grief of it. I do not plan on watching it happen again.”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes drop to the table. “Ah. I’m sorry for all that.”

“That apology belongs between you and Wangji. I am here because I want you to know that your health is Wangji’s health now. If you cannot bring yourself to care for your well-being for your own sake, perhaps you can do so for his.”

“I’m trying!” Wei Wuxian protests. “I just get distracted. I eat at least two meals a day, every day, and that’s a substantial step up from before. You’d have to tie me up to get me to do much better than this.”

Lan Qiren’s eyes narrow dangerously. “Wei Wuxian. Do you have any idea what Wangji hears when you joke about him imprisoning you?”

“It’s a figure of speech!”

“Not in our family. Follow me. You may return for the scrolls later.”

Lan Qiren shows Wei Wuxian a house surrounded by gentians on the outskirts of the sect and tells him the story of a boy who once kneeled there in the snow. By the time they return to the library, Wei Wuxian’s face is somber. Lan Qiren seems pleased with that.

That night, Wei Wuxian curls closer in the warmth of Lan Zhan’s arms as they drift towards sleep.

“Hey, Lan Zhan?”

“Wei Ying.”

“I’m happy with you. Really, really happy. Not because you make me spicy food and sneak me wine and listen to me ramble, even though that’s all great! Just because you’re you, and I love you. You know that, right?”

Lan Zhan's grip tightens. “I know that now,” he whispers at last, and they drift off to sleep entwined as closely as two people can be.

Wei Wuxian even makes it to sword practice with Jiang Cheng most mornings. Of course, Jiang Cheng won’t come anywhere near the Jingshi, so it falls to Lan Zhan to gently lift Wei Wuxian out of bed, get a light breakfast in front of him while he’s still yawning, and walk him over to the guest training grounds close enough to on time for Jiang Cheng to only yell at him a little bit.

“You could have been my pillow for at least another half-shichen,” he mumbles at Lan Zhan as they stroll the last distance up to the ground. 

“You slept for almost five shichen,” Lan Zhan observes mildly. 

“Well, maybe that would be enough if the powerful Hanguang-jun wasn’t tiring me out every night!”

“I apologize. If Wei Ying cannot bear our evening activities, we can reduce their frequency.” Lan Zhan’s mouth twitches in a half-smirk as Wei Ying puffs up.

“Absolutely not, unthinkable, terrible plan!” Wei Ying declares. “You made commitments, er-gege! I didn’t think the Lan sect took their promises so lightly. And especially not when they’re made with such a big part of you—”

“We can hear you, dumbass!” Jiang Cheng calls from the training grounds ahead.

The other Jiang disciples cackle with laughter in the courtyard as Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji round the corner. Jiang Cheng’s face is already turning an interesting shade of red. Wei Wuxian grins; if he plays his cards right, he could probably turn his little brother the same color as his donkey’s favorite snack.

“Goodbye darling, baobei, my heart and soul,” he declaims, and leans into Lan Wangji for a light kiss. Lan Wangji kisses back, and then sweeps Wei Ying off his feet for a smoldering kiss that chases the artifice right out of Wei Wuxian’s performance.

The ex-demonic cultivator Meng Yuying gives a piercing wolf-whistle at the sight, Jiang Cheng predictably sputters, and someone else makes an exaggerated retching sound. At last, Lan Zhan smugly puts Wei Wuxian back on his feet.

“Goodbye, Wei Ying,” he says, kissing Wei Wuxian’s forehead as he regains his balance. With that, the Second Jade of Lan turns on his heel and drifts regally away.

As Lan Zhan passes out of hearing range, Tang Rui mutters, “Never would have thought he’d have it in him.”

“Which ‘him’ and ‘it’ are you talking about?” Meng Yuying asks. “Hanguang-jun and actual human emotions, or our shixiong and Hanguang-jun’s—”

“Get in order! I hate you all and we’re starting with Eight Brocades,” Jiang Cheng spits. “Twenty repetitions of each exercise so you can do something more useful with your breath than gossip.”

Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes but settles into the Eight Brocade’s series of slow stretches without too much more protest. It’s good for his golden core, at least, as he carefully draws in spiritual energy with each breath. His mind comes closer to settling into meditation than it normally does, but he can’t stop himself from noticing Jiang Cheng. Each breath he takes in is angry, each movement sharp—not with Jiang Cheng’s usual simmering background level of anger, but the kind that meant Shijie would sit them both down on a bench in one of the pavilions until Jiang Cheng finally admitted what was eating away at him.

But Shijie isn’t there any more—not to fix her brothers, not to live her own life. So that leaves only Wei Wuxian.

“Forms, then sparring,” Jiang Cheng directs them as they conclude Eight Brocades. “Focus on your strikes today, particularly the angle of your blade. Especially for a thick-skinned yao, that’ll decide whether you cut through or bounce off. Got it?”

Wei Wuxian elbows aside Tang Rui to get a spot to the front and side of the formation. When the forms conclude, Jiang Cheng’s eyes flick across. “Okay, Wu Xianglin and Tang Rui, and Meng Yuying and—”

“Wei Shinan?” Wei  Wuxian suggests. “And that leaves you and me!”

Jiang Cheng grits his teeth. “Since when do you pick pairs? You’re not head disciple.”

Every Jiang disciple flinches. Jiang Cheng does too—Wei Wuxian doubts he meant to cut that deep. Nonetheless, he did. “No,” he says evenly, “but they’re well-matched, and I wanna spar my brother. Is that so weird?”

Jiang Cheng nods tersely. “Fine. Make it worth my time, then.”

Jiang Cheng starts the sparring quickly with a set of quick stabs. He’s trying to hold himself back to a responsible training level of power, but his temper leaks through in bursts of too-strong qi.

“I’ve got the Mostly Peaceful Compass working,” Wei Wuxian tells Jiang Cheng, fending off the strikes. “As long as I’m holding it, it should point straight at Wen Ning. I can’t figure out how to make it work if I give it to someone else, though.”

Jiang Cheng’s grip tightens. “Wen Ning Wen Ning Wen Ning,” he mocks. “I’m done hearing about your stupid fierce corpse. Well, I’m sure your fucking future husband—” Wei Wuxian blocks a particularly vicious cut—“will help you find him.”

Ah, so Lan Zhan is the problem. “He’s been a big help!” Wei Wuxian says calmly, surprisingly not yet out of breath. “With finding my old friend, and other stuff too.”

“Good. For. You,” Jiang Cheng snaps, punctuating his words with blows. They dance across the edge of the training yard, Jiang Cheng driving him back towards the woods at his border. Wei Wuxian ducks between the trees, using them as cover against Jiang Cheng’s barrage. “I can’t fucking wait until we solve this stupid case and you can come back here for good!”

“Wait, here to Gusu?” Wei Wuxian dodges.

“Of course. Just you and your new perfect little family!”

Wei Wuxian laughs, relieved, and Jiang Cheng snarls. “Is this funny to you?”

“No!” Wei Wuxian protests. He skips backwards to a footbridge across a stream and holds in the middle. “No, it’s not funny, it’s just—really stupid, and exactly the way we’re always stupid.”

“What the hell do you mean?” Jiang Cheng snaps, falling into a form with him. 

“I mean did you ever think about just asking me if I wanted to come back to Lotus Pier?” Wei Wuxian asks, bracing a foot against the edge of the bridge to spin away again. “Or did you decide you’d rather twist yourself up in knots about it first, A-Cheng?”

“Stop calling me that! Stop calling me that if you’re going to just—”

“Leave?” Wei Wuxian asks, sliding into the same form, bracing a foot against the edge of the bridge to spin away again. “Not what I’m planning on.”

Jiang Cheng slows and stops for a moment, sword lowered and eyes narrowed. “But you’re in love with Lan Wangji.”

“I am,” Wei Wuxian agrees. “It’s great.”

With that, he hooks his leg around his brother’s and launches him into the deepest part of the stream. Jiang Cheng comes up sputtering as Wei Wuxian jumps down to sit on the edge of the bridge. For all the tangled layers Jiang Cheng has wrapped around himself over the years, it only takes one dunk in the water to send him back to the flailing of an indignant teenager.

“What the fuck was that for?” Jiang Cheng yowls.

“You clearly need to get your head out of— Aaah fuck!”

Jiang Cheng surges out of the stream and drags Wei Wuxian into the stream. The freezing water drives a gasp out of Wei Wuxian’s lungs. He scrabbles back up to take a gulp of air and glares at his smugly grinning brother. 

“Oh, you’re going to regret that,” Wei Wuxian snaps, and soaks Jiang Cheng with a splash. Jiang Cheng has to avenge himself with another wave of water, of course, and at this point the whole thing devolves into a childish wrestling match in the water. There’s no technique to it, nothing beyond the silly moves they’d invented when they were ten: it’s just about strength and unpredictability and a willingness to sacrifice one’s own dignity.

Finally, they drag themselves back up onto the bridge.

“Seriously, why’d you start that?” Jiang Cheng says, trying to look grumpy as he punches Wei Wuxian on the shoulder. “This stream must be made out of ice!”

“It was a very important lesson for you,” Wei Wuxian says primly, breaking out of a loose headlock. “I belong in the water, but not the kind you get around here. I’ll have to come back to Lotus Pier for the swimming at least.”

Jiang Cheng eyes him with some mix of skepticism and maybe hope. “The water in the Burial Mounds was worse,” he points out.

“It was,” Wei Wuxian admits. “But no one’s going to die if I leave Gusu. It’s kind of an important difference.”

“I can’t make you head disciple again.” Jiang Cheng mutters.

“You shouldn’t.” That possibility for Yunmeng’s Twin Heros has long passed. “Jiang Meihua’s great at it, from all I hear. And no one, me included, wants me in charge of the paperwork.” He edges closer to his brother, flings an arm around him with a casualness he doesn’t quite feel. “But even if I don’t know what it’ll look like, I want to come some kind of back and pester my little brother. Even if you try chasing me off and I have to sleep on the roof!”

“Sleeping on the roof?” Jiang Cheng snorts. “Fuck off. I already kept your stupid room as empty space for thirteen years, I’d look like an idiot if you didn’t use it now.”

Wei Wuxian grins. “Oh, you’re gonna regret this so much,” he tells Jiang Cheng cheerfully. “I’m gonna corrupt all the little shidis and—”

“I’m not going to regret a fucking thing.” Jiang Cheng turns to Wei Wuxian and gives him a crushing hug. Their robes are both soaking wet, the bridge is warm underneath them, and Wei Wuxian remembers—his brother gives the best hugs. Wei Wuxian laughs into his brother’s shoulder, relaxing and imagining future summer days in the pavilions of Lotus Pier.

“If Lan Wangji keeps pulling shit like this morning, though, I will totally make him sleep on the roof,” Jiang Cheng warns.

“I’m sure that will do absolutely nothing to stop him,” Wei Wuxian teases. Jiang Cheng mutters another fuck off into his shoulder while crushing his ribs a little more tightly.

Something bumps against Wei Wuxian’s back as they pull back from the hug. “What was that?” he asks, craning to look.

“Um.” Jiang Cheng is holding something in his hand. “It’s a clarity bell.”

“Wait, that’s not just any clarity bell,” Wei Wuxian breathes, reaching out to touch the silver. It’s far less tarnished than when he saw it last, and it has a new tassel of rich purple and red, but he knows it almost as well as Suibian. “It’s my old bell.”

“Yeah, well, you look kind of silly in Jiang robes without it,” Jiang Cheng says, looking away.

Wei Wuxian gently touches the bell where it sits in Jiang Cheng’s hand. “I almost drove you crazy when I first got this thing,” he says fondly. “I was so excited I could actually make it ring, and you’d go hit me with a pillow to make me stop. Good times.”

“Well, it’s yours if you want it back.” Jiang Cheng takes a deep breath. “I thought you didn’t care about it anymore by the time you… you know. I guess I was wrong.”

Wei Wuxian nods, a lump in his throat as he picks up the bell and dangles it. The last time he’d heard its sound was when he shook it next to his unconscious and coreless brother, hoping the sound would help heal the wounds he’d taken from the Wens. He’d lost it when Wen Chao had grabbed him to drag him off to the Burial Mounds. Jiang Cheng had found it and given it back three months later, but by then, it was useless to him.

Now, he sends a pulse of spiritual power into the bell, and it rings clear and far in the crisp mountain air.

Koi Tower isn’t any less ridiculous than it was the last time Wei Wuxian came there. The golden steps tower over the group as the Jiang delegation waits at the bottom. Jiang Cheng’s eyes flick between the tower, the intricate carvings of past Jin feats (real or imaginary), and the dusty road behind them. 

“Wanna head up?” Wei Wuxian asks Jiang Cheng, edging ahead of the band of Jiang cultivators. “The Lans have had enough time to get ahead of us, so we don’t need to worry about a diplomatic pile-up.”

“We’ll head up soon,” Jiang Cheng says shortly, scanning the steps.  He’s gotten more tense with every step they’ve taken towards Lanling. Wei Wuxian can’t blame him: even before the cultivation world started turning on Wei Wuxian, visiting Koi Tower always felt like hunting a tiger yao ready to devour a visitor at the slightest sign of weakness.  “You have exactly one job, Mo Xuanyu, and that’s to do what everyone else does.”

“Got it, got it.” Wei Wuxian steps dramatically back into the middle of the Jiang formation. Such neat lines and matching uniforms! Wei Wuxian remembers when they could barely scrounge up enough purple fabric to clothe any three cultivators in the same shade. Every disciple adds their own personal touches, of course, but the overall similarity makes it easy for Wei Wuxian to blend in.

Jiang Cheng paces for a couple more minutes while the Jiang cultivators shift back and forth, bored and restless. “Stinking little brat,” Jiang Cheng mutters at last. “If he’s too mad to meet us, I’m not standing around and waiting any longer. Let’s head on up.”

The Jiang disciples snap into line, and they walk in sync up the endless steps. It’s still weird to Wei Wuxian to think how this place was home to one of his favorite people. Shijie had been so radiantly happy wearing her wedding robes and ready to move to Lanling to be with her Jin Zixuan. Maybe anywhere could feel like home, if someone loved you enough. If you loved them enough. 

He wonders if Koi Tower feels like home to Jin Ling. 

When they crest the top of the stairs, Wei Wuxian’s legs are glad for the relief. The relaxation lasts for only a moment, though, until Wei Wuxian sees Jin Ling and Jin Guangyao waiting at the top of the stairs. Wei Wuxian’s eyes flick over Jin Guangyao’s welcoming, warm smile and flick straight to Jin Ling’s scowl. He’s glaring at pretty much everybody, but especially at Wei Wuxian.

Jin Guangyao bows politely. “Shuangjian Shengshou. Welcome, as always, to Koi Tower.”

Jiang Cheng bows to match him. “Thank you, Lianfang-zun.”

Jin Guangyao glances sideways to where Jin Ling remains upright. “Jin Ling,” he prompts, “How do we greet a sect leader?”

“Why’s he here?” Jin Ling snaps, staring at Wei Wuxian. He freezes, Jiang Cheng stiffens, and the other Jiang cultivators shift as though subtly closing ranks. 

Jin Guangyao coughs into his sleeve, then gives the Jiang delegates a harried, embarrassed smile. “Ah, A-Ling, it’s impolite to comment on other sect’s choices of delegates.”

“No,” Jin Ling insists, “Why’s he here after he got kicked out?” He sneers at Wei Wuxian. “Mo Xuanyu should know he’s not welcome here.” 

 “Listen here, you little—” Jiang Cheng catches himself and takes a deep breath. “Jin Ling. I understand this is complicated, and I could have introduced him more smoothly. Still, he’s here.”

Jin Guangyao inclines his head as though accepting the apology Jiang Cheng did not quite make. Jin Ling is still eyeing him, though, and Wei Wuxian steps forward and takes a bow before he can speak.

“This disciple apologizes for his actions,” he says, eyes on Jin Ling. “I regret the decisions I’ve made and the people I’ve hurt, especially the one here.”

“Do you expect the Jin Sect to forgive you?” Jin Ling snaps while Jin Guangyao winces.

“No,” Wei Wuxian answers honestly. “I never really expected a second chance with anything. But I’m here now, and I’ll try to make amends if I can.”

Jin Guangyao smiles smoothly, stepping between Jin Ling and Wei Wuxian. “Please, do excuse our nephew. There’s no need to discuss this so publicly. As long as Jiang-zongzhu takes responsibility for ensuring  Xuanyu’s good behavior, I shall rest tonight with no concerns.”

“I do,” Jiang Cheng says. “Thank you for your understanding.”

“Then please, enter as you are ready,” Jin Guangyao says, and the sect leaders give each other another bow. Jin Ling watches Wei Wuxian over their shoulders, then huffs and turns on his heel.

“A-Ling,” Jin Guangyao warns.

“I’m just going to find Lan Jingyi and Lan Sizhui and spend time with my friends,” Jin Ling snaps. “Is that polite enough for you?” 

“You little—” Jiang Cheng bites out, but Jin Ling doesn’t wait for the end of it before running off.

“I’ve never been any good at disciplining him,” Jin Guangyao sighs. “Normally the sight of you alone is enough to keep him in line, but he has been rather… out of sorts since his return. Upset, even. Perhaps you can help remind him of his manners later, Jiang-zongzhu.”

“I’ll talk to him,” Jiang Cheng promises. “When I can.”

When he lets us, Wei Wuxian thinks, and winces. Knowing his family, that could be a very, very long time.

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian spent a lot of time in the Burial Mounds missing banquets: his friends, the food, and flicking the food at his friends. He must have forgotten the absolute agony of a feast where he actually has to behave.

He can’t actually feel the weight of the Peaceful Compass, not where it’s sitting in his qiankun pouch. He can certainly imagine it there, though, pointing straight towards the inner Jin compound as it has since their arrival in Lanling. If it doesn’t still point there after the meal is done and the tedious opening speeches are made—well, he really hopes Wen Qing’s spirit isn’t hanging around to yell at him one more time.

As it is, in his seat a row back from Jiang Cheng, he’s uncomfortably aware of the hostile gazes falling on him. Beside him Tang Rui leans forward to block the line of sight of a pair of whispering Jin cultivators.

“They’ll have to fight me before they get to the new Jiang shidi,” he mutters. “If zongzhu doesn’t take them out first, that is.”

Wei Wuxian snorts. “You do know I can take care of myself, right?”

“I am aware,” Tang Rui says wryly. “But can you blame me for wanting to stab a Jin?”

Wei Wuxian cackles, maybe a little too loudly for the setting. Across the hall, Xue Chengmei’s head turns, and he gives Wei Wuxian a wide grin.

Once the last dish is whisked away, Wei Wuxian stretches and plans his next move. Qin Su had suggested that they speak sometime after the banquet, according to a note sent by one of her disciples, but Wei Wuxian would rather go straight to sneaking around Koi Tower.

Tang Rui gently nudges Wei Wuxian as the hall falls abruptly silent. All attention turns to the dais at the front of the room, where Jin Guangyao has risen to his feet.

“Thank you, esteemed cultivators, for accepting Laoling Jin’s hospitality for this conference,” Jin Guangyao begins. “I normally attempt to keep this evening’s remarks brief, but I cannot bear to further delay these words.”

To Wei Wuxian’s inexperienced eyes, Jin Guangyao looks… odd. As a chief cultivator and a Jin on top of that, he should be dripping in wealth and power. He has the bearing of a chief cultivator, certainly, an easy confidence in his command of the room. His dress, however, is more common—not poor, but plainer than the standards of Laoling Jin. And his smile, ever-present in Wei Wuxian’s past encounters with Lianfang-zun, is gone as well.

Wei Wuxian glances around the hall. Lan Xichen and Qin Su are both focused intently on the dais, their expressions hard to read. Lan Zhan is watching his brother with furrowed brows.

“I will cut straight to the point,” Jin Guangyao says. “Demonic cultivation is on the rise. I have read your reports in great grief—at the lives lost, at the souls wrenched from the cycle of reincarnation, at the suffering and corruption. Of course, we are all grateful for those like Jiang-zongzhu who have already been deeply engaged with this problem. I commend Jiang-zongzhu on his tireless pursuit of demonic cultivators. I hope that his faith in their capacity for rehabilitation is rewarded.”

Jin Guangyao bows towards Jiang Cheng, and Jiang Cheng bows back as shallowly as he can manage. Wei Wuxian hears some of the other Jiang disciples shift anxiously before they settle back into stillness.

“But the problem continues to grow despite our best efforts, and so I have launched an investigation these past few months. What I found has astonished and horrified me beyond measure. I am here to present my discoveries and to beg the mercy of the sects as I look to remedy the errors of the past.”

Jin Guangyao takes a long, shaky breath. “My father, Jin Guangshan, was a patron of demonic cultivators,” he announces with a trembling voice. “He preserved artifacts of demonic cultivation including the Yiling Laozu’s notes, the Ghost General, the ghost flute Chenqing, and fragments of the Yin Tiger Seal. He hired demonic cultivators to use them for ill purposes. I must apologize to all of you for my father’s crimes.”

Jin Guangyao drops to the floor and prostrates himself in a deep bow as the meeting explodes in a flurry of conversation.

“Impossible! Why would Jin Guangshan—”

“—ridiculous, we would have seen something before now—”

“Didn’t the Ghost General burn?”

Was this what it was like when they announced Wei Wuxian had stolen the Wens from Qiongqi Way? This hall must have been no quieter then. Wei Wuxian finds his attention drawn to the few points of stillness in the frantic crowd. Nie Huaisang’s fan hides most of his face, his eyes inscrutable. Lan Wangji stares at Jin Guangyao with a focus that could cut. Qin Su softens slightly. And Lan Xichen—

Lan Xichen stands and bows gracefully toward Jin Guangyao.

“Thank you for informing us, Xiandu.” His voice stills much of the hubbub. “This is indeed a serious matter that demands a serious remedy. How did this come to pass?”

Jin Guangyao gathers himself and stands, gratitude and relief flashing across his features.

“Of course,” he says. “During my investigation, sparked by recent revelations of the Ghost General’s continued existence—” he glances at Qin Su— “I uncovered secret notes and ledgers left behind by my father and those who he employed. I also found a concealed prison where the Ghost General was once kept. From these, I was able to piece together a history of my father’s engagement with demonic cultivation. His interest began during the Yiling Laozu’s rise to power, and he funded several demonic cultivators whom he disguised as servants, guest cultivators, or retainers. Most died or were killed before his death. The remainder seem to have fled to avoid exposure when I stepped into my position.”

Sect Leader Ouyang, still standing, shakes his head. “But Xiandu, we haven’t heard anything of this before today. What use would Jin Guangshan have for demonic cultivators?”

“He wielded them in the shadows to cut down good people who interfered with his plans,” Jin Guangyao says grimly, stepping off the dais. “We may never know the full toll, but at his orders came at least one horrific event: the Qin Sect Massacre. Jin Guangshan ordered the death of his own ally when—” He hesitates for a fraction of a second, turning towards Qin Su— “when Madame Qin stumbled upon evidence of his wrongdoing. Qin-zongzhu, there is no apology I can give that could ever mend your loss.”

He falls to his knees in front of the Qin delegation, and Qin Su catches his wrists just before he can fold entirely into a kowtow. “Jin-zongzhu,” she says, voice rough, “Jin Guangyao. Please, a good man shouldn’t bow for a monster’s wrongs.”

“He is still my father, and I am still his son,” Jin Guangyao insists. He tries to tug his wrists free, but she holds fast. “It remains my duty to heal the wounds he left.”

“Then heal them,” Qin Su pleads. “Don’t suffer any further for a father who never suffered for you.”

Yao-zongzhu’s voice booms across the room. “Qin-zongzhu’s right! Xiandu isn’t to blame that his father was a dog.”

A murmur of agreement ripples around the room. “How filial,” Wei Wuxian hears a cultivator mutter approvingly. His neighbors make sounds of agreement. 

Jin Guangyao looks up at Qin Su. “Before you offer forgiveness, let me lay out the full known extent of these crimes,” he pleads. “So much harm has been done — both directly on my father’s orders, and by the demonic cultivators he unleashed.”

“Very well,” Qin Su says, releasing his arms.  Behind Jin Guangyao, Lan Xichen places a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Please, Xiandu, tell us,” he says.

Jin Guangyao nods and brings forward a quick succession of witnesses. A man displays a strange painful curse that writhes across his skin. A woman tearfully tells of her daughter’s disappearance and reappearance as a fierce corpse under a blackmailing demonic cultivator’s control. Jin Guangyao even brings forth three unexpected but familiar faces: Lan Jingyi, Lan Sizhui, and Ouyang Zizhen, who apparently had run into Wen Ning again when nighthunting on the border between Gusu Lan and Lanling Jin territory. Apparently, Wen Ning had torn his way through several villages, killing at least a dozen people. Wei Wuxian clenches his jaw.

“He was just so quiet and fast!” Lan Jingyi says. “Just like the first time we—” He cuts himself off.

“The first time you…?” Jin Guangyao gently prompts.

Lan Jingyi glances guiltily at Lan Zhan, who tilts his head as though allowing him to go on. “Just like the first time we ran into him,” he says sheepishly. “We tried to fight him off, but some demonic cultivator made him kidnap me, Lan Sizhui, and Jin Ling.”

A murmur runs around the room even as Jin Guangyao gives an unsurprised nod. “Thank you, Lan Jingyi. This attempted kidnapping of A-Ling was my first clue to this demonic resurgence. A-Ling? Can you please join us and give your account?”

Jin Ling rises to join the other juniors, an uncertain anger in his stance. Wei Wuxian can see Jiang Cheng tense. With Jin Guangyao’s occasional guidance, Jin Ling and the Lans tell their story from Baxia’s capture at Mo Manor through being rescued in the Qinghe tombs. The juniors don’t spill any Nie sect secrets—they were thankfully unconscious for those—but they do reveal that the demonic cultivator also controlled Nie Mingjue’s fierce corpse, earning a wave of gasps.

Lan Sizhui finishes the story. “ I believe that Wen Ning fought the control of the demonic cultivator. Sometimes he’d hesitate until the cultivator pushed harder, and he especially resisted orders to attack.”

“And how were you rescued?” Jin Guangyao asks.

“Hanguang-jun, Shuangjian Shengshou, and Mo-qianbei fought the demonic cultivator off and rescued us,” Lan Sizhui replies. “Many thanks to Mo-qianbei.” He bows towards Wei Wuxian. Startled, Wei Wuxian bows back from his seat.

“Mo Xuanyu was present?” Jin Guangyao asks with a note of surprise. “How was he able to help with the rescue?”

Lan Jingyi shrugs defensively. “How would we know? We were out cold for most of it!”  

“A-Ling?” Jin Guangyao asks.

Jin Ling glares at Wei Wuxian for a long moment. Wei Wuxian realizes abruptly that Jin Ling doesn’t even need to reveal his name to get him killed. In this room, right now, he’ll be torn apart at the slightest whisper of demonic cultivation.

“I wasn’t awake either,” Jin Ling says at last, and Wei Wuxian breathes again. Perhaps Jin Ling isn’t as angry as— “But I know he doesn’t have a sword.” 

Wei Wuxian swallows back disappointment as murmurs sweep up and down the hall. He can feel the suspicious looks turning his way, and — well. He shouldn’t have expected any better in Koi Tower.

“How interesting,” Jin Guangyao says. “That’s enough for now, then. Thank you for your help, young masters.”

After they’re resettled, he asks Qin Su to tell of Wen Ning’s role in the Laoling Qin Massacre. She does, taking the hall through the glimpse of the attack that she got from Bicao. To Wei Wuxian’s slight relief, she also mentions the timing, and how the flute wielder could not have been the dead Yiling Laozu. 

Jin Guangyao nods solemnly. “Even if this is not the Yiling Patriarch’s work, the atrocity was worthy of his legacy,” he says. “And I am again sorry that so many failed to prevent it.”

This time, Qin Su catches him before he can even land on his knees. “Please, don’t offer me any more apologies,” she says. “I don’t hold you to blame. I only want to see the people truly responsible brought to justice. Can you help me, Xiandu?”

 Jin Guangyao looks up at her with wide eyes, regret and hope tangled in his expression. Wei Wuxian understands him then, maybe better than anyone else in that room. Shijie had offered him that kind of forgiveness, once on the field of a battle, and it had been too late to change a thing.

“I will,” Jin Guangyao says softly, at the edge of hearing. Then, more loudly, “I will!” He turns to the room. “I pledge to all of you here, I and all of Lanling Jin will devote ourselves to ending the current plague of demonic cultivators. We will spare no expense to bring them to heel, even if we must fight the Yiling Laozu himself!”

“We will fight beside you!” Ouyang-zongzhu calls. Qin Su nods in agreement, and the other lesser sects add to the chorus, pledging their assistance. 

“The Lan sect will gladly help mend these injustices, A-Yao,” Lan Xichen promises, sounding relieved.

Nie Huaisang stammers, “We don’t have any real experience with that, we really don’t!”

Jin Guangyao sweeps over to him. “Nie-zongzhu, you may have more experience than you believe,” he says solemnly. “In light of these recent discoveries, it is possible that even Da-ge’s early death is due to the work of a demonic cultivator.”

Nie Huaisang swallows, eyes locked with Jin Guangyao’s. “To bring justice for Da-ge,” he says with a tremble, “we will do anything.”

Jin Guangyao bows to him, and Nie Huaisang bows back. 

At last, Jin Guangyao turns to the Jiang sect. 

“Jiang-zongzhu, please, don’t remain quiet,” he implores. “This quest should bring us together: the Jin sect and Jiang sect together eliminating the legacies of Jin Guangshan and Wei Wuxian.”

Jiang Cheng stands as Jin Guangyao walks toward him. “Today is Jin Guangshan’s legacy, not Wei Wuxian’s,” he says curtly.

“Is it not?” Jin Guangyao asks mildly. “Did all this not begin with unnatural experiments conducted by Wei Wuxian?” 

Jiang Cheng squares his shoulders like an ox against a tiger. “If the gathered sects would like to offer Wei Wuxian and the Jiang sect credit for every kill they’ve made with a lure flag or a Compass of Evil, then they can blame him for every demonic cultivator too.”

Wei Wuxian isn’t quite sure whether he wants to hug his brother for defending him or throttle him for doing it when the Jiang sect’s reputation is on the line.

Jin Guangyao raises his eyebrows, a sharper edge to his expression. “Forgive me, I’m surprised. This is a far less emphatic take on Wei Wuxian’s crimes than I remember hearing from you in days past. Perhaps your demonic cultivators—” he looks pointedly at Wei Wuxian— “have made you more sympathetic toward their arts?”

“My disciples are not demonic cultivators,” Jiang Cheng snaps. 

“Of course, of course,” Jin Guangyao says soothingly. “I’m sure Jiang-zongzhu takes every measure to ensure the … unorthodox cultivators under his leadership are reformed. Of course, since no one else has managed such a feat, perhaps you could offer the rest of us instruction in the process.”

“Happily,” Jiang Cheng says acidly.

A ghost of a smile crosses Jin Guangyao’s lips. “Another day, then. And naturally Wei Wuxian need not sully the Jiang name. The Yiling Laozu is long dead, after all, and Shuangjian Shengshou has even found his sword a great aid in his cultivation, has he not? We would not dare give Wei Wuxian credit for Jiang-zongzhu’s skills with the blade.”

Murmurs break out as Jiang Cheng stands silent, his shoulders rigid. Zidian lets off a single spark. Beside Wei Wuxian, Tang Rui grips the table with white knuckles.

“So will the Jiang sect aid us in this hunt?” Jin Guangyao asks. “Wherever it might lead?”

“Oh, we will,” Jiang Cheng says, anger seething low under his voice. “The Jiang sect is still committed to making sure demonic cultivation won’t damage anyone else. And we’re very committed to dragging whoever attacked my nephew to justice.”

“Well said!” Yao-zongzhu booms from across the hall. “We’ll never let a demonic cultivator get past us again!”

An unfamiliar sect leader dressed like a discount Lan—was it Su-zongzhu or Cu-zongzhu?—eagerly starts to his feet as well. “We’ll kill all the demonic cultivators!”

“Kill demonic cultivators!” The chant rings across the hall. “Kill demonic cultivators! Kill demonic cultivators!”

Lethal intent rises throughout the hall, so thick Wei Wuxian can almost taste its metallic tang. He can certainly feel the glares of the other sects’ cultivators toward the Jiang delegation. The disciples on either side of him subtly close ranks around him. 

Jin Guangyao makes some vague promises to continue the discussion the next day, and then the banquet is finally done. Jiang Cheng turns back to his disciples. “Our quarters, now,” he snaps. “Stay together.”

The Jiang cultivators retreat as a unit. Quietly, Wei Wuxian slides the compass out of his pocket and checks it again. It still points to the heart of the Jin compound, past the rows and rows of gold-robed cultivators sitting in the Jin delegation—right towards where Jin Guangyao’s campaign should start, whether he knows it or not.

Jiang Cheng is terrifyingly silent on the walk back to their quarters, not sparing a look at Wei Wuxian. The Jiang cultivators are quiet too, their ranks as precise as a protective array.

For once, Wei Wuxian actually appreciates the the time it gives him to think. Had some of it been true? All of it? Jin Guangyao had felt so sincere, and Jin Guangshan had been that terrible. Meanwhile Wei Wuxian had never been able to push anyone to go where he wanted, except for himself.

Well. Wei Wuxian sneaks a glance at his brother. Sometimes someone had followed, whether Wei Wuxian had wanted them to or not.

 The instant they finish warding the Jiang quarters from eavesdroppers, Jiang Cheng spins on his heel and starts snapping orders. “No one goes anywhere alone until we’re home. Hell, no one even stays in the guest quarters alone, and you keep alarm talismans on the door. Especially if you’ve even thought about demonic cultivation once in your sorry life, I’ll beat you myself for going somewhere on your own if some overzealous asshole doesn’t do it first, got it?”

“Yes, zongzhu,” the disciples mutter.

“And if you do get jumped, punch whoever you have to to get back to me,” Jiang Cheng says fiercely. “Hurt a Jin’s pretty face and they’ll back the fuck off.”

“Yes, zongzhu,” they mutter again, somewhat less dispirited.

Jiang Cheng’s face softens. “And stop looking like you’re waiting for a funeral,” he says gruffly. “The cultivation world sucks when it turns into a mob, but we have the strength to weather this. We’ll get to the bottom of this Jin fuck-up and then we’ll knock their legs out from under them.”

“If zongzhu’s still talking about breaking legs, you know it can’t be that bad!” Wei Wuxian pipes up. Shaky laughter ripples through the group as Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes.

“Go get some rest,” he tells his disciples brusquely.

Wei Wuxian sprawls on some cushions as the other Jiangs filter out the door, some of them pausing to exchange a few words with their sect leader before they leave. As the last of them exit, someone else tumbles in.

“Jiang-xiong!” Nie Huaisang cries, his fan fluttering like it’s one of Koi Tower’s obnoxious songbirds. “This is absolutely terrible!”

Wei Wuxian closes the door in the face of the rubbernecking Jiang disciples as Huaisang flops into Jiang Cheng’s arms. Jiang Cheng lowers him onto a low couch, his arm carefully wrapped around Huaisang’s back.

“Hey, we’ll work it out,” Jiang Cheng reassures him gruffly. “I don’t know how much of what Jin Guangyao said was true, but we will make sure your brother’s killer is brought to justice.”

Huaisang pulls back from Jiang Cheng’s grip, startled. “Oh, Jiang-xiong! I don’t know anything about that, I don’t know anything at all. There’s another problem I need your help with, and it can’t wait!”

“What?” Jiang Cheng asks worriedly.

“What I’m really worried about,” Huaisang confides, “is Jin Ling’s feelings.”

“What,” Jiang Cheng says flatly. 

“Don’t you think he’ll be lonely tonight?” Huaisang leans forward earnestly. “He got dragged up in front of all those cultivators, which would have been scary even for me, and he’d normally come by the Jiang quarters except for all that and now where will he go tonight?”

“If he spends tonight alone in his rooms thinking about what he did, then good,” Jiang Cheng snaps. “Actions have consequences. And don’t you think I have bigger problems right now?”

Nie Huaisang sits upright, and something shifts. His shoulders settle back and his eyes gain thirteen years of age. His fan flicks closed in his lap.

“No,” Nie-zongzhu says quietly. “I really don’t.”

He and Jiang Cheng hold each other’s gaze. Jiang Cheng’s anger vanishes, replaced by surprise, and then by some understanding.

“You really are worried about him,” Jiang Cheng says slowly. Huaisang inclines his head.

“You really are worried about him being all alone,” Wei Wuxian adds, and Huaisang gives him a small, approving smile. “Particularly tonight?”

“I am!” Huaisang says,  his voice returning to its normal breezy tone. “There’s just such a bustle of people around—it’d be easy for him to fall through the cracks.”

“And it’s not worth trusting a bunch of Jin guards to keep a teenager out of trouble, is it?” Jiang Cheng probes.

Huaisang smiles. There’s no fan to hide how grimly the expression settles on his mouth. “Oh, san-ge will have so much to juggle tonight! I wouldn’t want to burden them with a teenager.”

“Right,” Jiang Cheng says, his brow furrowing with thought. “Well, if we need to drag him back here, I don’t mind grabbing him by the ear.”

“What about the Lans?” Wei Wuxian suggests. “Didn’t we always sleep over with friends, when we were juniors at these things? Maybe we could get Jingyi and Sizhui to ask him over?”

“Perfect!” Huaisang claps his hands. “I’ll send them some snacks.”

“And there’s only so much trouble they can get into right next door to Lan Xichen,” Jiang Cheng adds. His nose wrinkles with distaste as he looks over at Wei Wuxian. “Guess we’ll have to talk to Hanguang-jun about it.”

“No problem!” Wei Wuxian chirps, and then chokes as Huaisang kisses his brother—briefly, sure, but right on the lips. 

“I knew you’d sort it out!” Huaisang tells a bright red Jiang Cheng, tucking a stray hair back behind his ear. “Thank you, I’m much less worried now.”

“Yeah, well,” Jiang Cheng mutters. “Thank you.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that!” Huaisang kisses him on the cheek and rises. He hesitates at the door, giving Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian one more serious look. “Be careful,” he tells them softly, and then slides out into the night.

In the silence Huaisang leaves behind, Jiang Cheng waits a beat before taking a deep, shaky breath.

“Are we gonna talk about that?” Wei Wuxian asks his brother.

“No point,” Jiang Cheng says, looking troubled. “I have no clue what Huaisang’s up to, but we’re absolutely going to make sure Jin Ling has a sleepover.”

“No problem,” Wei Wuxian says, pulling the Peaceful Compass out of his pocket. “I’ll go talk to the Lans about that, and then I have a friend to find.”

He gets to his feet and heads for the door, but Jiang Cheng’s grip around his wrist stops him from leaving.

“I said no one goes anywhere on their own tonight,” he snaps. “Especially not Mo Xuanyu. Why’d you have to be summoned back into the body of a fucking demonic cultivator?”

“I’ll just let you think about that one,” Wei Wuxian says primly. “But seriously, I can’t go skulking around with a sect leader in tow, and I can’t just send a paperman if I want the Compass’s help.”

“So you'll just go sacrifice yourself for a Wen?” Jiang Cheng asks flatly. “Again?”

“I’m not going to apologize for caring about the Wens,” Wei Wuxian snaps, twirling Chenqing. “Ever. They were innocent, and they needed me. And you know how much I owed them.”

“For what, rescuing three corpses from their clan’s own massacre?” Jiang Cheng sneers.

“For saving my little brother’s life twice!”

Jiang Cheng’s hand clenches the arm of the sofa. “What do you mean, twice?” he asks.

“You know! Once when Wen Ning pulled you out of Lotus Pier, and then when Wen Qing gave you my core.”

“Wen Qing transferred the core? Not Baoshan Sanren?”

Wei Wuxian blinks in surprise. “Didn’t I tell you?”

“No, you didn’t,” Jiang Cheng snaps, rubbing his forehead. “Well, fuck. So she saved me, and then you saved Wen Ning.”

Wei Wuxian shifts uneasily. “Yeah, pretty much,” he says. That isn’t all of it, but there could never be a clear accounting for what he and the Wens were to each other.

Jiang Cheng laughs hollowly. “I never would have guessed it, but that makes too much sense.” Then he goes quiet in the way that means he has something more to say. “I looked for the kid, you know,” he says at last.

Wei Wuxian blinks. “What?”

“You know,” Jiang Cheng snaps. “Wen Yuan. I had my people looking for him.”

“Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian says softly, “were you going to rescue him?”

Jiang Cheng huffs. “It wasn’t like the other sects knew there were any kids in the Burial Mounds, and there were enough families after the war who needed a son. Someone would have taken him in without asking any dumb questions.”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes prickle. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, well. He was the only Wen who could have gotten out of there alive.”

Wei Wuxian swallows and stares at his hands. “None of them deserved it. They were just grandmothers, doctors, and farmers. Good people.” He remembers the family they had formed in the Burial Mounds. The bowls of food Popo would bring to Demon Slaughter Cave, spiced with as much heat as they could afford. Fourth Uncle’s wild stories when he was flushed with wine. Second Aunt’s sweet romance with Third Uncle, the scraggly flowers they found for each other and sometimes tucked into little A-Yuan’s hair. Tonight they don’t have the time, but someday Wei Wuxian wants his brother to know, to understand what the Siege took away.

Jiang Cheng’s mouth twists with bitterness. “Jin Guangshan and Nie Mingjue never would have let the Wens go. They were all walking corpses from the time they were sent to Qiongqi Way. I hate that you threw your life away figuring that out.”

 “If all I could give them was two years, then that’s all I could give them,” Wei Wuxian says quietly. “But I really wish you’d found A-Yuan.”

Jiang Cheng twists, startled. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Wei Wuxian smiles wistfully, imagining purple-robed arms wrapping around a scared toddler and keeping him safe, warm, and full of good food. “You would have been a good uncle.”

Jiang Cheng snorts. “I would’ve given him to a family in Lotus Pier and accepted him as a disciple when he was old enough. I barely knew how to raise A-jie’s son; I wasn’t stupid enough to raise a kid I was mad at.”

“You’ve done fine with Jin Ling,” Wei Wuxian protests. “And doing that for A-Yuan would still have made you a good uncle to him.” Better than Jiang Fengmian, maybe.

“Yeah, well.” Jiang Cheng stares at his lap, then glances up at Wei Wuxian and away again. “Maybe I’ll get to try again sometime.”

Ah good, a route away from further discussion of feelings. Wei Wuxian is about to explain to his little brother that Lan Zhan most likely cannot actually get him pregnant when the door opens.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian says cheerfully as the door opens.

Lan Zhan’s eyes soften. Wei Wuxian can practically see the Wei Ying ready to roll off his tongue.

Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes.

“This idiot wants to go follow his compass,” Jiang Cheng tells Lan Wangji. “So good news: since you’ve survived the terrible trial of not being able to hang off of each other for three whole shichen, you can go make out behind some shrubbery and try to stumble across Wen Ning.”

“We will do that.” Lan Zhan sets his jaw. “Also, Jiang Wanyin. You spoke eloquently.”

“Well, yeah, I am a sect leader,” Jiang Cheng scoffs, then pauses. “Wait. Are you… thanking me?”

Lan Zhan inclines his head fractionally. Jiang Cheng puffs and then settles.

“Don’t thank me, it’s creepy,” he says. “Just get my brother back in one piece, okay? And don’t go yelling his name off the rooftops until we can clear it.”

Lan Zhan gives him a bitchy look that says of course.

Wei Wuxian grins. “Aww look, you’re bonding!”

“Nope, nope, absolutely not,” Jiang Cheng says, shoving Wei Wuxian towards the door. “Now make sure Jin Ling has a sleepover tonight, and then go step on a Jin trap and die.”

Lan Zhan starts to bristle, and Wei Wuxian pats his shoulder. “If he meant it he’d stab me himself,” he tells Lan Zhan. “Now, c’mon, let’s do some adventuring!”

Wei Wuxian has never had such a good time at Koi Tower as he does with Lan Zhan after they finish talking to Lan Sizhui. It’s not just about the company Lan Zhan provides—Wei Wuxian had once strolled through here with Jiang Yanli, after all. No, the fun thing this time is that the Jin cultivators are terrified of Hanguang-jun.

Wei Wuxian grins after a spotty-faced teenage disciple fleeing at a clip just short of a run.

“I’m sure whatever’s left of Mo Xuanyu is watching and laughing his tail off,” Wei Wuxian murmurs into Lan Zhan’s ear.

“Mn.” Lan Zhan keeps his hand on Bichen for just a second longer, and they continue on their way.

“Your poor reputation, though,” Wei Wuxian says. “How will it survive you spending time with a cutsleeve Jin dropout with a taste for demonic cultivation?”

“If my reputation says that I care for you, then it will be accurate,” Lan Zhan says serenely.

Wei Wuxian squirms in embarrassment. “And they say I’m the shameless one,” he groans, nonetheless snuggling closer into the warmth of Lan Zhan’s side.

He lets himself have a moment before he refocuses on the compass. The needle, once wavering, now points clearly to a single location. The trail skirts the sect leader’s quarters, taking them towards the Jin disciple housing.

Unfortunately, there are still guards blocking off the disciple’s quarters from the general area. “Can we help you?” one says with a polite blandness.

“You don’t sound like you’re actually that worried whether we’re helped or not!” Wei Wuxian complains. “I just wanted to take my, ah, my Hanguang-jun on a visit by where I used to live. Is that so weird?”

Lan Zhan backs Wei Wuxian up with a dignified glare. The guard looks surprisingly unfazed by it, his lip ticking up in a hint of a sneer.

“My apologies to our honored guest, but you can’t just sneak in someone else’s rooms,” he says. “What, do you think we kept the space after we kicked you out?”

“You should have,” Wei Wuxian pouts and flounces away. Lan Zhan follows.

“That was not a normal guard,” Lan Zhan observes.

“Definitely not; your standard Jin guard would have asked for a silver and then melted like wet paper,” Wei Wuxian agrees. “Which makes me think there’s something they’re hiding, if they’re guarding the disciple’s quarters that well.”

“Your plan, then?”

Wei Wuxian basks for a second in Lan Zhan’s assumption that he has one. “I’ll go over the roof into the quarters. If anything goes wrong, I promise to make a very loud fuss. And on your end—burn this talisman if anyone comes into this wing? I’m guessing most people are still at the banquet.”

Lan Zhan accepts the talisman and nods solemnly. “Be careful.”

Wei Wuxian grins. “With you and Jiang Cheng fussing over me, what else could I be?”

“Mn.” Lan Zhan offers him a quick boost to get onto the roof, a quicker process than trusting Wei Wuxian’s still-returning qigong. He gives Lan Zhan one last grin, then takes off silently across the tiles. There are no wards as far as he can tell. Silly Jins—they might hold their noses high, but they still forget to look up.

Wei Wuxian checks his compass while crouched behind the ridge of a roof, comparing the angle to his earlier read.

“So he must be in that end room,” Wei Wuxian mutters, popping his head over the edge to judge locations. “I’ll just need to go a little ways, and then—”

A figure comes out of the door Wei Wuxian had been eyeing. Wei Wuxian takes only a second to identify his gleeful prowl.

“Xue Chengmei,” he breathes.

Xue Chengmei further confirms it by fishing a very noisy bag of wrapped candy out of his qiankun pouch and munching it. He swaggers across the yard to the guard and tosses him a candy.

“Take it,” he drawls. “If you’re half as bored as I am, at least. C’mon, let’s chat!”

“Sure,” the guard says. “Not too many drunk idiots wandering this way, anyway.”

Xue Chengmei settles himself on the ground, ignoring the yard’s dust. Wei Wuxian risks a longer look and sees Xue Chengmei’s flirtatious smile—he clearly is planning to stay there for a while.

Wei Wuxian takes it as a chance to reach his target room. It takes a couple minutes, three roofs, and one embarrassingly close jump, but he soon drops silently through the window. The compass swings with every step he takes, unerringly aimed towards the other side of the door. Wei Wuxian quickly dismisses a sloppy alarm array on the door and slips through.

The room is cool and damp, its furnishings basic and covered in dust. All, that is, except for the tall bronze mirror standing along one side of the room. Its frame is ornate, and there’s something hypnotic about the mirror’s depths. Wei Wuxian shakes his compass with a frown—apparently it, too, thinks that the mirror is hypnotic. Peculiar.

He reaches out and lightly touches the mirror’s surface. In response, it ripples like water. Wei Wuxian recognizes the feeling: the same peculiarity as reaching into a qiankun pouch. “A qiankun mirror,” he says wonderingly. He grins at the rush of discovery. It would take a true master to forge something like this. “Well, knock, knock,” he says cheerfully, and steps through the mirror’s veil.

The room he steps into is the perfect treasure room. It drips with gold trim, with ranks of beautifully constructed shelves made from rare woods and metals. A soft glow from charmed lamps gives the space a warm luminescence.

It would be the perfect treasure room, at least, but it’s distinctly lacking in treasures.

Wei Wuxian steps cautiously among the near-empty shelves. He finds a bundle of paper, recognizes the scrawled calligraphy in a second, and sighs. In his last life, he really should have burnt his workshop before he went to burn down everything else. Moving on, he finds and quickly passes by some metal tools of restraint and torture. Then, in a shelf shrouded with fabric wards, he finds—

“Hello, Chifeng-zun,” he says as he lifts the head from the shelf. Its senses are sealed with metal and wax, but it pulses with barely contained waves of resentment. The head tries to pull in Wei Wuxian’s mind, but he calms it with a few quick whistles and slips Chifeng-zun into a spirit-trapping pouch.

“Sorry for the lack of dignity, but we’ll talk later,” he promises.

He then hears a muffled noise from the back of the room. He slinks around the shelves to get a better look at the back wall, and he can’t keep from sucking in a sharp breath at the sight. Three sets of shackles trap three fierce corpses: one headless, one unfamiliar, and one Wen Ning. The other two are mostly still, but Wen Ning twists and twitches in his shackles.

“Wen Ning,” Wei Wuxian breathes, cursing himself for the day he brought Wen Ning back.

“No,” Wen Ning grits out. His hands flutter. “No!”

Wei Wuxian steps closer, judging the shackles. “It’s just me, Wei Wuxian,” he promises. “You know, Wei-gongzi? I’ll get you out, just give me a minute.”

Wen Ning twists his head from side to side. “No closer,” he moans, “no, no!”

Wei Wuxian’s hands are trembling before he even touches the metal. “It’ll be okay,” he promises. “I’m the Yiling Laozu, right? I can break anything and I can fix anything.”

Wen Ning’s eyes widen as Wei Wuxian’s hands touch the metal. “Stop!” he cries.

He has no idea what Wen Ning is warning him about—not until the curse races down Wen Wuxian’s arms, locking him in place and sealing off his qi.

Chapter Text

The curse on the shackles bites hard and fast. In a split second the muscles of Wei Wuxian’s body lock up, and his meridians freeze like a midwinter stream. He crumples to the floor, Wen Ning watching with pained eyes.

Soon, Wei Wuxian hears the sound of footsteps darting through the shelves, followed by a sharp, delighted intake of breath.

“Shifu!” Xue Chengmei says gleefully as his eyes roam across Wei Wuxian. “What an honor to have you visit my humble den. It’s no Demon-Slaughtering Cave, of course, but if someone wants to throw money at me to play with corpses in the middle of an esteemed sect, well, I’m not gonna argue. Ah, look at my terrible manners, I shouldn’t leave a guest on the floor. Do you like my little trick? There’s so few people who can appreciate it properly!”

A smart remark sits on the tip of Wei Wuxian’s tongue, but doesn’t make it any farther than that—the array binding his muscles has even locked his mouth shut. Xue Chengmei rearranges Wei Wuxian to sit against the wall, then ties his arms and legs. “Not too tight!” he says cheerfully. “We don’t want to leave any marks, do we? Gotta leave a pretty corpse.” 

He puts a talisman on Wen Ning’s chest. “I’d like to have a little chat, but don’t try to whistle,” Xue Yang advises. “If you do, I’ll incinerate your Ghost General before you can kill me, and that would be a shame.”

Wei Wuxian tries to signal begrudging agreement with his eyes. Satisfied, Xue Yang snaps his fingers, and Wei Wuxian can at least move his mouth again. 

“I don’t know what else I expected out of Jin hospitality,” he sighs.

“Too much gold and just about enough murder,” Xue Chengmei agrees. “So, what did you think of the talisman, shifu?”

“It’s strong and quick,” Wei Wuxian allows. “But it’s too resentful to hide if it’s not right next to a fierce corpse, isn’t it? You should probably dampen it a little, even if you lose some speed for some subtlety. Maybe try the protective components from the spirit-trapping pouch spellwork?”

Xue Chengmei’s eyes light up. “That would be perfect!”

“You could try it out on the one you’ve got on me,” Wei Wuxian suggests.

Xue Chengmei laughs. “Nice try, shifu.”

“It was worth a shot.” The demonic cultivator might be arrogant, but he’s still canny. “So, Xue Chengmei—”

“Xue Yang, please.”

“Xue Yang. If you call me shifu, then will my student listen if I very nicely ask him to untie me?” Wei Wuxian studies Xue Yang carefully. There’s a gleam in his eye like a mad stray dog’s, eager to chase anything that starts to run. Wei Wuxian will have to meet him with control and calm.

Xue Yang only laughs. “Sorry, shifu, we’re not that close. Shouldn’t have turned me down in Laoling.”

“You’re really that loyal to Jin Guangyao?” Wei Wuxian asks skeptically. “I have a hard time seeing you as someone else’s working dog.”

Xue Yang scoffs. “I’m not his dog, I just like the perks. Who else would give me a little corpse farm of my very own out in the countryside?”

He doesn’t deny that Jin Guangyao is his boss.  “When did you figure me out?” Wei Wuxian asks.

“The Nie tombs for sure. You were more subtle about it than Jiang-zongzhu, but that’s not saying much.”

“Fair,” Wei Wuxian acknowledges. “So, what now? You deliver me to the sects, all trussed up like a banquet roast?”

“That’d be a sight, but nah,” Xue Yang says dismissively. “Not alive, at least. But this place does pretty convincingly look like Yiling Laozu could have been working here, right?” 

“Not to the people who know me,” Wei Wuxian says, keeping his voice casual. “Far too neat.”

Xue Yang smirks. “If they’re alive to look at it, sure!” 

Rage surges through Wei Wuxian. He struggles against his harsh bonds, ready to kill. “If you hurt any of them—” he hisses.

Xue Yang leers at him. “I think you've got bigger problems, shifu. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure you’d break out of here eventually. You’re very smart! But not before I’m done scraping all of the Jin sect’s dirt onto you. Or while your brother or your pretty boyfriend are still in one piece.”

He takes a drop of blood from Wei Wuxian’s arm (“much more practical than the palm; I don’t know why so many idiots use that”) and smears a quick talisman on a strip of cloth. He slaps it to his chest, and the features of his face melt and shift. A stomach-twisting few seconds later, Wei Wuxian finds himself staring at… Mo Xuanyu, clothed in the same red ribbon and Jiang robes as Wei Wuxian . But Xue Yang’s vicious smile twists his features into an expression that doesn't suit either of them.

“Better be careful,” Wei Wuxian says coolly. “If you walk around wearing that face for long enough, someone’s definitely going to stab you.”

“Aww! Are you worried about me getting hurt, shifu?”

“No. I just want to be there when you do.”

Xue Yang laughs while he gags Wei Wuxian with his golden Jin belt. “Oh, anyone who wants to can try! More fun for me. You know, I really do wish we could have met up earlier. But now, I think, the student surpasses the master.” 

Wei Wuxian fumes while  Xue Yang pulls a flute out from his pocket. It’s Chenqing, teethmarks and all.

Catching Wei Wuxian’s eye, Xue Yang gives the flute a dramatic twirl before setting it to his mouth. “Showtime,” he says, and then plays.

 At the first shriek of the flute, the chains binding Wen Ning and the fierce corpses fall away. Wen Ning jerks into motion and his eyes fill with blackness as resentment surges through him. Xue Yang gives Wei Wuxian another wink and then flounces out of the room with both fierce corpses padding helplessly at his heels. Resentful energy follows in his wake, swirling excitedly as if greeting the Yiling Laozu returned.

Xue Yang is unfortunately skilled at tying rope, as Wei Wuxian realizes over the next shichen. It gives him far too much time to imagine what Xue Yang could be doing while  wearing his face. And what about Lan Zhan and Jiang Cheng? Is Lan Zhan still standing guard? Or has he already figured out that something is wrong, and acted, in that decisive way of his? Maybe he’s chased Xue Yang into a trap set just for him. And Jiang Cheng’s a strong cultivator, really strong, but he does have a temper that could blind him to danger. There’s a very real chance that at least one of them is hurt—again—because of Wei Wuxian.

At least Mo Xuanyu is flexible. Xue Yang took Wei Wuxian’s main pouch of cultivation supplies and his two sleeves of talismans, but he slowly manages to worry a little unactivated paperman out from its place between the layers of his robes. He wants to cry with relief at the sight. Instead, he scrapes his arm and brushes the wound against the paperman, letting out a breath as his consciousness pours into the two-dimensional figure. His new paper form kicks and twists through the air, free from any binds. He’s never been so glad to be the height of his own hand before.

His little paperman tries to tug at the ropes, but it takes about two pulls to realize that trying to loosen them with a paperman’s strength is hopeless. Next plan, then: find someone else to do it. He determinedly flips himself in the air and flutters out through the mirror.

He finds himself in an unfamiliar room, a dusty, opulent space nothing like the place he’d broken into.  Judging by the oversized bed in the middle, it might have been Jin Guangshan’s old quarters. Lan Zhan won’t find him in the disciple’s dorms—at least, not the real him. Wei Wuxian shakes his small paper head in frustration and then launches himself underneath the door jam.

Outside Jin Guangshan’s room, Wei Wuxian is instantly hit by a fading but powerful haze of resentment hanging in the corridors—stronger than anything he’s felt  since his army of undead tore through Nightless City. Somewhere, people are shouting. He urges his little paperman to follow the sound into the open air. Outside, Jin cultivators and guests are running about in panic, some of them spattered with blood. Wei Wuxian flits about low to the ground, eavesdropping and keeping himself out of sight.

“The Yiling Laozu!” he hears. Well, that isn’t a surprise.

“—injured Su-zongzhu!” Unlikely, since Wei Wuxian didn’t even know there was a Su sect.

“—wielding the Yin Tiger Seal!” That would explain the occasional shambling corpse Wei Wuxian has passed.

“—kidnapped Nie-zongzhu!” Fuck, Jiang Cheng must be worried sick. Wei Wuxian tries to follow that voice, but he doesn’t learn anything more. Hopefully Jiang Cheng knows it's not really Wei Wuxian.

Back where he left Lan Zhan standing guard, there’s no sign of him—not by the wall, and not in the compound where Wei Wuxian had found the mirror. Nonetheless, scuffs in the landscaping and slashes in wood tell the story of a recent fight. He hopes none of them were good enough to touch Lan Zhan.

Wei Wuxian considers a change in route. If Lan Zhan is free, he’ll be where the chaos is. And, of course, Jiang Cheng and Lan Zhan will expect the same of him.

He slides close to a group of Jin cultivators, wrapping himself around one of their sword sheaths. “You three help clear up the mess in the east courtyard, and the rest of us will head to the Burial Mounds,” their leader snaps. “If we fly fast, we can catch up to the other sects.”

“And if we fly slow, we can let the Yiling Laozu kill them first,” the cultivator above Wei Wuxian mutters.

In the east courtyard there are only a few injured cultivators and those tending to them: no sect leaders, Jades of Lan, or demonic cultivators. One pale-faced Jiang disciple shows a doctor a bite and curse mark on her arm. Two more points for Wei Wuxian’s list of reasons to kill Xue Yang: first, for hurting his people, and second, for pinning it on him.

If there’s any Jiangs left uninjured enough to help, they’ll be in their quarters. Wei Wuxian darts his paperman there, hugging low to the ground. To his disappointment, the only purple robes he finds are folded on the floors and shelves of the guest quarters. But he does hear a familiar voice.

“You can’t stop me from following my jiujiu!”

Wei Wuxian follows the sound to a window that looks down into the Lan quarters, settling himself to listen for a second.

“I wouldn’t need to,” Lan Sizhui says calmly. “I know it’s hard to wait, but you would be caught and returned before you made it out of Koi Tower.”

“Says you,” Jin Ling snaps. “I make it to Yunmeng half the time when I sneak away!”

“Probably because Lianfang-zun tells them to let you go,” Lan Jingyi drawls.

Wei Wuxian hears a brief scrabble, ending in the sound of smashed pottery. Ouyang Zizhen’s voice rises anxiously. “Do we have to fight? Let’s not fight. Zewu-jun told us to wait here—”

“—While the Yiling Laozu kills my jiujiu! And my xiao-shushu too!” Jin Ling’s voice rises to a hysterical pitch, and Wei Wuxian’s heart breaks. 

Wei Wuxian’s skin isn’t thick enough for him to want to show himself to Jin Ling, but he can’t stop himself from drawing up to the edge of the window. Lan Jingyi paces the room while Lan Sizhui and Ouyang Zizhen have settled themselves to either side of Jin Ling, offering him a comforting arm each. Jin Ling shakes them off, curling himself into a tight miserable bundle.

Wei Wuxian doesn’t want to show himself, not at all. But if he can show Jin Ling that his worst fears haven’t come true—if he can get back to his body and keep them from coming true—it’ll easily be worth it.

Wei Wuxian flips off the edge of the windowsill and dips to eye level, looping through the air in front of Lan Sizhui.

“I’m sure the other Jiang cultivators will make sure Jiang-zongzhu is okay.” Seeing the piece of paper, Lan Sizhui breaks off.  “What is that?”

Ouyang Zizhen and Lan Jingyi watch interestedly as Lan Sizhui stretches out a hand for Wei Wuxian to settle on. Sizhui brings Wei Wuxian closer, examining the craftsmanship. He holds himself mostly still for the scrutiny, spreading his small arms to better display himself.

Lan Jingyi frowns. “If Mo-qianbei wasn’t possessed and on a murder rampage, I’d think that was his paperman,” he says.

Wei Wuxian jumps frantically up and down at that. Jin Ling raises his head and glares.

“Give it to me!” he snaps, grabbing for Wei Wuxian. Lan Sizhui twists away, protecting the paperman in his hands.

“Are you Mo-qianbei?” Lan Sizhui asks him. Wei Wuxian nods frantically, then darts across to Lan Jingyi’s shoulder as Jin Ling lunges for him. He can’t help his nephew if he’s crumpled into a little paper ball.

“He is!” Jingyi crows, then pauses. “He probably is. Wait, what’s a question only Mo-qianbei could answer?”

“Which one of us spent the most time in the Lan rabbit fields?” Ouyang Zizhen asks. Wei Wuxian points at Lan Sizhui, amused despite himself.

Lan Sizhui nods. “They’re very soothing,” he says, gripping Jin Ling.

Jin Ling gives up on breaking Lan Sizhui’s grip and settles back with a scowl. “Well, if he’s really Wei Wuxian, then who fought my jiujiu and xiaoshu?”

“Oh, maybe they’re Mo-qianbei’s enemy in disguise!” Ouyang Zizhen says excitedly. Wei Wuxian nods frantically, suddenly grateful for Ouyang Zizhen’s prodigious romance novel consumption. “Or—oh, a rival in love who wants to discredit him and steal Hanguang-jun’s heart!” Wei Wuxian crosses his arms and pouts, slightly less grateful.

“What,” Jin Ling says flatly. 

“Well, it was a theory,” Ouyang Zizhen says defensively. 

Sizhui clears his throat. “So, Mo-qianbei. Are you trapped, then?”

Wei Wuxian nods.

“Do you need help to escape?”

Wei Wuxian nods more frantically.

“And we’re the only ones left to do it,” Jingyi realizes. “Mo-qianbei, who trapped you?”

Wei Wuxian flutters over to the fabric drapes and wraps himself in the gold fabric.

Jin Ling gets it first. “A Jin? It can’t be!”

Jingyi looks at him sidelong. “After today, can we really say there’s anything a Jin wouldn’t do?”

“Well, maybe he deserved it!” Jin Ling blurts. “Because Mo Xuanyu really is Wei Wuxian!”

Jingyi scoffs. Lan Sizhui frowns. 

“But whoever attacked earlier—wasn’t that just someone pretending to be Mo-qianbei, who was pretending to be Wei Wuxian?” Ouyang Zizhen asks. “That’s why the real Mo-qianbei can be here now, right?”

“You don’t get it!” Jin Ling insists. “‘Mo-qianbei’ has always been Wei Wuxian, ever since we met him on Dafan Mountain. I made him tell me in Qinghe.”

Lan Jingyi looks skeptically between Jin Ling and the paperman on his palm. “Mo-qianbei. Are you really also Wei Wuxian?”

“Of course he’s not going to tell the truth, you moron!”

He says that just as Wei Wuxian nods.  The juniors’ eyebrows shoot up. Jingyi lets out a long, slow whistle.

“Well,” Zizhen says nervously, “I guess that explains the demonic cultivation?”

“And why Jiang-zongzhu took him in so quickly,” Lan Sizhui says thoughtfully.

“Hanguang-jun must have known,” Lan Jingyi says, his face scrunching up in thought. “Oh, wow. Do you think Lan-laoshi knows? He must be so mad .”

Lan Sizhui visibly regroups. “Whatever anyone else thinks, Wei-qianbei done nothing but protect us as long as we’ve known him. Unless—Jin Ling, do you truly think he would hurt us? Or anyone else?”

“I—” Jin Ling studies Wei Wuxian for a long second and then sags. “I don’t. Not on purpose, anyway.”

“And, again, Hanguang-jun likes him, and he doesn’t like just anyone,” Jingyi points out. “Sure seems like there’s more to the story here.”

“Then if he’s trapped, we should at least try to  follow him to his body and free him,” Lan Sizhui says. “Are you all willing to help me?”

Jingyi and Ouyang Zizhen quickly agree. Lan Sizhui releases Jin Ling and turns his calm, resolved gaze on him.

“I’m still mad at him,” Jin Ling says petulantly.

Fair enough. Wei Wuxian hunches his shoulders.

His nephew sighs. “But I’ll help you get him free, I guess. Just so we can catch the real bad guy.”

Wei Wuxian bows to the juniors. Ouyang Zizhen and the two Lans all grin, and Lan Jingyi slaps Jin Ling on the back. Jin Ling looks slightly stunned at the attention.

“Good choice, Prince Duckling,” Lan Jingyi says. “It’ll be an adventure!”

“This is boring,” Lan Jingyi complains as the juniors crouch behind a carefully crafted shrubbery. “What are we even waiting for?”

“Shh!” Ouyang Zizhen hisses. “Since you couldn’t find a good spot for your climbing-the-wall plan, we’re waiting for the changing of the guard, obviously. That’s when the noble cultivator always gets into the forbidden chamber.”

Wei Wuxian flutters restlessly on Lan Sizhui’s shoulder. Pointing them in the right direction was easy, but planning a break-in is probably too complicated to manage with charades.

“The ‘forbidden chamber,’” Jin Ling sneers. “It’s just some of the private Jin household quarters. You don’t need to make it sound so sinister.”

Lan Sizhui pauses. “Jin-gongzi. If this is the private household quarters, will they just let you in?”

The rest of the group stares into space.

“We really are idiots, aren’t we?” Jingyi asks wonderingly.

“Speak for yourself,” Jin Ling scoffs, breaking the spell. “It’s not like they’d let me drag a whole group of friends with me.”

Wei Wuxian is pretty sure Jin Ling didn’t notice himself calling the other three his friends, but he offers a silent cheer at the progress.

“Then get the guards to step away for a second,” Jingyi shrugs. “Go be Princess Duckling at them. Pitch a fit. Say there was someone suspicious in the other direction. You can totally get them out of there for long enough for us to run in!”

Jin Ling nods, takes a deep breath, takes two steps out from the bushes, and…

Stands there, knees shaking, until his courage gives and he dashes back into their hiding place.

“I can’t do it,” Jin Ling hisses, his face reddening.

“What, does the regal Jin-gongzi have stage fright?” Jingyi asks.

“I can’t do it, because what if I do it wrong?” Jin Ling says, voice getting high pitched and face scrunching. “What if we all get caught and, and someone bad really snuck into the sect, and they go hurt Jiujiu and Xiao-shushu and everyone else?”

Ouyang Zizhen reaches out to pat Jin Ling’s back. “Hey, hey, I get it, but let’s take a breath to calm down—”

Jin Ling flinches away from the touch. “You don’t get it!” Jin Ling sobs, tears starting to break loose. “None of you get it! Because they could die, and, and—”

He sticks his hand in his mouth to muffle the sobs. Wei Wuxian flutters helplessly around Jin Ling, wishing his presence could be a comfort.

Sizhui and Jingyi exchange a look, and then Sizhui eases himself to sit next to Jin Ling. “I get it,” Sizhui says gently. “Losing people is scarier when you’re an orphan, isn’t it?”

Jin Ling glares. “What do you know about it?”

“Well, I’m an orphan too.”

Jin Ling is startled out of his sobs as Jingyi shifts defensively closer to Sizhui. Wei Wuxian studies Sizhui’s face hopelessly: were his parents at Qiongdi Way? At the first Nightless City, or the second? Would he even remember them if they were?

“My parents died when I was too small to remember anything more than playing games in the dirt with a toy butterfly,” Lan Sizhui explains. “But I still get scared sometimes of losing my family again, even though Hanguang-jun has been my father ever since he rescued me.”

“Wait, you’re Hanguang-jun’s actual kid?” Ouyang Zizhen asks, wide-eyed. Wei Wuxian stands frozen on Jingyi’s knee. He knew Sizhui was Lan Zhan’s favorite junior—he’d be anyone’s favorite—but his adopted son?

Lan Sizhui gives a small smile. “I am. He cared for my—my birth father, I think—very much.” Wei Wuxian’s mind races. Who died around that time, who had a kid, who was that close to Lan Zhan’s heart? Who other than—

Oh. Lan Sizhui’s features suddenly click in his mind like a puzzle box. Right there is Wen Ning’s broad face and sharp chin, Wen Qing’s intelligent eyes and brown hair. And at the center of it all, A-Yuan’s button nose that Wei Wuxian once loved to tap just to watch his favorite toddler squeal with laughter.

Wei Wuxian slides off Lan Jingyi’s knee, stunned. He wants to laugh, and to cry, and to hold A-Yuan in his arms. He wants to wail at Lan Zhan for not telling him sooner, to thank him for saving this one precious life. He wants to ask his brother when he figured it out, since clearly Jiang Cheng’s been dancing around this for weeks.

But all of those would require that he be more than a slip of paper. All he can do is climb onto Lan Sizhui’s sleeve and offer him a comforting pat, so he does. Lan Sizhui smiles gently back, then turns to Jin Ling again.

“Then why aren’t you scared?” Jin Ling asks plaintively.

“Oh, I am scared,” Lan Sizhui assures him. “Right now, I’m really scared for Hanguang-jun and Zewu-jun, and even for Mo-qianbei and our other seniors. But we can feel as scared and as mad as we need to be, and we can still go and do the right thing. Okay?”

Lan Zhan raised him so, so well. Wei Wuxian’s little paper chest puffs up with pride.

Jin Ling wipes his nose with his sleeve. “I’ll get us past the guards,” he says shakily. He gets to his feet, staggers out of the bushes, and whistles sharply. The guards look over, one of them leaving the doorway.

“Are you alright, Jin-gongzi?” he asks warily.

“I can’t find Fairy!” Jin Ling howls, letting sobs choke his voice again. “She’s gone crazy trying to find fierce corpses, and now she’s run away from me.”

“Well, I haven’t seen—”

Wei Wuxian tucks himself into Lan Sizhui’s sleeve as a massive spiritual dog launches herself around the corner, her tongue lolling like she’d love to snap up a paperman.

“Here, doggy!”

“For fuck’s sake—”

One guard charges after the sound of paws as they recede into the compound.

“You go the other way and herd her back towards here,” Jin Ling tells the guard. “I’ll wait here! I’ve got her lead.”

“Why can’t Jin-gongzi chase her?” the remaining guard asks.

Jin Ling sniffs, building up to a full head of tears. “I’ve been chasing her for so long and I’m so tired, and my xiaoshu will be so mad if she breaks anything—”

“Fine, fine!”

The other guard retreats into the compound. Lan Sizhui stands and Wei Wuxian clings, shivering, to the inside of his sleeve. At least a paperman’s body can’t panic the way a human’s body can.

“In, in, in!” The juniors tumble through a doorway.

“We’ve got at least a half shichen until they come back,” Jin Ling says as they pant. “Fairy’s really smart; she’ll make them chase her everywhere.”

“As long as they don’t decide to come back to their posts,” Ouyang Zizhen says worriedly.

“Whatever,” Jin Ling says. “So, where do we go from here?”

Wei Wuxian swings out from Lan Sizhui’s sleeve and leads them onward.

Finding the room is easy: they scurry up a flight of stairs, down two hallways, and find themselves in front of the same door that Wei Wuxian slipped under barely an hour before. Getting back into the room? Not quite as easy.

Wei Wuxian pokes at the warded door. One of his paper feet sizzle.

“Wei-qianbei, don’t do that!” Jingyi scolds, whisking him away from the door. “That’s way too dangerous.”

Wei Wuxian bows apologetically and then flits to Jingyi’s shoulder. Jingyi, of course, promptly reaches out and touches the door.

He yanks his hand back with a yelp.

“You shouldn’t do that either,” Lan Sizhui says mildly.

“Sorry,” Lan Jingyi sheepishly replies. “But it’s, uh, definitely a ward!”

“Let me try,” Jin Ling says imperiously, elbowing Lan Jingyi aside. “After all, I’m the heir to Lanling Jin.” One scalded hand later, Jin Ling glares at the door like it just insulted his sword. The ward hadn’t minded letting Wei Wuxian out, but it’s very well designed to keep anyone from getting in.

“Let’s take a closer look,” Lan Sizhui suggests, using a burst of spiritual energy to get the array to flare with light. The four teens look over the newly revealed characters forming the array.

“Oh, that’s cool!” Ouyang Zizhen says. “It’s a feedback loop, see here? Wei-qianbei told us about them. The array gathers energy from whatever pushes against it, and that keeps it in place. It’s hard to get rid of because trying to break it just powers it up more.”

Jin Ling frowns. “If we can’t break it, maybe I could make someone open it.”

 “Or we could go through a wall,” Lan Jingyi suggests a little too eagerly.

Ouyang Zizhen jumps in. “Or—wait. Remember how we messed up that ward in Laoling?”

“I’m unlikely to forget it,” Lan Sizhui says dryly.

Jin Ling huffs, the same face Jiang Cheng got whenever Wei Wuxian went swimming with a pack of their shidi without him. Wei Wuxian pats him consolingly; getting stuck in life or death circumstances with friends does sound like fun—right up until you’re covered in monster muck and bleeding out on a cave floor.

“What if we tried to leech power away from the ward, instead of trying to break it?” Ouyang Zizhen says eagerly. “This array’s really heavy on water radicals, so it can let energy in and absorb it. But like the extra water radical we did by mistake, that also means it’ll let energy out easier too!”

Wei Wuxian’s paper man raises his arms in a supportive cheer. The Ouyang kid is going places: he’s some combination of naturally bright, good at listening, and good at learning from his own mistakes. Wei Wuxian personally can be about one and a half of those at a time.

“Since Wei-qianbei agrees, I’m sure we’re on the right track,” Lan Sizhui says with a smile. “How about you and I work together on a talisman to tap the wards? And Jin Ling, Jingyi, can you be lookouts?”

They agree and retreat to either end of the long hallway, standing just around the corner. Sizhui and Ouyang Zizhen pull out some pieces of blank talisman paper and start to sketch candidate arrays. They’re not bad, and Wei Wuxian mimes his way through getting them to fix the more explosive potential mistakes. At last, he gives a nod of approval to the talisman’s design, and Ouyang Zizhen slaps it onto the ward, focusing. Spiritual energy starts to seep off of the ward array and onto the talisman, and Zizhen and Sizhui flash each other satisfied grins.

“Hello yourself, guard,” Lan Jingyi says loudly at the end of the hallway, and the two boys’ smiles freeze. They look at the array—it’s starting to dim, but far too slowly. Lan Sizhui frantically draws a second talisman. He makes a hurried mistake, and Wei Wuxian grabs at his wrist to keep him from slapping it onto the door.

“Me, lost?” Lan Jingyi says indignantly. “I’m not lost at all! I was just here on a walk. With my friend. Maybe you’ve met him? Jin Ling? Heir to your sect?”

Jin Ling hurries down the hall, charging past the door towards where Lan Jingyi and the guard are arguing. “Hurry up,” he hisses at the talisman makers as he passes them.

“We’re trying,” Ouyang Zizhen says tensely. Sizhui finishes his second attempt at the talisman, his hands shaking, and slams it onto the door. Both boys bend their full attention to pulling spiritual energy off the door and into the talismans.

“What, do you have a problem with my friend?” Jin Ling snaps. “I can invite whoever I want to go anywhere, you know.”

The array flickers, then lights again.

“We were bored, since everyone left!” Jin Ling says, exasperated. “We’re not hurting anything, we’re the only people up here—”

One of the talismans starts to smoke around the edges.

“I already told you, we’re the only ones up here, you don’t need to patrol—”

Sizhui makes a hand seal and uses spiritual energy to yank on the talisman. It flares brightly along with the array, and then burns itself out of existence just as the ward does. Footsteps and voices echo closer and closer, and Ouyang Zizhen fumbles the door open. Wei Wuxian and the two boys race through the door and close it behind themselves, panting. The juniors try to quiet their breaths as footsteps get closer and closer, and then pass by. They let out a relieved breath.

When the sound fades and they open the door again, the only ones there are Jin Ling and Lan Jingyi.

“We did it!” Ouyang Zizhen crows as the group crowds into the room. “Great job, everyone.”

Wei Wuxian mimes applause from Sizhui’s shoulder as the juniors laugh with relief and nerves.

“Where next, Wei-qianbei?” Sizhui asks as they settle, looking around the room. Wei Wuxian flits over to the mirror, looping in the air.

“A magic mirror?” Ouyang Zizhen says excitedly, racing to stand in front of it. He looks in eagerly, then slumps. “Aww. My reflection only shows me.”

“Could be worse,” Jingyi says, sounding haunted. “This room is creepy. If this was a nighthunt, I’d be waiting for Jin Ling’s evil dead grandpa to jump out and bite us.”

Jin Ling makes a protesting sound, but Wei Wuxian loops dramatically through the air and crosses into the mirror before he can hear the full complaint.

A few seconds later, the quartet of juniors steps through the mirror one after another, each looking around in awe at the empty treasure room as Wei Wuxian races his paperman back to where he is chained. As the paperman touches his hand, Wei Wuxian’s soul slams back into his body. He gasps with the force of it, suddenly realizing how the ropes cut into his wrist, how his heart is racing. Tears are drying on his cheeks, he realizes, and joy and worry race through him.

“Mo-qianbei?” Sizhui and his friends round the corner. “Mo-qianbei!”

Sizhui races over to him, collapsing onto his knees and hugging Wei Wuxian’s legs. Overcome, he can’t do anything but stare down at A-Yuan fondly.  He seems so much smaller now, barely bigger than when Wei Wuxian had left, now that Wei Wuxian is back in his own body.

“I’m so glad to see you,” Sizhui sniffles, and then releases him and springs to his feet. He reaches behind Wei Wuxian’s head, untying the gag. “Sorry, I don’t know why I did that.”

Wei Wuxian smiles and blinks tears from the corner of his eyes. “It’s been a big day for all of us,” he says, voice hoarse. “For my part, I’ve never been so glad to see a band of juniors in all two of my lives”

“No more tricks?” Jin Ling says flatly, and Wei Wuxian’s attention turns to his nephew. He hangs back from the group, fingers drumming on Suihua’s hilt. “What were you trying to do when you got stuck here?”

“Let’s get him down first and then talk,” Sizhui suggests. Wei Wuxian can’t help but smile at finally seeing A-Yuan with his own eyes.

“No, it’s a fair question,” he says. “I was trying to find a couple things. Take a look in the spirit-trapping pouch on my hip.”

 Jin Ling cautiously tugs the bag open, and takes in a sharp gasp of breath at the sight. The other boys crowd around, each staring at the head inside.

“Is that Chifeng-zun?” Zizhen asks eagerly.

“Why was he here?” Jin Ling snaps. “And who trapped you?”

“It’s here because this room’s been used by Jin demonic cultivators for a while. Mostly by Xue Chengmei, who had a clever little trap set up. He’s the one who took my face.”

Jin Ling furrows his brow. “I never liked him,” he says decisively. “If anyone was a demonic cultivator it’d be him.”

“Can we cut Wei-qianbei loose now?” Jingyi asks impatiently.

Jin Ling unsheathes his blade, stepping closer. Jin Zixuan’s sword glints in the light of the qi-powered torches.

“If I let you go, do you promise to bring Jiujiu back?” he asks.

Wei Wuxian looks his nephew in the eye and sees the fear and resolve flickering there.

“I promise,” Wei Wuxian tells him emphatically. “I’m Jiang and I’m his older brother. I’d do it whether you asked me to or not.”

“Good,” Jin Ling says, and swings Suihua to cut through the rope in a shower of gold sparks. It falls away and Wei Wuxian rubs his wrists.

“Alright,” he says, mustering his best cheerful adult voice as he surveys the group of kids.  “Let’s get out of here and make some trouble, shall we?”

The juniors nod eagerly, and Wei Wuxian leads the group towards the exit to the stuffy, lifeless room.

“I’m really glad you’re okay,” Lan Sizhui says to him quietly.

Wei Wuxian pats him on the shoulder, trying not to hug A-Yuan any closer than the others. The least he can do is keep up the mantle of protection Lan Zhan has settled around their son’s shoulders.

“I’m glad you’re okay too,” he says, and means it with all his heart.

Chapter Text

The entire group—four juniors and one real Yiling Laozu—slams the door of the Lan guest quarters shut behind them, then sprawls across the floor.

"I can't believe we pulled that off," Jin Ling grumbles.

"I can!" Lan Jingyi crows. "You were the perfect duckling prince."

Jin Ling throws a shoe at him.

 "Hey, that was a compliment!" Jingyi protests. 

"Hmf," Jin Ling sniffs, while Wei Wuxian rifles through Lan Zhan’s drawers. He emerges triumphantly with an outfit just in his size, and mostly in his style.

When he emerges from behind the dressing screen, Ouyang Zizhen snorts with laughter. The snort turns into a giggle and then into a full-out, hysterical laugh.

"What?" Jin Ling asks defensively.

Ouyang Zizhen points at Wei Wuxian, struggling to talk through the laughter. "He's a Jiang, in a Jin's body, dressed up like a Lan! All he needs to do is to hang out with the Nie for a while, and then he'll collect them all!"

"Well, he is carrying Nie Mingjue's head," Lan Jingji points out, and then all four juniors are completely lost to hysterical laughter, draped over each other like a pile of kittens.

They are kittens; or children, at least. Wei Wuxian abruptly feels old, the one adult in this sea of kids. They've all been on night hunts, sure, supervised by their seniors. But they’ve never fought for their lives against fellow cultivators, or even drawn their swords knowing that another human being could die at the other end.

They're still kids. They deserve to keep it that way.

"Okay," Lan Sizhui says as the laughter hiccups to a stop, reaching for one of the partially-demolished trays of Qinghe delicacies littered around the room. "What do we do next, Wei-qianbei?"

Wei Wuxian grins at them. "Good news! You stay here, eat snacks, and do absolutely nothing."

"What?" Lan Jingyi squawks. "After we rescued you and all?"

"Especially after that," Wei Wuxian confirms. "Thanks for bailing me out! You did a great job! And now you get to relax, safely, here, while I and the other seniors deal with the rest of it."

Jin Ling hisses like an affronted goose. It's a step up from peacock, at least. "And let you, jiujiu, and xiaoshu get in trouble without me? No way!"

"My family's there too," Ouyang Zizhen agrees. "No real cultivator would hide from danger now!”

Wei Wuxian rubs his head as the Lans pile in with agreement. He could probably make some talismans to keep them here, unseen and safe. They might thank him, later, when they were older.

He remembers the creak of a boat underneath him, the unforgiving tightness of Zidian against his skin as he and his brother pleaded with Jiang-shushu to let them loose. He understands, now, how Jiang Fengmian had been able to walk away.

Lan Sizhui reasons, "Wei-qianbei, won't we be safer with you than we would be here? We know we cannot trust the Jin sect—or at least, not all of it. If we come with, we can promise to listen to you and our seniors and not take foolish risks."

"Yeah," Lan Jingyi chimes in. "It's definitely safest! Ever since we met you, bad things happen to you when we're not around, and bad things happen to us when you're not around."

"Your families would kill me if I let anything happen to you,” Wei Wuxian points out.

"Then don't let anything happen," Jin Ling snaps, sounding so much like his jiujiu. "Don't leave me behind."

Jiang Cheng had yelled those words, right before the Jiang boat disappeared around the river bend. Hoarse and desperate, his voice had cracked on them. If Jiang Fengmian had heard, he hadn’t shown it. But Wei Wuxian still remembers it: the first time his brother’s heart truly, truly broke.

"Fine," Wei Wuxian sighs at last, and the juniors cheer. "But you better listen to every word I say, okay? I say run, and you run."

"Of course, qianbei!" Ouyang Zizhen says ecstatically, only half listening. The others echo him with equal enthusiasm.

"I’ll give you an incense stick's time to eat, drink, and make sure you've got everything you need for a long flight and a hard fight," Wei Wuxian instructs. "Take more than you expect you need; we have qiankun pouches for a reason." 

"Yes, Wei-qianbei," Sizhui says.

"You won't regret this!" Lan Jingyi promises.

Wei Wuxian is definitely going to regret this.

He herds the juniors towards the Koi Tower steps at a brisk "we have places to be but there's nothing to see here" pace.

“That will be the best place to take off by sword," Wei Wuxian explains. "If there’s still guards around here, I’d rather sneak past them on the ground than try to get by at high speed two stories above the ground."

Sizhui cocks his head, listening to a distant sound that is growing louder as they head towards the gates. “Excuse me, Wei-qianbei. Should we be concerned about that?"

Wei Wuxian hears swords clashing, men shouting. Battle. It’s not in their way, so…

“It’s probably none of our business," he says.

A grating voice rises above the fight. "Hanguang-jun, surrender!" someone calls.

Wei Wuxian spins on his heel. "Change of plan, that is absolutely our business.” He sticks out his flute to keep Lan Jingyi from rushing ahead. "Stay behind me unless I say otherwise," he commands with his best Yiling Laozu voice. Thankfully, Jingyi falls instantly back.

Midway down the steps, Jin cultivators and discount Lans warily flank a pair of defiant figures. Outnumbered, but not outshone: Lan Zhan, Bichen bare and blade flashing, cuts a figure more heroic than any of the "great ancestors" carved along the Jin murals behind him. Every inch of him radiates pure, righteous protection of the woman in dark robes standing at his side.

"Lan Zhan!" Wei Ying calls out, waving frantically.

Lan Zhan's gaze snaps to him. "Wei Ying," he says, and something about him glows even brighter.

The discount Lan wearing the fanciest clothes—Cu-zongzhu?—looks up at him as well. " That's the Yiling Laozu?" Cu-zongzhu asks incredulously.

"Wei Wuxian?" the woman’s almost familiar voice says.

"In the flesh," Wei Wuxian calls cheerfully. That cat is clearly out of the bag. "Or in someone's flesh, at least. Lan Zhan, need any help with pest control?"

"Unlikely," Lan Zhan says, and Cu-zongzhu sputters. "Begin flying. We will catch up."

"Okay," Wei Wuxian calls back, "Have fun!"

"Stay safe," Lan Zhan orders.

"Attack them!" Cu-zongzhu howls, and some of the cultivators pull away from the cluster around Lan Zhan to surge toward the juniors.

"You heard Hanguang-jun. Fly!" Wei Wuxian commands the juniors. They all jump onto their drawn swords, and Wei Wuxian pulls himself up behind Lan Jingyi.

"'Have fun?'" Lan Jingyi says critically as the steps drop away behind them. "Who says 'have fun' while leaving their lover in the middle of a battle?"

"Anyone who knows how good Lan Zhan is in a fight!" Wei Wuxian defends himself. "And anyways, what would you have said?"

"'I won't leave you!'" Lan Jingyi says dramatically, alternating his voice between high and low. "'I would rather die at your side than live alone.' 'You must go.' 'You must come back to me!' 'I swear I will!'"

"Oh, you read Liu Su Mian Hua's stuff too?" Ouyang Zizhen asks interestedly.  

Behind them sword glares flash, the brilliant white of Bichen flaring bright enough to rival the moon. A cloud of cultivators rises into the air and starts to close the distance with the juniors much more quickly than Wei Wuixan had hoped. While the juniors are young masters of their sects, fine flyers with excellent blades, the cultivators chasing them are older and not carrying Mo Xuanyu's extra weight.

"Keep up the speed," he urges. "This is how we help: every cultivator chasing us isn't lining up for a hit on Lan Zhan."

The juniors focus, the wind roaring louder as they pick up speed.

"Zizhen, left!" Wei Wuxian snaps. Ouyang Zizhen banks hard, just in time for arrows to whistle by to his right.

"They're shooting at us!" Lan Jingyi says, disbelieving.

"That could—they could kill me!" Jin Ling is somewhere between hysterical and indignant.

"That's what they want, but it's not going to happen," Wei Wuxian grimly promises. "Start evasive flying and head up for those clouds."

The juniors obey, tilting their swords in unpredictable patterns as they careen upwards. Having to balance Wei Wuxian's weight, Lan Jingyi is the slowest of the bunch. Wei Wuxian flicks back talisman after talisman, violent bursts of wind pushing cultivators and their arrows away.

"Are they getting closer?" Jingyi asks, nervous.

"They are, but just keep going," Wei Wuxian tells him. "Beat them to the clouds, and I'll take care of everything else.

"Okay," the Lan junior says, his voice the smallest Wei Wuxian has heard it, and he strains upward towards the safety of the mist.

The Jin get closer and closer: close enough to hear their shouting, close enough for Wei Wuxian to see the glint of arrowheads as they draw and aim.

Then Jingyi climbs into the clouds, and Wei Wuxian can't see anything at all.

The Jin cultivators follow them, yelling to coordinate their attack. Mist and sweat gather in beads on Wei Wuxian’s skin. The Jins are still close, close enough that a single burst of speed in the wrong place could send them careening into Lan Jingyi.

They’re close enough that, when Wei Wuxian's talisman flashes outward and freezes vast regions of the cloud vapor into icy shrapnel, the screaming starts only a heartbeat later.

By the time they break above the clouds again, the dozen cultivators following them are cut down to two bloodied figures.

"Pull up and fight!" Wei Wuxian calls to the juniors. They circle tightly. Jin Ling pulls his bow, and Sizhui draws his guqin. He looks so much like Lan Zhan, his expression determined and his fingers poised over the strings.

The Cu and Jin cultivator each hesitate, looking at the juniors, at Wei Wuxian, and then at each other. They shrug, and then they both tuck and plunge into the clouds.

The juniors circle. "Should we chase them?" Jingyi asks reluctantly.

"Let 'em run," Wei Wuxian says dismissively. The longer the kids can go without blood on their hands, the better. "They might even help Lan Zhan figure out what direction we went. Now, come on, let's get lower again before anyone freezes or passes out."

"Not going to freeze," Jin Ling mutters, teeth chattering.

With carefully contained Lan worry, Sizhui asks, "Do you think Hanguang-jun is okay?" 

"Your Hanguang-jun can do anything," Wei Wuxian promises. "Especially beat up a bunch of Cu sect disciples."

"Su sect," Lan Sizhui corrects with a tiny huff of laughter. "But 'vinegar sect' isn't that far from the mark."

Below the clouds, the group flies on. Wei Wuxian keeps up a steady chatter, drawing Su sect gossip from Jingyi and some book recommendations from Ouyang Zizhen, determined to keep the juniors' spirits up. Still, he can feel their worry. He gets it: he's worried too.

It’s not long before another distant speck rises into the sky in pursuit. As they grow closer,. Wei Wuxian sighs with relief to see that it’s two people standing together on a familiar sword

"Hanguang-jun is incoming!" he calls to the juniors, and they gratefully slow.

He watches eagerly as Lan Zhan flies closer, looking for any sign of injury. He seems fine, his flying impeded only by the second person sharing his sword. A woman, Wei Wuxian notes, feeling the tiniest flicker of an easily dismissed jealousy. Then—

"Wen Qing?" he cries out disbelievingly as they fly closer.

"Took you long enough," she calls out.

"Coming back from the dead takes longer than you'd think," Wei Wuxian laughs, his heart singing as Bichen carries two of his favorite people up to fly alongside the juniors. Alongside their A-Yuan. "But how did you make it through?"

Wen Qing's hair has its first white strands, and her worry lines have carved deeper into her skin. However, her broad, joyful smile almost pushes those away. "Jin Guangyao and his father decided I was more useful alive, and as long as they had A-Ning I needed to agree. Have you found him?"

"We might be going to rescue him right now," he says, and then looks around. "By the way, this is Ouyang Zizhen and Lan Jingyi—" Zichen and Jingyi give her confused, friendly greetings— "Jin Ling—" Jin Ling nods warily— "and Lan Sizhui."

"Pleased to meet you," Sizhui says politely, looking at Wen Qing like there's some question he isn't sure how to ask.

"Pleased to meet you too," Wen Qing says, searching Sizhui's face. She looks at Wei Wuxian, and he nods just slightly. Something of the tightness in her face goes soft.

"Is Wei Ying well?" Lan Zhan asks, coming dangerously close to breaking the rule about interrupting.

"I’m fine," Wei Wuxian chirps. Lan Zhan looks to Sizhui for confirmation. "No, really," he protests. "I just got a little... kidnapped."

"Kidnapped?"

"Slightly kidnapped! It was this whole magic mirror prison thing. But the juniors were very helpful, and I found Chifeng-zun's head, and we're all fine now! But what's your story, Lan Zhan?"

"I looked for you." Lan Zhan pauses. "I broke into the dungeons."

"You what," Wei Wuxian asks disbelievingly.

Lan Zhan’s ears redden. “You could not be located.”

"Were you drunk?"

“No. It was a proportional response.”  

"So proportional that he broke right through a wall into the secret part of the dungeon," Wen Qing adds wryly.

"Who knew you were there?" Wei Wuxian asks.

"Jin Guangyao is absolutely in charge. He asked me to mix poisons on multiple occasions. He also has a cultivator named Xue Chengmei who wanted to know all about your cultivation."

Wei Wuxian nods.  "And I found Chifeng-zun's head and my notes in what has to be the Jin sect's magical treasure room, so altogether, I don’t have many questions left about whose fault this all is."

Wen Qing laughs cynically. "Good for us, then. We have eyewitness testimony from the two most disreputable dead people in the world."

The juniors look shaken but stay silent. Jin Ling's expression is tense and hard to read. Wei Wuxian only shrugs.

“We work with what we've got,” he says. “Let’s just hope it's enough."

Half a shichen later, the signs of battle start to scar the land below. It starts with a ripple through grass, a movement among trees.

"What's that?" Ouyang Zizhen asks.

Wei Wuxian doesn't need to get any closer to know.

"Fierce corpses. Spirits. Other undead things I used to play with," he says lightly.

"Why'd you summon them?" Jin Ling snaps.

"Back then, to fight a war. The ones down there now, though? They aren't mine."

Wherever their origin, the undead are all heading the same direction as the cultivators’ swords.

"Is it the fake Yiling Laozu?" Lan Sizhui asks.

"Full credit to the little Lan!" Wei Wuxian says with forced cheer. "A fake Yiling Laozu with a not-so-fake Chenqing. Maybe a repaired Tiger Seal, too, because that pull is strong ."

As if to illustrate it, Nie Mingjue's head strains against the bag confining it. Wei Wuxian shushes it with a quick, whistling scold.

"Can you command them to stop?" Lan Zhan asks.

"Not easily," says Wei Wuxian. "Counteracting Chenqing will take a long time and a ton of power. On this kind of schedule, I'd be better off just trying to fight them."

"Mn." They look at the corpses shambling below. There's more of them, now.

Wei Wuxian feels further out, expanding his awareness far beyond his sight. "There's a bunch of corpses coming from the Burial Mounds," he says. "If I have it right, we'll hit the battle in two incense stick's time. That Burial Mounds mob will hit in a quarter shichen."

The juniors quiet as the cultivators urge their swords on to greater speed. The battle is easy to see, even from far away: a dark miasma of drawn-in resentful energy hangs heavy over the trees.

"Well, one good thing: the cultivators must have caught up to Xue Yang when he was on his way to the Burial Mounds, and pinned him down before he could get any farther."

"Mn. Jiang Wanyin was highly motivated."

"With Nie-xiong a prisoner, and his captor looking like me," Wei Wuxian says, the words stinging as he says them. He wishes so badly that his sibling--that everyone he loves--could be far, far away from this battle.

As they close in, Wei Wuxian gives the juniors some last commands, telling them to stick to the back with Wen Qing. "You can help the battle with your bows and arrows, medical kits, or guqins," hetells them. "But if something gets close enough that you want to draw your sword, that’s when you run. Got it?" Lan Zhan sternly eyes the juniors. 

"Got it," they chorus.

"I'll do what I can to head off any unfortunate bouts of heroism," Wen Qing promises dryly, and then her face hardens. "Just get my brother back."

"I will," Wei Wuxian promises. "Both of our brothers."

The resentful energy thickens as they descend into a clearing shrouded in chaos. Somewhere in the darkness, a flute shrills. Disciples of a dozen sects hold a ring of protection, with guqin-wielding Lan disciples, Jiang archers, and the injured at its center. The dead lurch from all directions, clawing over each other to get at the cultivators.

"Hanguang-jun!" Some of the Lan cultivators look up, relief obvious on their faces, then confusion and concern as they see Wei Wuxian.

Lan Xichen pulls back from the edge of the battle, looking up as well. Surprise flashes across his face. "Wangji!" he cries out.

The group lands, Lan Zhan fluidly angling himself between Wei Wuxian and the mass of wary cultivators. The juniors flank him as well.

"Hey folks!" Wei Wuxian says, giving the crowd a little wave from the safety of his group's protection. "This is the real me. The guy you’re fighting is a fake."

"How?" Xichen asks.

"Xiongzhang. Jin Guangyao."

Lan Xichen blanches, then rallies. "You can't be certain."

Wen Qing steps forward, and Lan Xichen's eyes widen with recognition.

"How are you still alive?" he breathes.

"Maybe we should ask Jin Guangyao, huh? After we've killed the demonic cultivator over there who isn’t me?" Wei Wuxian suggests, twirling his flute and eying some cultivators who are looking more interested in the cluster of newcomers than the hordes of undead.

Lan Xichen closes his eyes for a moment, then opens them again with a grim determination that Wei Wuxian remembers from the battlefields of Sunshot.

"Alright," Zewu-jun says. "The Lan sect is in charge of the rearguard, while the Jin and Jiang sects have led a two-pronged attack to surround the cultivator, who is accompanied by the Ghost General and a thick concentration of resentful spirits. Jiang Wanyin and his people took the right side, Jin Guangyao the left. How do you plan to contribute?"

Wei Wuxian exchanges a look with Lan Zhan. "We'll leave the juniors and Wen Qing with you to help out here," he says, Lan Zhan nodding agreement. "We'll take the right side and back up Jiang Cheng."

"Sensible," Lan Xichen says. "Please, go ahead, and be careful."

"Xiongzhang as well," Lan Zhan replies, and bitter amusement flashes across Lan Xichen's face.

"As I am able," he answers, almost too quietly to be heard over the battle. Then, his gaze snaps to a commotion coming from the edge of the circle where new tangles of undead are swarming. "Keep each other safe," he commands, then leaps back into the fighting.

"Stay. Assist Wen-daifu. Protect one another," Lan Zhan tells the juniors. They nod solemnly. Lan Jingyi is pale, and Ouyang Zizhen's hand shakes on his sword, but Lan Sizhui is the image of constancy. They'll be alright. Hopefully.

Lan Zhan wraps his arm around Wei Wuxian's waist and, with a burst of spiritual energy, propels them over the line of fighters and into the demonic fray. Here there's no neat ranks, no reinforcements watching for a place to step in, just tight knots of two or three cultivators striking against the horrors rearing out around them. Lan Zhan and Wei Wuxian form up together, guarding each other's backs in a dance they first learned half a life ago. Wei Wuxian can track Lan Zhan as easily as he can his own arm. He instinctively knows which undead will next fall to Bichen's white flash, which cultivator will next look up in relief to discover Hanguang-jun has saved their life. He knows when Lan Zhan will draw his guqin and it will be Wei Wuxian's turn to defend Lan Zhan from any creatures that get near.

He knows Lan Zhan. And Lan Zhan knows him. With that, the battle holds no fear.

They cover ground quickly, Chenqing’s haunting song growing louder as they dive deeper into the thickening darkness. When a purple flash of light shines through the haze, Wei Wuxian takes in a sharp breath of relief and hurtles onward through the woods towards his brother.

They burst from the cover of the woods and into another clearing. Newly destroyed trees litter the ground around them, splinters sticking up from their stumps like daggers. One tall tree remains standing in the very center, resentful energy wrapping around the deep slashes in its trunk. And on a branch, overlooking a clearing, stands Xue Chengmei. He smirks down on the crowd with a twisted version of Wei Wuxian's own smile. His eyes glow red, and the Yin Tiger Seal floats in the air beside him. A ripple of power echoes out from it like a satisfied snarl. Xue Chengmei's hair floats free from his red ribbon as he cackles with laughter. He looks like a savage ghost.

He looks like Wei Wuxian must have, once.

Nie Huaisang is bound to the trunk of the tree, tied by resentful energy. His eyes are wide and terrified, fixed on the battle where Jiang Cheng is battling Wen Ning. Sandu in one hand and Zidian in the other, Jiang Cheng dodges and strikes with every spark of strength and agility he can muster, while Wen Ning whirls his chains in one slamming blow after another.

"Come down and fight me yourself, you bastard!" Jiang Cheng yells at Xue Chengmei on his branch. Wei Wuxian can hear exhaustion and ragged pain in his brother's voice.

So can Xue Chengmei, clearly. He laughs maniacally as Wen Ning makes Jiang Cheng skip backwards in a dodge. "That's right, I'm your own father's bastard!" he crows. "How does it feel to know that you could never be as strong as your brother? Huh? You're going to lose, you know. Is it worth it?"

Jiang Cheng rallies with fury, punctuating each word with a strike driving Wen Ning back. "Give. Me. My. Brother. Back!"

He almost makes it to Xue Yang’s perch before a surge of resentful energy sends him skidding back.

Wei Wuxian can't stand it a moment longer. "Jiang Cheng! I'm here!" He leaps into the fray, flute to his lips as he flings undead left and right, pulling them away from the still-disciplined ranks of Jiang disciples and allies and clearing a path towards Jiang Cheng. Lan Zhan follows close behind him.

His brother's eyes light up. "You idiot! What took you so long?"

"Some Jins!" Wei Wuxian calls back. He sees Jiang disciples looking from him to the branch in a mixture of relief and confusion. "Hey everyone! Your shixiong is back."

Xue Chengmei's smirk disappears as he counts up the newcomers. "How’d you get free?" he demands.

“By being better at demonic cultivation than you,” Wei Wuxian says snidely.

The younger demonic cultivator manages to smirk back. “Well, I’m glad Shifu is here to watch me end this fight! It’s just as well, I was getting bored."

He blows a shrill string of notes on Chenqing.  Wei Wuxian sucks in a breath at the crushing pressure of cold dark screaming energy, the Yin Tiger Seal’s full might. Xue Yang can’t survive this for very long. His repairs to the Seal will almost certainly splinter. But he might outlive longer than everyone else in the clearing: the Jiang, the Nie, the Yu—

A list that doesn’t include a single Jin or Jin ally. Wei Wuxian's blood turns to ice. The second prong of the attack never was meant to get here in time. The mirror was one trap, and it was a clever one; but now they’ve all blundered right into a second snare.

Jin Guangyao is just too damn good at picking the right bait.

Resentment pulses and swells all around. Jiang shields flare under the assault, but they don't buckle. They're not just opposing the resentment, but shaping it, Wei Wuxian realizes with relief—using just enough demonic cultivation to drastically increase the ward’s lifespan.

Roaring with the rising resentful tide, Wen Ning attacks Jiang Cheng with a new fury. Lan Zhan springs into action, stalling a strike of Wen Ning's chains with a blast from his qin. Jiang Cheng takes the opportunity to switch Zidian for Suibian, pressing an attack with both his swords.

"You go fight that asshole with the flute!" he snaps at Lan Zhan. "I'm fine here."

"Mn." Lan Zhan whirls towards Xue Chengmei, cutting through resentful energy even as the demonic cultivator’s flute screeches on.

Wei Wuxian tries to grip the flow of resentful energy, but it streams through his fingers like a breeze. With the resentment so enthralled by the fusion of Chenqing and the Yin Tiger Seal, he can't even hook a single thread into Wen Ning, or reach out to a single corpse that isn’t uselessly far away. Wei Wuxian’s breath catches in his throat. He's on a battlefield, his people are in danger, and his best weapons are worthless. He's lived this nightmare before.

"Jiujiu!"

"Jin Ling!" The nightmare gets worse. Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng yell in united horror as their nephew stumbles out from the trees. Blood streaks his sword and his robes, a sharp contrast from his pale face.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Jiang Cheng roars, terrified. "Get the hell back!"

"No!" Jin Ling dodges a plummeting resentful spirit, then yells again at Jiang Cheng. "The other flank: they’re too far away! No one’s coming to help, and you have to get out of here!"

Xue Chengmei breaks off his flute playing to laugh. "What a cute kid! Smart, but kinda slow. Wanna watch him die?"

Jiang Cheng yells wordlessly, his face contorting with rage as he charges at Xue Chengmei. Wei Wuxian pulls back instead of forward, Lan Zhan moving with him as they race across the field to his vulnerable nephew. Wei Wuxian casts a hail of talismans to clear their way. Slamming away a cloud of spirits with a wall of wind, he leaps down beside the frightened, bloodied, determined Jin Ling.

"You brat!" Wei Wuxian snarls as he guards one side of Jin Ling while Lan Zhan guards the other. "We’d just figured it out, and you could have gotten killed!”

Jin Ling sputters an argument, but Wei Wuxian doesn't listen. He scouts the battlefield quickly: there, not too far from Jiang Cheng's fight, is a spot where the collapsed trees form a naturally defensible little corner. He jerks his head at Lan Wangji, and snaps, "That way!" at Jin Ling. They move as quickly as they can. Wei Wuxian is running low on talisman paper as they get near the sheltered spot, but he still feels a flicker of hope. They can be safe, this doesn’t have to be like—

A spirit laying flat as a rippling carpet twists up from under Jin Ling's feet, grabbing at his ankle. Jin Ling yells in surprise as it digs into his skin. Wei Wuxian destroys it in a single burst of talisman flame. He's fine, he will be fine, they'll be—

Jiang Cheng yells in genuine pain. Wei Wuxian spins: distracted by Jin Ling, his brother gave Wen Ning the opening he needed to slam into one of Jiang Cheng's arms. Wei Wuxian's mouth drops open in horror as Suibian flies through the air and drops to the ground, as Jiang Cheng's arm falls limp at his side.

A moment later Wen Ning's hand is around Jiang Cheng's throat, squeezing. Jiang Cheng claws at Wen Ning's grip, Zidian sparking ineffectively, but it does nothing. There is no yelling. Whatever sound Jiang Cheng is making, Wei Wuxian can't hear it over the din of the flute and the battle.

Jiang Cheng looks out of the corner of his eye at Wei Wuxian. He's not panicking. His expression is far more terrifying than that: it's serenely resigned. Jiang Cheng has weighed his sacrifices and decided if he dies this way, he won't regret it.

Wei Wuxian was a fool. This is how the Battle of Nightless City is going to repeat itself.

Xue Chengmei springs from his branch, strolling closer to Jiang Cheng. The two of them are alone in a sea of dead things.

"The famous Shuangjian Shengshou," Xue Chengmei gloats, twirling Chenqing between his fingers. "Great job!" Covering his path with a silencing talisman, Wei Wuxian uses a burst of qinggong that he can't afford to jump where Suibian landed. He wraps his hand around Suibian's hilt; it still feels like riding a dragon. "Your nephew and your brother will get to watch you die before they die too," Xue Chengmei continues. Wei Wuxian rolls past a dead thing and bounds to his feet. His meridians are screaming. "Isn't that—"

Wei Wuxian draws every drop of spiritual energy his golden core can offer and shoves it into his blade. Before Xue Chengmei can do more than turn, Wei Wuxian swings Suibian down. His qi roars through his sword and then through Xue Chengmei's wrist.

Xue Yang screams as his four-fingered hand drops to the ground. The Yin Tiger Seal screams with him, uncontained power shattering the repaired half of the Seal. Immediately, the aura of resentment loses some of its oppressive thickness, and Wen Ning loosens his grip around Jiang Cheng's throat. Wei Wuxian hears Jiang Cheng suck in a breath, and he breathes with him.

"Fuck!" Xue Chengmei drops his flute and grabs the stump of his wrist. "You bastard, you weren't supposed to be here! I was going to do the job and be fucking fine!"

"Don't know what you're talking about, and I don't care," Wei Wuxian snarls. He snatches Chenqing before Xue Chengmei can grab it back. The resentful energy is answering to him, now, and the cold of resentment washes through his meridians where spiritual energy had just burned. "You're going to die, and I'm going to enjoy it."

Xue Chengmei backs away from Wei Wuxian and the Jiang front, panting and summoning what resentful energy he can still control. He spits out a mouthful of blood, a clear sign of the damage the Yin Tiger Seal had left. It's too slow a death for Wei Wuxian's taste, though.

"This has been fun," Xue Chengmei pants as Wei Wuxian lifts the flute to his lips, "But I'm just gonna—"

A sword cuts through his torso. He looks down, astonished, as red blooms over his robes. The illusion giving him Wei Wuxian's face disperses as he slumps to his knees, revealing Jin Guangyao behind him. Eyes cool, the sect leader impassively pulls his softsword free of Xue Chengmei.

No one ever sees Jin Guangyao coming.

Qin Su steps up beside him, her blade also covered in the unspeakable muck of battle. A fierce satisfaction gleams in her eyes as she watches Xue Chengmei fall to his knees before the two of them.

"You bastard," Xue Yang spits, then laughs. "You win, I guess."

“To me, this is no victory: not when you’ve betrayed me this way..." Jin Guangyao shakes his head. "But one person deserves your death more than I do. Qin-zongzhu?"

Qin Su tilts Xue Chengmei’s chin up with the tip of her sword. "Were you the one who attacked Laoling Qin?"

Xue Chengmei returns her gaze. “What’s the fucking point in telling you? You’ve got a way better liar than me right next to you.” He grins, joyless and bloody. “But I can tell you one thing—your brothers screamed when they died.”

A drop of blood wells up at Xue Chengmei’s throat where Qin Su’s blade presses into his neck.

“There’s no point in listening to a maniac,” Jin Guangyao says urgently. “Qin Su, he's yours to kill."

Wei Wuxian calls out. "Qin-zongzhu, don't do it!" Surprised, she looks to him. 

“We can figure out what to do with him later,” Jiang Cheng adds, his voice harsh as he cradles his injured arm. Right now, we need to end this battle. Wei Wuxian?”

"Wei Wuxian?" Jin Guangyao says with a perfectly calibrated note of surprise, as Jin and Qin disciples fan out warily around them. "Do you mean to tell me this man is the Yiling Laozu?"

"Wei Wuxian is not a threat," Qin Su says coolly. "He assisted Laoling Qin in the recent attack. Lower your swords."

Nie Huaisang raises his voice tremulously. "I don't know much, but he's helped me too! The Nie sect is more worried about, um, all the other undead that are still fighting?"

"They fight because Xue Chengmei is not yet dead," Jin Guangyao says tersely. "Qin Su? Please, end this."

Xue Chengmei laughs again. "Please, end this," he mocks. "Don't you idiots know fuck-all about how demonic cultivation works?"

Qin Su looks at Jin Guangyao, then Xue Chengmei, then Wei Wuxian, her face unreadable. "Wei Wuxian. Will his death stop them?"

"No," Wei Wuxian says decisively. They may have lost Xue Chengmei’s directions, but their fury is still their own. "But if I can play Chenqing without anyone shooting at me, I'll clear them out.”

"Then do it," she orders.

"A-Su—" Jin Guangyao looks pained, but Qin Su is not looking at him: her eyes are on Wei Wuxian. She nods. 

Jiang Cheng puts a hand on Wei Wuxian’s shoulder. "Do it," he says, voice gravelly.

So Wei Wuxian puts Chenqing to his mouth, and plays.

Chenqing almost leaps in his fingers, a hawk stirring itself at its falconer's call. It had been made for this, from its days as a warped bamboo shoot growing on the seething heart of the Burial Mounds until the day Wei Wuxian had awoken it with blood. Kill? it asks him eagerly. Vengeance, death?

Jiang Cheng could have died, Wei Wuxian remembers. Jiang Cheng, Jin Ling, and all the disciples Jiang Cheng has poured his heart into keeping safe. Wei Wuxian could destroy Jin Guangyao and Xue Chengmei in a heartbeat. He could feel every moment of their suffering, and it would feel so good.

A flash of white catches his eye: Lan Zhan, protecting Jin Ling because he's that’s what he does. Jiang Cheng, now standing beside him.

The clarity bell, ringing at Wei Wuxian’s hip.

Not revenge, he tells the flute with a monumental act of will. Rest.

Chenqing sighs, a note echoing long-suffering into the air, but it bends to Wei Wuxian's command.

They cast their power over the undead, Wei Wuxian's awareness spiraling out further and further over the battle. Wen Ning is one of the first to fall under his control, his link to Wei Wuxian snapping back into place. Be free, Wei Wuxian tells him, and Wen Ning answers with relief. They snare each spirit and soothe it, spinning away resentful energy. Cold power pulses through Wei Wuxian's meridians. He can feel the dead answering: settling, dispersing, wavering enough for cultivators to dispatch them.

Most of his attention is on his cultivation, but Wei Wuxian dimly registers as Lan Wangji takes a place at his shoulder and as Jin Ling clings fiercely to Jiang Cheng's side. He plays on, and as the last of the dead rest, Lan Xichen arrives with Wen Qing in tow. The last notes hang in the air, and Wen Qing and Wen Ning hug each other. Wen Qing's shoulders shake with tears.

The song ends, and Wei Wuxian releases the last of the resentful energy. He feels empty.

He feels dizzy, actually. Lan Zhan noticed it before Wei Wuxian did, though, so his grip is at Wei Wuxian's elbow already.

"Is that, somehow, Wen Qing?” Qin Su asks, voice tight. “Embracing the Ghost General?”

"Jiang Cheng," Wei Wuxian hisses pleadingly at his brother. He just got back three people he thought lost forever; he can't let the world take them again.

"I know,” he mutters, then stalks over to put himself in front of the Wens.

"She's a doctor," Jiang Cheng tells the other sect leaders sharply as the siblings separate from each other's arms, “and they're both witnesses. Until we've gotten to the bottom of this, the Jiang sect will take custody."

Jin Guangyao’s face tightens. "Ah, are you entirely certain that is appropriate, given the Jiang Sect's... associations?"

"The Jiang sect will take custody," Jiang Cheng repeats like he hadn't heard him. Apparently Lan Zhan's rhetorical techniques are rubbing off.

"The Lan sect agrees," Lan Xichen says. "She has been quite helpful treating the injured, and I too want to know the truth of what happened here. I'm sure that..." he trails off like he can’t see a way to end the sentence without breaking a Lan rule about lying.

"In that case, I request that Wen Qing first treats Xue Chengmei." Everyone startles at the request: it came from Qin Su, of all people.

"A-Su," Jin Guangyao says, pained. "He killed your family."

"Perhaps," Qin Su answers, meeting Jin Guangyao's gaze. Pain flashes in her eyes too, but her voice is ice over a torrential river. "Regardless, he knows more, and I want to kill my sect's murderers as they killed my sect: root and branch, sparing none."

Jin Guangyao looks away from her first. "Very well. Then let's begin the cleanup." He raises his voice. "Sect leaders, to me."

Xichen steps up beside him, eyes full of uncertainty. "Jin-zongzhu, perhaps I should handle this for now."

"Er-ge?" Jin Guangyao asks, wounded.

They keep talking, but Wei Wuxian can’t follow it.  Sounds are coming in and out of focus, his empty core reminding him about the earlier release of spiritual energy and his meridians freezing with the influx of the resentful stuff.

"'s someone else’s problem now," he mutters, and folds into the safety of Lan Zhan's arms.

Chapter Text

When Wei Wuxian wakes again, he is warm. It’s still a novel sensation: by his last death, he’d almost always felt the bite of cold.

But now, he is completely surrounded by warmth. From the thick layers of blankets draped over him; from air that smells of rivers and sunny days; from the pulse of spiritual energy running through his meridians and soothing his injuries. As he opens his eyes, he’s warm from the sight of his brother, eyes closed in meditation, passing him spiritual energy.

“Hey, A-Cheng,” Wei Wuxian says, trying on a smile. “How much trouble did you get in to be demoted from sect leader to nurse?”

“Wei Wuxian!” Jiang Cheng’s eyes shoot open. “The only full-time nurse around here is your Hanguang-jun.” He jerks his head at a cot in the corner, where Lan Zhan is laid out in full Lan sleeping position. “I just take some so he’ll fucking sleep every once in a while, so don’t get a swelled head.”

Wei Wuxian smiles fondly. “Aww, it’s almost like you like each other now!”

“He wins some points for protecting Jin Ling, and that’s all. He would have gotten more if you idiots had kept our nephew out of the battle in the first place.”

Wei Wuxian winces. “Sorry about that. We tried.”

Jiang Cheng snorts. “I’d be more pissed about it if he wasn’t such a good escape artist. He’s been disappearing on every adult in charge of him since he was about four.”

Wei Wuxian smiles fondly, imagining a small chubby Jin Ling booking it away from some auntie as fast as his legs could carry him. He wishes he could have seen it. “Is he okay? Actually, is everyone okay?”

“Not everyone,” Jiang Cheng says grimly. “We lost eight disciples, and we have twenty injured. Most of those are recovering, but a couple are still touch and go. The Nie and Yu sects were hit pretty hard too. Everyone in the right flank was.”

Wei Wuxian nods, absorbing the grief of it. Lotus Pier will be healing for a while.

“The juniors, though? And the Wens, and Nie Huaisang?”

“The juniors are all fine. Jin Ling’s not great, exactly, but he’s not hurt. Huaisang got a good scare, but he’s been pretty helpful with hospitality and arranging the trial around Lotus Pier, actually.”

Wei Wuxian’s pulse ticks up. “Who’s on trial?” he asks nervously.

Jiang Cheng thwacks Wei Wuxian’s wrist harmlessly and then resumes passing him spiritual energy. “What, are you that paranoid? Jin Guangyao, of course. Probably another four or five high-ranking Jins. Obviously not you.”

“Even though I got the Yin Tiger Seal back? And, wait, where is it?”

“Settle down!” Jiang Cheng snaps as he blocks Wei Wuxian’s attempted lunge out of the bed.  “It’s being closely guarded in the Clarity Chamber, where it will stay until you and the other Jiang demonic cultivators figure out how to break it safely. The wards are secure and they’re having a great time studying it, so don’t you dare get anywhere near that damn piece of metal.”

“I bet you thought the wards were great before Nie Mingjue’s sword broke them,” Wei Wuxian sniffs, but he lets himself settle back on the bed. 

“Look, we just had the standard wards activated then, not the Wei-Wuxian-found-angry-demonic-shit wards! For the Yin Tiger Seal, we're using every ward we've got. And the fucking Lan sect has already insisted on checking— oh. Speaking of Lans.”

Their attention turns to a rustling from the cot in the corner.

“Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan asks, voice thick with sleep.

“In the flesh!” Wei Wuxian says cheerfully. “One hundred percent me and one hundred percent fine.”

Jiang Cheng scoffs. “Fifty percent fine. Sixty, maybe, given how shitty his zero percent can get.”

“Mn.” Lan Zhan gathers and rises elegantly from the cot, settling in a chair at the other side of Wei Wuxian’s bed and taking his wrist. “Fifty two and one half percent fine,” he says conclusively.

Jiang Cheng snorts, and Wei Wuxian laughs. “I told you he was funny!” he crows at his brother.

“Ha, ha,” Jiang Cheng says with a roll of his eyes, but Lan Zhan looks nearly smug.

“So, the trial,” Wei Wuxian asks, invigorated by the two streams of healing spiritual energy. “How’s that going?”

“It’s going,” Jiang Cheng shrugs. “Fucking chaotic with this many sects involved, but we’re getting some evidence. A woman showed up last night with this wild story about Jin Guangshan getting fucked to death by a bunch of courtesans that Jin Guangyao hired, so I sent out a couple disciples to investigate that. Can’t say the asshole didn’t deserve it, but to kill your own father that way…”

“We removed Chifeng-zun’s head from your qiankun pouch,” Lan Wangji adds gravely. “Xiongzhang and Nie-zongzhu are grateful for its return. Xiongzhang has spoken to Chifeng-zun with Inquiry.  He has much to say, as has Xue Yang.”

“Xue Yang has been very happy to throw his boss into the river,” Jiang Cheng agrees. “A bunch of old secrets have been coming up.”

Old secrets—Wei Wuxian’s brain leaps to thinking about the Wens. Wen Ning, Wen Qing, and—

“Lan Zhan, you saved A-Yuan,” Wei Wuxian breathes. “I have no idea how you did it, but thank you.”

Lan Zhan meets Wei Wuxian’s smile with a faint crinkle of his eyes, which disappears as he glances sideways at Jiang Cheng.

“Don’t fucking worry about me,” Jiang Cheng snorts. “I guessed ages ago; if anyone messes with the kid I’ll help you hide the body. But— Wei Wuxian, you knew, right?”

“Not until recently,” Wei Wuxian admits.

Jiang Cheng turns to Lan Zhan. “He knew, right? Or you at least told him, in your cryptic Lan way?”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan hedges.

“I have no fucking clue what that ‘Mn’ actually means, so I’m going to choose to believe it means ‘of course, Jiang Wanyin, I tried to tell Wei Wuxian the instant he came back, because I wouldn’t let him wander around for weeks mourning a kid who was standing right in front of his face.’  Right?”

“It does not,” Lan Zhan says, lowering his eyes. “The circumstances were difficult.”

“Oh, ‘difficult,’” Jiang Cheng replies. His anger has somehow broken through his normal levels of stormcloud fury and into the clear peaceful sky above, like he’s the first immortal to ascend on wrath instead of tranquility. “Please, wise scholar, explain ‘difficult’ to me.”

Lan Zhan takes a deep breath, lifting his gaze to Wei Wuxian. “After A-Yuan was rescued he was very ill. He woke, and remembered nothing. I told him that I was close to his father, and nothing more. A child should not bear the weight of a secret that vast.”

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian murmurs. He turns his hand to hold Lan Zhan’s, remembering Lan Qiren’s story of a boy who knelt in the snow.

“How noble,” Jiang Cheng says. “And now?”

“Before, I intended to tell Sizhui at twenty, once he would have an adult’s freedom to choose his path. Since Wei Ying’s return, I hoped to tell him once a period of quiet was found. I… struggled to find the right moment.” Lan Zhan lowers his eyes again. “Wei Ying, I apologize.”

Wei Wuxian waves an airy hand. “Ah, Lan Zhan! It’s fine, no need for sorry.”

“There’s every need,” Jiang Cheng growls. “I can name ten times that you could have talked, and Wei Wuxian could have kept his mouth shut until you talked to the kid. We both know he’s really fucking good at keeping secrets when he tries.”

Lan Zhan inclines his head. “I agree. I should have told Wei Ying before. I will speak to A-Yuan soon. He deserves to know his family.”

Jiang Cheng harrumphs, mostly pacified. His expression gives Wei Wuxian a flash of the future: for the rest of their lives, whenever Jiang Cheng gets annoyed enough, this moment is going to come right back up in conversation.

A knock comes at the door in the second before it’s flung open. Jin Ling careens into the room. “Jiujiu, there’s two more sect leaders here! Or, they say they’re sect leaders, but I’ve never heard of their sect. But one of them was Baoshan Sanren’s disciple; maybe he can help—“

Jin Ling does a double take as he sees Wei Wuxian sitting up. “Da-jiu!” he exclaims.

Wei Wuxian grins. “Jin Ling! I don’t have any more wrists to hold, but have a seat.”

Jin Ling stands, shifting from foot to foot. “I’ll go get the doctor,” he says gruffly. “Do you need the doctor? Or I can get food; the cooks always have soup going. Or rice? Or congee, that’s rice and soup.”

Wei Wuxian laughs, delighted at Jin Ling’s babbling. “Settle down, kid! I’m fine, I’m— well, fifty two and half percent fine, apparently. There’s no rush.”

Jiang Cheng lets go of Wei Wuxian’s wrist and stands. “Wei Wuxian, you absolutely are not getting out of seeing the doctor. I’ll send one in when I go meet these sect leaders. A-Ling, what do they look like?”

“Black and white robes,” Jin Ling says promptly. “And one has bandages around his eyes.”

“Got it,” Jiang Cheng says, looking gruffly around the room. “None of you better get in trouble while I’m out, okay?”

“Not planning on it,” Wei Wuxian says, giving his brother a smile. Jiang Cheng nods back and swishes out the door, settling his shoulders into Jiang-zongzhu’s seriousness and strength.

Jin Ling stays standing in the middle of the room. “Are you sure there’s nothing I can go get?” he asks, looking uncertainly at Lan Zhan.

Wei Wuxian turns to Lan Zhan instead. “Hey, Lan Zhan, any chance you could go get me some water? “My mouth is really dry.”

Lan Zhan looks at the almost full jug of water on the table, looks at Wei Wuxian, and then pointedly looks at Jin Ling. The junior pales.

“Mn. I will guard outside until I am needed.” He gives Wei Wuxian’s hand one last squeeze and breezes out the door.

Jin Ling finally settles in Jiang Cheng’s empty chair. He looks at anything but Wei Wuxian.

“Are the carvings on my bedpost that interesting?” Wei Wuxian asks lightly, making Jin Ling jump. “Or are you contemplating something other than my great artistic talents?”

Jin Ling snorts, but at least he looks at Wei Wuxian as he does. “What artistic talent! They’re just stick figures. Gross, kissing ones.”

Wei Wuxian nods seriously. “So if it’s not the art, what’s on your mind?”

Jin Ling kicks his heels, glances longingly at the door, and then mutters, “What else is there to think about? A lot of people got hurt. You and jiujiu got hurt! Xiao-shu… Jin Guangyao…” Jin Ling falters. “Everything sucks, and everyone was stupid.”

“It does suck,” Wei Wuxian agrees. “But it’s over. And speaking of stupid—Jin Ling, ah, what were you thinking when you charged into the middle of the fight? You should have left it to your uncles!”

“Well, what were you thinking when you ran into the fight?” Jin Ling scowls.

“I was thinking I’m an experienced fighter who knew what to do!” Wei Wuxian scolds. “And I was thinking I couldn’t leave Jiang Cheng there all alone.”

“Well, that’s what I was thinking! My family was there, and I wasn’t. I might not be as good as my dad was, but I could still help. I thought.”

 Wei Wuxian sighs, softening at Jin Ling’s determined face. “You remind me of your mom, you know? She would have been proud of you. And she also would have told you never to do that again until you’re as big and strong as Hanguang-jun! Or Jiang Cheng,” he adds as Jin Ling makes a face. “Then she’d let you charge into any fight you liked, even if she’d be a little worried. But she’d definitely be proud.”

“You think so?” Jin Ling asks, voice small.

“I know so. If your mom valued anything, it was family. When we needed her, she could be brave as a tiger.”

“Everyone says she wasn’t really good at fighting,” Jin Ling says hesitantly.

Wei Wuxian reaches out and flicks his nephew’s nose. “The battlefield isn’t the only place you can be brave, silly boy.”

Jin Ling flaps his hand away, then crosses his arms. “But it was really brave of you to save jiujiu. So… thanks. Da-jiu.”

“That’s just what family does.”

“Family…” Jin Ling echoes, then gathers himself. “Yeah, that is what family does. Well, I’ve been taking shifts with the other juniors to guard this wing,” he says, attempting a seasoned gruffness that just makes Wei Wuxian want to flick his nose again. “Nobody who wants to hurt you is getting past us!”

Wei Wuxian grins. “Ah, such a vigilant guard! No wonder I slept so soundly.” It’s far more welcome than the last time the juniors kept an eye on this room. “You know, I think there actually is something you can do.”

Jin Ling straightens alertly.

“I have two important problems: I’m hungry, and I’m bored. So here’s your mission. Go get us both some soup—two big bowls, plenty of spice!—and bring them right back here. Then we’ll eat them together, and I’ll tell you some stories about your mom. Okay?”

“Okay,” Jin Ling says, and smiles with an uneven tilt to his lips that looks just like Jiang Cheng’s.

Wei Wuxian spends the next few days recovering under the firm instruction of Wen Qing.

"No demonic cultivation," she says sternly, concluding her examination. Her voice is quiet from long disuse, but it's just as authoritative as before. "If you even say hello to a ghost, I will know about it and I will stick you full of needles."

"Yes, Wen-daifu," Wei Wuxian says meekly. Wen Ning listens keenly from nearby, ready to tell his sister’s directions to Lan Wangji, who will pass it on with textbook faithfulness to Jiang Cheng and Jin Ling. Yeah, he's not even going to be able to think about a ghost without someone getting him in trouble.

"You can get out of bed, though, and you should. Take a walk around the pier, it'll be good for you. No vigorous sword drills, but low-level core development exercises will help. And when I say low-level, I mean the kind for babies and grandparents."

Wei Wuxian nods. "Xianxian is only three. Got it."

Wen Qing rolls her eyes to hide a smile, the old motion changed only by new wrinkles and by paleness from her underground prison. More than Lan Zhan or Jiang Cheng, her face marks the passage of time. A Jin prison isn't exactly the best place to develop one's cultivation, Wei Wuxian gathers.

Apparently, the only fun part of being a captive physician for the Jin was when Jin Guangyao asked her to help plan his father's poisoning and murder.

"You do get to have all the spicy food you can stomach," Wen Qing adds. "And yes, I have some idea how much spice that is."

Wei Wuxian tilts his head, grinning playfully. "Aww, Qing-jie! You do love me."

She snorts. "Eh, it's good for your yang qi. And we'll see what you say after you've drunk all the medicine I'm brewing."

She turns to tend the boiling pot, and Wei Wuxian notices a touch of sunburn along the back of her neck: Lotus Pier's first attempt to erase the marks of her captivity.

"Who would have thought we'd both ever end up here," he marvels, looking out the window onto a pond blooming with lotuses.

Wen Qing shrugs. "I'm still waiting for them to wake up and throw us in a cell block. But no one's poisoned my breakfast yet, so I’m taking it one day at a time."

"They've been very friendly, actually." Wen Ning adds, “especially Meng Yuying.”

"You've got a whole brigade of fans here, so A-Ning does too.” Wen Qing rolls her eyes, but tucks away a pleased smile.

"And then there's Hanguang-jun," Wen Ning adds mischievously. "He might be an even bigger fan of yours than any of his juniors."

Wei Wuxian waggles his eyebrows. "Oh, he absolutely is."

"Which reminds me—no vigorous sexual activity," Wen Qing warns, "but dual cultivation is allowed. If you want a diagram of the difference, ask someone else."

Wei Wuxian sticks out his tongue, and she swats him.

"There's also been a very friendly Lan junior," Wen Ning says quietly. "Lan Sizhui."

The air shifts. "Ah. Lan Yuan.”

Wen Qing lets out a breath and nods. "He's polite, has a good head for medicine, and has a decent sense of humor when he lets it out. Hanguang-jun raised him well, clearly."

"He's kind," Wen Ning says simply. Wei Wuxian smiles: that might be Wen Ning's greatest compliment.

"How much does he know?" Wen Qing asks bluntly. "About his… family history?"

With the memory of the massacre hanging between them and the cultivation world teeming around Lotus Pier, this indirectness feels safer. "Not much," Wei Wuxian says. "Lan Zhan's hoping to introduce him to some relatives soon, though. Probably after the trial."

Wen Qing nods. "He asks insightful questions. Hanguang-jun might not need to tell him much."

Over the next few days, Lan Sizhui stops by Wei Wuxian's room several times, or joins him when he dips his feet off the edge of a pier. He seems like he's looking for something. Wei Wuxian gives him jokes and tall tales instead.

He’ll find what he's been missing soon enough.

Wei Wuxian is one of the last people to be brought to the trial. One of the last witnesses, that is: he's not being tried.

He has to remind himself that when he's met with a sea of glowering cultivators.

“Hello, shifu!” Xue Yang calls mockingly from the center of the floor, heavy chains clinking as he jauntily waves at Wei Wuxian. “Here to watch the show?”

“He’s here to watch you answer our questions,” Jiang Cheng snaps from his place on Lotus Pier’s dais before the other clans.  “Again: once you had established control over Wen Ning, where did you first use him to attack?”

As Xue Yang answers, Wei Wuxian circles with Lan Zhan around the back of the room to join the Jiang delegation. Tang Rui nods at the empty seat beside him, and the Lans have left a neighboring seat as well. As they settle down and focus returns to the current witness, Wei Wuxian takes in the people packed into the room. With cultivators packed close enough to jostle each other's swords, every sect he knows is showing its colors somewhere in the grand hall of Lotus Pier. Eight sects take center stage. Jiang Cheng sits with Yunmeng Jiang at the front, and then six other deciding sects make up the first rows to either side: Gusu Lan, Qinghe Nie, Laoling Qin, Meishan Yu, Baling Ouyang, and Pingyang Yao.  Lanling Jin’s delegation huddles like sheep before them.

"So many minor sects," Wei Wuxian murmurs to Tang Rui. "How did those four end up with seats?"

Tang Rui shrugs. "The gap between the greater and lesser sects is much smaller now than it was back before Sunshot. Those four are some of the strongest, and they represent a wide range of the smaller sects. Also, no one was going to try to keep Qin-zongzhu out of this trial."

Wei Wuixian glances at where Qin Su sits, her expression as impassive as a judge of hell. "Good call.”

She is one of the only cultivators who doesn’t even flinch as Xue Yang gleefully narrates the murders of the Chang family. Jiang Cheng’s mouth is twisted in disgust.

“So that ended your blood feud,” Jiang Cheng says shortly. “Now we’re moving on to the attacks you made for other reasons. What led you to Laoling on the night of the Qin massacre?”

“Just a word or two from my boss,” Xue Yang says, and smiles viciously at Jin Guangyao. “Him.”

The assembled cultivators lean in intently. 

Someone clears his throat. Wei Wuxian cranes his neck to look at the speaker. It’s Jin Guangyao: seated in front, no blade at his side, with immortal-binding rope crossing over his sect leader's robes. His hat remains neatly centered. “As we continue, may I ask the assembled cultivators to keep in mind that the man before us has admitted to atrocity after atrocity—”

“Says the man who had his dad fucked to death.” 

“ —the most justified of which was sparked by nothing more than a smashed finger.”

“Oh, you fucking hypocritical—” Xue Yang’s lips abruptly seal shut. 

“I, on the other hand, stabbed him. Given what we know of his character, it seems quite likely that he would lie in service of revenge. Can we truly rely on his word?”

“Of course not,” Jiang Cheng says. “Fortunately, we have further witnesses to corroborate his testimony. Lan-zongzhu, if you would allow Xue Chengmei to answer this next question?” 

Lan Xichen nods, and Xue Chengmei’s mouth springs open. “Fucking finally,” he mutters.

Jiang Cheng ignores him. “In your next killing spree after the Chang family, you almost did not get away successfully, correct? There were two cultivators?”

Xue Chengmei blinks. “Well, I mean, they didn’t come anywhere near stopping me, but there were two guys there. Why?”

 “What exactly happened with the cultivators?” Jiang Cheng asks. 

“Well, there was a pretty boy in white and his sidekick in black. I had Wen Ning beat them up, but the one in black slipped by him and cut up my disguise talisman. He’d gotten a good look at my face, so so I threw a blinding poison in his eyes and took off. The one in white fell back to help his minion and I got away.”

Jiang Cheng nods. “Bring in the next witnesses,” he calls to the Jiang guards at the door.

They allow in a pair of cultivators: one in black, and one in white and with bandages across his eyes. They cross to the center of the room in confident, dignified strides, the man in black at the elbow of the one in white. 

“Introducing Xiao Xingchen, the bright moon and gentle breeze, and Song Lan, the distant snow and cold frost,” Jiang Cheng announces. 

Xue Chengmei’s jaw drops as he meets Song Lan’s steady gaze. “But— you— you’re blind!”

“His eyes were destroyed,” Xiao Xingchen says evenly. “I gave him mine.”

Jiang Cheng gives the room a moment to mutter among themselves, then breaks in. “Esteemed guests, tell us: how do you know this man?”

Song Lan speaks. "We followed the trail from the Chang estate and found a demonic cultivator with a powerful fierce corpse we've since learned was the Ghost General. Xingchen made an opening for me to slice the talisman concealing this man’s face.” 

"Then why didn't you bring this to the sects before?" Yao-zongzhu bursts out. "You could have stopped his crimes years ago!"

Xiao Xingchen faces him calmly. "We considered it. However, by the time we knew his name, we also knew he was sponsored by chief cultivator Jin Guangyao. The matter was too large for us to solve alone."

"We found that out when we later tracked him to a camp outside Lanling, with a whole herd of fierce corpses," Song Lan says, deflating Yao-zongzhu from his premature puffery. "Jin Guangyao visited while we were watching, and we learned those corpses used to be Jin prisoners."

The sect leaders pepper Xiao Xingchen and Song Lan with questions: what robes did the corpses wear? How many guards were there? Why didn’t the nearby town tell someone? Xue Yang intermittently interrupts, and intermittently gets shut up again by silencing spell.

"Can you tell us more about the disguise talismans?" Jin Guangyao asks from the Jin delegation.  "They effectively made Xue Chengmei look like another person, if I understand correctly?"

"That is correct.”

"Hmm. Then, this man who you believed to be me— could they have been some other person wearing the disguise talisman?"

Xiao Xingchen blinks. "I suppose so. But the others consistently referred to him as Jin Guangyao, and he carried himself as I've seen you do."

"I see." Jin Guangyao settles back into his seat.

As the questions slow, Jiang Cheng takes the reins again. "After you saw the corpse farm, what did you do?"

"Having realized how difficult the problem would be to solve if one of the Great Sects was backing Xue Chengmei, we consulted with... a friend who had some perspective on the problem," Xiao Xingchen says carefully. Song Lan’s eyes flick towards the Nie delegation. Interesting. "He suggested that we disappear for a time until circumstances changed and we might be heard. After that, we left for a rural region with few cultivators and established our sect. When we received word two weeks ago that Jin Guangyao's crimes were likely to come to light, we left our sect in the hands of our head disciple and came here to tell our story."

Lan Xichen asks, "Who was your consultant, exactly?"

"Someone whose name we promised we wouldn't say," Song Lan tells him.

"That makes your testimony more difficult to weigh.”

Song Lan shrugs. "We're here to tell the truth. It’s your choice what to do with it.”

Xiao Xingchen and Song Lan take a few more probing questions, handling them with grace. Wei Wuxian looks around the room: although some people still look undecided, most seem to at least accept that the two reclusive sect leaders are telling the truth.

"That's enough," Jiang Cheng tells them as the questions become repetitive. "Song-daozhang, Xiao-daozhang, thank you for your testimony. You may be seated. Guards, please escort Xue Chengmei back to his cell: he will be sentenced later. The next witness will be Wei Wuxian."

Wei Wuxian rises out of his seat, all eyes on him. Some of them are hostile: the Jin and neighboring delegations especially, but there's few sects that Wei Wuxian hadn't left a mark on in his final days. The exceptions, the people who are glad to see him, shine out among the rest: Nie Huaisang's flash of a smile over the top of his fan, some discreet little waves from the juniors, nods from Laoling Qin, the confidence of Yunmeng Jiang.

And, in front of them all, Jiang Cheng's almost inscrutable sect leader expression: the kind he'd given Wei Wuxian when they were leading an army together. You've got this, his face says. As long as you don't fuck it up.

Wei Wuxian lets the clarity bell at his side ring out as he makes his way to the center. He's dressed in dark purple and red, enough to make clear which sect claims him.

"Give us your name," Jiang Cheng orders.

"Wei Wuxian of Yunmeng Jiang,” he says with casual confidence. Not arrogance, he hopes.

Some— the people who weren't at the battle—look at him doubtfully.

"Isn't he that Mo boy?" he hears one cultivator ask. Wei Wuxian spins toward them.

"Excellent question! I am not, in fact, Mo Xuanyu. He used a piece of demonic cultivation called the Sacrifice Summon to bring me back to life in his body."

"Very fortunate for you," Jin Guangyao notes from his seat. His keen, analytical eyes watch for any mistake.

Wei Wuxian shrugs. "It was mostly that he was unlucky, actually. You see, someone kicked him out of Laoling Jin, and while he hadn't learned much good old-fashioned cultivation there, he did leave with enough demonic cultivation to pull off a very tricky forbidden array."

Yao-zongzhu breaks in. "Jiang-zongzhu, why is the man who set demonic cultivation loose on the world trusted to be a witness here? Why isn't he on trial himself, in fact? He's known to be lawless; everyone here can remember the blood he shed! And now he’s got the Yin Tiger Seal again!"

Wei Wuxian flushes, his fingers digging into his palms. He'd been waiting for that, though it doesn't take away much of the sting.

His brother's expression is thunderous; Jin Guangyao looks pleased and unsurprised. He had made a hobby of giving the smaller sects funds, Wei Wuxian remembers. He opens his mouth to remind the room of that when Nie Huaisang, of all people, speaks.

"Sorry to interrupt, I just had a question! I was wondering, Wei-xiong: was the Jin camp you took the Wens from in your last life the same as the Jin camp Xue Chengmei was in later? I'm getting all mixed up."

Wei Wuxian manages to look at the sect leader with wide, unsuspecting eyes instead of giving him a wink and nod, but it takes effort. "No, I think the camp Xiao Xingchen described was much closer to Lanling. Why?"

"Oh, my mistake!" Huaisang says quickly. "It's just, um, with the Jin guards and prisoners and all of the demonic cultivation happening... there was demonic cultivation happening at the Qiongdi Way prison, right?"

"Yes, that's how Wen Ning was killed. They stuck a lure flag into his chest to see what kind of monster they could summon. And, of course, to watch him die."

"Oh, had they been sentenced to death?" Nie Huaisang looks at Lan Xichen pleadingly. "I'm sorry, I didn't listen very much. Er-ge, wasn't da-ge mad at them?"

"While Da-ge did not like the Wens, the ones sent to the prison camp were uninvolved in the war and so not sentenced to death," says Lan Xichen, well conditioned to answer Huaisang's questions. "They were to help with local Jin infrastructure projects at the work camp, then assist elsewhere.”

"Oh, okay!" Nie Huaisang says. "So they were supposed to be old folks, women, people like that, then? Then... how were there so many Wen cultivators at the Siege?"

"There weren't," Jiang Cheng says shortly, “unless you count grandfathers with bad knees and rusted swords. The only Wens in fighting condition were fierce corpses and a doctor." Jiang Cheng glances around, weighing his options. "And that doctor and her brother had betrayed their sect to rescue the remnants of Yunmeng Jiang after the burning of Lotus Pier. She wasn't about to go murder her way through the Great Sects."

"Huh! you know, I never knew any of that! I missed out on a lot from not going to the Siege, I guess. But if they were just women and elders, and they helped out the Jiang sect..."

Qin-zongzhu breaks in. "I suppose Wei-gongzi had good reason to remove them from a camp where they were victims of demonic cultivation,” she says dryly. She's smart enough to know when she's being led, and Wei Wuxian quietly appreciates that she would go there anyway.

Jiang Cheng steps in. "And that is why the surviving Wens will belong under the protection and supervision of the Jiang sect going forward," he declares. He looks around the room, daring anyone to challenge his claim. A couple lesser sect leaders clear their throats and shift in place, but Jiang Cheng's glare sends them quailing. Wei Wuxian can't keep from sending his brother a grateful smile. If the Wens are Shuangjian Shengshou's people, they are safe.

It wouldn't do him any good to wish Jiang Cheng had claimed them that way thirteen years before.

Jiang Cheng takes over the questioning again. "Now, back to the matters of today. This body transfer occurred two months ago, correct? The day after the full moon?"

"Correct."

"Then walk us through what happened."

Wei Wuxian walks the sect leaders through the capture of Nie Mingjue's blade, then skips onward to the fight against the demonic cultivator and the discovery of the head swap. As sect leaders pepper him with questions, he moves on to the visit to Laoling Qin and his professional opinion that the original shattering of Laoling Qin’s wards was the work of a demonic cultivator.

He even talks about the conversation with Bicao, though he claims he didn't hear what upset Jin Guangyao in his conversation with Madame Qin. Qin Su's shoulders relax at that.

When he reaches the Jin sect visit, the sects are very interested to hear that Wei Wuxian was captured, in Koi Tower, by Xue Chengmei, using what was clearly a high-quality Jin magical treasure. They are even more interested to learn he'd found Nie Mingjue's head there. When Yao-zongzhu attempts to push against the location ("We only have Wei Wuxian's word!"), Lan Xichen informs him that Nie Mingjue himself had confirmed that part of Wei Wuxian's story. 

"And before anyone asks, the Yin Tiger Seal is already partially broken and will be fully shattered once Wei Wuxian is healed from saving all of your lives," Jiang Cheng says. "Any further questions?"

Wei Wuxian clears his throat. "I've actually got more to say. I know you've heard the story of the battle already, but there's something I want to make sure is clear: Xue Chengmei planned to wipe out the right flank, and only the right flank. He had the Jin sect and allies very well corralled, but he was focusing his full attack force on the Nie and Jiang sects. Further, he only closed the trap once Jiang Cheng and Lan Zhan were both up close. If he'd succeeded, how many witnesses would this trial have now?"

Murmurs ripple through the crowd as eyebrows raise.

"What wild speculation!" Jin Guangyao snaps. "So Xue Chengmei decided to fight one half of the army while stalling the other; that is just reasonable tactics. Of course the arrival of a powerful cultivator sparked an increase in the intensity of his attack. Why should we read more into his choice than that?" He looks dolefully at Lan Xichen, at Qin Su. "Further, I was the one to stab Xue Chengmei when he still had the strength to kill dozens more cultivators. Would I have done that if he was truly loyal, acting on my command? Can you imagine that of me?"

Qin Su stands, slowly. "I cannot imagine that of the man I was once engaged to," she says, meeting Jin Guangyao's eyes. "Nor can I imagine that of the man who helped me rebuild my sect. But I can imagine that of the man who told me, after my family was massacred, that my beloved little brother was responsible." 

Every eye is on Qin Su as she paces into the center of the room. Wei Wuxian’s breath catches in his throat. 

"I believed you," she says, voice shaking. "I hid that wound for thirteen years, until Wei Wuxian and the ghost of Bicao, a trusted servant, showed me he could not have done it. And you are the only one who could have faked such a horrible explanation."

"A-Su," Jin Guangyao says, voice pained. "I know you cared for him, but I promise—"

"Your promises carry no weight with me," she says coldly, sweeping her robes around herself and sitting again. Murmurs cascade through the room.

"And it sounds like we’ve moved on from Wei Wuxian’s testimony,” Jiang Cheng says dryly. “Wei Wuxian, you can sit."

"Thank you, zongzhu," Wei Wuxian says, and gratefully settles back among the Jiang. Tang Rui slaps his back as he sits again, ignoring the glare it earns him from Lan Zhan. They’re in a spot out of the line of sight for most where he can hold Lan Zhan's hand, so he does.

Feeling emptied by the sect leader's endless questions, Wei Wuxian scans the room. Very few of them are still looking at him, to his surprise: right now, he's just another witness, one more cultivator who can help shed light on someone else's crimes. Most of the mutters and hostile stares rest instead on Jin Guangyao.

The Yiling Laozu is yesterday's story. As soon as the cultivators had realized his path was complicated, that he wasn't a villain from children's tales, they mostly lost interest.

Maybe, someday, he'll be free enough to write himself a new story.

He settles down to watch the remaining witnesses. Some Jiang disciples present the results of a search of the Jin sect, including some notes from Wen Qing's prison, and Wen Qing herself matter-of-factly relates the symptoms of demonic cultivation Jin Guangyao asked her to treat in multiple cultivators and the poison he asked her to brew to destabilize his father's qi. Her words take the wind out of the sail of the next witness, an unctuous Jin elder who tries to foist the responsibility for everything onto Jin Guangyao (and who had often taken Wen Qing's medicines.)

At last, there is no one left to talk: no one except Jin Guangyao. He stands in front of the crowd, his eyes open and vulnerable, almost startled.

"Do you have anything to say in your defense?" Jiang Cheng asks.

"I do," Jin Guangyao says. He takes a deep breath and settles his shoulders, looking around the room. Even Wei Wuxian feels a pang of sympathy at the trapped, lost, almost noble look in his eyes.

It's an act, Wei Wuxian knows. It's also at least a little bit true.

"I understand the past years have seen a cascade of horrible events," Jin Guangyao says. "And I know that so many of these can be laid at the base of Koi Tower’s stairs. But I beg that you all understand: these tenuous threads that these witnesses have traced through the dark? They all tie back to my father. My only crime has been in not ending these atrocities more quickly, and rest assured, until the end of my days I will regret the scars they have left.”

“With my father being so respected for so long, I understand that placing the blame on him seems impossible. But I ask you: please compare what you have seen in the light of day of my father and of me. As Jin-zongzhu and Chief Cultivator, I have used my resources to help even the smallest sects flourish. To build watchtowers that protect the vulnerable in the land's most distant corners. To renew our society after the devastation of the Sunshot campaign. Can one person here say they are worse off for my time in office?"

He pauses. No one speaks.

"Compare that to the time of my father. I bit my tongue many times to remain filial, but his actions went far beyond what a virtuous son could bear. He hoarded resources, bankrupted sects, and watched on the side of the Sunshot campaign as virtuous cultivators fought for their lives. And in his personal life..." Jin Guangyao casts his eyes to the floor. "He used women and tossed them aside. He worked the children he fathered to the bone if they were useful, and left them in the dust if they were not. My mother died in desperate poverty because Jin Guangshan, the father of her child, would not even give her the money to see a doctor. It would have cost him less than a pair of shoes."

He looks up, eyes dotted with tears. "If I am put to death, perhaps it is what I deserve for my role in these atrocities. Perhaps it may bring peace to some unsettled ghosts. But I ask that you remember: if justice's arrow strikes me, it will still have missed its true mark."

Murmurs ripple through the room. Jin Guangyao returns to his seat.

Jiang Cheng sits in silence, watching. Then— “I believe all sect representatives agree with death, exile, or imprisonment as possible sentences. Is that correct?"

The sect leaders seated in the front each nod.

"Then we'll begin with Baling Ouyang," Jiang Cheng says. "Ouyang-zongzhu, your opinion?"

Under the focus of the room, Ouyang-zongzhu puffs out his chest. "Well," he blusters, glancing at Jin Guangyao, "my sect has always valued generosity and careful, deliberate judgment. So I support exile or imprisonment."

"Well said!" Yao-zongzhu booms. Nie Huaisang flicks his fan in front of his face, eyes narrow above it.

"Yao-zongzhu, fortunately, you go next," Jiang Cheng says wearily.

"We agree with exile! Too much uncertainty around a good man, and I wouldn't rush to judgment either."

Wei Wuxian leans over to Lan Zhan. "Well, that's two sects hoping the Jins will open their treasury for them, " he murmurs. Lan Zhan tilts his head in agreement.

Jiang Cheng betrays no expression. "Meishan Yu, what is your opinion?"

The Yu sect leader, Jiang Cheng's great aunt, looks at Jin Guangyao coolly. "Death.”

Some people nod. Others suck in a breath.

"Laoling Qin, what is your opinion?"

Qin Su looks at Jin Guangyao. "My sect has long looked to Lanling: for support, for guidance, and for friendship. Jin Guangyao betrayed that when he murdered my family, or let them be murdered, because he couldn't bear the shame of leaving them alive. Tomorrow, I will bury my brother, and hope that his mutilated corpse and disparaged soul will finally find rest. For his sake, I can only answer one way."

"Qin Su," Jin Guangyao says helplessly.

Tears shimmer in the Lady of Red Flower's eyes as she meets his gaze. "Death," she says, her voice cracking on it.

Two for death, two against. Three still to speak.

The room's attention turns to Nie Huaisang.

"Nie-zongzhu, what is Qinghe Nie's choice?"

Nie Huaisang lowers his fan and flicks it closed. "There is nothing I can say that Qin-zongzhu hasn't. I also have a brother to bury. So— death."

Jiang Cheng nods, unsurprised.

"Gusu Lan, then. Your opinion?"

Lan Xichen’s back is bowed, the first time Wei Wuxian has seen his spine anything but straight. "Nie Mingjue and Jin Guangyao were both my sworn brothers. Clearly, I have failed both. Even the texts of my ancestors cannot offer a single clear remedy, but I find myself returning again to the knowledge that the harm Jin Guangyao did was for respect and for power. Whether he lives in exile or dies today, he will lose both. To me, he has lost them already. So I choose imprisonment or exile, and I offer Gusu Lan to take responsibility in enforcing the sentence."

Beside Wei Wuxian, Lan Zhan stiffens. Wei Wuxian squeezes his hand.

The vote is three and three, now, with the Jiang sect's choice to push the sentence either way.

"Jiang-zongzhu," Jin Guangyao pleads, "Think of A-Ling."

Jiang Cheng looks at Jin Guangyao. His mouth twists. "This isn't for Jin Ling," he says. "Whatever way this goes, you were never going to be allowed anywhere near him again. I'm very convinced that your minion almost got him murdered. But I will make this choice for the future of the jianghu, and for the next cultivator who ends up as the scapegoat of someone more powerful. You don't deserve it, but I choose imprisonment."

The room roars, and Wei Wuxian isn't sure what he feels.

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian's room is not really big enough to fit him, Lan Zhan, and the Wen siblings, but that doesn’t stop them piling in there after the trial. It's quiet and well-protected, after all—far from the bustle of other sects and close to the kitchens. Rain pounds down on the roof, punctuated by the occasional roll of thunder.

“I almost feel like I should pour the first cup for Xue Chengmei.” Wei Wuxian swirls a bottle of wine in his hand, feeling its unseen weight shift as he remembers the flash of Qin Su’s blade. Once his sentence had been unanimously passed, Xue Chengmei hadn’t survived another shichen. “All this mess and he’s the only one who dies for it.” 

“He’s also the only one whose legal strategy boiled down to ‘Yes, I did kill them all, and my only regret is not killing my boss too.’” Wen Qing takes the bottle and pours two bowls, handing one to Wei Wuxian and keeping one for herself. “Don’t waste the good alcohol on him. Trust us: the world is better off without him in it.”

“It really is,” Wen Ning agrees. “I hope the execution brought Qin-zongzhu some peace.”

Wen Qing leans protectively into his side. “It should. It’s just a pity she couldn’t cut off Jin Guangyao’s head too.”

“But do we really know how much of this mess was him?” Wei Wuxian muses. “Don’t get me wrong; he was clearly in it up to his neck, but I don't think he was lying about Jin Guangshan. Or about regretting the whole thing. I get why Jiang Cheng didn’t kill him: you can let someone out of prison if you learn you made a mistake, but you can’t bring them back from the dead.”

“Unless they’re you,” Wen Qing notes.

“Or you.” Wei Wuxian lifts his bowl. “A toast to second chances!”

He’s about to drink as the door slams open. A gust of wind and rain sets the candles dancing as a crackle of lightning frames the rigid figure in the doorway.

“What the fuck!” Wei Wuxian yelps, splashing his wine on himself as he gropes for his flute. The figure slips through the door and, in the candlelight, slouches down to become Jiang Cheng.

“Wine,” he croaks. “Now.”

“Where are your manners?” Wei Wuxian retorts, relaxing. There's really no more floor space, so he frees up some by occupying Lan Zhan’s lap. “Don't you know the word 'please'? You used to.”

Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes. "I used all my words on politics. Give me the fucking wine."

"Ah, poor A-Cheng!” Wei Wuxian laughs. “Here, for your pains." He hands Jiang Cheng a full bowl of wine.  "How long is the sect leader mob sticking around?"

Jiang Cheng tosses back the bowl and devours a cold bun before he speaks. "Some people are already leaving. The rest will be gone in the next day or two after we figure out who’s going to hunt down that bastard Su She, wherever he’s hiding. I’ve passed Jin Guangyao off to the Lan delegation's custody, since Zewu-jun played the 'older sworn brother responsible for moral guidance' card. I could fucking kiss him for making Jin Guangyao not my problem."

"Don't," says Lan Zhan emphatically.

Wei Wuxian and the Wens snicker. Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes and shoves more food into his mouth.

Wei Wuxian calls a servant to bring them a few more dishes and jars of wine, which his brother works his way through with exhausted quiet.

In Wei Wuxian’s experience, Jiang Cheng’s only ever been this quiet when he’s thinking harder about something than is good for him, so he does his part to distract him. He keeps up a cheerful comedic patter with plenty of openings for Jiang Cheng and Wen Qing to heckle him.

The Wens, at least, smile easily and frequently, the least worried Wei Wuxian has seen them since—well, he's not sure. A long time, and longer for them than for him. But Wen Qing does occasionally eye Jiang Cheng with quiet consideration. At last, as Jiang Cheng puts down an empty cup, she makes her move.

"Jiang-zongzhu," she says with careful casualness, "my brother and I were talking earlier about going back to Nightless City and the Burial Mounds."

Jiang Cheng pauses. "Really? Why?"

"To make a tribute to our family," Wen Qing says quietly. "And to check if any need quieting or a better burial."

Jiang Cheng's brows furrow. "That sounds reasonable.”

"Good. Then I presume our being under the Jiang sect's protection and custody won't be a barrier to those plans?"

Jiang Cheng considers her for a second, Jiang-zongzhu's rapid calculations flickering behind his eyes. "Not as long as you take at least one Jiang disciple with you. I’ll find someone." He glances sideways at Wei Wuxian. “If there isn’t a volunteer.”

Wen Qing’s shoulders settle. "Thank you.”

Jiang Cheng shrugs.  “It’s not that hard."

The evening gets more comfortable after that, conversation flowing as easily as wine. A contented, tipsy haze settles over Wei Wuxian. To sit in warmth and comfort in Lotus Pier with Jiang Cheng, the Wens, and Lan Zhan all together feels like an old dream. Better, even: he never would have imagined that he could spend the evening in Lan Zhan’s lap, wiggling into him until Lan Zhan stills him with a firm grip on his thigh and a gentle kiss into his hair.

Jiang Cheng groans. "Get a room.”

Wei Wuxian looks around theatrically. "What's this, Lan Zhan? Why, I think that right here, we're in a room! It might even be my room!"

A wobble in her step, Wen Qing gathers up the remaining partially full jars of alcohol. "I think that's our cue to leave," she says dryly. "Drink some water. Or don't, and then maybe the lesson will stick."

"Good night, Wei-gongzi!" Wen Ning says brightly, picking up empty bowls and plates and following her.

"I'm not staying alone with these two," Jiang Cheng grouses, following the Wens towards the door. But he pauses at the threshold, looking back consideringly.

"Got something on my face?" Wei Wuxian asks.

"Like I'd care," Jiang Cheng scoffs, then looks more serious. "Just—sleep well tonight, okay? The weather’s shit; you should stay the fuck inside.”

Lan Zhan tilts his head, puzzled. Wei Wuxian has a glimmer of an idea. He taps his nose, hitting it successfully on the second attempt.

"Got it," he says. "We'll just stay right here."

The familiar chorus of Lotus Pier's morning birds cascades outside Wei Wuxian's window, the bright songs and soft light easing him awake. It's a sensation almost as reassuring as the scent of a beloved body against his. Lucky enough for him, he doesn’t have to choose.

Wei Wuxian turns to smile sleepily at his love. "Did you sleep well, er-gege?” 

"Mn." Lan Zhan's arms tighten around him, and his face is soft and fond. Wei Wuxian still isn't used to the sight of him without his forehead ribbon. "Did Wei Ying?"

"Yeah. I think you made me drink enough water, even. No headache!" Wei Wuxian  only vaguely remembers pulling Lan Zhan back into their bed as someone ran by their room. "Let's get dressed and take a stroll, huh?" he suggests, stretching. Lan Zhan watches him with dark eyes but agrees.

They emerge from the family quarters into a world scrubbed clean by rain. The lingering wetness dyes the pathways the sleek dark brown of an otter’s pelt, and the air has the fresh, clear scent that follows after thunder. Most creatures are quiet, still regrouping after the night—well, all except the humans. 

Sword Hall is unexpectedly packed with people: cultivators and sect leaders, yelling at each other and stumbling into each other's way, some fumbling to straighten out clothes hastily thrown on.

“What the fuck happened here?” Wei Wuxian murmurs to Lan Zhan, circling the crowd. Jiang Cheng and a knot of sect leaders stand near the center, leaning together in a heated conversation.

Lan Zhan studies Lan Xichen’s pale, drawn face. “Nothing good.”

Jiang Cheng finally turns to survey the full chaotic room. "Quiet the fuck down!" he roars. The dark bags under his eyes don't make him look any less terrifying. The cultivators finally reduce their volume to a general disgruntled murmuring. "Thank you," he snaps, a bit more quietly. "Now we can tell you what happened last night."

"Is Jin Guangyao really dead?" Yao-zongzhu asks.

"Su She is dead," Jiang Cheng growls, quelling any other interjections with a glare. "Jin Guangyao is not. He only lost his arm, which is less than he could have lost when going along with a breakout attempt. He’s now getting medical treatment under guard by disciples from eight sects.”

As his brother speaks, Wei Wuxian looks over the sect leaders standing nearest him. Lan Xichen looks badly shaken, a few strands of hair escaping his normally impeccable bun. On Jiang Cheng's other side, Qin Su radiates serene satisfaction. And Nie Huaisang remains inscrutable behind his fan.

"I apologize for failing in my responsibilities toward this council," Lan Xichen says. His normally smooth voice is unusually rough as he bows. "We believed the prisoner to be secure.”

“Clearly, he was not,” Qin Su observes. “If it was not for quick action by the Nie disciples and my own people, he would have been long gone by morning.”

“It’s okay, er-ge!” Nie Huaisang steps between the two of them, fluttering his fan. “I mean, I totally forgot that Su She knew so many Lan techniques: he almost took us by surprise too!”

Lan Xichen gives Nie Huaisang a tense smile. “Thank you, but this mistake was not acceptable. Rest assured, we will be doing a full review of our wards and security to ensure nothing like this can happen again.”

“That sounds like so much work for you,” Nie Huaisang frets, grabbing onto Lan Xichen’s arm. “Tell you what— how about the Nie sect taking custody in the meantime?”

“Oh, I couldn’t trouble you—”

“Oh, but we just happen to have the perfect cell!”

“One where you can provide suitable medical care?” Lan Xichen snaps.

“Oh, absolutely,” Huaisang assures him. “You’ve seen it yourself: we made it when we thought Da-ge might still be alive.”

Lan Xichen closes his eyes, seeming to shrink. “Ah. That cell.”

“So it’s settled for now, then,” Jiang Cheng says, when Lan Xichen offers nothing further. “Once my healers have Jin Guangyao stabilized enough for travel, he’ll go to Qinghe. If Gusu Lan wants to petition to take him back later, they can bring it to the Council.”

“What council?” a minor sect leader asks.

"The Cultivation Council—founding members from yesterday—will meet again in three months to discuss future governance. We'll pick new members every two or four years. Since the last Chief Cultivator just got arrested, it seems like a good time to try a new model."

"Will that work?" Ouyang-zongzhu asks disbelievingly.

"Did the Chief Cultivator system work?" Jiang Cheng snaps. "Or have you all forgotten it started as a Wen power grab and ended as a Jin one?"

No one seems terribly satisfied with that answer, but no one seems to have a better idea either. Yao-zongzhu's brief attempt to suggest he should be Chief Cultivator is met with particular derision. After that, the Cultivation Council suggestion starts looking better and better.

Wei Wuxian sidles over to Nie Huaisang as Jiang Cheng deals with the deluge of questions and a Jiang scribe frantically scribbles notes.

"Su She got quite a ways through some very sophisticated wards,” Wei Wuxian murmurs. “What a clever man it must have taken to manage that.”

Nie Huaisang flicks his fan. Only Wei Wuxian can see the cold, satisfied smile behind it. "I don't know what you're talking about.”

At Jiang Cheng’s request, Wei Wuxian spends most of the day reinforcing the wards on the Yin Tiger Seal. Well, he spends half of the day on that. He spends the other half explaining the reinforcements to sect leaders who clearly doodled their way through their basic ward design classes. 

As the sun starts to set and Wei Wuxian’s patience starts to run thin, Tang Rui conveniently pulls him out of a conversation. “Zongzhu’s asked for you,” he says. “He told me to tell you he’s got your dinner in his office.”

“Perfect.” Wei Wuxian claps the older man on the shoulder. “Thanks, Tang-xiong!”

He strolls briskly on the route to the inner family quarters. His feet know the way across the wooden pathways, even if the new boards sing differently under his steps. He greets the Jiang guards he passes by name, when he knows them, and gets a scattering of familiar nods and friendly hellos in response. By the time he knocks at Jiang-zongzhu’s office door, he feels almost settled again from the bustle of the day.

“Come in,” Jiang Cheng calls.

Wei Wuxian pushes open the door, grinning at the familiar scents of a good Yunmeng dinner. “Hello, paperwork delivery service! Don’t worry, I know you’ve had a long day, so I haven’t brought you anything big. Just four diplomatic treaties, three urgent nighthunts, two marriage proposals, and—”

Wei Wuxian falters; he hadn’t realized someone else was still in the office. It takes his eyes a second to recognize the young man seated with his back to the door. His hair is swept up in an adult topknot, pinned in place with a heavy golden guan that looks too large on his adolescent head. 

“Jin Ling,” Wei Wuxian says carefully. “Or, Jin-zongzhu?”

Jin Ling turns to face him. His new hairstyle makes it easy to see the proud, defensive set of his shoulders that makes him look so much like a newly crowned Jiang Cheng. “Yes. I’ve decided.”

Jiang Cheng is watching both of them closely. Wei Wuxian nods. “Good. Give 'em hell.”

“Give them hell?” Jin Ling scoffs. “Who says congratulations like that?”

“In this family, it’s almost a tradition,” Jiang Cheng says dryly.

Wei Wuxian laughs, sitting down at the place at the table left open for him. He puts a choice piece of chili-red pork into Jin Ling’s bowl. “It is. But also, congratulations.”

Jin Ling nods, unclenching his hands from the thick expensive layers of his robes to pick up his chopsticks. He pushes his piece of pork around as Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian eagerly dig into their meals. 

“Eat up,” Jiang Cheng says, putting a dumpling into Jin Ling’s bowl. “Or have you suddenly decided you hate Lin-Ayi’s cooking?”

Jin Ling glares at his uncle, but still picks up the dumpling and nibbles. He takes half a bite, puts it back down, and sighs.

“Jiujiu, when you became sect leader— were you scared?”

Ah. Wei Wuxian puts down his chopsticks. Jiang Cheng snorts.

“Scared? I was fucking terrified.”

“You were?” Jin Ling asks. His forehead furrows around his vermillion dot, an expression Wei Wuxian remembers well from Jin Zixuan.

“Are you really that surprised?” Jiang Cheng asks. “It was the middle of a war, Lotus Pier was a pile of ash, and I’d lost so many damn people.”

“We were all panicking,” Wei Wuxian agrees. 

Jin Ling looks between the two of them. “Then when did you stop being scared?” 

“I got a lot more sleep after Wen Ruohan died,” Jiang Cheng says dryly.

“By which he means six hours of sleep instead of four, which still got him in plenty of trouble with your mother,” Wei Wuxian adds. 

Jin Ling huffs a tiny laugh. Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes. “Any sect leader with a brain is always a little scared. We have a hell of a lot of responsibility, and people turn to us for direction even when we have no fucking clue what we’re doing.”

Jin Ling plays with his chopsticks. “I wish I was a Jiang,” he mutters. “It’d be a lot easier if I had anyone in my sect who I trusted.”

“It would,” Wei Wuxian agrees. “But you have strong connections outside your sect. Be shameless about using them! Your jiujiu Jiang-zongzhu, your da-jiu the Yiling Laozu—just let me know who I need to twirl my flute at, okay? And then there’s your new junior friends.”

“And, in another week, according to the latest letter, you’ll have Luo Qingyang,” Jiang Cheng says smugly.

“Who?” Jin Ling asks.

“Yeah, who?” Wei Wuxian echoes.

“Wei Wuxian! You’ve met her. Jin Zixuan’s friend? Left the Jin sect for the shit they did to you?”

“Sorry, I don’t remember—”

Jiang Cheng sighs. “Mianmian?”

“Oh, Mianmian! Yeah, she’s great. She’s still around?”

“And she was friends with my dad?” Jin Ling asks, trying not to sound too eager.

“She was, and I’m sure she’ll tell you all about it,” Jiang Cheng says tolerantly. “But more importantly for Jin-zongzhu, she’d make a great head disciple: quick with the Jin style, from what I’ve seen on joint nighthunts; owed your dad a life debt or three from Sunshot; and she’d love to clear the snakes out of Koi Tower. She’ll at least stick around at least until you get your feet under you. Let her do her job, have her back, and she might stay.”

Jin Ling nods, determined. “I’ll try. I’ll—I’ll be the kind of sect leader she can respect.” He adjusts himself in his seat to mirror Jiang Cheng. Jin Ling is so much younger, but he makes it work. 

“You’ll do better than you think,” Wei Wuxian says. “For one thing, you don’t have a bunch of literal skeletons in your closet— unless you have something you want to tell your demonic cultivator uncle?” 

Jin Ling snorts and shakes his head, reaching for the bottle of wine. Wei Wuxian grabs it first.

“Hey!” Jin Ling protests.

“Don’t worry, you’re getting wine!” Wei Wuxian laughs.  “You just sit back down, Jin-zongzhu, and let this humble disciple pour for you.” 

“But I’m fourteen,” Jin Ling says plaintively, watching Wei Wuxian fill the bowls.

Jiang Cheng puts a hand on Jin Ling’s arm to settle him back in his seat. “And you still outrank him. Let him pour; if we’re really lucky, it might teach him a little respect.”

“I don’t plan on respecting sect leaders in general,” Wei Wuxian says, handing around the wine. “Just a couple that are worth it, like our very talented A-Ling. Still deciding about Jiang-zongzhu.”

“You—!” Jiang Cheng splutters, then steals a dumpling out of his brother’s bowl in retaliation.

Jin Ling smothers a laugh. “What makes you so sure I’ll be that great?”

Wei Wuxian grins. “Plenty of things! For one, you’re honest, and that’s something your sect needs right now. There’s a value to getting a reputation for always speaking your mind, no matter how undiplomatic it might be. People can trust that.” He grins at Jiang Cheng, passing his brother another bowl of wine. “And you’ve learned how to lead like that from the best.”

“It’s an art,” Jiang Cheng says loftily, but he raises his wine in a toast. “You’ll do fine, A-Ling. Here— to a new era for the Jin sect.”

The others echo him, then drink. Jin Ling only sputters a little bit.

He’s so young, Wei Wuxian thinks, his heart wrenching with love and grief. He catches his brother’s eye and sees the same feelings reflected there. That, and determination.

Whatever it takes to keep their nephew safe, to help him thrive: they’ll do it together.

The Lan delegation is one of the last to depart Lotus Pier, after even the Jin. The town has almost settled into its usual comfortable bustle when Jiang Cheng, Wei Wuxian, and Lan Wangji go to see them off.

While Jiang Cheng and Lan Xichen exchange some last sect-leadery discussions of logistics, Wei Wuxian spins his flute and winks at Lan Jingyi where he stands among the ranks of Lan disciples. He grins, then schools his face into over-the-top seriousness. Wei Wuxian laughs.

"I'm glad Sizhui has a friend like him. And now Jin Ling has him, too!" he whispers to Lan Zhan.

"Mn." The remark isn't quite enough to call Lan Zhan's mind back from wherever it has wandered.

Lan Xichen looks over to Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan.

"Wangji, will you and Wei Wuxian be traveling with us?" he asks politely.

"Not now," Lan Zhan tells him.

"I look forward to visiting Gusu later, though!" Wei Wuxian chimes in. "We don't have exact plans, but we won't stay away too long."

Lan Xichen and Jiang Cheng both incline their heads, the first move in what Wei Wuxian suspects will be a long game of brotherly weiqi.

"Xiongzhang, Sizhui will remain as well." Lan Zhan gives Lan Xichen a look that even Wei Wuxian finds unreadable.

Lan Xichen nods, unsurprised. "It will be good for him," he agrees. "Sizhui?"

He whispers one last exchange with Jingyi and then crosses to join the Jiang delegation. As he passes by, Lan Xichen gives him a pat on the arm. Sizhui smiles back, then settles into his natural spot at Lan Zhan’s side.

Lan Xichen sighs, looking off across the water towards Gusu, then back at the Jiang delegation. "It seems we may be apart for some time. Now would be the time for me to give brotherly advice, is it not? But I fear I am not well qualified." His lopsided smile sits poorly on his statuesque features.

"I wouldn't say that, Zewu-jun," Wei Wuxian demurs.

"Hmm." Lan Xichen sounds unconvinced. “Well, take care.”

He and his brother meet each other's eyes in one last wordless communication before Lan Xichen takes his place at the head of the quiet Lan ranks. They step onto their swords, and together rise into the sky.

Jiang Cheng turns and heads back towards the sect, but Wei Wuxian, Lan Zhan, and Lan Sizhui stay and watch until the specks of white have become indistinguishable against the day's blustery, wispy clouds. For once, Wei Wuxian doesn't mind joining the Lans in their silence.

At last, Sizhui inclines his head inquiringly at Lan Zhan, looking between him and Wei Wuxian.

"Come walk with me," Lan Zhan requests.

"Will Wei-qianbei be coming?" Sizhui asks.

"Nah,” Wei Wuxian says. They'd agreed the first conversation should be with the one who knew him best. "But I'll be waiting with some others on the south side of Lotus Pier when you're ready. We'll be there. To talk. Or not! Whatever you want."

"Okay." Sizhui bobs his head.

Wei Wuxian gives Lan Zhan a reassuring smile. He can read the nerves in Lan Zhan's tight shoulders and jaw. Even the five rounds of practice talks the night before hadn’t calmed him much. "It'll be fine," Wei Wuxian says.

Sizhui smiles shyly. "How else could it be, when I have Wei Wuxian and Hanguang-jun looking out for me?"

In an isolated pavilion at the edge of the sect, Wei Wuxian peels another lotus seed and flicks the shells into the water. The current carries the seeds away like boats.

"How many of those can you eat?" Wen Qing asks wearily. Beside her, Wen Ning focuses his full attention on peeling a lotus seed.

"Lots," Wei Wuxian says, popping the slightly squashed products of Wen Ning's efforts into his mouth. "My shijie said they're good for you."

"Yeah, well." Staring across the water, Wen Qing half-heartedly lets the bickering drop. It's been almost a shichen since Lan Zhan and Sizhui started out on their stroll. It's hard to keep from wondering how they're doing.

Wei Wuxian dips his finger in the water cup and scrawls characters on the table, darkening the wood: Yuan-garden and Yuan-hope. A-Yuan's birth name, and the one Lan Zhan had guessed for a child too young to write.

"Do you think he'll want to change it back?" Wei Wuxian asks, breaking their informal pact.

Wen Ning gazes off across the water. "I hope he doesn't," he says. "Yuan for hope fits him better.”

Then he makes a noise of surprise, and Wei Wuxian turns to look in the same direction. There's two figures flying swords low over the water, one beside the other. Both of their robes flutter like crane's wings, pure white and striking against the blue of the lake and the sky.

They're moving fast enough that Wei Wuxian barely has time to be nervous before A-Yuan flings himself off his blade and runs the last distance to the pavilion, his footsteps echoing off the walkway boards. His eyes are red, Wei Wuxian is alarmed to see, and then a teenage boy is suddenly wrapped around his legs.

"Wei-gege!" Sizhui sobs. Wei Wuxian pats his hair.

"A-Yuan," Wei Wuxian says, choking up. "Ah, you're so much bigger than you were before!"

"I remember," he says, muffled, as the Wens stand. "And then you'd pick me up and plant me in the dirt."

At last, A-Yuan looks up at the other two figures. "Qing-jie! Ning-gege!"

Wen Qing holds out her arms, and the three of them wrap each other in a hug.

"Only greeting us after Wei Wuxian?" Wen Qing says, her voice shaky as she holds an armful of teenage boy. "I see who your favorite was."

Sizhui sniffs and draws back long enough to wipe his face. "Well, he let me get away with almost anything," he says, sending Wei Wuxian a shaky but honest smile. "Almost as much as Ning-gege."

"So you remember us?" Wen Qing asks.

"I remember some things," A-Yuan says. "They used to just be flashes, and they came more and more often, and then... when Hanguang-jun told me, a bunch of them hit all at once. But..." he looks wonderingly at the Wens. "I thought I looked like you."

Wen Ning offers A-Yuan another hug, and he unhesitatingly takes it. Wei Wuxian feels his heart soften as he watches. He's never regretted the sacrifices that he made for the Wens, and with this, he knows he never will.

Beyond the pavilion, Lan Zhan is watching out over the water, pointedly keeping his eyes from the pavilion.

"Hey, Lan Zhan, come over here!" Wei Wuxian calls. Sizhui looks curiously as Wei Wuxian tugs Lan Zhan over so he can throw an arm around them both. "Ah, that's better. The boy I gave birth to, and the man who fathered him!"

"Wei Ying," Lan Zhan sighs, as Sizhui squirms and laughs, "Wei-gege!"

Wei Wuxian laughs too. "See, you two even scold me the same way!"

"Please, Hanguang-jun, have a seat," Wen Ning offers as they draw apart. "This is for A-Yuan's family. You have a place here, too."

"Mn." Lan Zhan inclines his head and sits

As the tears dry, the group settles at the table and start into stories of the past. A-Yuan asks haltingly about some of his memories: the planting in the ground, an explosion from the cave. Wei Wuxian and the rest share the stories around his images, with some occasional friendly squabbling around the details. (Whatever Wen Ning claims, Wei Wuxian is quite certain he never taught A-Yuan to catcall the girls in Yiling.) There's laughter and memories of how sweet fruit tasted when it was the first food from beyond the Burial Mounds that they'd eaten in weeks.

Then, Sizhui asks shyly, "Could you tell me about my parents?"

"Well, you see them every time you look in the mirror,” Wen Qing says. “You have your mother's face, and your father's nose and eyes."

Sizhui's hand drifts up to touch his nose as though it had newly settled on his face. "Really? I... don't think I remember them at all. I must have been too small."

"They were good people," Wen Ning tells him earnestly. "They'd be very proud of you. You know, your father was a cultivator."

"A Wen cultivator?" Sizhui asks, almost wary.

"Yes, but he did not get along with Wen Ruohan," Wen Qing says, shaking her head with the memory. "He was very quiet most of the time, but strong in his convictions. The first time I met him, when A-Ning and I were new at Wen Ruohan's court, he swept us off to the side and offered to..."

The Wens launch into one story after another, and Sizhui is spellbound. Wei Wuxian listens alongside him, occasionally brushing against Lan Zhan or Sizhui. It's good, to feel like they're family sharing the same circle.

By dinnertime, Sizhui looks just as eager, but his eyes are starting to glaze over despite his best attempts. Wei Wuxian shares a meaningful look with Lan Zhan.

"We'll go bring everyone some dinner," Wei Wuxian says brightly. "You just stay here and chat."

"I could go," Wen Ning offers with loyal reluctance.

Wei Wuxian makes a face. "Absolutely not! A-Yuan, my most filial son, don't you let your Ning-gege take a single step, okay?"

Sizhui bows with exaggerated precision. "Not a step," he promises.

Wei Wuxian laughs, turning away. "Ah, my little radish! Lan Zhan, he got your sense of humor."

Lan Zhan takes his arm as they stroll down the path. "Mn. He has Wei Ying's smile."

"You think so?" Wei Wuxian asks, pleased.

"Since he was young. I was glad." Some distance from the pavillion, Lan Zhan pauses. "Wei Ying is shaking.”

"Just shivering! The day's cooling down."

Lan Zhan gives him an unimpressed look.

"Ah, Lan Zhan! Do you know you're particularly beautiful when the sun is starting to set?"

"Wei Ying," he says reproachfully.

Wei Wuxian sighs. "Ah, you've got me. It's just a lot, you know? Happy and sad memories all at once."

"Mn." Emphatic agreement.

"And…” Wei Wuxian scuffs at a board starting to spring up from the walkway. “He already had a great father figure. I wasn’t sure he needed to be reintroduced to his mediocre old one.”

Lan Zhan stops, eyes flaring, and grabs Wei Wuxian hard by the arm. "You cared for him well, then and now.”

Wei Wuxian laughs self-consciously. "I mean, I've saved his life, sure! But that's not really being a dad, is it? And now my body is only a few years older than him, and my soul only a few years older than that! I'm not really parent material for a teenager, am I?"

"It is unusual. Unusual is not wrong. We will all grow together."

Wei Wuxian smiles. "Growing together—I like the way you put that, er-gege. Maybe we can."

A couple days later, Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan step into the cool darkness of the Jiang ancestral shrine. The quiet air, smelling of incense and age, is a welcome break from the chaotic energy of Jiang sect training and Burial Mounds trip planning.  

Wei Wuxian’s body might be new, but sinking onto his knees and kneeling at the shrine is second nature.

“I spent so much time here as a kid,” he says to Lan Zhan. “Hah, Madame Yu had me kneeling for hours if I even sneezed wrong! It was the longest time I’d ever spend in one place.”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan hums, distinctly judgmental.

Wei Wuxian laughs awkwardly. “She wasn’t great to me, I guess. But not everyone can be you or Jiang Cheng when an unexpected kid drops into their lap.”

“Or Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan adds.

Wei Wuxian laughs again, more honestly. “Or me. I guess. Sorry, Madame Yu.”

He takes up a cloth and begins wiping down the shrine’s tablets. There’s barely any dust on them, but it feels right. Lan Zhan quietly joins him. They work their way up from the faded names of ancestors whose stories are lost to time, to the elders who had sunned themselves on Lotus Pier’s docks and given Wei Wuxian candies when he darted by, to Madame Yu and Jiang Fengmian.

“Thank you for giving me a home,” Wei Wuxian murmurs, putting Jiang Fengmian’s plaque back in its place.

Then, last, is Jiang Yanli’s. Brighter than all the rest. Wei Wuxian cradles it as gently as he can. “Thank you for…” Wei Wuxian hesitates. Where can he even start? “For being my jiejie,” he says softly. Jiang Fengmian had given him a home. Shijie had made sure he had a family.

Wei Wuxian clears his throat and blinks the dust out of his eyes, then takes up some incense and lights it.

“Would you join me?” he asks Lan Zhan impulsively.

He nods and silently kneels on the cushion beside Wei Wuxian’s. They light their incense, placing it in the holder. The smoke rises, twining its way around lotuses and wood.

Together, they bow. Once to the heaven and earth, Wei Wuxian thinks impulsively. Lan Zhan would look so good in red.

They bow again. Once to the ancestors. Jiang Fengmian would have been happy for him.

Then—

He turns to Lan Zhan and catches his sleeve before they can bow again. “Lan Zhan,” He says breathlessly, flashes of ideas coalescing into one beautiful image. “Lan Zhan, I wanna marry you.”

Lan Zhan’s eyes go wide.

“What the hell, Wei Wuxian!”

Jiang Cheng steps inside the shrine, and Wei Wuxian turns to glare at him. Lan Zhan glares harder.

“What the fuck, Jiang Cheng! Don’t you ever think before barging in? Or were you hiding out there waiting for your chance at a big dramatic entrance?”

“I wasn’t hiding, I was trying to give you privacy in our family shrine!” Jiang Cheng snaps back. “Right up until I needed to save you idiots from yourselves.”

“Wei Ying is not an idiot,” Lan Zhan says frostily.

“Really?” Jiang Cheng asks, rounding on Wei Wuxian. “So what was your plan? Do three bows alone, and then just pray that people respect your eloped cutsleeve marriage?”

Wei Wuxian bristles. “I would, and Lan Zhan would. And I hoped you would! Who else’s respect do we need?”

Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes. “When you kidnap a bunch of brats to raise, don’t you want everyone else to agree they’re yours?”

Wei Wuxian deflates. He does want a pack of kids, but— “If we know we’re family, that’s enough. I know no one will formally recognize it.”

“Not unless Lan Wangji marries into the Jiang sect properly.”

“What?” Wei Wuxian isn’t sure whether he or Lan Zhan said it first.

“You heard me,” Jiang Cheng says, jaw set. “No marrying into Gusu Lan. I can’t decide a fucking thing about the Lan marital rules, but I am in charge of the Jiang clan registries. So if you want to be formally married someplace without twenty fucking years of arguments about however-many-hundred-years of sect rules, Lan Wangji will have to marry in.”

Wei Wuxian is aware his jaw is hanging open. He doesn’t try to fix the situation. “You’d let us marry here? Just like that?”

“With at least six months notice, doing every step properly. Might take a year, since every sect’s a mess right now.”

“Oh,” Wei Wuxian says weakly. “Well, that’s fine with me. Assuming—“ he turns to Lan Zhan. “Lan Zhan, do you want to marry me?”

Lan Zhan gives Wei Wuxian a small, warm smile. “Of course.” 

Wei Wuxian grins, then his face falls. “A-Cheng, won’t the Jiang Sect get in trouble?”

Jiang Cheng shrugs. “Maybe. But we’ve done fine as the demonic cultivator sect; being the cutsleeve sect might even snag us some new recruits. And if someone gives us shit, we’ll give them paperwork.”

“Paperwork?”

“Essays. On how cutsleeve marriage is compatible with traditional values. Huaisang started them when he got bored in Gusu, thought he’d use them to annoy Lan Qiren. But he kept them and finished them instead, and he gave me a copy.” Jiang Cheng studies the floorboards. “He’d been planning to give a set to Nie Mingjue, see if he could marry out of the sect, but… well. He’ll be glad someone’s using them.”

“Thank you to you both,” Wei Wuxian says fervently. 

“From both of us.” Lan Zhan agrees, taking Wei Wuxian’s hand.

Jiang Cheng nods back. “Anyways, after me, I’m leaving the sect leadership to whichever disciple is the most talented, so don’t think you’re actually getting an inheritance out of this. But…” he looks down at Wei Wuxian, his smile lopsided and honest. “You’re welcome.”

Wei Wuxian’s training sword clashes against Suibian.

“Better,” Jiang Cheng says, whirling to the side. “Keep it up.”

“Aww! But what if I’m getting bored?” Wei Wuxian enthusiastically pivots into the next section of the form.

Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes, and Wei Wuxian laughs as he deflects Jiang Cheng’s next thrust. He’s pleasantly warm: from the first morning sunlight, from the exercise, from the flow of spiritual energy through his limbs and his blade. His Jiang-style block is satisfyingly smooth, using Jiang Cheng’s own momentum so his strike sails past with hardly any strength spent on Wei Wuxian’s part.

Almost every block he’s made since he lost his core was a variation of this one. It’s a lot more fun now that Wei Wuxian knows he has the strength for much of the rest of the Jiang repertoire, too.

Jiang Cheng strikes and advances, blocks and deflects. Wei Wuxian laughs at the joy of dancing together in the bright morning light, of his heartbeat reminding him how good it is to be alive.

Even his brother forgets to scowl. Wei Wuxian loves Jiang Cheng’s smiles all the more for how rare they are, but he’s glad they’re becoming more frequent now.

“Let’s leave it here,” Jiang Cheng says when Wei Wuxian is dripping with sweat.

“I could go longer!”

“Sure, but you’re heading out on the road today. You actually need your legs.”

“Not if Lan Zhan carries me.”

Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes. “Then I’m doing it for Sizhui. Your Lan brat doesn’t deserve to have to watch that.”

Wei Wuxian laughs. “Our radish is already used to it! Mostly.”

The two of them sheathe their swords. Together they cross to the rack of training swords, weaving their way among the other Jiang disciples taking advantage of the sunny weather for a good morning spar.

“Make sure to keep up your forms on the road,” Jiang Cheng orders. “You’d better not come back fighting like a Lan.”

Wei Wuxian clutches his heart. “Me? Fight like a Lan? I’ve never fought like anyone except myself, thank you very much.”

Jiang Cheng snorts. “Can’t argue with that. At least we know you’re Jiang.”

Wei Wuxian grins. “No doubt about that.”

He places the training sword on the rack, then turns. Jiang Cheng has unslung Suibian and its sheath from his back, holding them across his hands. 

“If you’re going to be traveling, you need a sword,” he mutters.

Wei Wuxian blinks. “Wait, what? Are you— oh, you don’t have to! You shouldn’t. I’ll be traveling with some really good cultivators, and I’m only going to be gone for a month or three!”

Jiang Cheng scowls, thrusting the sword out firmly. “Wei Wuxian. Take it. I’ve got another sword and a lightning whip; I’ll be fine.”

“But you’re Shuangjian Shengshou!” Wei Wuxian protests, backpedaling. “It’s such a good name, Jiang Cheng, I can’t take that from you.”

“You’re not taking, I’m offering,” Jiang Cheng huffs. “I’ve been carrying your ridiculous sword around for thirteen years; it’s about time for you to haul it around instead.”

“Won't you miss Suibian?”

“Of course I’ll miss it.” Jiang Cheng chews at the inside of his cheek. “But you being safe—it fucking matters. I’ve already— I would give up a lot more than a sword for that.”

“A-Cheng—“ Wei Wuxian’s eyes feel hot. 

His brother blinks furiously, scowl deepening to mask the tears pricking at his eyes.  “Just try it, okay?”

Wei Wuxian nods and wraps his hand around Suibian’s hilt. It slides free easily, singing in his hand. It’s still a tidal wave of power, like diving into the deepest part of Lotus Pier’s river, but he can at least let it carry him for a moment.

But Suibian still does not fit in his new hand the way it did in his old one. He’s changed, and his sword has changed, and there’s no way back.

Wei Wuxian sheathes Suibian again and curls his brother’s fingers gently around the hilt. “Thanks,” he says sincerely, “but I’ll take a training sword. Suibian likes you, now. I want you to keep it.”

Jiang Cheng looks him over for a long moment, expression inscrutable. At last, he nods and slings Suibian across his back.

“Fine,” he says, voice rough. “But when you’re ready for a spiritual sword of your own again, Yunmeng Jiang is making it. I’m not letting any brother of mine walk around with some fussy piece of Gusu metal.”

Wei Wuxian smiles. “That works. A new life and a new start! And you’ll be stuck forever with my whatever sword.”

Jiang Cheng snorts, failing to hide his amusement. “Got any ideas for names? A-Die’s not around to think up a terrible joke for you this time.”

It doesn’t sting so much, anymore, talking about Jiang Fengmian. ”You know, I think I’ve got the perfect name already.”

“Really." Jiang Cheng snorts disbelievingly. "What’s your idea of perfect?”

Wei Wuxian takes a deep breath, nerves fizzing. “Shuangjie.”

“Wait, shuang as in ‘twin’ and jie as in 'pride'?”  Looking stunned, Jiang Cheng sketches the characters in the air.

“It’s a little late, but I did promise you that Yunmeng would have its twin prides, didn’t I? But there’s other things I could name it instead, if you’d rather—”

Jiang Cheng crushes Wei Wuxian’s ribs in a hug. “It’s Shuangjie, and don’t you dare call it anything else,” he growls.

Smiling into his brother’s shoulder, Wei Wuxian hugs back. “Well, if Jiang-zongzhu approves, what else could this humble disciple do?”

Jiang Cheng huffs his rare laugh.”That’s damn right.” After one last squeeze, he steps back from the hug and lets Wei Wuxian go. “When you’re ready for Shuangjie, you better know you’ll have to come home to get it.”

“Of course!” Wei Wuxian says, grinning. Around them, he hears disciples sparring, the river burbling, children’s voices piping. The sounds of the place his brother has remade. “Trust me, I know exactly where home is.”